Disclaimer: The characters from Fushigi Yuugi are the creations and property of Yuu Watase and related enterprises. I do not own them and do not make any profit from this fiction other than my enjoyment in spending time with them.

However, the plotline for this story and all original characters do belong to me (and yes, the dang text as well:P) and may not be used elsewhere without my permission.

Musical Selection: "Invitation" by Secret Garden from their CD "Once in a Red Moon," Universal Music, 2002. Ahem. This is the music that is meant to accompany the "Dance of the Boots and Swords." Don't know what I'm talking about? Well, ya gotta read the chapter, silly!

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Chapter 11. Two Parts of One Whole

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Northern Hokkan

Miaka shaded her eyes with her hand, trying to count the domelike gers that dotted the gently rolling plains. At first she'd thought that only one ger stood in the distance, but now she realized that what she had seen was an outlying tent at the edge of a veritable city of gers, an encampment that stretched almost to the rocky foothills of the North Hokkan mountains.

"Sugoi," she breathed. "There must be over a hundred tents out there! I didn't realize that the nomadic tribes were so huge."

"They ain't." Tasuki squinted in the early morning light. "We're lucky to have caught up with a lotta tribes at once. They must be here for a Spring Gathering Festival, or somethin' like that."

"Spring Gathering Festival?"

"Yeah. Ya see, most of the tribes are made up of family groups who are pretty much all cousins ta some degree. So when it's time for the youngsters ta choose a husband or wife, it's best ta meet up with people from other tribes so they don't get stuck marryin' their own blood relatives."

"Yuck!" Miaka grimaced.

Tasuki grinned. "Yep, that's what the nomadic kids say. Anyway, it's a stroke of luck fer us, since we won't stand out too much in a mixed crowd like that." He turned and started making his way back towards their camp but stopped when he realized that Miaka wasn't following him. "Hey, Miki-chan!"

But Miaka stood transfixed, an expression of bliss creeping over her features.

"Mikirou!"

She jumped at the sharp rebuke and raced to his side, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Do you smell that, Genrou? Cooking fires! FOOD!"

"Not so fast, Miki. Ya better gather up some branches, an' I'll start our own fire. We have enough leaves fer a pot of tea, an' there's still a couple rations of grain left fer breakfast."

Miaka made a face. "I don't want that horse food. Why don't we give the grain to Makaze and go eat over there? They're not even a half-hour's ride away." She tried to pout winningly.

"Nah, ain't gonna work, so you can give it up. We ain't goin' anywhere near those nomads—or their food—till I'm sure that you can pass as my little brother. We got no way of knowin' whether there's anyone unfriendly in that crowd, if ya know what I mean."

Miaka sighed but lifted her arms obediently. "Fine, bind me up as usual."

Tasuki shook his head. "Nope, it's gonna take more than that."

"What do you mean?" Green eyes widened in dismay. "You already gave me a boy haircut and you're going to bind my chest and make me wear those fat waist pads, so…"

"Yeah, an' ya look like a boy as long as ya stand still an' keep yer mouth shut. But unless I'm gonna walk everywhere with ya tucked silent under my arm like a stupid doll, you ain't gonna fool even the village idiot."

"What do you…."

"Look, I'll explain after breakfast, 'kay? But right now, I'm hungry, so get a move on with those branches, hear?"

He gave her a brotherly swat on the behind, and she scurried off obediently, suddenly guilty as she remembered last night. Of course, he was hungry! The drug-tainted dinner she'd fed him had probably scoured out any traces of nutrition he had left after ten days of near-starvation.

Less than a half-hour later, they sat by their fire, sipping black jasmine tea and sharing the last of their grain while Makaze cropped the grass nearby. Miaka shot a glance at Tasuki from under her eyelashes.

"Yeah, you can quit watching me now. I'm eatin' already, okay?"

She huffed out a breath. "Well you can hardly blame me for being suspicious after the stunt you've been pulling for the past couple of weeks."

"Here, you want proof?" He opened his mouth, exposing his half-chewed portion of grain.

"Ewww!" She threw some twigs at him while giggling. "Boys are so gross!"

"Boys, huh? It's been a while since I been called that. But that reminds me—if yer done eating, it's time fer a few lessons."

He took her teacup out of her hand and pulled her to her feet. "First of all, Miki, yer gonna hafta pretend that ya don't talk much."

"Why?" Miaka scowled as she pictured herself unable to ask for important information, like where she could get lunch, dinner, or snacks.

"Listen ta yerself! Ya got a squirrelly-girl voice, and there's no way we can hide that."

"I can talk like a guy!" She cleared her throat and tried to deepen her voice, "Ah mayn, Ah c'n tawk lahk a guy!"

"No, now ya jus' sound like a squirrel with a sore throat. A hick squirrel, I might add. A hick girl squirrel."

"Shut up!" She punched him in the arm to stop him laughing. "So I can't talk at all?" she asked glumly.

"Nah, you can answer questions with short answers like 'yeah,' 'no,' 'huh,' or 'what.' Fer anythin' longer, jus' smile an' duck yer head an' try ta look shy. Oh yeah, don't ferget ta use yer 'hick squirrel with a head cold' voice."

She punched him again, trying not to laugh at his smartass grin. "Fine, I understand. Can we go get some real food now? I'm ready."

"Not by a long shot. Now we gotta change how ya move."

"What's wrong with the way I move? Everyone's always telling me how clumsy and awkward I am. I don't move like a girl at all!"

"Oh yeah? Well, pick up yer cup and go over there," he pointed at a worn tree stump, "take a drink and listen up."

Miaka did as told, waiting for another lecture.

But Tasuki just shook his head. "Okay, now get up, come back here an' watch."

"But I just sat down!" she protested.

"Look, we can spend all day here arguin' and end up goin' ta bed hungry, or you can do as I tell ya!"

Muttering under her breath, she rejoined Tasuki. To her surprise, he moved towards the stump, balancing his teacup carefully between two fingers. Once there, he took a look at the stump, frowned, then removed a kerchief from his pocket and swiped daintily at specks of dirt before sitting down on the edge with his knees together. Lifting the cup to his lips, he took a delicate sip, then crossed his legs.

Miaka let out a peal of laughter. "You look like a…a…"

"Girl, right?" Tasuki uncrossed his legs with a grimace. "Yeah, an' I ain't even as short an' cute as you are. But as far back as fifty paces, someone would take me for a girl if I moved like that—an' they'll think the same of you, boy clothes or not. Miki, are ya listenin' ta me? Hey, Miki!"

"Huh?" Miaka snapped out of her daze. Did he really think that she was cute? Judging from the furious glare directed at her, the answer was…no. Scrambling desperately to recover, she tried to remember what he'd been talking about. Oh, yeah—

"I sit like a girl."

"Uh-huh. An' walk an' talk an' hold things an' do just about everything like a girl!"

The seriousness of their situation—and exactly how far she was from getting hot food—finally sank in. "So how can I change that?"

"The only way yer gonna act like a guy is if ya think like a guy; after that, the rest will fall inta place. Now watch."

Her eyes tracked him as he strolled casually up to the stump, kicked at it with one boot, then turned and sprawled comfortably across it, legs apart, leaning a forearm on one knee.

Tasuki stood up again. "Now it's your turn."

Miaka strode up to the stump, arms swinging, then turned and sat down quickly on the edge, back straight.

"No, no, no! Quit holdin' yer knees together, Miki! And quit actin' like that stump is gonna bite ya in the ass if ya sit back. Ya gotta act like ya own that stump. It's yer stump, so goddamnit, take control of it! Getcher ass on it—no, more! Now lean back. Yeah, that's right—uh, no. Spread yer legs apart, goddamnit!"

Miaka flushed with anger. "Look, Genrou, I refuse to provide a peep show for every pervert who happens to walk by!"

Tasuki grasped his head in frustration. "Ya keep fergettin' that yer not a girl with a short skirt an' little checkered panties any more! Yer supposed ta be a guy, and if yer a guy, ya got stuff between yer legs—stuff that don't like being crushed when ya put yer knees together! Are ya catchin' my drift yet?"

This time, she grew even pinker. "Yeah, I get it," she mumbled, and parted her knees another two inches.

"Grrrrrr, no, ya don't get it! Wait!" He dug around in the saddle bags until he found the gauze he used to wrap her chest, and sliced a section with his dagger. Looping the material into two small sacks, he scooped up a handful of the shale near their firepit, then dumped the sharp-edged rocks into the thin bags. "Here!" Tasuki shoved the sacks at her. "Go behind that tree and loop these around yer belt but let them hang inside yer trousers, like the real stuff."

She scowled but did as he asked, walking gingerly back towards him.

"Now go over there an' sit down."

Miaka seated herself as usual, until… "Ow!"

"See, that's what I'm trying ta tell ya. Ya gotta keep yer knees apart."

"It's not the same," she grumbled. "You don't have knife-edged stones cutting into your thighs."

"Nope, th' pain goes th' other way fer real guys. So tell me, do ya feel like crossin' yer legs now?"

"No! And you can stop smirking."

"I ain't doin' this fer shits and giggles, Miki-kun. I'm puttin' ya through all this so that you'll remember the next time ya sit or stand or do anythin' around strangers. I'm not shittin' you when I tell ya that yer life may depend on it some day."

Miaka met his intense amber stare. He was dead serious—and she was being a pain, as usual. "You're right," she conceded.

Tasuki finally laughed. "Gee thanks, Mi-chan; glad that I'm right about how ta act like a guy. I'd hate ta think I was doin' it wrong all these years."

She couldn't help bursting into giggles. "All right, fine, tell me what else I need to know."

After another half-hour of instruction, she understood how to meet a man's stare directly so that she didn't look shifty or untrustworthy—but if she held that stare one second too long, she'd appear to be issuing a challenge or a come-on. She learned not to bow too deeply or too shallowly, and to expect women to bow slightly lower than her. She practiced using her elbows to move through a crowd, and how to push ahead to secure the best position or seat.

Miaka leaned back on the stump, wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm as Tasuki had taught her. "Now I know why men act as if they own the whole world."

"Why's that?"

"Because they really believe that they're entitled to own the world! Sexist jerks!"

"Yeah, and don't you forget that yer one of those jerks from now on. Keep up that slightly superior attitude, and you'll pass jus' fine." Tasuki walked over to her and extended his hand. "Now get up, 'cause we gotta ride if we wanna get any lunch."

She jumped up, her eyes sparkling at the mention of food—and completely forgot about her new accessories. "Ow! Oh! Eeee!"

"Oh yeah," Tasuki was already strolling away from her, "ya might wanna take the rocks outta yer drawers before ya try ta get on Makaze."

Miaka narrowed her eyes at his retreating figure as she unfastened the sacks from her belt. Tasuki was enjoying his "male superiority" lessons a bit too much, and it was time to take his arrogant attitude down a peg or two.

She took off at a run, not slowing until she had caught him up. "By the way, Genrou, about that thing you'd said earlier…"

"Yeah, which one of the hundred things are ya talkin' about?" He glanced down at her, smirking.

"The thing about my underwear. How did you know that I used to wear checkered panties?"

The smirk left his face, and he stopped, a slow flush creeping across his features. "I, uh…ummmm…I…"

"That's what I thought. You forgot to teach me one very important thing, Genrou: if I want to pass as a guy, I have to look under the girls' skirts every chance I get."

She spun on her heel and walked away with a masculine swagger, leaving him standing tongue-tied in place.

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Miaka stood before the small square of polished metal and took stock of the rapid changes of the past few hours. In the "Good" column—she now had shelter, a domed tent of nearly six meters in diameter with a stove in the center and a few pieces of beautifully carved wood furniture. Also good—two low cots piled with thick felt blankets and soft furs. In the "Very Good" column was a stomach full of warm food…well, there was that one nervous moment when their hosts had presented her with the traditional welcoming dish of mares' milk curds, but it hadn't tasted as bad as it sounded.

There really wasn't a "Bad" column in all of this, but she'd have to put this outfit in the "I'm Not Sure About This" category.

Miaka fastened the blue knee-length deel at her right shoulder and adjusted the broad, brightly-colored sash that encircled her waist. Embroidered bars of black, blue and red crossed the chest of the deel then abruptly turned down towards her waist, giving the garment a pleasing geometric pattern. Her trousers were soft and loose, and her maroon felt boots were cushioned with sheepskin. No, there was definitely nothing wrong with the outfit.

Except for the hat.

She lifted the wool felt hat and squinted critically at it. It looked like an orange juicer or maybe a strawberry sundae in a bowl, with its cheery scarlet cone rising out of the black turned-up brim. Two long scarlet ribbons served to fasten it under the wearer's chin. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing she would choose to wear, but Tasuki had been adamant about acknowledging the generosity of their hosts by gratefully accepting their gifts.

Sighing, Miaka lifted the hat and carefully placed it on her head, tying the ribbons and squinting at her reflection in the metal mirror. At least Tasuki couldn't make fun of her if he was stuck wearing the same thing.

At that moment, the polished wood door opened, and Tasuki stepped carefully over the threshold. Miaka scowled in indignation. Although he wore a black deel patterned much like her own, he had kept his own boots—and his black headscarf. She was just opening her mouth to confront him when she saw his expression. His eyes were all crinkled up, and he looked as if he were struggling for air.

"I can't help it!" he gasped.

"What is it, Genrou?" Miaka ran up to him, panic-stricken.

"You look… you look…" he reached out and pinched her cheeks, "….so Kawaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

"Shut up!" She slapped his hands away from her face, trying to act angry in the face of his laughter. "You told me I had to wear it, so you'd better quit laughing at me! And where is your hat, Mister Smarty-Britches?"

His teeth gleamed in the rose-colored light. "I told them, No thanks, I had my own headgear. But I added that my brother really liked their hats, and would they mind loanin' him one?"

"You set me up, you…you…"

"Yep," he said, holding her swinging fists easily above her head. "An' I also set you up for a nice seat next ta the dance circle an' not too far from the cooking fires. The sun's settin,' Mikirou, an' the festival's startin,' so make up yer mind. Do ya wanna grab a bite an' have some fun, or do ya wanna stay in the ger an' pout?"

Miaka pulled out of his grasp and stalked past him with impressive dignity, lifting her chin. "We men do not pout. We call it 'brooding' and attach all kinds of character depth to it."

Suddenly laughing, she skittered out of reach of his swatting hand. Tasuki followed her out of the ger, and they strolled past the horse paddock, pausing to whistle to Makaze and scratch his forelock. The black stallion loomed like a giant over the small, brush-maned horses of the North.

Miaka patted Makaze as he nuzzled at the cone of her hat. "He looks like a prince among peasants," she remarked, looking at the chunky heads and short legs of his paddock-mates. "I'm surprised these horses can carry the Hokkan men; they look hardly big enough to carry me."

"Don't underestimate them, an' don't let anyone overhear you talkin' down their horses, Mikirou. The nomads are serious horsemen, an' a lotta those little 'peasants' could give 'Kaze a real run for his money, especially over an endurance course. They're tough an' they're fast, an' believe me, you won't laugh at 'em when they come pourin' over a hill with their riders shootin' arrows at a full gallop."

"Wow." Miaka brushed her fingers through the mane of an inquisitive brown mare, looking at her with new respect. "That sounds like something to see."

"Yeah, an' if this were the summer festival, we'd get ta see all kinds of horsemanship an' shootin' contests. Tonight, however, is for loooove." Tasuki laughed as he intercepted her startled glance. "Baaka! It's the courtship festival, remember? Gonna have some girls checkin' ya out, so ya better hold yerself like a man, Miki."

Privately, Miaka thought that she was likely to be well overshadowed by her "big brother," but she straightened her shoulders and adopted a confident, masculine stance all the same.

A few hours later, full of mutton and chickpea stew, roast wild goose, and milk tea, she found herself glad that they had come in time for the Spring Festival. The entire encampment was practically crackling with joyous energy. Everyone, from the smallest toddler to the eldest great-grandparent, was bedecked in rich, colorful clothing. The men were dressed in deels with colorful sashes—some plain, some bearing geometric patterns like hers and Genrou's—and wore their conical hats so proudly that Miaka was glad she wore one as well. The women exhibited intricately embroidered vests over their jewel-toned deels. They chattered and giggled, their velvet or silk headdresses sparkling with precious stones or waving with cheerful red ribbons.

Miaka sat cross-legged next to Tasuki, clapping her hands as the young men and women whirled merrily before her in a courtship circle dance. The moon had not yet risen, and lamps surrounded the dance circle, giving off a golden glow that pushed back the darkness. Out of the corner of her eye, Miaka noticed Tasuki slipping a gold piece to the ten-year-old granddaughter of the tribal chieftain who had welcomed them.

"What was that for?" she whispered. "Isn't that too valuable to give to a child?"

"Nah, she won't lose it. She'll turn it over to her parent or— Yeah, see, she just gave it to her grandmother. I can't offer the adults money for their hospitality, Miki; that'd be an insult to them. But it's okay ta give valuable gifts ta the kids, and the kids make sure that those gifts make it back to the adults to pay for all the supplies they gave to us."

"How do you know so much about their customs? I thought you were from the South."

"Yeah, I am. But I stayed with the tribes before, once when we—once on our first mission, and later on, when I traveled with Chi—um, a friend."

Miaka shot him a sideways glance. "Forbidden info again?"

"Yeah." Tasuki seemed distracted, tapping his foot in time to the music. He suddenly pointed at the band. "See those instruments, Miki? Every one of them has a horse's head carved inta the top. I told you they were serious about horses."

But Miaka was looking at him thoughtfully. "I think I remember something else about you, Genrou."

"Huh? What's that?"

She pointed an accusing finger at him. "I know why you're sitting there twitching. You want to dance! Why don't you grab a girl and get out there?" She pointed at a group of giggling young women who were sending interested glances at the tall, standoffish stranger, in spite of the fact that he was pointedly ignoring them in favor of his little brother.

"Uh-uh, no way. I ain't leavin' you back here unprotected while I get distracted by some dipshit girl. I don't know everyone in this camp well enough to know if yer safe alone, Miki, so you can quit makin' that face at me."

"I can look after myself for a few minutes, Genrou! I hate to see you stuck babysitting me, when you'd really rather be—"

"It's a dead issue, so drop it. Anyway, the band's stopped for a while."

The dancers had filtered out of the circle, some returning to their seats alone while others looped their arms around their partners' waists. Meanwhile, the musicians put their heads together as they debated the next selection. They seemed to reach agreement fairly quickly, for they went directly back to their places, lifting their instruments or mallets.

A stringed instrument that sounded like a guitar suddenly sang out a syncopated introduction, the major chord progression seeming to call out an invitation. The morin khurr, a horse-head fiddle, answered with a bright, happy melody in 12/8 time, the rollicking rhythm almost impossible for any dancer to resist.

Tasuki turned to Miaka, a wide grin breaking across his features. "It's Boots and Swords! C'mon, Miki!" He pulled her to her feet, but she hung back shyly.

"What are you talking about?"

"The Dance of the Boots and Swords is a courtin' dance meant to impress the girls. It's fer guys only."

"Oh, okay." She turned to sit down again.

"Get up, baka! Yer a guy, remember? I'm gonna teach ya how ta dance this, so we can both dance together!"

"Um, I don't know about this…"

But it was too late. Men were streaming into the dance area, and Tasuki had already secured two sets of polished wood sticks from a basket placed at the edge of the circle. He handed one pair to Miaka, who looked askance at the intricate steps and cross-sticking matches already being performed by some of the experienced dancers.

"I don't think I can do this, Genrou."

"Nah, don't watch those guys; they've been doin' this for years, and they fancied up their routines. The basic steps aren't that hard, Miki. Here, watch."

He showed her a basic stomp-kick-stomp, brush forward-back combination that she was able to master after two tries.

"Great, Miki! Now turn like this; yeah, turn…keep goin'...now stomp! Okay, it's time ta add the sticks. Simple--just hit them together twice, then slap them against yer boots twice. Yeah!"

To her surprise, Miaka was able to perform the simple routine in short order, although with not nearly as much grace as her partner. But she grew confident enough to take her eyes off her feet, and so noticed the nudges and glances Tasuki was drawing from the attentive female audience, in spite of his keeping to the simplest version of the steps.

Suddenly their progress around the circle was blocked by another figure: a tall young man with corn-gold hair and a cocky sparkle in his dark eyes.

"What does he want?" she whispered, feeling her heart rate pick up in time to the tenor drums' insistent pounding.

"It's a challenge, a duel. The loser hasta give his sticks ta the winner, an' then leave the dance. Jus' stand back an' watch, Miki."

The blond stranger was obviously a skilled performer, taking a dominant stance as he crossed sticks with Tasuki in the mock duel. Miaka watched anxiously, sensing the thrill of excitement that raced through the audience. From the shouts of some enthusiastic female fans, she guessed that the blond was a popular dancer, taking on the newcomer in their midst.

Tasuki waited for his turn, then performed his steps with his usual grace but no showy moves. Somehow Miaka knew that he was holding back, not wanting to get caught up in even a mock conflict. But soon the music darkened to a minor key, and the blond grew more aggressive, pressing the cross-sticking a little harder than necessary. When Tasuki's turn came up in the next phrase, the blond usurped his place, forcing the seishi back. He grinned in triumph, but his stick slipped, accidentally rapping Tasuki across the knuckles.

'Uh-oh,' thought Miaka, but it was too late. Fire blazed in Tasuki's eyes, and he attacked with celestial speed, his sticks flashing so fast that he smacked his opponent's sticks right out of his hands, sending them catapulting into the air. Jumping up, he spun in mid-air, catching the sticks—'His tessen attack,' thought Miaka, wondering how she knew that—then finished with kicking out his long legs in a Russian jump before landing lightly with all four sticks in his grip.

The crowd erupted in cheers, some of the women screaming and waving ribbons and scarves at the seishi. He bowed with a grin, then bowed to the blond, who began to retreat with a rueful smile.

"Nah, man." Tasuki tossed the sticks back at him. "I ain't interested in drivin' anyone out of the circle. I'm jus' here ta teach my little brother ta dance, so if ya give me a hand, we'll call it even."

"Thanks!" The blond bowed gratefully. "Name's Lev."

"Genrou, Mikirou." Tasuki replied briefly, tapping a stick on Miaka's hat by way of introduction. "But listen, they're almost to the sticking section, so we'd better hurry up!"

Lev and Tasuki placed Miaka between them, then, turning to face the crowd, formed one long line with the rest of the men in the dance.

"Here, Miki, the same as before. Tap your sticks together twice, then out to the sides instead of against yer boots."

The music had switched to percussion only, the drummer tapping out a steady rhythm on the metal rims of his drums, a rhythm that was now matched by nearly all the men in the line. They struck their sticks together and out to the side to tap against their neighbors, as Tasuki had instructed Miaka to do.

But Miaka noticed that Tasuki and Lev were adding extra moves to the simple pattern, twirling the sticks, tossing them and catching them again, then tapping up and down the length of each one in a syncopated beat, while managing to meet up with her sticks in perfect timing. She couldn't help it; she grinned at their flashy moves, and Tasuki grinned back down at her, while Lev kept busy winking at pretty girls in the crowd. Finally they finished by slamming their sticks against their chests in a masculine salute, making the girls break out in cheers once again.

The music dwindled to the voice of a single woodwind, but the rising chord structure built a sense of tension and anticipation. The men broke out of the line and tossed their sticks back into the basket. Tasuki and Lev lined up with Miaka behind ranks of men in groups of three or four, their arms across each others' shoulders.

Suddenly the entire band re-entered in an exhilarating swell of music, catching up the entire crowd. One rank of men after another danced forward, slapping their boots and stomping in a coordinated display of energy and vitality.

"This is it!" shouted Tasuki over the music. "Strut, Miki! Strut for the ladies!"

Miaka moved forward with Lev and Tasuki, laughing as she stomped and strutted as enthusiastically as any man. She danced with joyous abandon between the two skilled dancers, knowing that they looked damn good as a group, and soaking up the cheers of the crowd.

Suddenly Tasuki and Lev locked arms across her shoulders and joined ranks with the other dancers in one huge circle, facing the crowd with their backs to the center. The tempo speeded up, and they danced faster, showing off one last time for the ladies of their choice. Miaka cried out in glee as she felt herself lifted off her feet by the taller men flanking her, spinning faster and faster until the music ended with a flourish and a shout.

The scene degenerated into happy chaos, as dancers left the circle and women rushed towards the men of their choice, bearing cups of honey wine called boal. Tasuki snatched a couple of cups of boal, delighting the bearers by kissing their hands, then expertly steered Miaka out of the crowd. She gratefully took her boal and drank deeply as they stood off to one side.

"Hey, not so fast, Miki-chan! That stuff's fermented, and it'll get ya drunk if ya take too much too soon."

"Sorry," she gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Just thirsty! Gods, Genrou, that was so much fun!"

He squinted past her. "Yeah? Well, hold on, 'cause the fun's jus' beginning. I think the girls found us."

Miaka turned to see a group of giggling girls, ranging in age from ten to about fifteen, pushing each other forward as they offered small posies and bright ribbons to the two strangers. She turned and flashed a grin at Tasuki.

"I don't know, Genrou, they look a little young…but they really seem to be enamored of you. That's what you get for dancing so well."

Tasuki laughed. "Nope, that's what you get for dancin' so well! They ain't here for me, Miki—they're here for you!"

"What?" The rest of her words were cut off as she was mobbed by a horde of adoring fangirls.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Morning light filtered through the window flaps of the felt-walled ger, making Miaka sigh and turn over in her comfortable furs. She could almost sleep for another few hours…except for a nagging headache and an even more nagging bladder. Tossing off the luxurious blankets, she pulled on her boots, shivering and glancing over at Tasuki's cot. Yes, it was empty as she expected, the furs folded neatly at the foot. Tasuki had probably been up and about since daybreak, and she felt a moment's gratitude that he had let her sleep in.

Returning to the tent after taking care of the necessities, she looked around, surprised that he hadn't returned yet. She wrapped herself clumsily and dressed quickly, concealing any pectoral bulges under the thick deel. Maybe he was off somewhere getting breakfast for them, and she could meet him halfway.

Smiling and exchanging greetings with the nomads, she wandered around the encampment until she caught sight of a familiar figure seated beside a smoking argal fire. It was Lev, and as she approached to call out a greeting, she realized that Tasuki was seated beside him, as well as a few elders from Lev's tribe. They appeared to be deep in serious discussion, but Lev caught sight of Miaka and waved her over.

"This is Genrou's brother, Mikirou." Lev introduced her politely to the elder men, "My father, Kiril, my mother-uncle, Vadim, and the leader of our tribe, my grandfather, Afanasi."

Miaka bowed deeply and seated herself beside Tasuki, who frowned at her presence. She kept silent, sensing that something serious was going on, and that Tasuki would prefer that she wasn't there. Well, it was too late now, so the only thing she could do was to make herself as unobtrusive as possible.

Kiril looked at her for a moment before turning back to the other men. "He seems very young for you to be taking him through such dangerous territory. The spring blizzards are unpredictable and harsh in the Fangs of Genbu."

"So I have seen." Tasuki's voice was firm yet respectful. "But this is our path, and we cannot delay."

Miaka was startled by his cultured tones, completely lacking the usual bandit accent.

Tasuki went on. "However, you'd just begun to speak of strange occurrences in the mountains, events that were out of the ordinary…"

Afanasi snorted in amusement, his pale eyes snapping in his broad, deeply lined face. "You might say that. Yes, the destruction of an entire mountain might be considered out of the ordinary."

"An entire mountain? Where?" Tasuki's voice remained politely interested, but Miaka saw one hand clench in the folds of his deel.

Lev jumped in, somehow sensing his new friend's agitation. "Right in the sharpest of the Fangs, the mountain the locals called Gyokuei. Crystal Mountain."

Miaka saw Tasuki turn pale, and she spoke up to distract the others. "How can a mountain be destroyed? When did this happen?" She hoped that they would accept her high-pitched yet gruff voice as one of the burdens of male adolescence.

Her hopes were answered, for they didn't seem to find her strange. Uncle Vadim spoke first. "We come from the North, young man, and although we chose a different pass through the Fangs, all of the local tribes were talking of the terrible sky-fire. It happened just two weeks ago, on the night of the new moon—and the next day, they were shocked to see that the peak of Mount Gyokuei was missing from the rest of the Fangs."

Tasuki remained silent, so Miaka pressed on. "What could have caused something like that? Could it have been an earthquake?"

Afanasi shook his head. "We did not pass close, yet I could sense it on the wind. There was nothing of this earth in that destroying force. Whatever happened, it was of the Darkness." The pale eyes fixed on Miaka and Tasuki. "I tell you, my young friends—avoid that place. There is nothing there for you but death."

Tasuki's expression was tight and closed as he rose to his feet, but he bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Ojii-sama. We are indebted to you for your wisdom."

Miaka trailed Tasuki as he walked back to their ger. As she was about to follow him inside, she felt her shoulder caught in a strong grasp.

Lev stood behind her, his laughing eyes now dark and serious. "I don't know what these events have to do with you…and I'm not asking you to divulge any secrets. I just want you to know that whatever you need—supplies or horses or anything—I stand ready to assist you."

Miaka reached up and gripped his hand firmly. "Thank you, Lev." Her eyes turned back to the ger, where she could hear Tasuki moving around inside. "We'll be grateful for your help…because if I know my brother, we'll be leaving within the hour."

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Asteroid Belt, Twenty Degrees Galaxial North of the ShiJinTenChiSho

-

The wind blew eddies of dust across the desolate plain, the swirls seeming to fall abruptly over the sharply curving horizon. A slender figure huddled still and quiet beneath a rocky outcrop, his cloak wrapped tightly around his body, breathing shallowly in the arid wasteland. Suddenly he drew in a deep, rasping breath that ended in a harsh cough, the sound fading quickly in the thin atmosphere.

Chichiri opened a bleary eye to gaze at the metal wall gleaming dimly in the distance. The wall: a blank facade that signified both the tangible and symbolic barrier to his mission. It mocked him in his waking hours and haunted his sleep. He sat up, rubbing the dust from his eye and trying to recapture the rapidly fading images from his dream. Weeping children, mourning mothers, demon creatures terrifying and strange…and something familiar, a presence that haunted him like…like a lost…a lost— He shook his head in frustration as the image disappeared into the depths of his subconscious, leaving behind inexplicable feelings of urgency and despair. He couldn't explain it; he only knew with bone-deep certainty that he had to get behind that wall.

He pushed to his feet, fighting the wave of dizziness that swept through him. In his darkest imaginings, he had never expected that his first obstacle—breaching the hidden base of the Enemy—would prove to be insurmountable. He had walked the entire vast perimeter of the wall, searching desperately for an opening, a chink, any sign of habitation or life, but in all his time here, he'd failed to find even a single line or crease where panels or sheets of metal were joined. The wall remained smooth, impregnable, infuriatingly enigmatic…and he was no closer to discovering what lay behind it than when he had first arrived.

How long had it been since he'd landed in this godsforsaken place? Had it been four days? Ten? The days blended together in confusing periods of darkness and light, unpredictable in length. Daylight sometimes seemed to last for twenty-four hours, but at other times it disappeared with unexpected swiftness, leaving him stumbling and blind in the darkness until the grey light crept back once more.

Chichiri retrieved his small metal bowl from a niche in the rock, lifting it to his cracked lips and swallowing the few teaspoons of condensation that had collected during the night. He knew that he was growing weaker by the hour. His seishi strength would have enabled him to remain fully functional even after three weeks without food, but lack of water would kill him long before that time. If this had been a normal mission, he would have given up and turned for home.

But it wasn't normal…and for the first time in his life, he had no idea where home was. As often and as frantically as he had searched with his ki, home remained as unreachable as a dream. It felt as if his entire world and everything he'd ever loved had vanished out of existence, leaving him stranded in this hellish landscape of rocks and dust. Fighting back the panic that always accompanied that thought, he tried to pull himself together. He needed to formulate a plan while he still had the ability to think.

He contemplated and discarded several plans, each doomed to failure in the face of that insurmountable wall. As much as his mind kept shying away from one last strategy, the elimination of all other possibilities finally forced him to confront the inevitable truth.

There was only one way he would get inside that wall—and that was to be taken in.

As a prisoner.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Please, his mind whispered. Go away. I'm not here.

Nothing's here.

He was answered by a metallic hiss of breath, the sound so close that every hair on his arms stood up in abject terror.

Gods, please help me. I can't do this. I thought I was strong enough, but now…

A shower of pebbles rained down on his head, falling into the narrow niche within the rocky outcropping where he had forced his body. A poor hiding place, he knew, but it was the only one he could find as he fled panic-stricken across the rocky plain. Nevertheless, they would have had him long before he reached it had night not fallen with unpredictable suddenness.

He held his breath, not daring to exhale. Barely one meter above him, on the rocky shelf that concealed his body, scratched the razor claws of the beast who hunted him. Just when he thought he might scream or weep or cry out in horror, the shelf above him reverberated with a blow as the creature kicked off into the sky. He watched its spidery shadow race across the ground as it wheeled high overhead, its guttural screeches assaulting his ears. He released an explosive breath as his knees gave out, making him sink down into a miserable huddle as the sharp edges of the outcropping dug into his back.

He knew better than to think he had escaped. They hadn't abandoned their hunt; they were merely regrouping to form a methodical search of the area.

He had very little time left.

His mind went back to that insane moment when he'd stood next to the wall and fired his ki force into the air like a flare. It had seemed like the only thing he could do; the right thing to do. But something had happened to him as he watched the nightmare creatures fly forth from some unseen opening in the wall.

He'd killed enough of them, he and Tasuki together, that he thought they held no horrors for him. But now, seeing those things coming straight at him, realizing that they had no reason to take him prisoner when they could easily kill him where he stood—he felt icy terror take hold of him, wiping every conscious thought from his mind but the animal need to get away.

Even as he had bolted, driving off the nearest of the beasts with his weakened ki attacks, he wondered at the desperation that sent him dashing across the plain in mindless flight. He, who had tempted death more times than he could remember—was life now so precious to him that he couldn't bear to lose it? Or was the thing that drove him to flee nothing more than the simple gut-wrenching fear of the kind of death he was bound to meet at their jaws?

It didn't matter. He would have died in those first moments if darkness hadn't fallen across the land like a concealing cloak. Instead, he'd bought himself a little more time.

But time for what? To shiver in the dark, feeling his body ache from the privations and demands of this disastrous mission? To fight back tears of unexpected grief, knowing that he would never see his home again? He didn't want to die like that, like a frightened animal dragged down by wolves.

Life and Death, they are two parts of one whole. There is no need to fear death when you are one with your existence. Death is but a gateway to the next level of being.

The words of the Master resonated through his mind, calming his blind panic and leaving him with a sense of clarity. In his mind's eye, he could see the elderly monk sitting in the meditation garden, tracing his crutch along the patterns of stones while imparting wisdom and serenity with his simple words. The garden and monastery were now destroyed, the peaceful monks gone forever…but their teachings would remain part of him as long as he drew breath.

He was a monk. He was a celestial warrior. He knew how to meet death with dignity and honor.

But he was also human, so his hand rose unbidden to the silk bag he always carried inside his shirt. Untying the string, he grasped the small tiles contained within the bag, running his fingers lovingly over their smooth surfaces. They brought him comfort as always, resurrecting a time and place when he'd felt protected, safe…loved.

A velvet voice surfaced through the mists of time. If you ever have need of me…

Chichiri's eye flew open. It had been so many years since he had last thought of the true function of the tiles that he'd nearly forgotten their purpose. They were more than a talisman, more than a magical object to hold onto when he was feeling lost or alone… Perhaps if they truly worked, they would serve as a marker for his grave..

He relaxed into a meditative state as his fingers placed the tiles against each other. His conscious mind puzzled over the formation of a cube that had seemed to have many more than three dimensions, but he pushed the rational thoughts aside. As his fingers assembled the cube, he focused his mind on a simple message.

Doctor, I don't know how many years have passed for you since we last met, or whether you still remember me, but I'm asking for your help. By the time you receive this, I will be dead, but please carry news of my fate to my friend Tasuki…

His mind continued to flow with the rest of the message, bringing back memories so bittersweet that he nearly wept. But his fingers never stopped moving, assembling the pieces in impossible configurations until the cube suddenly vanished from his grasp. He cast about, trying to find it in the darkness, but it had completely disappeared.

I hope you find your way, he whispered silently to the message cube. Find him and tell him… give him my message but also tell him that I…I've never forgotten him and I still… I'm sorry.

With that, a sense of completion filled his soul. He'd set out to do what he needed to, and now that Tasuki and the others would learn how he'd died, it would be as if he had returned home to them. Regardless of what happened to his body, he was finally going home.

Peace flowed through him, so that when the screech reverberated a few meters from his hiding place, he simply rested his head on his knees and waited for the end. A blast of wind blew back his hair, but he didn't flinch, so deep in his meditative state that he never noticed the groaning sound that now accompanied the screeching, and the flashing of a blue light across the darkened land.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Glossary of Japanese Terms:

Kawaii (or Kawaiiiiiiii!) - Cuuuuute!

Ojii-sama-- literally, Grandfather. Term of respect for an elderly man.

Credits: The transdimensional message cube is the creation of Jonathan Blum and Kate Orman, as described in their Eighth Doctor novel, "Vampire Science."

/-/-/-/

Author Note: (4-18-05) Well, well, well…wonder what that flashing blue light signifies?

Hang on, Bridge fans--Hidden Paths is about to get a whole lot wilder!

Now let's backtrack to happier times for Tasuki and Miaka. Like Yuu Watase, I based the Hokkan nomads on the Mongolians, but I also threw in some Russian references (Lev and his entire family have Russian names and are from "The North"), and yeah, okay, the music is Celtic. But no, the Dance of the Boots and Swords is not Riverdancing (I'd almost been expecting Purple Mouse to nail me for that.) Nor is it "Seven Brides For Seven Brothers," Mouse-chan! It's an original dance that I mentally choreographed (well, yeah, you know that I can dance only in my mind!), and it's primarily based on Russian Cossack Dancing, particularly the Sword Dance. I just kept it to sticks, because I felt that Miaka might be dangerous with a sword in her hand.

Miaka: Oops! Sorry, Tasuki!

Tasuki: (resigned) Well, since ya just cut that off me, I might as well go back to Ryuen's "Expecting" and be a goddamn girl.

Roku: Heeeee, hee, hee, hee!

Tasuki: (scowling) Yeah, shuddup, Roku. I know it's my birthday, so ya jus' hadda do somethin' shitty ta me, dintcha? --if not in the fic, then in the goddamn akugi!

Roku: Happy Birthday, Baby, Mwah! Love you, love you, love you!

Yes, it is indeed our favorite bandit's birthday, so wish him well. And I'm trying to squeak this in before midnight Pacific time, since the site seemd to be down for login nearly all of today. So if the update says April 18, I managed to make it! (addendum: Obviously, I missed my goal! Gyah!)

Aaaaaaaannnnd, speaking of bandit-type people… I have to admit that I based Tasuki's incredible skill with the sticks on my own Real-Life Tasuki's percussion talents. Yeah, my guy has played drums for drum-and-bugle corps, college band, not to mention small dance bands—and has even risen through the ranks to judge Drum Corps International; DCI for those of us in the know. But now he primarily occupies himself with high school band and percussion ensemble competitions. So yeah, all that fancy sticking is something that he knows very well-- and I do too, since he even does it in his sleep! No, I'm not kidding you. When I stumble into bed at 2 AM after finishing writing for the night, he's sound asleep but tapping out drum solos on his chest.

And he'll kill me if he ever finds out that I blabbed about this to y'all!

One last word--you may have noticed the lack of apologies, excuses, and promises about the shocking interval between updates. That's because I've come to the conclusion that I tempt fate every time I swear to add new chapters more frequenly. So I'll quit making promises and only tell you that with Bridge finished, things do look favorable for me updating HP more frequently than once a year.

Plus Ryuen will nag me to death if I don't!

See ya soon!

(Additional Note: Gah! I forgot to acknowledge my intrepid beta readers, Purple Mouse and Ryuen! They are extraordinary women who take on the terrifying task of Editing Roku while under duress! Yes, these crazy chicks have edited two versions of this chapter in a single 24-hour period, starting at 7 PM Sunday night! You have my eternal gratitude, ladies, and probably that of the HP readers who have been spared some of my more egregious mistakes!)

Ja ne!

Roku

(9-6-05) Additional additional note! Thanks to the wonderful input from my ever-alert Unpaid Research Team (aka, you fantastic reviewers), I've learned from Nephtyss that the transdimensional message cube was briefly shown as a large, definitely square white cube in an old, old Doctor Who episode called The War Game, which featured the Second Doctor (we're talking the 1960's here, people--black-and-white TV!). So according to Nephtyss, I must credit the screenwriters Terrance Dicks and Malcolm Hulke for the idea of a messaging device built out of cards/tiles that records thoughts and disappears when complete. The authors of Vampire Science are still credited, however, for its transdimensional properties, e.g. cannot quite be visualized in only 4 dimensions.

My deep gratitude, Nephtyss!