City of the Wind
Kia Ixari
(Revised 2009 Feb)

III.

Ryoma's garden was something of a puzzle. The sheer size of it was overwhelming for a start. What he had taken first to be the border of the garden — the hedge of yew on the other side of the formal beds — was only a kind of inner wall that divided one part of the garden from another. And the garden was full of such divisions. There were hedges of hawthorn and privet and copper beech, stone walls covered with ivy, winter clematis and the bare, scrambling stems of rambling roses, and fences, neatly paneled or woven in willow.

He would love to know every single corner of the garden by his heart, but he knew that was too much to hope for. Even Ryoma, who has inhabited the place for something close to a decade, tended to get lost. Magic was useless as well, for the garden seemed to exude its own essence that interfered with any such form of magic. It was as if the garden wanted them to be lost within its confines.

However, in spite of his hesitation to wander too much in fear of getting lost, he loved this garden. He loved this garden, for this garden held precious memories.

"Where do you want to sit tonight?" Ryoma asked happily, intertwining their fingers and tugging him outside.

"Wherever you want," he replied in kind. Having brought another basket of food evidently made Ryoma happy enough to ask him for his preference. On normal nights, Ryoma would not even bother asking. He had asked Ryoma about food and if he was appropriately provided with it; the boy had confirmed that he was, and that had partly abated his worry. However, from time to time, he could not resist the urge to bring a basket with him.

He knew that Ryoma would not lie, but the boy had the tendency to hide things—things that would, at times, be better out in the open. But of course he also knew that Ryoma had good reason. Had to have good reason. Otherwise, he would not keep on doggedly resisting Tezuka's subtle queries with his own subtle rebuffs.

As they settled under an alcove made by hawthorns and clematis, Ryoma pointed up at the sky.

"Look. It is a full moon."

Tezuka nodded, laying out the food for Ryoma. The boy had an insatiable appetite, but he never did ask for more even when the food ran out. He never did complain when Tezuka could not manage to bring food. Tezuka liked to think that his company was enough.

And indeed it was.

"What did you do today, Tezuka?"

"My usual duties," Tezuka replied silently as Ryoma dug into the muffins. "It was not my turn for this month's full moon rituals in the Monasteries."

"Has anybody else besides Fuji noticed your… nightly escapades?" Ryoma smirked. Tezuka had revealed the matter about Fuji's knowledge when he had told Ryoma that he would only be able to come at nights. However, he made the mistake of using the words 'nightly escapades', and ever since, Ryoma had not ceased his teasing.

Tezuka resisted the urge to cast his eyes skyward and settled for a sigh. "Do not worry; I shall not be careless. If you wish to remain within these quarters, then you shall."

Ryoma smiled up at him, but somehow, the light within those golden eyes were different.

Comfortable silence settled between them, and Tezuka found himself sinking within it. This was one of the many things that kept him coming back every night he could for the past two months — the sheer comfort of simply being was one he could only feel when he was with Ryoma.

"We never do talk about ourselves, do we?" Ryoma remarked silently, fiddling with a flower that was blooming by his ankle.

"We will when we are ready to," Tezuka assured him.

Ryoma merely nodded. In truth, it was the younger boy who needed the time. Every time Ryoma would ask about Tezuka, the mage would answer truthfully and without hesitation. But every time Tezuka tried asking anything about Ryoma, the boy would deftly turn the conversation elsewhere. The skill with which Ryoma could shift the direction of a conversation was so uncannily impressive that Tezuka was tempted to think that the boy was something of a politician or a courtier.

Tezuka hesitated, but after a moment gently added, "…if you want to ask about me, Ryoma, then go ahead."

Ryoma looked up at him, face blank, but eyes flickering within warring emotions and thoughts too fast for Tezuka too read. Truly, Ryoma was an enigma for him, one that he has yet to solve.

"Then tell me about your birth."

"…my birth?" echoed the mage.

"My father used to tell me that I embellished tales about my own birth and told it to whomever would lend an ear," Ryoma said. Tezuka saw a flicker of wistfulness flit over the boy's countenance. "You see, all children mythologize their birth. It is a universal trait. You want to know someone? Heart, mind, and soul? Ask him to tell you about when he was born. What you get won't be the truth; it will be a story. And nothing is more telling than a story."

The mage faintly stared at Ryoma for a heartbeat, and then turned his face up towards the moonlit sky. Starlight washed over their forms, bathing them in pale silvery blue light. From the neighboring cherry blossom trees were petals flitting down, entangled in a slow dance with the gentle breeze.

Tezuka began. Weaving a tale was something he has not done for a long time, but for Ryoma, he would try once more. "The village would always remember that rainy day almost two decades ago, when Kiyoe and her husband Kouji came back from Luft, the central city. People would look back and remember the endlessness of the rain on the day the strong child was born. It was a difficult birth, for on the stroke of six, just as the baby was born, hadn't the mother passed away, out of this world and into the next? So if the weather had been fine, and if the doctor had been earlier, and if the travel had not been rough…"

Ryoma gently caressed the back of Tezuka's hand with his thumb, eyes focused on the mage. Full attention was given and taken.

"And if, and if, and if. Such thinking is pointless. Kiyoe had died on that rainy night, and Kunimitsu was brought forth. Villagers would often say that it was a sacrifice for the birth of a strong child, but there always is a doubt," Tezuka paused, eyes locking with Ryoma's. He reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair away from those golden eyes. "Kunimitsu is a strong name granted only a strong child, a child that would become the beacon of light to guide the way. Such foolish beings humans can become in desperation. For could they have not acted on their own instead of seeking the guidance of a mere child?

"But as it is, that is how it came to be. The child grew under the tutelage of his father, a righteous and smart man with a kind heart and a pair of gentle hands. The child grew to love and to be loved by many. Coveted by the village, however, it spelled trouble when the Monastery mages came. Refusing to give up the child, the argument turned into a fight, and the fight turned into a skirmish. In the end, overwhelmed by magic and the casualties, the village — or what remained of it — reluctantly gave up the child. It was then that the child lost sight of his purpose, for not only had his father and mentor died, but the very reason of his existence was giving him up."

Ryoma gently rested his head against Tezuka's shoulder.

"Is the child still lost?" he asked faintly.

A tale weaved was a truth embellished. It was roundabout, but was their relationship not such as well? Silence once more settled between the two of them, and a feeling of warm contentment could not be repressed.

"…the child has been wandering inside a never-ending maze," Tezuka said, voice as low as a faint whisper of the wind. "But one day, he opens a door, and he sees golden firelight within the darkness. And suddenly, the maze is no longer a maze, but a garden. It is still confusing, as it should be, but there is beauty. And the child figures being lost is not that bad after all, for in the core of this confusion, he has found a treasure worth the while."

-

It should not have been a surprise, Tezuka mused much later, when he had received the rumors of a section of the Monastery wards cracking. The Monastery wards were mysterious pillars of magic that supported the kingdom's wards. They were hellishly strong, and even the strongest mage could not compete. Perhaps if the clan that bore the endless strength were still alive, a mage would be able to. But ifs were pointless. The wards had cracked, and this was a big problem — not only for the Monastery, but for the entire kingdom collectively.

He had confirmed with Fuji, Sanada, and Tachibana earlier — the three of them had apparently heard the words straight from Yukimura's lips. If anything, that was a huge guarantee of credibility; Yukimura Seiichi, Fuji's first clan cousin, was a magistrate-in-training for the Monastery, and as such was privy to information that would otherwise be for certain ears only.

Sighing absently, he carded gentle fingers through a napping Ryoma's hair. The curious green tinge was ever-present; Tezuka smiled.

"So mysterious," Tezuka murmured into the soft hair. "Ryoma… each day I wonder and ponder, but you are one mystery I cannot seem to solve." Fingers gently grazed an aristocratic jaw line. "But perhaps I do not need to."

Somewhere within himself, perhaps he had always known. The Monastery wards were crumbling because he had opened that old oak door. His heart was filling because he had opened that old oak door. A kingdom for a heart; it was an uneven trade. Tezuka, had he been his previous self, would without a shadow of a doubt exchange his own well-being for the kingdom. But he was not.

He pressed a soft kiss to the boy's temple, lips lingering over warm pale skin. He sighed once more, looking back up at the moon. "I shall keep my promise, Ryoma. If you wish to stay within these quarters, then you shall. I will make a way…"

Had he looked back down, he would have seen a single tear land upon faintly smiling lips.

-

Faintly, very faintly, Tezuka wondered if Eiji's statement held truth. Glancing over to his forever smiling companion, he sighed.

'Fuji is an omen of bad luck! A talisman that attracts negative energies!'

Indeed, he was.

Tezuka was methodically shortening his work and sleeping hours in favor for researching the Monastery wards. So far, Ryoma's bookshelves were proving far more useful than the royal and court libraries, and he found this unnervingly odd. It was as if that room of Ryoma's was bent on giving him — them — whatever they needed, whenever they needed.

Ryoma began exuding very slight and almost invisible signs of anxiousness and stress ever since Tezuka had given the news of cracks in the Monastery wards. Had Tezuka been a normal person, he would not have noticed Ryoma's underlying strange behavior. But he was not a normal person; he was a mage. He could feel the subtle fluctuations of Ryoma's magic, the bursts of uncontrolled energy fueled by reservoirs of emotion.

His theory was confirmed and now became truth before his eyes. The Monastery wards had cracked when he had opened the door, and Ryoma himself knew it.

But he never questioned the boy, and the boy never questioned him.

They spent their time as they normally would, with a few additions. Tezuka would arrive and bring Ryoma food, keep him company. They would talk each other into the night — topics were endless, boundless. And then Ryoma would yawn and tug Tezuka into his squishy couch, cocooning himself in warmth as he slept on the mage's lap. Tezuka would resume his research, occasionally bringing books back to his room for further perusing after he would leave a bleary Ryoma in bed.

Every early morning, he would place a soft kiss on the boy's forehead, or on his temple, or on the crown of his head — something to bid the boy a deep sleep with pleasant dreams until they would meet again that night. Tezuka would then catch four to five hours of sleep, enough to go on for the day. Strangely enough, he felt energized. Sleeping less did not seem to bother him for as long as he could see and be with Ryoma.

But right that moment, Tezuka was somehow tempted to think that he was hallucinating from severe lack of sleep. For what other explanation would be able to account for the King's presence within the Monasteries, just when he had planned his attempt on mending the ward's cracks? It was far too much for a coincidence, and there was the fact that coincidences did not exist in any reality.

Frowning at a seemingly clueless Fuji, he heaved a sigh. He would have to put it off until later this afternoon, after the King left. There were no two ways about it; he would not – could not – resist being detected.

The ceremony to call blessings upon the King and the royal family went forth, and Tezuka diligently performed his tasks. His control of his magic seemingly improved over the past few weeks more than the norm, and he found unexpected ease in doing things that would have drained him before. He did not know if this was also in part of his meeting with Ryoma, but if it was, then he was thankful.

The thought of Ryoma brought a faint smile upon his lips, and he could not help but be anxious for the smiling face once more.

Just a few more hours…

Unbeknownst to the mage, sharp grey eyes were watching him.

-

"Yuushi," he faintly murmured, shedding his outer robes and sinking into his couch.

A faint sigh was the mage's answer. "What is it this time, Keigo?"

Keigo chose to ignore the exasperation within his friend's tone and accepted the proffered glass of fine white wine. "Do you remember the name of that brown-haired mage earlier? The one with the glasses and frozen expression."

"Tezuka-kun," Yuushi answered. "What of him?"

"Tezuka, you say?"

"A strong one from a remote but rather large village in the Northern provinces. He was drafted almost ten years ago." Yuushi reclined against his own seat.

"I feel Ryoma around him," muttered Keigo, closing his eyes. His voice was a notch above a whisper, but it carried to Yuushi's ears — these words were only for Yuushi's ears. "I feel him, Yuushi. Somewhere, he is alive…"

Eyes darkened.

"Well. We will have to remedy that, will we not?" the mage said into the silent night, waving his hand back and forth before the crackling fire. The flames danced to his beat. "An unlucky fellow Tezuka-kun is. Having garnered your attention, he is in for quite a ride."

"You have it the other way around, my faithful friend." Keigo's lips curved into a smile. An elegant hand adorned with a blood red ruby ring lifed the wineglass for a sip. "He should be honored to hold the interest of the King."