http://clampfix.fanworks.net/rgv-fix/rgpeace.txt </head><body><pre>PEACE A RG Veda Story by Myranda Kalis In death, Kendappa-ou's face was serenely peaceful, her perfect mouth set in the softest of smiles, the dark curve of her lashes laying against her pale cheeks as though she would open them again in just a moment, and laugh at something someone just said. If he concentrated solely on the serenity of her still face, he could nearly ignore the blood splashed across her pale skin and the terrible wound across her throat. It also allowed him to pry just slightly looser the anguish that had gripped his heart, and swallow the grief filling his throat with the need to scream, or weep. Kendappa-ou had died quickly, and without pain, in the arms of the one she had loved above all else, even her own life. He clung to that thought for the relative comfort it provided, and closed his eyes to burn the image of her tranquil face into his mind, forever. "My Lord," the voice was quiet, low and respectful, and so Tenoh didn't start too noticeably when it addressed him, from behind and just below. He half-turned, and beheld one of Zouchouten's men. "My Lord, we have searched this area as well as we are able, and have found no sign of the Emperor." Tenoh swallowed with some difficulty and nodded his acknowledgment of the news. The harried-looking soldier bowed deeply and backed away, turning to rejoin the small knot of men gathered nearby, speaking quietly among themselves. Tenoh reached out slowly and brushed his fingers across the hilt of Kendappa-ou's sword, the sounding board that had given her harp such a distinctive resonance. Kendappa had not been a large Clan since the end of the Holy Wars; their numbers had never recovered from the devastation, and Kendappa-ou had been her parents' only child. There might be a cousin in one of the kin-lines that could take the throne, but he could not say for certain-she had never spoken of her family. He lifted the heavy blade, catching it in the crook of his arm, and made ready to rise, when a flash of gold, half-hidden by blood and dark cloth, stopped him. He brushed aside the trailing edge of Kendappa-ou's cloak; in the shadow of her body, and the body of the woman lying in her arms, were a pair of golden crescents, one edge razored, the other slightly wider and blunted. Tenoh's eyes sought the face of Kendappa-ou's love, Sohma, the last of her Clan. Those weapons, he knew, must be hers, and there was no one left to take them up now, for if Kendappa had been weakened in the Holy Wars, Sohma had been virtually annihilated-and was now entirely extinct. Again he hesitated, then, with a sudden rush of resolution, gathered the golden crescents and slipped them into his sash. There would be someone, someday, and when she came to him, she would take those blades and the tale of the brave and gentle woman who had wielded them. He became aware, as he rose, precisely how much he hurt-his entire body ached, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, the pain a concentrated, rhythmic throbbing in his arm where Shuratou had sliced it to the bone. His mother's maids had ripped strips from their clothing to make the wound a bandage, and bound it as tightly as they could to stop the bleeding, and his sleeve was still red and sodden to the wrist. His head spun a bit as he rose to his feet, and darkness hovered around the edges of his vision for a moment; he placed his free hand against an available piece of wreckage and waited a moment until the world stopped circling around him. It wouldn't help matters at this point to faint from the shock and loss of blood; with his father missing, there must be someone to give the Court a strong face. They had endured more than enough in one day. Presently, the spinning did stop and the darkness receded somewhat, some of his strength returning. Tenoh stepped cautiously around the mounds of rubble strewn haphazardly across what had once been the corridors and galleries leading to the throne room of Zenmi-jou-or, at least that's where he thought they were. The destruction was so complete it was difficult to tell what anything had once been, though the preponderance of fallen columns made him think of the central chambers of the palace. Wisps of smoke still rose from scorched stone and the remains of fine furnishings; the scent of fire, and lightning, still hung thickly in the air, and the vapors rising nearly obscured the dark hulk of the enormous kekkai rising from where the seal of Ashura-jou had once lain. Tenoh's polished mahogany eyes kept tending back in that direction, drawn by some irresistibly compelling force, and it took all of his remaining will not to stop and stare, in fascination and revulsion, at that living prison. Somewhere in there, he knew, were both his father and his brother, and within him there was a deep struggle as to whom he wished to find first, and why. He turned away with a shudder, eyes raking across the field of wreckage until they settled on what they sought. Zouchouten knelt a few yards away, his back to his prince, had bowed as though in deep thought. Tenoh approached quietly, knowing what it was that the Shittenou regarded so intensely, and stopped at oldest teacher's shoulder. A scattering of pure white feathers covered the lightning-scorched ground, spotted here and there with droplets of crimson. Zouchouten held one in the palm of his powerful hand, gently, as though he feared damaging it further, and Tenoh's heart constricted painfully for the old soldier. He had not been the only one to suffer a grievous loss today, though he suspected that Zouchouten had never spoken of his feelings to Karura-ou, and now his chance had been lost in a stroke of lightning and a falling blade. The White Lady of Tenku-jou had loved only one thing in the world beyond her freedom, and when her sister had died, the sleeping fury of a warrior and a sorcerer had awakened and been turned against the Emperor who had wronged her so profoundly. Zouchouten had told him of the battle between Karura-ou and his father, and how she had died impaled on Paranjya's monstrously powerful blade, as Ashura-ou before her had died, her flesh dissolving into a drift of snowy feathers, Garuda falling with her. Tenoh's laid his hand on Zouchouten's shoulder in a gesture of comfort; the old soldier looked up, his face a mask carved from granite, his steel-blue eyes weary beyond words. "She would never have forgiven." His voice was low and rough. "Any wrong but the murder of her sister, Tenoh. Your father was no fool when he chose that way to strike at her, and force her to make a decision." He grimaced, holding his wounded arm in its sling closer to his armored chest as he pushed slowly to his feet. "And she would never have given her heart to another's keeping, even if the girl had died of her illness. Karura-ou was not made to be tamed by love." "I am sorry, Zouchouten. I should have been able to do more." Tenoh's eyes squeezed shut around a sudden rush of tears. "I-" "Tenoh," Zouchouten's hand gripped his good arm as gently as he could-he was a massively strong man. "You must never blame yourself for this. The path that brought us all to this pass was decided long before you were born-nothing could have averted it." Zouchouten's eyes turned toward the dark hulk of the kekkai, looming above the devastation like some enormous grave marker, and narrowed in speculation. "Perhaps not....nothing." "Father is in there, somewhere, I know it." Tenoh fought to keep a shudder from travelling all the way through is body. "And my-my...And Ashura and Yasha-ou also." "I hope you do not take offense at this, my prince," Zouchouten informed him grimly, "But I hope to never see your brother again." He raised his voice. "Fan out! Search the kekkai for any sign of the Emperor, Yasha-ou, or Ashura-ou's son. If you find Yasha-ou or the Ashuran prince do not attempt to fight them-there has been enough bloodshed for one day! Summon His Highness and myself immediately." Zouchouten's men scattered back into their search parties and vanished amid the wreckage. Zouchouten himself retained his grip on Tenoh's arm and, despite his protests, steered him to a fallen column and forced him to sit. "Who bandaged your arm?" "My mother's maids," Tenoh admitted with some chagrin, looking down at the blood-drenched strips of silk. "And it shows," Zouchouten snorted. He ripped several lengths of cloth from the cleanest hem of his cloak, drew his dagger and sliced the sopping bandages away from Tenoh's arm. One strip he used to blot the blood from it as best he could, examining the wound itself for signs of infection. "This will leave a scar, little prince, but I do not think you will lose the use of the arm. How...?" "Shuratou," Tenoh whispered, clenching his teeth around the pain as Zouchouten began to clean the wound itself. "A miracle that you still have the limb, then. Hold your hand there and help me tie this-Great Mother hang me for ever leaping between your father and Yasha-ou!" Zouchouten finished tying off the fresh bandage and sliced away the rest of Tenoh's sleeve. He sat back on his heels as Tenoh ran his hand over the bandage, and gently rubbed the abused muscles of his arm. "The Queen?" "Dead," Tenoh struggled to form the words to explain through a throat that was closed with the intensity of the emotion knotting his heart, "Ashura-he-" "Hush, lad. You will be able to speak of it one day." Zouchouten's tone was gentle. "...After...he...after....he turned to me, and told me that he would not kill me," Tenoh swallowed with some difficulty, "that he wanted the sight of the prophecy being fulfilled to be branded deeply into my heart." "Prophecy?" Zouchouten's head came up, steel eyes narrowing slightly. Tenoh nodded, unable to frame the words-the safe words that would give him the distance he needed, to describe his last encounter with his twin. Knowing, even now, that Ashura would never be farther from him than the scars he would carry. "Your father was...obsessed...with the prophecy of the Six Stars-the hoshimi Kyou's last prophecy," Zouchouten's musings were a thankful distraction. "And Hannyara was gazing for him constantly in the last few days...." "Remind me," Tenoh laughed shakily, "when I am Tentai that the future will never matter as much as the present." "You may change your mind about that before all is said and done, little prince," Zouchouten assured him wryly, "But I shall remind you-just be safe." "Your Highness! General Zouchouten!" Both rose quickly, Tenoh holding tightly to Zouchouten's arm as his head spun, one of Zouchouten's men running at the greatest speed he could manage across the debris field toward them. "We have found Yasha-ou! Come quickly!" It was even more eerie to walk through the kekkai than it was to merely look upon it-and it was, without a doubt, the most eye-disturbing sight that Tenoh had ever seen. It lived, it visibly pulsed with life, but it was a life that twisted in on itself rather than radiating outward into the world, a life that caged, and clung, and imprisoned, like the chrysalis of a metamorphosing butterfly. A strange golden light seemed to shine from just beneath its surface, through the whorls and striations of its bizarre substance, the interlocking strands and tendrils of armorlike chitin that comprised it. The amber light was sufficient to see by, and Tenoh and Zouchouten picked their way carefully through the maze of steeply arched pathways behind their guide, and that radiance grew gradually stronger the closer they came to the center of the edifice. Tenoh's breath left his lungs in a soft gasp. Zouchouten's men were gathered at a respectful distance from the man standing before the source of the golden light. Despite the earlier hostilities of the day, none of them seemed particularly anxious to earn the unfriendly attention of the strongest of the Bushinshou, and so their weapons were all sheathed. Yamatou was not, but Tenoh strongly suspected that Yasha-ou was leaning on it more for support than any hostile intent. Yasha-ou looked rather like Tenoh himself felt-battered, beaten nearly to the ground, his right eye closed and his face pale beneath its decoration of blood and bruises. He stood, Tenoh thought, primarily because the seams in his clothing were holding him up and because Yamatou was such a tall weapon. "Zouchouten," Tenoh murmured, flicking a glance in the direction of the soldiers. "Wait outside," Zouchouten's voice echoed strangely amid the kekkai's walls, but his men obeyed it just the same. Tenoh waited until all of Zouchouten's men had gone before he approached Yasha-ou, his hands outspread to show himself unarmed. "Yasha-ou-you are injured. You should-" "I will not leave this place," Yasha's voice was low, and filled with pain. "Not while he is still here." "'He'?" Tenoh asked softly, letting his hands fall to his sides. Yasha-ou hesitated for a moment, and held Tenoh's eyes. Whatever he read there must have satisfied him, for he stepped aside, sliding Yamatou through his belt and leaning heavily against one of the kekkai's thicker tendrils. Tenoh felt all breath and warmth flee his body, his lungs forgetting how to breathe, his blood running to ice water, as he realized what Yasha-ou was guarding. The outline of Ashura's body was still vaguely discernable beneath the surface of the kekkai; its substance was still hardening around his elegantly slender form. Cables of chitin wound around him, at once cradling and restraining, wound over every inch of his body save his pale, angular face and a tumble of jet-black hair. Tenoh approached slowly, drawn against himself, the tug on is soul painfully intense and irresistibly strong. "Ashura," He breathed, "my brother." Ashura's face was still, but not as Kendappa-ou's face had been. Hers had given the impression that life had once dwelled in it, and now had fled. A trace of expression. A faint warmth. His hand caressed Ashura's cheek and he was shocked by the cold, the chill than nearly radiated from his flesh. His skin was pale, as pale and cool and sharply angled as though it had been carved from marble. Lashes as thick as dark velvet lay against his cheeks; his perfect mouth showed no trace of ever having moved, or smiled, or spoken. Tenoh sank to his knees, unable to tear his eyes from his brother's empty, lifeless face, his soul aching within him. "What happened?" He whispered. "Is he...is he...dead?" My brother, my twin, the other half of my soul? "Ashura was drawn into Ashura-jou by the reawakening of the palace and its kekkai," Yasha-ou's voice mixed equal parts anguish and exhaustion. "While he was within, the stargazer Kujaku spoke to us-your father and I-of the true meaning of the prophecy that had guided us here...." "The prophecy?" Zouchouten asked sharply, turning his worried attention from Tenoh to Yasha-ou. Yasha nodded slowly, the motion seeming to extract a high cost in pain. "The prophecy which was Ashura's destiny to fulfill-the rebirth of the God of War, war without mercy, or compassion, or justice. And he, Ashura the Destroyer, who would reduce this world to a hell of fire and blood." Tenoh, remembering, shuddered and rested his blood-streaked forehead against Ashura's, recalling the heat of the hellfire that had washed over him, and the speed with which Shuratou had taken Ryuu-ou's life, and the sight of Ashura emerging from the kekkai where he had regained his true form, beautiful and cold, like a perfect death. "And your father told us of the promise he had made to Ashura-ou-that if the prophecy were to come true, before Ashura could destroy the world, that Taishakuten would kill him." Tenoh's head shot up and he stared incredulously at Yasha, unable to form his racing thoughts into a coherent question. "Ashura rose again from Ashura-jou, wearing the armor of Ashura-ou and bearing with him Shuratou, fully restored to its power. Taishakuten stepped between us, that Ashura would have to kill him before he could harm me. I knew, and I knew I would not be able to lift Yamatou to harm him, or even to stop him. I could not. I did not have to." Yasha's single eye sought Ashura's empty face. "He fell on Shuratou rather than kill me, and the kekkai tore him from my hands before I could even take it from him." "Ashura..." Tenoh whispered. I...know why Yasha would not have raised his hand against you. Tenoh rose slowly, caressing his brother's cheek. "He is...dead then. He will never truly wake again." "So Kujaku has said-and the prophecies of the hoshimi are never in error." Yasha's tone was brittle. "Zouchouten....please have a healer sent to tend to Yasha-ou's wounds." The look in Tenoh's eyes stilled the protests of both. "The prophecy has been fulfilled, Yasha-ou. I have never wished to be your enemy, and the man who destroyed your Clan is dead by your hands. I have today lost my mother, my brother, and possibly my father, whom we cannot find. I do not wish to lose you also, who was beloved of my only brother." "Your Highness." Zouchouten roared loudly enough that the soldiers waiting outside fled pell-mell in search of a healer without having to be told twice. "Your father still lived when last I saw him, Tenoh," Yasha told him quietly. "He was injured, but I did not think his injuries enough to kill him-he fought Ashura to a stalemate, and myself as well." "Father..." Tenoh's eyes stung, and a low roaring filled his ears. "He must be here somewhere. Zouchouten...." The darkness that had hovered on the edges of his vision for so long seemed to grow inexplicably stronger, and Tenoh wavered on his feet. "...We must find him. I need...I need to ask him...." "Tenoh," Yasha-ou and Zouchouten cried simultaneously, as Tenoh finally allowed the darkness to close around him. Enough, for one day, was enough. When Tenoh woke again, he could not tell immediately where he was. A disorientation so fierce he could nearly feel it sinking needle-tipped talons into his mind gripped him, and, in the instant after he opened his eyes, his head whirled and the only coherent question he could ask himself was, "What?" "Where" followed immediately thereafter, and he sat up so quickly that his next action was to lie back down, for his head swam and his stomach turned over and both came very close to open rebellion. A low groan escaped his lips and he buried his face in the pillow he had been lying on, trying not to feel too much like a sickly child and meeting limited success. "Tenoh?" Zouchouten's voice came from close by, and Tenoh raised his head slowly and looked about for its owner. The elder Shittenou stood in the door flap of the tent in which Tenoh belatedly realized he was laying, a lit lamp in one hand casting a warm golden glow. Tenoh managed an unsteady smile for him as he crossed the room, a white-robed healer in tow bearing a bag of medicines and bandages. "I am not that badly hurt, Zouchouten, there must be others-" "You are feverish, Tenoh. And you have lost a great deal of blood." Zouchouten's tone, frankly distressed, silenced his protests. "Healer?" A pang went through Tenoh as the young woman knelt next to him; she was fair of hair and skin and eyes, or else he might not have been able to look upon her at all, as he remembered the position Sohma had once held in the Court. Her examination was quick and thorough in all respects, her hands gentle, and Zouchouten hovering like a mother hen off to one side also served to keep him distracted. "Your Highness wounds were rather severe," Her tone was as well, and repressive with healerly disapproval, "and you should not have been allowed to lead any search, no matter for whom." Her basilisk glare pinned Zouchouten to the wall of the tent, and he writhed with a satisfying display of contrition. "You must rest, above all else-" "But, my father-" Tenoh began weakly. "His Majesty is more than capable of taking care of himself-and, in any case, half of Zouchouten's army is also searching for him! You may lay still and recover." The healer folded her arms across her chest in a manner designed to still all argument; it had its desired effect as Tenoh sank back into the pillows. "Your Highness has, as General Zouchouten noted, lost a great deal of blood. You have also sustained several severe blows, at least one of which was to the head, and a deep blade-wound which, for a miracle, has not become badly infected, despite the complete lack of common sense displayed by both Your Highness and a certain gaggle of lady's maids with whom I am going to have...words." Tenoh and Zouchouten both cringed in reflex and pity for the unfortunate maidservants as the healer began pouring herbs and powders into her mortar and grinding them together. Tenoh, despite his burning need to stand up and do something, nevertheless refrained, laying back in the pillows and smiling wryly at Zouchouten. "Let me guess-she is the one primarily responsible for organizing anyone with the slightest knowledge of medicine or enough dexterity to roll bandages into the most efficient force of healers the world has ever seen?" "In a word, little prince," Zouchouten managed to retain his very straight face, "yes. And she demanded that she be allowed to treat you since, and I quote, 'The first lot to tend his wounds consisted entirely of incompetent boobies who were selected for palace service on the basis of their harmlessness rather than their ability to accomplish anything constructive.' I like her." Tenoh laughed softly, a wince running through him as the motion reminded him of every wound, broken bone, and bruise that he had sustained over the last day or so. Zouchouten's hands caught his shoulders and held him gently until the spasm passed, and his breath returned somewhat. "Yasha-ou?" "Could not be moved, but at least suffered the attentions of a healer. I had guards placed at a discreet distance in case he should emerge-the healer who saw him thought he was less than fully well." "Yasha-ou's deepest wounds cannot be treated by the application of medicine." The healer transferred the concoction she was making from her mortar into a waxed paper packet, a pinch or two of which she added to a goblet of cold water. "Those he must heal for himself-or not." She stirred vigorously and returned to Tenoh's side, handing the goblet to him as Zouchouten propped him up. "Drink this, three times daily, two pinches in cold water, not wine. I will bring more tomorrow. It will help cleanse the illness from your body, will ease your fever, and allow you to sleep comfortably. Do not overexert yourself-you are young and strong, but your body has also endured a terrible shock. Drink." Tenoh braced himself and lifted the cup to his lips, half expecting one of the bitter draughts that had been forced on him as a child when he had fevers. To his surpise, the drink was faintly sweet, reminding him of mild honey-mead, and dreadfully soothing on his dry throat. He drained the cup and handed it back to the healer. "My thanks." "You will thank me better by doing as I say and recovering fully." She set the cup aside and gathered her medicines. "General Zouchouten, I will leave His Highness in your care for now. I will return tomorrow with more medicine. There are others about-make certain his bandages are changed." She rose, gathering her things beneath her white cloak and pulling up her hood against the cool night air. "I will see you out." Zouchouten heaved himself to his feet-rather laboriously, with the use of only one hand, Tenoh thought drowsily, as the medicine began having its desired effect. A pleasant cool lassitude was washing through his limbs and a weight coming to his eyelids, one which he was not inclined to resist too vigorously. Perhaps a few moments, to satisfy the healer.... They both watched in silence until Tenoh's eyes drifted closed again, and his breathing deepened. A small smile curved the healer's lips as she turned, Zouchouten holding the tent flap aside for her, then following himself. By mutual consent, they walked a few paces to a relatively discreet distance from both the prince's pavilion and any possible eavesdroppers loitering in the shadow of the other dwellings pitched around it. The healer's pearly robes blended into the twilight quite naturally, and Zouchouten, large and ungainly as he was in his current state, managed to follow her with something approaching stealth. "I did not learn your name, healer." It sounded like more of an accusation than he had meant it to be, and he muttered under his breath at himself in annoyance. "I am commonly called Jin." The hood she wore did not quite shadow her face, or the characteristic small smile that came and went on her finely shaped mouth. Tendrils of thistledown hair tumbled past it, and her silver-blue eyes glittered. "Those who know me well call me Dokujin." "Dokujin-ou." Zouchouten came to a complete halt, his own steelly eyes widening with surprise. "I did not know your Clan still lived." "My Clan has always been small-and it was a simple matter for us to make ourselves smaller." A dry smile. "You knew who I was?" "Of all the Clans, the two most gifted in the healing arts have always been Sohma and Dokujin. The Sohma have all been destroyed-the conclusion was obvious." He suddenly wished he had thought to bring a weapon larger than a dagger. "I...suspect...that you are not here to do harm." "We have not come for that purpose-if we had, you would never have seen my face." Dokujin-ou's pale, slender hand suddenly held a long, thin blade of her own. She twisted her wrist, turning the blade and presenting it hilt-first to Zouchouten. "On that you have my pledge." "I think I will choose to believe you." Zouchouten touched the first two fingers of his remaining hand to the hilt of the weapon; it vanished quickly back into the folds of the sleeve from which it emerged. "Why?" "Why what?" Her pale eyebrows arched with exaggerated innocence, eyes widening becomingly. "Why did you choose now to return...from wherever it has been that you've been hiding all these years?" Zouchouten also had endured a long and harrowing day, and subtlety was not his strong suit at the best of times; he had no desire to fence words with the Queen of Blades. They walked a few more moments in silence before she bestirred herself to answer. "At the close of the Holy Wars, my clan was still a sheathed weapon, awaiting Ashura-ou's hand to draw and use us. When the end was upon us--though we did not know it for an ending at the time--and Taishakuten's army nearly at Zenmi-jou's gates, my father was summoned into Ashura-jou. We all, youngest to eldest, believed this was the call that we had awaited so patiently--to go forth into the shadows, and end the war with the edges of our blades upon the throats of the Raijin and his rebels. When my father returned, he commanded us to gather what necessary things we would need for a journey, and bid us to leave Zenmi-jou and seek new cities in which to live, new identities in which to lose ourselves, new masks to hide behind. He told us that Ashura-ou had asked this of him, and asked us further to await the coming of the next true Emperor of the Heavens." She was quiet for some time as they walked further, to the very edges of the encampment. "Taishakuten was not, was never, that Emperor." "And Tenoh is." It was not a question. "His name," Dokujin-ou's tone gave away nothing of her thoughts. "speaks for him. We have watched. We have waited. And now we have come again." "Did you kill Taishakuten?" Zouchouten stopped in his tracks as the thought struck him; she did not, and he watched her slender form fading into the darkness, not caring whether or not he followed--or, he suspected, believed her reply. "Ashura-ou did not ask us to avenge him, Zouchouten." She was gone. </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>