City of the Wind
Kia Ixari
(Revised 2009 Feb)

IV.

"For the day is you

And the light is you

The sun is you

And the spring is you."

Gentle words spoken in soft tones lingered in the magic-ridden air as Ryoma shifted in the embrace. He looked up at the mage, a smile — that special smile — pulling at the edges of his lips. The book in his hands were weightless, the pages from which he had been reading yellowing in age.

"More?" he asked silently.

Tezuka chuckled. "That is quite enough." The mage lifted his fingers and traced it over Ryoma's eyebrow, brushing aside several strands of hair. "You have already exhausted the book."

A small hint of doubt crossed the golden eyes. "Are you sure? You were quite agitated when you arrived earlier. I could read more poems for you…"

"I am fine now, Ryoma," Tezuka insisted, leaning forward slightly and placing a soft kiss on the boy's nose. The little nose crinkled as lips brushed over it. "Thank you."

Gently, Tezuka took the book from Ryoma's hands and closed it, placing it upon the table. He then shifted Ryoma on his lap, his arms wrapping around the boy's frame. There was a pause of silence, and the world paused with them. The magic, however, did not; for magic was eternal, and it never did end — neither in life, nor in death.

Ryoma's fingers curled into the soft cloth of Tezuka's robes, communicating words unspoken. Six moons had already passed since they first met. Short and fleeting though it was, the time given was enough for them to establish a bond — a bond strong enough that it echoed even within their magic.

Into the realm of dreams, their magic would draw them together. During the day, when Tezuka was at work and Ryoma was asleep, their magic would reach out. At night, when they spent their time together, the bond would strengthen and the magic would blend – blend in bright swirls of color, and they would breathe the same breath.

"Kunimitsu?"

"Hmm?"

A hand settled over the mage's chest. "I will be right beside you." No matter what you are facing, I will be right beside you.

Tezuka leans down and places a soft kiss upon the boy's forehead. "…I know." Thank you.

-

The first was on that night, the first of his many kisses Ryoma would crave. It was a subdued night, for Tezuka was agitated about something he would never know. Having already exhausted several books of poems in hopes that his voice would comfort Tezuka the way his mother's voice comforted him when he was little, he was tired. But he did not mind. If it was for Tezuka, he did not mind.

The warm embrace was even warmer that night, and it was as if the mage was afraid to let him go. Tezuka had been early, and they had spent time watching the gradually deepening dusk that seamlessly became the night. The stars were out, but they were not enough to light up the sky, for the moon was nowhere to be found.

After having read poems to his mage, he stood and played the piano, urging the gentle melodies to help him soothe Tezuka's worries. Perhaps it was something about his work, or perhaps it was something with his comrades he would sometimes speak quite fondly about — Ryoma really did not know.

But he did not need to know.

All he needed was the mage's presence. All he needed was Tezuka. He did not need anything else.

He made sure the notes were gentle on Tezuka's ear, playing songs of old he had learned from his mother. However long it was ago, he still remembered the blissfully innocent days he spent with his family. And to him, it only seemed fitting that these precious notes were played for Tezuka's ears.

Tezuka came to him, kept him company. Tezuka comforted him, became his strength, his pillar of life. Tezuka became the very thing he lived for, and as each day passed, Ryoma found himself looking forward to the moment when the sun would fall below the horizon and the moon would rise to take its place — when the loneliness he had grown to covet would fade away and love would take its place.

Arms gently came to wrap around him, but his fingers never stalled. "The song is beautiful."

"Isn't it?" he smiled. "My mother would often sing it to me. Unfortunately, I no longer remember the words to the song." His fingers paused over the keys, and he leaned to look at Tezuka. "Would you play for me, Kunimitsu?"

Tezuka faintly smiled. "If you wish me to. But not tonight, Ryoma."

"Why?" the boy frowned. "Why do you need to leave so early? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Tezuka was quick to ease the boy's worries. "No, Ryoma, you did not. I just have something very important to attend to early tomorrow morning. Will you forgive me?"

Never before. Never before had Tezuka shortened their time together for work. Never before had Tezuka returned to his quarters earlier than normal — the time they spent, after all, was beyond special.

Something very important…? More important than —

Ryoma stood wordlessly, took Tezuka's hand, and led him to the door. As if knowing the mage was to leave, the old oak door opened on its own accord, and the darkness of the night threatened to seep into the room. Tezuka stepped out into the hallway.

"You will come back for me tomorrow?" Ryoma implored. You have to come back for me. Please.

"I will," Tezuka immediately answered with naught but pure certainty. Leaning down, he drew Ryoma into a hug. Ryoma felt the tingle of magic as he stepped out of the room, but he chose to ignore it. "I will come back for you. Always. That is a promise."

Gently, Tezuka placed a hand behind Ryoma's head and leaned forward. As soon as their lips were against each other, a flurry of power swirled about the two of them. Ryoma wound his arms around Tezuka's neck, never wanting to let go. Fleeting as it was, the time they had spent with each other meant more than anything else for him. No longer could he imagine how life was before Tezuka; there was only now, and them.

The mage gently released the boy, whispering, "Goodnight, Ryoma. Sleep well." The boy refused to untangle his arms around the mage's neck. One more kiss, Ryoma wanted one more kiss.

But Tezuka was already gone into the night.

Tomorrow. You have to come back tomorrow. You promised.

-

In the end, Tezuka failed to lull himself into sleep. He tossed restlessly in his bed all night, unable to drive away the heaviness resting within his chest, the anxiety gnawing away at his peace, like fire devouring delicate paper. Had he known it would be like this, he would never have left Ryoma behind. He would have stayed and whiled away the night listening to Ryoma's voice, to the melodies the boy would play.

Closing his eyes tightly, he felt his agitated magic call out for its other half. Though still incomplete, Tezuka could already see where the magical bond was taking them. Far stronger than a marital bond, the magic recognized two matched souls and started forging a soul bond without either of them having to spur it into a start.

Lost within the confines of his mind, he barely noticed Fuji and Oishi fall into step beside him. "—zuka? Are you alright?"

Tezuka gently shook his head. "Ah, sorry. I was spacing out."

"I noticed," Fuji remarked with raised eyebrows.

"You should get more sleep, Tezuka. Perhaps you could take naps through breaks? You seem stressed," Oishi voiced his worry.

"Maa, Oishi, anybody would be stressed under the same conditions," Fuji smiled. "After all, it is not everyday that the King himself requests personal audience."

Tezuka minutely flinched at the mention of the day's highlight. Being summoned by the King was an honor anybody would be more than glad to partake — anybody, that is, who has not done what Tezuka has.

He could not be blamed. For how could things be any other way? Repairing the cracked wards was something Tezuka did not even need to think about before doing. There was no hesitation, no falter in his steps. He knew what he had to do, and he finished the job without flaw. That was his principle. After the ritual, the wards were perfect, as if there had been no crack at all.

Had he not done so, Tezuka knew that Ryoma would now be gone. There would no longer be nights within their sanctuary, the old room with the grand piano and the dust-clogged shelves and the bed Ryoma would lay in. There would no longer be walks in the garden beside the fireflies and the cherry blossoms. There would no longer be red sashes tied around pillars in the patio. There would no longer be life. There would no longer be love.

He had something to protect, thus, he did what he could to protect it.

But of course, one must wonder why Tezuka does not want to see the King. If he had repaired the kingdom's wards single-handedly without any outside help, then he was no doubt an asset to the Monastery — a strong and ideal mage. The King would want to honor him, recognize his skills, for the King himself had a proficient hand at magic.

Tezuka knew this. By repairing the wards, Tezuka knew that he had not done wrong in the eyes of the King. However, Ryoma —

"Tezuka Kunimitsu, Mage of the Monasteries," a bespectacled young man welcomed him. Oshitari Yuushi — the First Royal Advisor. Behind him, both Fuji and Oishi bowed and left, having accompanied Tezuka up to the castle's doors, which was as far as they were allowed to go. "The King awaits you in the Royal Libraries."

What is it that allows human beings to see through each other's pretendings? For Tezuka understood quite clearly in that moment that Yuushi was quite anxious. Perhaps emotions have a smell or a taste, or perhaps it is the magic that warns.

The silence swallowed footfalls, and muffled the opening and closing doors as the advisor led Tezuka through rooms and hallways. There was no magic behind the silence, however — it was the soft-furnishings that did it. Overstuffed sofas were piled with velvet and cushions; there were upholstered footstools, chaise loungues and armchairs; tapestries hung on the walls and were used as throws over upholstered furniture. Every floor was carpeted, every carpet overlaid with rugs.

Just as blotting paper absorbs ink, so all this wool and velvet absorbed sound, with one difference: where blotting paper takes up only the excess, the fabric of the house seemed to suck in the very essence of the words the people spoke.

Very fitting for the royal castle, Tezuka thought. No other place would have as much secrets — except, perhaps, the Monastery towers.

Soon, Tezuka and Yuushi were stepping into the Royal Libraries, where only royalty and members of the royal council were allowed. Certain sections were closed off and reserved only for the eyes of the King. Rumors were that the very secret of the kingdom's birth — an event no one else but the main royal family and the few special clans knew about in certainty — was inscribed on the walls of a certain room inside the very same library Tezuka was currently standing in.

Tezuka's first impression was of the room as a whole, and it struck him by the marked difference from the rest of the house. The other rooms were thick with the corpses of suffocated words; in the library, one could breathe. Instead of being shrouded in fabric, it was a wide chamber made of wood, roomy and with plenty of air supply. There were floorboards underfoot, shutters at the tall windows, and the walls were lined with solid oak shelves.

It was a high room. On one side five arched windows reached from ceiling almost to floor; at their base window seats had been installed. Facing them were five similarly shaped mirrors, positioned to reflect the view and light from outside. The bookshelves extended from the walls and into the rooms, forming bays; in each recess an amber-shaded lamp was placed on a small table. At night, apart from the fire at the far end of the room, this was the only lighting, and it would create soft, warm pools of illumination at the edge of which rows of books would melt into darkness.

"Mage Tezuka Kunimitsu," an arrogant but nonetheless gentle drawl came from one of the window seats nearby. Tezuka turned to find himself gazing upon a young man no older than he was, with dark grey hair and commanding grey eyes reflecting the very making of a great king.

Immediately falling to one knee, Tezuka bowed his head. "Your Majesty."

Behind him, Yuushi stood with arms crossed behind his back. Face devoid of any emotion, he made the very picture of the trustworthy advisor and right hand.

"Generally, I dislike dishonest people," the King sighed, eyes looking through the window. "Why say something that contradicts your real feelings? Why bow when you show no sign of surrender?" Turning his head, he finally regarded Tezuka with sharp eyes. "There is no need to bow before me. Rise. I know you are not a naturally dishonest person; do not make yourself so."

Having only heard rumors about the King, Tezuka did not really know what to expect. As he rose from his bow, his eyes met the King's. Said King smirked faintly, and Tezuka could not help but be reminded of Ryoma.

Something flickered within the King's grey eyes. Tezuka watched as the young man before him turned back to the book he held within his hands. "Do you like to read, Tezuka?"

Tezuka nodded. "Yes, I do." And then, catching himself, Tezuka added, "Your Majesty."

Chuckling, the King closed the book and chose to ignore Tezuka's slip in good humor. "Well, of course you would. You are a mage, after all. It is part of your duties. I imagine all mages like to read."

"I beg to differ, Your Majesty," Tezuka wryly said. "I have a few people in mind who are terribly prejudiced against having to stay put and read even just half a decent book."

"Really now," King Atobe drawled, elegantly raising an eyebrow. He gently replaced the book upon the table, and Tezuka could not help but catch the familiar title: Tales of Change and Desperation — it was one of Ryoma's favored books. "…once long ago, I knew a certain person who was prejudiced against books himself. That is, until I managed to wheedle him into reading — for I am quite aware that the young me would have been absolutely irresistible that time."

Yuushi suppressed a cough from behind Tezuka, and received a somewhat playful glare from the King.

"And this person," King Atobe continued after successfully silencing his advisor, "still had some interesting things to say even after I had made him admit into liking books and reading. I remember the words quite clearly. He had said that readers are fools."

Tezuka's eye narrowed the fraction of a millimeter.

"He said that readers are fools, that readers believe all writing is autobiographical. And so it is, but not in the way they think. And these words surprised me, for then this person was naught but a child. He had said that readers were foolish for believing everything the writer says."

A memory flashed into Tezuka's consciousness.

Ryoma leaned against his shoulder as they sat under the tree with firelight beside them as their reading light. The book was open upon the boy's lap, but he was not reading from it. "Don't you think readers are fools, Tezuka?"

Interest piqued, Tezuka asked, "How so?"

"Well, they all believe that everything a writer writes speaks about the writer himself. And it does, sure, but not always in the way people think." Gently reaching for the mage's hand, Ryoma asked, "Do you disagree?"

Tezuka coiled their fingers together, watching Ryoma's bared toes fiddle with a flower at his foot. "…not quite, no. In fact, I think that is how it always is in life."

"Really."

"Mm. We think things to be one way, but fail to see that it is actually not so. The world is full of illusions, and to live within it, we must either learn to avoid these illusions and accept reality, or we must learn how to live within an illusion of a life."

"Interesting words," Tezuka spoke softly, carefully. "But I do not think the reader can help it if he believes in the writer's words. For is that not what makes a story real? The belief of a reader is what a writer aims for. It is a talent to be able to pull a person into the magical power of story."

"True, true," King Atobe chuckled. "But Ryoma was never a gullible child from the beginning, no. He was always the hardest to convince into things. No, Yuushi?"

Tezuka froze.

Nodding, Yuushi said, "I do not think Ryoma would have believed in magic at all had there not been live demonstrations done in front of his very disbelieving eyes."

"Ryoma…" Tezuka began. "…is the name of this person?"

"Yes," the King nodded, eyes returning to gaze upon Tezuka. There was a weight behind those eyes now, a weight that Tezuka had either missed or was not there before. "Echizen Ryoma is the name of my childhood friend. Is the name familiar, Mage Tezuka? Perhaps you might know where we can find him?"

-

Anxiously, Ryoma waited for his mage's return. He had forced himself into sleep, hoping that he would meet the mage within the realm of dreams, but when he woke within the misty plane of whiteness, he was alone. Consequently, he had forced himself into wakening, and since then his eyes had yet to catch a single blink of blissful sleep.

But the boy could care less.

He was waiting for his mage. His mage had promised. Promised —

There was a knock on the door.

Shooting up from the comfort of his bed and blankets, he did not bother to pull on his outer robes. His magic reached for the old oak door and opened it to reveal a tired yet faintly smiling Tezuka. He ran and wrapped his arms around the mage's torso, clutching for dear life.

"Ryoma," Tezuka faintly chided. "You will catch a cold."

A muffled 'I don't care' came from where Ryoma's face was buried against Tezuka's day robes. It was early, just approaching dusk; Ryoma was glad. Gently, arms reciprocated and wrapped around him. He was led into the room, and the old oak door closed with a soft thud, the lock clicking into place by magic.

He felt Tezuka shift, and a blanket was suddenly draped around his shoulders. His inner robe was only a sleeping robe; it was light and made of white silk, tied around at the waist. The thinness was intended for full comfort at night, but it was not made for everyday use without the outer robes, for though it was made of fine silk, it was quite delicate. Often in his childhood, Ryoma would be scolded for tearing his sleeping robes. Though it was dark, he was fond of sneaking about the house at nighttime. The day after, however, would be a day confined to bed with an awful cough and a running nose.

"Were you lonely?" Tezuka muttered as he sat on the bed and gathered the boy into his lap. He pressed the first of the many kisses of that evening against a smooth forehead. "Forgive me."

Ryoma leaned up, curled an arm around Tezuka's neck, and placed a soft kiss at the edge of the mage's mouth. "Where were you?"

"The King called for me today," Tezuka said in honest.

Ryoma's eyes flickered. "The King?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He had some questions to ask," Tezuka explained. He drew a finger over Ryoma's eyebrow, pushing away the worry etched there.

"About the wards. About why you repaired them."

"Mm."

Tezuka was noncommittal about the matter, and Ryoma found it strange. Strange and annoying. "Kunimitsu."

"Mm?"

"You know I generally dislike dishonest people," Ryoma scowled.

Something flashed behind Tezuka's eyes — humor, surprise, a mixture of the two. The mage smiled down at him. "It is nothing to worry about, love." Tezuka leaned forward to place butterfly kisses upon Ryoma's eyebrow and temple, as if to comfort the boy.

Ryoma sighed in resignation. He rested his forehead against Tezuka's, looking the mage straight in the eyes. "Everything is fine?"

"Everything is fine," the mage repeated with conviction.

Ryoma looked into those eyes he had grown to love, and found nothing but the truth. "…alright. If you say so." He leaned forward for another kiss, and this time, he was well met. Lips pressed against his gently, lovingly. Hands held him close, flattening against his back. He could feel the heat of Tezuka's hands through his silk robes as he pulled back for air and then dove in for more.

Gently, he pushed Tezuka's shoulder down, until they were reclined on the bed. He lifted his head and looked down at Tezuka.

"Are we not going too fast?" Tezuka silently asked, arching upwards to place kisses on Ryoma's bared neck. At times, on especially peaceful nights, they would touch and embrace, savoring the heat. But they never really went further than the stolen kisses and caresses.

Tezuka shifted weight and rolled them over. Ryoma smiled up at him, that smile that would always unfailingly disarm the mage. Hands lifted to cup Tezuka's face.

"All I need is a promise, Kunimitsu. Promise me you will always be here for me."

"Always. I promise."

"Then it's fine." Under the fading sunset, Ryoma's eyes danced happily with contentment and bliss. He once more smiled up at Tezuka, a smile of pure happiness. "I love you."

-

-

"…and he who gazes towards the stars will never again be quite alone."