Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.
Title: Maya's Tale (C4: Von Brandt)
Author: JaganshiKenshin
Genre: Action/Adventure, General
Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)
Summary: Kurama tells himself there's no real threat to Maya, but-
A/N: The Bartholomew Tree is said to be a symbol of luck, hope, and resurrection.
Idiot Beloved takes place shortly after the Dark Tournament; Firebird Sweet directly follows that timeline. In order for certain character development to make sense, you might read those fics in order.
"My dear, one day you will submit."
Maya's Tale (4: Von Brandt)
by
Kenshin
The following day, Kurama attempted a somewhat more direct approach, and Hiei's response was reassuringly predictable.
"Some bastard's threatening this Maya girl?" Hiei grinned. "Let's find him and kill him."
A knifing wind tore through Kurama's hair and harried the temperature down, making him glad of his jacket. He stood with Hiei near a tree, in the wooded area surrounding Rokurokubi Block, where Yojigen Mansion was situated.
No one called it Rokurokubi Block; among themselves, the Shadow Warriors called it Derelict's Row, for its many on-the-skids or frankly abandoned houses.
A few homes still maintained a genteel dignity, but the neighborhood's character hung in a precarious balance.
Sometimes it seemed to Kurama that the bad characteristics of the neighborhood had spread, even to the surrounding woods. The plants were stunted in places, overgrown in others.
It didn't seem healthy.
Hiei had his sword out, wiping its blade on the sleeve of his sweat jacket.
No one who hadn't known Hiei for years would suspect him of compassion, but it was there.
Not the lip-trembling, teary-eyed brand of compassion loved by media outlets the world over, all display and no backbone; but a cool, tough gracious sort that knew you in and out, didn't waste words, and had your back, too.
Hiei squinted at the sword, then stropped it again. "Then that line about your biological clock ticking was hogwash."
"And here I thought I had you fooled."
"Pre-med students don't breed. It's costly." Hiei shifted his grip on the sword. "And you're too young."
"Look who's talking."
"I'm different."
"As in superior?"
"You said it, not me." Hiei tossed the sword high in the air, watched it rise and spin end-over-end, then caught it, overhand. "Besides-it was clumsy of you. As though you didn't think it worth your time to brew me a more plausible story."
"Point taken. But I-"
"If I didn't know you better, I might be inclined to feel insulted." Hiei, who often trained in peculiar ways, flung his sword at the tree.
THWOK. Sword struck tree. Kurama said, "I suppose I should be grateful that found its target in the tree and not my gut."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Hiei had thrown his sword in a spear-like manner before, notably when he, Kurama, Kuwabara and Yuusuke were assigned to wrangle the Four Holy Beasts.
Kurama retrieved the sword by means of a Thrashvine. This was exercise for him, too, in a way, not merely an expenditure of muscle-power, but also a workout for his aura.
Not that a Thrashvine took much coaxing. A relative of ivy, the Thrashvine could hog-tie an opponent, and the more the opponent struggled, the tighter the bonds grew. And it used far less spirit power than Kurama's standard weapon, the Rose Whip.
"It's not as though we have a specific target," Kurama explained, using the vine to reel in the sword.
"You raised my hopes, now you dash them."
Kurama decided he would not yet mention the dream, though it woke him each night, robbing him of sleep: the image of a girl, floating, a camera, a sense of urgency. "I know of no specific threat to the girl. Just a feeling."
"Probably something you ate." Hiei went to work in earnest, hurling the sword deeper into the tree with each attempt, until it took quite a bit of power for Kurama to haul it out again.
"You're killing that tree," Kurama said.
"It's dead already. I'm doing the tree guys a favor."
Hiei was right. The twisted hulk of a Bartholomew tree, a distant relative of the swamp maple, might have been beautiful in its day, but it had long since gone to Tree Paradise.
This, too, seemed wrong. Bartholomew trees are long-lived, and grow to great height, but this particular specimen was stunted, like a deformed hand clawing upward from a swamp.
It seemed pathetic, with its gnarled gray bark and leafless branches, as though begging to be put out of its misery.
Thok. Hiei was doing his best to oblige.
Kurama's Thrashvine drew the sword across the sparse grass, Hiei bent to retrieve it, then the whole routine began anew.
Hiei seemed to improve his aim, systematically planting the blade of his katana four or five inches to the right with each throw. He really was going to bring the tree down.
Kurama said, "Next time you can pull the sword out."
Hiei was unruffled. "Have it your way. What do you propose to do about the girl?"
"Watch. Wait. Remain alert."
"Call me when the battle starts." Hiei strolled to the tree, yanked out his sword, then stepped back.
Hacked to bits by systematic throws of the katana, the tree gave a deep, shuddering groan and toppled over.
To Kurama's ears, the sound of its fall echoed like a funeral bell.
0-0-0-0-0
The girl was blushing. How wonderful.
Medium in height, slimly built, she clutched the envelope to her breast as though holding a shield.
Though wearing a tweed overcoat, she hopped from one foot to the other to keep warm.
Von Brandt lingered in the doorway, studying her.
Such a cold April day. If she would only come in for tea. But the time was not yet right.
Neither Von Brandt's house nor the property was large in terms of its footprint, for it had been built in a cul-de-sac that backed up to the woods. Three storys high, with rounded cupolas painted white and bronze, and high round windows, it was guarded on all sides by fine, old wrought-iron fencing.
A strong breeze teased open the girl's coat. She clutched both coat and envelope tighter.
"Won't you accept my offer this time?"
"Mr... Mr. Von Brandt..." Her voice was clear and sweet and highly provoking.
Blue eyes. Deep brown hair, shining like a mink's pelt, but somewhat in disarray, and in need of combing. He waited.
"Sorry-maybe some other time, but I still have packages to deliver. Here!" She thrust the envelope at him with both hands.
When her arms began to tremble with fatigue, he at last slid the envelope from her. During the exchange, one of his fingers brushed hers. She gave a little squeak, as though she had received an electrical shock.
How musical, that squeak.
She whirled, then clattered down the steps. From there she ran down the walkway into the street, presumably to enter a waiting vehicle, or mount a bicycle, or proceed on foot.
It made no difference in what manner she left. She could not escape.
He watched her to the last, as she passed through the iron gates, her little heels flying, the hem of her coat flapping.
When she turned sharply left, and was lost to his sight, Von Brandt closed the door, and regarded the delivery.
The manila envelope weighed next to nothing. Considering what was inside it, it should be heavy as gold.
The envelope was a bit dusty from its journey. He licked a forefinger, touched it to the dust, then inserted the finger into his mouth. He shut his eyes in delight.
The wings of time, the flesh of the target, the massacre to follow. He swallowed with a deep sense of satisfaction.
When he opened his eyes, she was standing in the hall.
He was furious. "Didn't I tell you to stay in your room?"
She spoke eagerly, awkwardly. "Will the girl come in next time? Will she have tea with us?"
"You never were one for obedience, were you?"
She hung her head. "No, Father."
"All your sisters knew how to behave."
"Yes, Father."
"They did as they were told."
She did not respond.
"In time, you will have other sisters. And I am sure they will not specialize in defiance. Now go to your room."
When he was alone again with the package, Von Brandt walked down the marble hallway, his footsteps echoing throughout its beautiful chill.
He stopped before the door that was locked with a large blood-red key.
He opened the room only to maintain and add to what lay within, and it held many secrets.
Von Brandt was a patient man. Every fifty years, he selected a girl, a queen, really, for the highest of honors he could bestow on a woman.
It was his own particular brand of coronation. Patience was a virtue, or so it was said, but the days grew long.
Some day, he promised himself. Some day, I will open this door and I will not be alone. Sooner rather than later, I will open it for the chosen one. And I will carry her over the threshold.
-30-
(To be continued: The Toad Palace awaits.)