Hi to all of you who are still following this story, and thanks to all you regulars who posted your reviews. I know it's been some time since I updated. Illness and the passing of a loved one brought a halt to my writing, but I have managed to get back to it and assure you I will continue with this story. Thank you all for your patience and understanding. To give you all some incentive to look forward to more chapters, I have posted a short chapter.
Love and darkness
Part Eighteen
A sad reunion of two princes
Leaving his judiciary aides to complete their work of cataloging files in his office, Enma sought the privacy of the adjoining lounge, opening the doors to the terrace before seating himself heavily. Sipping the tea Jujiro poured for him, he shook his head, a habitual gesture he made unconsciously during periods of anxiety. Thanking his butler, he waited until the man withdrew before he clicked his tongue in irritation over the outcome of his Shinigami's mission to capture Muraki and Mibu. He grunted, musing…
Muraki and Mibu… it somehow seems inappropriate… to think of them as such… now that I know who they truly are… Kazutaka… Kazutaka Shimahara… how imprudent and vainglorious of me to think my people could subdue you, the Eighth Prince of the First Family of the heavens, no less…
Had the failed mission not weighed so heavily on his shoulders as the team of Shinigami had stood before him, he might have laughed at the sorry state they had been in. Except for Seiichiro and Masaru, the rest had been cringing, Asato wincing at the sound of his king's knuckles cracking at one point. Although outwardly unruffled, the captain of the Specials had been thoroughly deflated, and as Enma pulled at the stubble on his chin, he conjectured it was probably a good thing for Masaru to have experienced a dent in his over-inflated ego.
His thoughts strayed to a pale elfin face, messy golden tresses, and Enma frowned, concerned by Yutaka Watari's appearance. His distress had been due to an entirely different reason than fear of a rebuke from his king. Enma shivered involuntarily. There, in those golden eyes, he had glimpsed that once familiar haunted aspect, hints of ancient hurt, sorrow and rage…
'Little monk'… what has awakened you?
From the vast rooms of his memory, a man hovered in Enma's inner vision, the fearless warrior, standing straight-backed in the Great Hall of Judgment, a man who had become a legend while still living… the deep scar across his face, an obvious clue to his vocation, was his badge of honor. Even in his simple, ankle-length gray tunic, the garb of all the newly dead, he was the very embodiment of chivalric valor. Even when on his knees, broken and sobbing, he was glorious… the warrior who had won lucrative territories for his liege… the vassal seemed more noble than his daimyo who loafed in the comfort and safety within his castle… a man who always led the charge at the head of his army… the mere sight of him on his faithful steed, a magnificent bay war-horse, man and beast moving in perfect synchronicity at full battle charge, both giving voice to their battle cries, was enough to strike terror in the hearts of his adversaries, many fleeing and scattering before that deadly sword held aloft by that left hand could cut them down… a man whose charisma and courage infected those who served under him, displacing the fear of imminent battle and death that gripped his men before an offensive with bravery, inflaming them to readily lay down their lives for him in battle.
So strong was the state of his soul that his form had been solid…
"Toshizo Matsumura, why do you weep? Is it because you took your own life? And had you done so out of guilt from all those who perished by your sword?"
When Matsumura remained silent and toppled, his body curling on the floor of the Great Hall, his head thrashing from side to side, flailing as though he were being flogged, the magistrate in charge of his case pressed him…
"Speak, answer, Matsumura! May I remind you of whose court you are in! You are in the presence of Enma Dai-Oh…"
With supernatural speed and flurry, Enma sprung from his throne carved out of black basalt and glided like a great black eagle to cover the span of steps in front of it and descended amidst gasps from the magistrate and Matsumura's sentinel and advocate, both of whom had rushed to their charge's side when he had fallen to the floor.
"General Matsumura is well aware of where he is, Magistrate Saiga," admonished Enma benignly, but cast his glowing eyes at him to forestall more of Saiga's objections.
The two women, sentinel and advocate, respectfully moved away when Enma's feet settled close to the recumbent figure. There came soft murmurs and choked sobs from Toshizo, his shaking fingers reaching for the hem of Enma's robe.
"Great Majesty… the pain in my heart is unbearable… I was… I was the cause of altering the course of another's life… he… he should have lived a life of goodness, purity… and prayer, surrounded by others of his ilk, the tonsured devout. But, because of me, he cast away his prayer beads and took up the sword… he should have worn unsullied white robes perfumed with the incense of a temple, not the trappings of a warrior, stained with blood… Oh, Akio… little monk… forgive me… forgive me…"
"You have a story to tell, Toshizo. Here I am, to patiently listen. Perhaps, in the telling of it, your pain might lessen."
Enma lifted a hand, and two chairs floated over to the king.
When Toshizo came to the end of his tale, he covered his face with his hands and shuddered, overcome by misery.
"I will go to the place of purgatory willingly, for every life cut down by the sword I wielded. Yes, the chastisements I'll readily face, for taking my own life. But, for the tragedy of Akio, there can be no sufficient punishment. I have no plea for myself, Lord Enma, but I have one for Akio… I implore thee, extend your hand of mercy when his time of standing here in your presence comes… please, he was not to blame…"
Enma hadn't the heart to tell the general that while they had conversed, a pair of his Shinigami had been dispatched on a mission to retrieve the soul of his lieutenant – Akio, the Two-blade Terror of only one name, a legend in his own right, a ghost haunting the grave of the man who sat on the chair facing Enma's…
Enma gave himself a shake to rouse himself out of his memories and bring his thoughts back to the present.
I would have gone myself, but just as O-Ran is bound by the laws of heaven, so are mine, by the laws of hell… the Lord of Hades has no jurisdiction in the mortal world… I am the king of the dead… by sending my Shinigami to nab those two, yet living, was in itself a breach of the laws of Hades… but how could I refuse O-Ran? Oh, I have broken my own rules several times in the past when innocent mortals were at the mercy of particularly troublesome demons and spirits, so why should I be concerned now, especially when all of O-Ran's hopes were riding on the success of that mission… Isao's too… and Sanae's…
Another one! Oriya Mibu, a scion of the gods, son of the First Sword and Shield! An infant who had nursed at the bosom of the Empress…
Once more, Enma clicked his tongue irritably.
Damn! I had that one, right here under my nose! But it would not have been proper to detain him here…
The king was fidgeting now. An afterimage of the emperor's face, his voice quavering, on the verge of tears, O-Ran had recounted to him how the hybrid children had come into being. Quietly, Enma had listened and learned that besides Asato, Kazutaka and Oriya, more, many more had been born… the sanction, prohibiting the deities from stepping foot in the mortal world had been enforced… the great exodus of the hybrids from the heavens…
"That child was the last of them, of the children born out of love between beings of two separate worlds… on him, my grandchild, rests all the fervent hopes of my Isao… the other is my grandchild as well, by reason of Hatate's adoption of Sanae…
"He had been pulled forth from his mother's body by Hatate's own hands…
"Her devotion to Sanae and her child are unfathomably deep… as with Sanae's period of infancy, the milk flowed from her when Oriya was born, and she nursed him during his mother's absences…"
Black eyes fell upon the thick tome lying on the table, and Enma murmured, "A timely excuse to pay the Prince Royal a visit, now that young Kurosaki has managed to procure the first volume."
His hands hovered above the book, but Enma refrained from touching it – so delicate a thing it seemed, worn, browned and frayed by the passage of time. Carefully, he re-wrapped the heavy book in the length of silk it rested upon.
"Now where did I put volume two…?"
Perhaps he was a sappy romantic at heart, but… he was no fool. He knew, had known, however subliminally, ever since the man shrinking in front of him, back against the wall, had burst into Enma's hall, wearing his heart on his sleeve, that Asato Tsuzuki was in love.
Silently, he railed at the workings of fate, cursing them, as though fate was a whimsical trickster who delighted in the suffering of those it had singled out for its entertainment, laughing wickedly as the hearts of the lovelorn were toyed with. Yes, he thought bitterly, the hearts of sentient creatures were merely the playthings of fate, handled so carelessly, broken, then tossed aside and forgotten. The battles for Kazutaka Muraki's soul, and likely Oriya Mibu's as well, were struggles playing out amid strivings of the heart, he philosophized sadly.
As quickly as it had flared, Seiichiro Tatsumi's desire subsided. While mentally reciting the precepts of his training to gracefully accept Asato's choice, he took hold of his arm firmly and pulled him against his chest. The head of soft mahogany hair settled on his right shoulder, a place dedicated for the pillowing of it years ago. Who better to understand him than he, he thought, feeling the smaller form lose its hesitance and reluctance, feeling arms moving, fingers clutching at the fabric of his overcoat.
"I… I'm sorry… Seiichiro… I've been so selfish… I know you love me, that you've loved me since we first met… but I couldn't-"
"Ah, but you do, Asato… you love me… how could you not love me… your elder brother?"
Tsuzuki, his eyes wide and blinking, was incapable of forming words to express his feelings, of wonderment, gratitude and contentment. Held upright by Seiichiro's arms, he could not sink to the floor, overwhelmed in the face of such grace, to weep tears of relief and happiness. He could only sigh and whisper, "Arigato… arigato… onii-san…"
These simple words filled Seiichiro, sated him and swelled his heart. Throughout the years of his life, a future yet to be lived out, he would always remember this moment, when he became a better man, a precious milestone when he truly became Asato Tsuzuki's elder brother. For all his life, he would embrace that title, honored and proud.
Gradually, the two became aware of their surroundings and heard the soft coquettish giggles of a quartet of women, gathered in front of a beverage vending machine, casting furtive glances at them.
Seiichiro smiled as he drew apart from the reddening Shinigami.
"It seems we've caused quite a stir. Some damage control is required."
Dipping his head, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies. It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of seeing you all. "Megumi, Kamegiku, " he said smoothly while approaching the group of sweeper agents, calling into service his legendary charms, "Chie, Gina, you all look as lovely as ever…"
Upon his arrival in the heavens, Enma's first stop was the residence of Masato Mikoto. There the harvest god's aide, Kohaku, received him.
"Lord Masato will see you shortly, great lord of the underworld. Allow me to show you to his private garden. You might enjoy viewing the blooms while you wait."
Before long, Kohaku returned to where Enma sat in an arbor. Sunlight penetrated the shady recess, peeping through tiny gaps in the overhead canopy made of leaves. Carrying a tray of refreshments, she seemed one of the very flowers that surrounded them, mused Enma, soft, delicate and fragrant she was. Tiny white Jasmine blossoms bedecked the long braids of her dark hair. The buds of her smiling lips were painted sparingly with pale Peony pink gloss. Her almond-shaped eyes shone with their aubergine hue – this eye color marked her as a Mikoto, all of the clan possessed eyes of purple shades. Studying her face, he saw similarities in its structure and features to Masato and his half-mortal son, confirming she was a relative of the two, even though her complexion was not pale like theirs, but the color of a walnut shell. This umber tone imbued Enma with warmth, as did almost everything in the heavens. Unlike those of the mortal and under worlds, the celestial skies turned pale shades of pink and vermilion even after the seven suns hid their dazzling faces below the horizons.
Kohaku, blushing faintly from Enma's appreciative scrutiny, poured him a glass of nectarine juice from a pitcher and placed a plate of sweet morsels beside it, before floating away dreamily, humming a tune softly. Left alone, his eyes roamed over the garden, enjoying the calming presence of uncountable flowers adorning plants both stunted and tall, bushes and creeping vines, their scents mixing together in a heady bouquet that quieted his anxiety. How truly marvelous, he thought, that in a realm of constant summer where no rains fell, such abundance sprung from the soil. He remembered his first visit to the heavens when his congenial guide, a laughing Masato, had answered his astonishment…
"The waters spring from the earth, Enma-kou, to feed the plants and trees, ornamental and food sources both, to form the oceans, ponds, lakes and waterfalls. They contain the essences of all our ancestors, who after having lived very long lives or for other reasons, have chosen to be assimilated by the elements of the realm, and are with us forever, communing with us in this eternal way, quenching us with sweet waters, caressing us with warm winds. They live on as well, in the moist, coiling mists of our nights, whispering to us with affectionate words and tender songs, nourishing and sustaining us with spiritual food for our long lifetimes, as long as we wish them to be."
Enma rose to his feet, having heard Masato's heartbeat before he saw him, stepping through the wooden archway and striding swiftly towards him, as fetching as his son, offering his welcome with soft voice and open arms.
"My apologies for making you wait, Enma-kou, but it could not be helped. I was spending some time sending solace to my devotees," he explained, drawing his chair closer to his guest's. "In an age of ever-advancing technology, alas, the gods are rapidly losing their place in the hearts and minds of the mortals. Many no longer need us, for they have all they need. Half of their world is blessed with plentiful comforts and so we, and heaven, have become nothing more than stuff of fables…"
Masato paused with a wistful look in his eyes of pastel purple while his visitor nodded his head in a gesture of understanding.
"In the past, mortals who depended on the soil for their livelihood would begin and end each day with prayer and thanksgiving to me. But now, agriculture is a large-scale business, sustained by efficient, modern machinery. It is to be expected," he continued, smiling as his eyes followed a pair of dainty butterflies, fluttering their buttercup-yellow wings prettily in the air around them, each one never straying far from the other as though an invisible thread bound them to each other, "that we have become redundant in a world where acquiring wealth, possessions and positions of power are such important goals. Those few that still call upon me are those who have not, for one reason or another, managed to keep up with the frantic race to success and the establishment of great fortunes…
"Oh, but I am rambling! Forgive me! What brings you to me, Tsurudo? Have you brought news of my son? Is he well?"
Enma's eyebrows lifted slightly at the use of his given name. He became self-conscious, reddening; seldom was he addressed as such, but he did not mind Masato's familiarity in the least, but was pleased.
"I don't mean to alarm you, but… you being his father, I am obliged to tell you… he is under a great deal of strain," Enma paused and steeled himself against the whitening visage before him, hoping desperately the god would not begin to weep, as those of his ilk were wont to do at the slightest provocation. They were not ones to hide behind masks of pretense, Enma knew all too well, and when overtaken by joy, they laughed until their eyes gave forth tears, and when upset or sad, water gushed from their eyes to run in streams down their smooth cheeks… so honest and open, unashamed of displaying their emotions, like children… His thoughts shifted to the emperor and he winced, in sympathy for the tremendous burdens he had to bear – the price of the bejeweled diadem gracing his handsome brow.
"What happened?"
Reluctantly, Enma looked at Masato's face and saw what he had been dreading. The god could not wipe them away fast enough; his tears fell too swiftly for that. The lord of Hades glimpsed Asato's face, in place of his father's, as it had looked during his long incarceration…
Raving and insane… he had torn the flesh at his wrists with his teeth, again and again… only to roar with rage when the wounds healed and closed almost immediately. His self-healing abilities served to further enrage and madden him; he was caught in a cruel and vicious cycle with no escape route… he was moved to a padded cell when he began bashing his head against the stone walls of his initial holding cell…
These were among many images that still made Tsurudo heartsick to this very day…
When he'd stepped into that cell for the first time, Asato had charged at him, a crazed creature gone mad in its cage, divested of all sense of self… his wild attacks were of no use, of course… like a beast that knew it could not overpower a larger and stronger prey, he shrank away from Enma, slunk into a corner, cowering and whimpering pitifully, making sounds that almost shredded Enma's heart. Thereafter, Enma went to him every day for months… talking to him in a gentle voice about every subject under the sun, while music Enma brought played softly in the background, read stories to him, coaxed him to drink and eat…
In the course of these visits, Asato would sit, mute and unmoving, in his favorite corner with his head bowed over his steepled legs, face shielded by his long matted hair. By way of miniscule movements of his body, Enma learned which stories and music affected him positively.
One day, he brought with him a pair of parakeets. Removing them from their cage, he put them on a table and fed them seeds, talking to them as if they were his friends. After a while, Asato stirred and crawled slowly to the table to peer at the birds. He shied away, scurrying back to his corner when Enma smiled at him and held out his hands to him, a bird in each. He left the birds there, and Enma's breath caught when he entered Asato's cell the next day. The inmate's hair was swept back from his face – it appeared he had groomed himself – revealing his astounding comeliness. A chirping bird stood on each shoulder as he offered them seeds. Another first, since his arrival in Meifu: half of the contents of his breakfast tray had been consumed.
The days passed, Enma never giving up on him, until the day those amethyst stones at last made contact and gave forth a deluge of tears. The king opened his arms to him, calling out his name softly. He waited, while the inmate's tears continued to flow, soaking the front of his tunic… one step, then another… Enma himself wept when his arms closed around the trembling body.
Weightless in his arms, Enma carried him out of his cell, causing a sensation in the hallway. The taming and rehabilitation of Asato Tsuzuki was almost complete, and the sight of the scrawny form nestled against their sovereign's visibly moved his sentinel and counselor.
Meanwhile, tongues had begun wagging affectionately in Meifu about how smitten their sovereign was with the notorious inmate with extraordinary strength and powers.
Asato was installed in comfortable quarters with his pet parakeets, filled with books and numerous items to amuse and occupy him. Enma was delighted to discover his charge was a formidable chess player and spent many a quiet and enjoyable evening pitting his skills against Asato's – quiet, very quiet, because the king had yet to hear him speak. During one of these matches, Enma had been studying the chessboard, carefully pondering his next move, when a voice startled him – meek, low and hesitant…
"Can I… may I, please… go out into the gardens, sir?"
Such a wonderful voice! Enma had swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty. "Of course you may, Asato…"
The next morning, when Enma came to his door to collect him, Asato announced timidly that he wished to set his pet birds free. As the two of them watched the birds fly off and settle to chirp happily on a tree branch, Enma's heart turned over when Asato whispered, "I wish it was possible… for my soul to become a bird… to fly away, soaring… over the green fields of young rice stalks, the snow-capped mountains, the oceans of deep and mysterious blues… and then, into the sun, become one with it, its fires melting me away into nothingness…"
"Enma-kou?"
He flushed at the sound of Masato's anxious voice and searching eyes and cleared his throat.
"Asato… is losing control of himself… and frankly, it worries me. Masato, you saw it… that day, in the great hall of Meifu, didn't you… his passion?"
"Yes. I saw it. He's mine, my beloved child. I merged with his mind… and felt it… his passion for Kazutaka."
"I fear for him greatly… Masato… if Kazutaka is lost…"
"No. I will not think of that… cannot think of that… I will not give up on hope… this hope is the only thing sustaining me… sustaining all of us of the Shimahara, Mikoto and Ueda clans. We became a single family when my sister wed Omayuwa-Ran; when Gintaro Ueda, one of the twin gods of love, took Midori Shimahara to wife. The emperor travails because he cannot, will not swoop down into the mortal domain on Yukihime's back with Nagi Harada to retrieve his lost grandsons and carry them back to us. Our whole realm travails along with his quaking heart. The hearts of Isao and Sanae are faltering, sinking into despair. Subjects yearn to see the face of the first prince, his dazzling eyes, prismatic when he laughed, yearn to hear once again his voice, when he stood upon Shirohana, the highest mountain in the heavens and sang, his songs reaching every ear in the kingdom…
"I spoke with Sanae this morning… she told me she had begged Junko to perform a divination to discern if her child would return to her… Junko acquiesced, to ease her suffering, and spoke these words: 'Your son, the Ninth Prince, will come home.'
"Junko's prophecy is our candle in the dark, and I will keep my sight fixed on its flame… when Oriya returns, surely his paramour will as well."
"When that happens, Masato, will you approach O-Ran concerning Asato?"
"Yes. I will make myself known to him and reveal his heritage to him and gather him close…"
Emotion choked off the harvest god's words. Enma reached for his hand and squeezed it.
"I will rejoice with you when that time comes to pass."
After the harvest god regained his composure, Enma asked, "Will you accompany me to call on Eijisho? I need to ask him about nameless one. When I described its form to O-Ran and inquired if he had knowledge of it, he grew agitated. Both he and Eiji seemed fearful at my revelations. Seeing the emperor at his wit's end and the cautionary signal transmitted to me by Eiji, I did not seek to probe further."
Masato was silent as Enma followed him into the field beyond, where tall stalks of grass rustled and swayed in the breeze. A shrill whistle brought Toshimaru, from seemingly out of nowhere, bobbing its head as it trotted towards its master. Enma saw the sleek beast's muscles rippling beneath its shiny ebony coat.
As soon as Enma was settled on the stallion's back behind Masato, it unfurled its sinewy black wings and lifted into the air, ascending higher and higher into the clouds…
He watched his lover of old slowly peel off his gloves and drop them on the camphor wood chest.
"One of yours, this house?"
The tiny flame of a chrome cigarette lighter lit the face of the man hidden in the shadows.
Disconcerted, he waited for an answer, hugging himself, shivering slightly, unable to advance further into the simply but comfortably appointed living room, remaining where he stood, just inside the doorway.
His eyes followed Kazutaka as he moved towards the western-style fireplace, where small kindling logs were piled neatly, ready to be set ablaze.
He shrugged, assuming that his question had not been heard, or perhaps Kazutaka simply did not want to answer him, and stared at the strong back, at the head tilting backwards, at the ascending wisps of cigarette smoke.
Immortal blood called to immortal blood… as it had when two young boys had smiled at each other for the first time…
Slowly, Kazutaka turned to face him, a corner of his mouth turned up. Behind him, flames suddenly flared in the hearth, startling Oriya. Within seconds, the wood was burning, red-hot, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.
"No. Just a place I rented… it's old, but I'm sure you'll find it quite comfortable. There are servants about in the daytime. Unless I want them to remain for the evenings, they'll return to their lodgings, in a little hamlet two miles south, down the hill."
So self-possessed the smooth low voice, the smile, and so comforting – Kazutaka's voice had always been a spell for Oriya. Whether the voice had been yelling, laughing, crying, tenderly whispering to him while they had made love, it had immense power over him. At times, he could only repeat certain of Kazu's words numbly, like a fool with no mind of its own. Whether it had been the voice of a deadly predator rambling on and on about some grand scheme, or that of a long-time companion conversing with him quietly, Oriya had not been able to break free of the hex – even now, he did not question it, but quietly accepted it. His memory painted a picture for him…
The shrine at Sagano… perched on a boulder, smoking his pipe… gazing at his beloved's profile, Kazu's eyes turned skyward… following that elusive gaze… the sky had been blue-black satin stitched with diamonds that night… his heart was heavier than it ever had been… he tried hard not to be affected by what Kazu was saying and turned to look at the flickering candlelight among the numerous stones, candles lit for the souls of those who had died very young… suddenly the soliloquy came to an abrupt end…
"If I should not return, my love, light a candle for me here, once a year. Find a stone and write my name on it – just one name – 'Kazu'... the name you call me by. Dampen the stone with your tears when you remember me… I too died very young. My body has continued to exist, but… I died… a long time ago…"
He remembered gasping and rising to his feet, in shock, feeling pain in every inch of his body… sudden rage overtaking him…
"You enjoy this do you?! Tormenting me like this?! Damn you! Damn you!"… Shocked again, seeing Kazu's face suddenly so close, full of anguish…
"No… no… no… I do not enjoy it, my love… you," Kazu had whispered, while his fingers caressed his hot cheek, "represent my worst, my most greatest sin… for you too died a long time ago, because of me, with me… we're just a pair of sorrowful ghosts waiting to be set free."
Then Kazu had laughed quietly, but it had been false laughter, pressed his chilled lips against his so tenderly…
He had wept; sobbing out of control, while Kazu gently wiped his tears with his thumbs. Brokenly he had begged, gripping Kazu's hands desperately… "Promise me… if you ever decide to go… don't leave me behind… don't leave alone… come back for me… take me with you… we'll go together… promise me…"
Kazu had nodded, sad little smile curling his lovely lips, kissed him again and faded into the distance along with the mists of the cold still night…
Being together again like this, after so long, lulled Oriya and he immersed himself in an illusion for some precious moments, a world of make believe where they were one again, young again, full of vigor and dreams again, where everything was perfect, where a sun of love rose every morning, where they were both pure again, where certain… events… had not occurred…
"Oh. I see," said Oriya stupidly, gazing at Kazutaka, leisurely taking deep drafts of his slim cigarette. He thought he heard a deep sigh, and glanced about nervously.
Sconce lights along the walls began to dim; candles set on the mantelpiece lit on their own, by the same magic that had lit the fireplace.
That incredible, indescribable sensation overtook him again, as it had in the cemetery, of the flow of time being tampered with. He started slightly when Kazutaka spoke again.
"You're shivering. Is the fire not enough to warm you, my love?"
"No, I… I'm fine. I'm a little tired perhaps."
This was untrue. Never before, not even in his youth, had he felt so vital. He was further invigorated by the cold air of the northern highlands, where the temperature had dipped lower than that of the country's pulsating modern capital and its poised ancient one. He still had difficulty believing the manner in which he had been brought here: by flight, not in an aircraft, but by the flight of the man who watched him now with iridescent eyes. The moment they were airborne, he'd grown drowsy and had slept soundly, his head pillowed on Kazu's shoulder, only to rouse when they arrived here. Snow was falling then; Kazu had set him on his feet carefully, brushed snowflakes from their hair and clothes.
So many questions crowded his mind, questions that could not find their way out of his mouth, his throat stopped up by the whispered endearment, by the voice so full of love and care, almost weeping at the wonder of it – his lost lover come home to him. He wanted to cover and destroy the distance between them, take that shimmering form in his arms and cover it with kisses. But he held himself back. Sorrowfully, he realized the reasons for his paralysis: memories, of his hurt during their estrangement; even when they had still been in contact, they had been estranged. Fear, the other reason, was creeping into his awareness, like ice forming in his veins.
Blood, immortal, hot and potent, called to blood of the same ilk, making Oriya shiver again. He detected a tinge of misery in the eyes that glanced at him expectantly, quickly quashed as Kazutaka stubbed out his cigarette and moved with composure to a hutch of wood, ceramic and glass.
"Something… to warm the blood? Scotch?"
"Um… vodka, please, if you have any… neat."
"Of course."
He stared at the graceful hands at their work, detesting the formality, the shyness, the invisible wall between them. He felt like laughing one moment – they were like two people who had been dating and were now on the threshold of advancing to the next level, testing the waters delicately, carefully, to determine if they ready were to take their clothes off – and crying the next, howling like a wounded animal for all they had lost.
As soon as his fingers closed around the offered glass, brushing Kazu's warm fingers briefly, he lifted it to his lips, pouring the sharp, clear liquid down his throat in one go, prompting his host to fetch the bottle of Russian vodka and return to re-fill his glass. This time, he restrained himself and sipped it slowly, wondering why he was so unwilling to join the man who smiled at him innocuously before fluidly folding himself on the rug-covered couch. He tore his gaze from the staring eyes and walked to the French windows.
The fact that they'd communicated, mentally and effortlessly, while Yutaka and the rest had watched them now seemed so implausible. He shook his head, wondering if he was caught in one of his dreams.
But it did happen! I heard his voice in my head, and I answered him, without speaking! Just like in dreams, when I hear everything being spoken…
A memory… of damp sheets… and sweet, unforgettable sex… flushed face of a golden seraph who had just been taken for the first time… he had been the fortunate recipient of that gift of innocence, given with a trust and devotion that brought a hot stinging to his eyes…
Yutaka… if only…
Some of the vodka dribbled out of the corner of this mouth when he tossed his head back to drain his glass with his shaking hand.
Beyond the window, the snow continued its work in earnest, covering the earth, layer by soft layer, with its winter shroud of white. He heard the clinking of ice cubes, a crackle from the fireplace, the soft thud of a charred log falling and looked at the man reflected in the window glass, saw him set his glass down on the end table. He did not have to turn and look to confirm that those eyes of ice were still watching him. But the soft chuckling, that did not come from behind him, but from inside his head.
'Are you afraid of me, Orimi? I assure you, there's no one else here besides the two of us…'
No one else… here…
A woman's voice, high and clear, plaintively crooning her melancholy song of lost love, in traditional style, the yodeled parts executed skillfully, encroached upon the silence within the tepid room. He recognized the songstress, a favorite of his mother when she had been younger and healthier, and decided to dwell on this memory and how she could sing quite well herself before old age took a toll on her health, rather than on the fact that the stereo had turned on by itself.
Something was changing in the room behind him. The walls seemed to sigh. He smelled semen, acrid and nauseating. The fine hair on the nape of his neck rose as the fear that had lain in wait in his veins now charged into his heart. He let out a gasp of fright. He could not feel the polished oak floor under his feet, felt himself plunging into a void and clamped his eyes shut, his cry becoming a scream.
There were arms around him suddenly, what felt to him like iron girders, inhaled Kazu's scent, and yet he could not bring himself to open his eyes…
Is the thing here? Is it lodged within Kazu's body? Am I going to ravaged, again and again…?
For a stomach-turning moment, he recalled the sharp, ceaseless pain he had endured while he had been the sex toy of a demon.
His moment of horror came to an abrupt end. His eyes flew open. Blinking, he gradually became aware of being stark naked, lying flat on his back and of something warm and soft against his back, shuddering as Kazutaka's mouth moved along his neck. He pressed his nakedness against warm bare skin, his hand caressing a heaving chest, then lower, feeling damp down and the hot silken skin of the cluster of male appendages. Voraciously, he locked his mouth with his lover's, uncaring now of the possibility of his body being plundered by a lusting demon, his hand working the hard shaft he had found, relishing the familiar feel of its contours and the aroma of his lover's skin and hair, releasing it occasionally to cup and play with soft twin fruits, stroking with his palm and fingers.
He was transported back in time, to their 'first time'…
How bashful they had both been then, Kazu gently touching his intimate parts only when invited to do so, then asking ever so politely in whispers for permission to suck on his eager, swollen flesh. Almost swooning from Kazu's slow, delicate sucking and stroking. Having long fantasized frequently of making love with his best, most adored friend, he'd wanted to thrust forcefully into that innocent mouth but had restrained himself, afraid of frightening his beautiful playmate. He'd surprised himself with his hungry boldness soon after Kazu swallowed his come, wantonly offering himself. When Kazu had hesitated, he'd pressed him down on his back. Straddling him and sheathing Kazu's horn, he had ridden him, giving voice to his pleasure with sounds he never thought he was capable of making until they both released. Before drifting into sleep, he had been horribly abashed when Kazu asked him, in shy whispers and very politely of course, if he had ever done this with anyone else, with a possessive and jealous gleam in his eyes…
Squirming on the sheepskin rug and sighing blissfully as Kazutaka swallowed his cock and began his rhythmic oral strokes, he turned his eyes to the fireplace, his fingers combing through the head of hair positioned at his groin, tugging gently at hair turned golden by the flames in the hearth. He came quickly, Kazutaka releasing his cock to collect his jets of come in his palm and then coating his own shaft with the sap, a most satisfying sight to Oriya's eyes, almost as satisfying as his orgasm, making him frantic to have that gleaming horn slide into him. He flung his legs wide apart with a shouted directive.
Swiftly but carefully, he was filled. The sighs that passed between his lips were prayers of thanksgiving to the gods of love while Kazutaka loved him with his eyes, a perfect pair of mercurial pools, the lips of the mouth above him pouting with pleasure, calling out his name, the moniker given to him when they were still children. He had only to the watch the features of the exquisite face shifting to confirm how much pleasure his body was providing to his lover.
Kazukata kept his movements slow, withdrawing his cock fully at times, teasing Oriya into frenzy, inducing a tirade of expletives.
"Faster! Damn you! Don't tease me! Harder! You bastard!" And so on…
When he attempted to move his hands to pleasure himself, he found he could not. "Ah! Fuck you!"
Kazutaka clicked his tongue with affectionate disapproval. "Such words, from such a beautiful mouth. So beautiful when you're horny, so beautiful when I tease you."
Secretly though, Oriya's swearing during sex was incredibly arousing, and he began thrusting determinedly, groaning with the pleasure of it until Oriya's member grew stiff, the thin skin around it stretched tight, pulling up his balls as it slapped against his taut belly, in cadence with Kazutaka's urgent thrusts.
Their groans rose in volume. Oriya gave up trying to grip his sweetly aching shaft and concentrated on the pleasure escalating delightfully within his passage, at the point where Kazu's cock artfully rubbed against…
It became frenetic and almost sorrowful, this fusion, a desperate attempt to regain their perfect world within their perfect time, a culmination of pent-up passion, longing, loneliness, hurt, sadness, bitterness, regrets, and guilt, the whole of it melting and mixing in a cauldron of despair, heating and left to boil, at last to overflow…
Their flushed cheeks were streaked with hot tears, as hot as the sap that had spewed from them. Blind from the torrent of their tears, they reached to cling to each other, Kazutaka tumbling on to Oriya, the both of them sobbing wretchedly, oblivious to everything beyond the room, the world and its workings lost to them, each aware only of the other and the sound of their heartbeats…
Through his own blood in the amulet wedged between heaving chests, the emperor of heaven felt their desolation as they mourned for all they had lost, and tossed violently, his moan permeating the realm of the true immortals with a sense of foreboding and despair…
Author's notes:
Daimyo: Japanese, meaning 'great holders of private land'. Daimyo were feudal lords who dominated Japan from the 12th to the 19th century. They arose as leaders of the samurai (warrior) class, who during the peaceful Heian period (790-1185) administered provincial estates for the civil nobility residing in the capital Kyoto.
Haha, gotcha! I had you all there with Tsu's and Tat's cliffhanger in Part 17. It was mean of me and I anticipated all the objections, but it was fun nonetheless, keeping you all on the edge of your seats ;p Forgive me?