Chapter Eighty-Five
Just like in Cirrus, Syaoran reacted without thinking. The magic was at his fingertips before he knew what to do with it, and by the time the lightning exploded from his body, he was in a panic.
Seishirou was quick; he released Sakura and fled to the other side of the room. Meanwhile, Sakura stood, the spell reflecting in her wide eyes. No, Syaoran thought. No, no, no . . .
His mind processed the next second in such minute detail that it seemed to stretch out for minutes. Distantly, he was aware of Seishirou moving across the chasm, perching beside Fuuma. On some level, he was even able to process the startled reactions of Kurogane-san and Fai-san. They'd both taken a step toward Sakura, horror changing their faces as they realized they couldn't save her.
Even supernatural speed could not get them there in time to deflect the blast.
I can't make it, he thought, though his legs were already in motion, already pushing him toward the spot where the spell would land. The bolt left him half-blind, but there was no mistaking the insurmountable distance.
Far, far above, a dragon screeched.
Fire bloomed in a massive cloud where the spell hit, an explosion that released a shockwave strong enough to knock loose the smaller pebbles embedded in the canyon wall. "Sakura!" someone screamed. It took him a moment to realize the screech had come from his damaged throat. No, no, not Sakura, not my Sakura . . . Please, not her . . . Not now.
The shockwave knocked him off his feet. In his panic, he didn't even have to presence of mind to land properly. His jaw cracked against the stone floor, the force of his impact uprooting the thin layer of blue moss that might have otherwise cushioned the landing. His perception of direction and time shattered, and he couldn't tell whether he was still on the ground or if he was flying.
Echoes of the explosion reverberated through the canyon, drowning out the shouts of the others. The bombardment of sound further disoriented him, so that when he tried to sit up, the world spun sickeningly around him.
Sakura . . . he thought, head tilting to look at the epicenter of the explosion. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see what he would surely see there. It would break him. Where all the cold glares of Infinity had failed, where the pressing silence of the canyon had failed, where Seishirou's recent torments had failed . . . Losing Sakura would break him.
But he looked. He looked for the same reason people slowed down and looked out of their cars to see an accident. Because he had to.
At first, the images made no sense. Everywhere, the stone had been cleared of moss. Much of the floor had been chipped away in the explosion, as well. But there was one patch of deep blue just where his spell should have struck, in tact except for some superficial damage. On that patch of moss, there was a figure—slight and light in color and impossible, because anyone at the center of that blast should've been so damaged that their remains would have to be scraped off the stone.
But there she was. Eyes shut tight, her cheap sword held rigid and cracked in front of her, shoulders strained. Alive.
"Sakura . . ." he whispered, reaching across the vast expanse of the room, as if he could touch her from where he lay. At the sound of her name, her eyes flashed open, and her head whipped around to look at him.
If it was possible to have a conversation without words, one occurred between them then. He begged forgiveness with his eyes—forgiveness for this near-disaster, and for the pains he'd put her through prior to this moment. She nodded once, in recognition of his apology. And then her face turned toward their enemy in a silent reminder of what they had to do now.
"I'm impressed," Seishirou called to Sakura. The lightheartedness in his tone was so alien to Syaoran's current train of thought that he almost missed the words. "You used your sword to shield yourself from the spell. That ninja must be a gifted teacher."
Most of the disorientation had faded from his mind now. Syaoran stood and moved half a step closer to Sakura. His ears rang as he yelled across the room. "Enough. We're going to do this right."
Seishirou cocked his head to the side. "Oh?"
Syaoran took another step toward Sakura, putting himself in a position from which he could defend her. Magic tingled in his fingertips as he called his sword back to him. It slid across the mossy floor and flew up into his hands. "New deal," Syaoran said. "We fight, one-on-one. If you win, I'll do whatever you ask of me. If I win, you leave us alone."
"And what would constitute winning, in this situation?"
"We fight until one of us surrenders."
Seishirou smiled, but there was a bitter edge to it, this time. "You truly are more honorable than I. Very well. But I warn you: I won't hold back."
Syaoran nodded, then turned his head just far enough to see Sakura. "Go with Kurogane-san and Fai-san. Get out of this canyon. I'll bring the feather back to you when I'm done."
Sakura hesitated, then sheathed her sword. "Come back to me. Whatever happens, come back to me when you win."
The words pierced him like a blade. His throat closed up, sealing off any words he might have said in response.
So he nodded in a silent promise: I'll come back this time.
Sakura ran, crossing the damaged floor where the explosion had destroyed the surface layer of rocks. Syaoran waited until she was with the others before daring to raise his eyes.
Fai took hold of Sakura and started guiding her out of the room as fast as he could. Kurogane stood at the mouth of the exit for a long moment, his gaze steady. He nodded once, then followed the others out.
Syaoran turned to Seishirou and raised his sword.
"When you said surrender," the dark-haired man began, his tone questioning. "did you mean until one of us dies?"
"If that's what it takes." He shifted into a fighting stance, ready to defend or dodge an attack at any moment.
"You must care deeply for her, to exchange your safety for hers."
"I do."
"And of course, you know how much I value my brother's life." Seishirou nodded to the unconscious man behind him.
"I'm aware."
"You understood the two could never be reconciled, so you chose this method to decide for you."
"Yes."
"Honorable," Seishirou breathed. "Right to the very end." He looked up again, his black sword rippling in his fingertips.
Syaoran made the first move, channeling magic through his sword. "Raitei Shourai!" he called, letting loose a blast of energy similar to the spell he'd used a few minutes ago.
Seishirou lunged forward, intercepting the blow with his demon sword and knocking the brunt of the blast aside. A fraction of a second later, their swords met, steel against magic. The dark-haired man's sword was made of no metal found naturally. Since he'd picked it up in Outo, though, it was reasonable to assume it was made of nothing but concentrated darkness. I'm fighting a shadow, Syaoran thought as the other man's sword bent and wrapped around his. He jerked his own blade away before it could be ensnared, then let loose a second attack.
Seishirou moved with him, bringing his arm in, then down, as a slave master might wield a whip. The blade moved like one. Syaoran dodged.
The shape-shifting whip carved a deep path in the stone where he'd been standing. Syaoran repressed a shudder at the thought of what the weapon might've done against flesh and bone. He's really going all out in this fight. I can't hold back.
He held his sword up to defend against the next blow, pouring magic into the blade to help it stave off his teacher's attacks. Seishirou's blade collided with his once, twice, three times, driving him back with each impact. At a break in the other man's rhythm, Syaoran called out another spell, different from his attack spells. "Fuuka Shourai!"
The air spun around him in a bubble, separating him from the other man and giving him a second to recuperate. He retreated back, calling his magic to his sword again. Before the wind barrier subsided, he sent another lightning attack toward his mentor. Seishirou raised his blade a fraction of a second too late, and got knocked back by the bolt. He collided with the wall, hard enough to leave bruises across most of his back.
"You've gotten very skilled with that sword, Little Wolf!" he called through the roaring wind.
Syaoran ignored the compliment and the nickname. "Why did you do this? What purpose am I supposed to serve in your plan?"
"Your actions will be the catalyst of the spell that will save my brother. Whether you realize beforehand what action you must take or not is none of my concern."
Magic hummed along the steel edge of his sword. "Raitei Shourai!"
Seishirou leapt up to a stone ledge in the wall, out of range of the spell. "Have you remembered what I told you about magic?"
"I'm still trying to figure it out."
"Ah. Well, keep thinking. I'm sure you'll get it eventually."
This sent a surge of irritation through Syaoran, which he did his best to ignore. He had to focus.
I have to win, so I can go back to Sakura.
"We both have a goal that we would do anything to accomplish," he called to the older man. "And if I can help you, without jeopardizing my goal, I will. So tell me, what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to finish this fight," Seishirou said cheerfully.
It's always about the fight for him, Syaoran thought. Any conflict he causes in pursuit of his goal is a bonus for him. Is this, too? Or . . . is this just a means to an end?
Seishirou leapt down from the ledge, getting back within striking distance. Syaoran readied the next spell, letting the blade of his sword vibrate with the force of his magic. As his teacher closed the distance between them, he realized there was no time.
He moved the blade out in front of him to block the blow, not realizing until he felt the dark tentacles of Seishirou's shape-shifting sword around his wrists that he'd made a mistake. Seishirou's lips stretched wider as the black snake coiled around his arm. "But I think this fight is over," Seishirou said, flinging Syaoran into the wall.
As soon as Syaoran hit the wall, he knew something was wrong. He felt the sudden disconnect, the cessation of feeling in the lower half of his body. A fraction of a second later, when the cracking sound reached his ears, he knew he'd broken his spine.