http://clampfix.fanworks.net/rgv-fix/heaven.txt </head><body><pre> Yes, I have actually finished a story, though this is more like a character study. It takes place immediatly after the end of volume 10, where we find Yasha and Ashura trying to deal with the changes about them. As always, comments are *very* welcome. So send me lotsa. Special thanks to Jo, who provided me with the title, a very good critique, and inspiration for the ending. Mimi ---------------------------------------------------------------------- No Heaven For Us by Mimi Zhou "We'll be together, always. That is my promise to you." _________________ As always Yasha had let Ashura take the lead. At first this merely meant that they scrambled down the serpentine tentacles that covered the sloping walls of what once was Zenmi-jou. He watched Ashura leap from bough to bough lightly, his slender limbs carrying him across dizzying heights with the unconsious grace of a gazelle. Yes, that's what he resembled, Yasha decided, that legendary creature who also had eyes of molten gold. "Coming?" Ashura called back to him, panting slightly with exertion and excitment. Yasha realized that he had not moved in the past few minutes. With more care and less grace he started his climb downward. He could no longer judge the distance so well with only one eye, and he had no wish to break his neck on the first day he got Ashura back. He reached the bottom puffing and badly winded, and noticed ruefully envy that Ashura was already seated on a piece of rock, his legs tucked underneath him, neither panting nor puffing. He was watching Yasha, his head cocked slightly in the manner of a curious forest creature. It was a painfully familiar look, a picture transplanted out of the past. It made Yasha want to go to him with all his being, just gather that sweet young body in his arms, and bury his face in the dark hair, feeling the curls tickling his face. He could almost smell its familiar scent, sun and heather. Let the world recede, until there are only the two of them. But the golden eyes held him back, clear as crystal and just as unreadable, with something lurking in their depths. Ashura was already standing up, unfolding himself with the grace that never failed to amaze Yasha, even when he was the "Black Ashura", and had only blood and murder on his mind. "Come on, let's go," Ashura said, starting off across the sand. Yasha followed wordlessly. He did not ask where Ashura intended to go. He never did. It was enough that Ashura wanted it. ********************* The land around him was unfamiliar. First there was the sand. A miniature desert, though he has never really seen a desert anywhere on the fertile land of Tenkai. Then he'd look up to the distance and expect to see the grace spire of Zenmi-jou in the distance, but find instead a jumbled ruin. Further on in the sand lay another unfamiliar shape, fainted reminacient of a shell. Some vaguely recollected memory like a dream, perhaps from when he was still caught in the kekkai, told him that it was the new Zenmi-jou. Strange, to seen it now in ruins. His body felt strange to him. He'd look down and expected to see the sturdy little legs and the compact little torso, but find instead that he was too great a distance from the ground. The limbs were too long, too thin; he felt balanced precariously on top of them. Then there was the unfamiliar weight of the hair on his back, tendrils itching on the delicate skin of his neck, and getting in his face no matter how he tried to restrain them. But the body seemed to manage well enough on its own, drawing from some forgotten memory, so that the elbows and the knees did not get in each other's way, and actually moved with some semblance of grace. And the hair waved and rippled in the wind the way Yasha's hair did, so he bore the itching and did not threaten to chop it off againt after the first horrified look from Yasha. He did not mind the strangeness, not very much. Right now, it distracted him, so he did not have to think...or remember. He could just watch his body move, as though it belonged to someone else, pretending, that in fact, it was someone else's. His previous life seemed to be no more than a dream, filtered through the dark glasses of his slumber in the kekkai. Then Yasha would say his name in that urgent voice, half a command, half a caress, and the spell would be broken, just like that. ********************* They walked on mostly in silence. Before, he never needed to bother to say anything. Ashura would scamper back and forth, keeping up an endless stream of chatter, squealing with delight whenever a startled hedgehog scrambled into the underbrush. Now Ashura walked beside him, silent and inpenatrable. It was slightly startling, actually, to find that Ashura no longer needed to scramble to match his stride. With a pang Yasha realized that he would never carry Ashura on his shoulders again, or feel a warm little hand steal into his. Yasha stole a glance at figure beside him. The golden eyes were hooded and gazing into the distance. The lashes were ridiculously long; the profile was perfect. Hard to imagine this elegant creature chasing hedgehogs with so much enthusiasm. For a moment Yasha wondered wildly what he was doing. How in the world did he end up with this stranger by his side, sworn to spend the rest of his life with him? Then he would say Ashura's name, like a talisman. Ashura would turn to him, and smile. And Yasha could see that he was not a stranger, after all. Yasha would have known him, anywhere, in any shape. Even when he was the Black Ashura, Yasha still knew, with a fierce conviction, that it was his Ashura. Soon their destination was unmistakable. The gate of the city appeared over the horizon, the city of humans near Zenmi-jou. Closer on, Yasha saw that the gate was draped with black, and a steady stream of people passed into the city underneath. He remembered Kujaku telling him that Taishakuten had died. He wondered if he should tell Ashura, but decided that he would find out soon enough anyways. The guards at the gate, taking them for mourners by their clothes of blue and white, were most informative. Yes, Lord Taishakuten's funeral would be held tomorrow. Zenmi-jou to be thrown open to all visitors, and there would be a largesse for everyone who went, by the grace of Tentei. Yes, by Tentei, Tenoh. This answer was accompanied by a strange look at Ashura. "He's only been Tentei this anytime past. But you're going to have trouble finding lodgings tonight. All Tenkai must have come here for the funeral. Maybe you could ask at the ostlery over there. They're honest folks, and will give you a good meal, perhaps, allow you to stay overnight in their stable for a small fee." Yasha thanked the man. Then Ashura pulled his hood back, causing the man's eyes to widen. "By the gods...you're an Ashura." The word was spoken in a voice of terror. It brought the crowd around them to an abrupt stop. All the eyes seemed to be on Ashura, taking in the pointed ears, the large golden eyes, the delicately carved features. "Ashura clan", "demons", the words passed through the crowd like a wildfire. "We don't want their kind here." Someone finally found his tongue. A choir of agreement rose from the crowd. "That's right, monsters, that's what they are." "Blood drinker, flesh eater!" "Wasn't the last massacre enough? And you dare to walk in here," "Yeah, you should be burnt and torn to pieces!" Ashura paled, and the eyes widened slightly, but he didn't move. He was holding himself so stiffly that Yasha could feel the involuntary trembling. And then the first piece of mud came sailing through the air, and landed on Ashura's face with perfect aim. Still he didn't move. But Yasha felt its impact as though it had landed on himself. The world turned red. His hand clasped around a familiar object, and he anticipated the satisfying crunch when it slices through human flesh and bone. "NO! Yashaa!" Ashura had moved, holding his arm back from completing its fatal path. "Please, Yasha, don't." "They hurt you, Ashura. I won't let them get away with it." Yasha tried to push Ashura away, but he hung on. "Please, please, let's just go. I want to leave. Take me away from here." The pleading voice, the eyes bright with tears, they have never failed before. Yasha felt the red haze before his eyes recede. He watched as one tear fell from a golden eye, tracing a path through the mud. Unconsiously Yasha reached out to brush it away. The skin beneath was red and swollen, and Ashura winced under the light touch. Yasha felt his anger flare again. "Yasha, I don't want anyone hurt because of me, don't you understand?" The voice had a heartbreaking little catch to it, and Yasha could not bear to be the cause of it. He returned Yamato to its sheath. And then because he just had to, couldn't just leave it at that, he reached down, and picked Ashura up. The crowd fell back as the he passed through, Ashura still cradled in his arms. Surpisingly enough he still did fit, curled into a compact little ball, head buried just so in the crook of his neck. ******************** They left the city behind, and camped in a clearing in the woods. Yasha had washed the mud off his face tenderly, the way he did once when Ashura was still a babe. It was beginning to become harder and harder to pretend that this was a different world, and he was a different person. Ashura tried to recapture that sense of detachment. This isn't my world, he told himself. This new world felt alien to him. Strange to hear Taishakuten spoken of with such reverence, strange to hear people talk of Tentei with affection, and remember with a jolt that it's his brother, Tenoh, that they speak of. Then Ashura realized what this meant. He no longer had a purpose, an enemy. He did not need to look behind him for pursuit, nor look ahead to confronting Taishakuten. It was, finally, over. And strangest of all, to hear the Ashura clan spoken of with such loathing. In fact, at the time he could not make the connection, that it was *the* Ashura clan they spoke of. Suddenly it all came down upon him in a rush, what he was, what he had done. Even the layered veils of time and long slumber could no longer obscure the memories. Gigei, Sara, Ryuu, and how many others. With startling clarity Ashura saw, and understood. It didn't matter that Yasha told him that it wasn't his fault, or that he was not himself when it happened. The fact remained, if Ashura had not been born, never existed, none of these people would have died. It was as simple as that. And no amount of talking and hugging and excuses on Yasha's part would ever change it. Yasha would always forgive him. Before it had always been enough. But not now, not anymore. "Ashura, come and eat." Yasha called. Ashura scrambled down from his perch on the tree. He smiled to see that Yasha had, as always, made enough to feed an army. Strange how he could still walk and smile and talk when he couldn't seem to breath from the misery of it. But he couldn't say that he was not hungry. Yasha would have became alarmed. Ashura had always been hungry, before. So he made a pretense of eating, and smiled at Yasha's awkward joke about his lack of appetite, even as he felt his stomach clenched and his throat seemed to close up at mere thought of food. Yasha was still the same. A constant reminder that this is Tenkai, his world, not a different dimension, and this is his body, himself, Ashura, and no amount of of pretending could revive the dead. Ironic, when Yasha tried so hard to shield him. He remembered how furious Yasha had been when faced with the angry mob. But what they said was true. Ashura knew it in his heart. He was done, once and for all, with pretending. He knew what he had to do. Had played it over and over again in his mind. He had made sure that Yamato was set aside from the pelt before they went to sleep. Then Ashura had proceeded to distract Yasha by wrapping himself around him, and Yasha became too busy pressing kisses into his face to notice anything else. There seemed to be some use for those ridiculously long limbs after all. It had been very pleasant to feel them entwined with Yasha's well-muscled legs, and to sleep with his head pillowed on the wide chest. Ashura was sorry to slip out of the arm around him, and to know that he would never feel them about him again. He allowed himself, for a few moments, the luxury of looking down at the sleeping man. There were things he wanted to say, but he couldn't risk waking Yasha up. So he repeated them in his mind, and hoped that Yasha would hear them in his dreams. "I'm sorry, Yasha, for being so selfish. I have tried so hard to be brave. But I'm a coward, at heart. Don't you see, if I stay with you, you'll die, and I can't bear that. So I'm afraid I can't keep our promise. Forgive me." He picked up the sword carefully, glad that his height prevented Yamato from dragging on the ground. He knew how to move quietly through the darkness. Sohma once taught him that. Sohma... he suppressed the moisture rising in his throat. The hilt of Yamato was reassuringly solid against his palm. He remembered how it had felt, when he had plunged Shurato into his heart. It was no more than a tingling numbness. Of course, this time, he planned to use Yamato, so it might hurt more. But he wanted to make sure. Maybe an Ashura had some kind of defense against a wound, or maybe a kekkai would surround him again. He knew, somehow, that if it were done with Yamato, it would be final. "I'm sorry, Kujaku. I didn't want to waste your gift. But it's better this way," He whispered into the darkness, before raising the blade. There was unexpected resistance as he lowered the sword. Yasha had found him, after all, and now even in the dark Ashura could feel those eyes boring into him. "Don't you see Yasha, everyone died because of me." He shook his head wildly to stop Yasha from answering. "I know what you told me, that it's not my fault. But Yasha, I'm not a child anymore. I know it was because of me, because I was born, that Zenmi-jou is buried under a mountain of skulls." He gave an undignified hiccup, and went on desparately, " So please, please, just let me die now. Please let me end this misery." To his surprise Yasha said nothing, neither denial, nor reassurance. He simply gazed at him, until Ashura felt himself drowning in those dark pools. Hysterically, he thought that this would be a very good way to die. "If that is what you want, I'll help you." For a moment Ashura did not think he heard right. Then again he was so surprised he could only stare. Yasha smiled, and raised a hand to brush away a tear drop. "Ashura, you know that I could deny you nothing. If this is what you want, then..." He reached out. Ashura did not resist. He felt one arm go around him, pulling him back firmly against a hard chest. His knees turned to water as Yasha's arm encircled him, a welcoming vise. Then he saw the gleam of metal in Yasha's other hand. Suddenly he understood what Yasha was going to do... What a blind fool he was not to see it! **************** "Yasha, please, you must promise me.." Ashura struggled in his arms ineffectually. "Promise what, Ashura?" Yasha whispered into his ear, "That I won't kill myself? That I'll live happily ever after?" "Ashura, would you make of me a liar?" He asked fiercely. Ashura's body in his arm suddenly became very still. Yasha took the opportunity to bend and nuzzle Ashura's hair. It smelled just the way he remembered it, a blend of sun and heather. He felt the dark head turn slightly under his lips, the most miniscule movement, acknowldegment of his words. "No, Yasha...but..." He could barely hear the muffled words, as Ashura turned, and buried his face in his chest. The body, all resistance gone out of it, felt like a limp doll in his arms. Then Ashura gave a little sigh. "No, Yasha, I won't die," he repeated, as though to reassure him. But the weariness in the voice, the involuntary little sigh at the end, told Yasha more than he wanted to know. He suddenly saw, with perfect clarity, what the landscape of Ashura's life had been like, the guilt he carried, and tainted memories. It has always been so easy to trick Ashura, to catch him in a tangled web of words and promises. Ashura would live, just so Yasha would remain a man of his words. Just so Yasha may be happy. How trivial that seemed, how selfish. That's not what Ashura wanted. But his treacherous heart whispered secretly in his mind, that Ashura will be alive, and by his side. Yasha suddenly despised himself. For Ashura he would become a cheater, a liar, a breaker of oath. It would not be so hard, to promise that he won't kill himself, and do so after Ashura dies. But he could not form the words. Nor could he hold Ashura to this life with the threat of his own death. The time for all such trickaries. have passed. "Look at me, love." When Ashura did not raise his head, Yasha took his face in his hands, and gently forced the golden eyes to meet his own. They did, after a while. Yasha knew what he had to say. "No, Ashura. I could not ask that of you. I do not own your life. It belongs to you. Live if you wish, and leave it if you will." There, he had said it, and he tried to make his eyes not plead. Silently he added to his word, Ashura, your life does not belong to me. Mine belongs to you. They are both yours, to do with as you will. He could not risk saying them aloud, would not repeat his past mistakes. All he could do was look at him, dumbly, and hope that it'll be enough. **************** It had seemed so easy, to take his own life, to leave all this misery. Now he even had Yasha's permission. But he could not move, not under the steady gaze of Yasha's eyes. He remembered them, watching him with the same expression while he was still caught in in the kekkai. He wanted to turn away, do anything to prevent himself from understanding the silent message they communicated to him, "Love," Yasha had called him. That was it, wasn't it? For in spite of the misery that seemed to weight him down until he couldn't breath, and the knowledge of his crime, he could not leave Yasha. Could not bear the thought of not waking up next to him, not being able to touch him. Even the simplest touch, the lightest kiss, they are enough to make him want to live, enough to keep the misery at bay. I am a coward, he thought despairingly, and even then he was already moving, shifting against Yasha, so he could reach up and cup his hand against the firm jaw, feel the roughness of the stubble grating his palm. Then higher, past the slightly sunken plane of the underneath the high cheek bone, to trace the upswept eyebrow and the scar beneath. He ran a finger along the nose ridge, familiarizing himself again with the landscape of beloved features. Then, like he did once, another lifetime ago, he said, "Yasha, I have come back." **************** </pre><p><a href="./">Back</a></p><p><a href=http://www.dreamhost.com/donate.cgi?id=216><img border=0 alt="Donate towards our web hosting bill!" src=https://secure.newdream.net/donate1.gif></a></p></body></html>