http://clampfix.fanworks.net/rgv-fix/smile3.txt </head><body><pre>And To See Him Smile Part III A RG Veda Story By Myranda Kalis The air was hot, hotter than the heart of a furnace, searing against his skin and scorching his lungs with every breath he drew. Burning winds stirred his hair, tugged at his robes, sent swirls of ash cascading over him as he pressed his face into his hands and begged not to have to see this again, prayed for this vision to leave him in peace. Ashura-ou raised his head and opened firelit eyes, reddened, he told himself, from the unrelenting heat, from the jet-black ash carried by the scorched wind. If there were truly any mercy in heaven, he could have commanded his own awakening, dragged himself from this seeing, and lost himself in dreamless sleep and let his spirit find some peace. But mercy was a quality that had never graced his clan, in any form, and so he stood on the spur of black-burned rock overlooking what had once been the lake that cradled Zenmi-jou, and now cradled its not-so-faithful shadow, risen in its place. Heat distortion rippled over the surface of the lake, the blood of countless numbers reddening the waters, that it seemed like Ashura-jou floated, untouched, in the midst of a world that consisted entirely of blood and fire. The sky, what little of it could be seen through the clouds of unnatural blackness that swirled through it, was the same lurid crimson as the lake of blood, as the flames that flickered unceasingly in maddened patterns across lake's surface, and writhed over the walls and towers of Ashura-jou. Please_not this_. The words emerged, half-prayer, half-plea, as less than a whisper, snatched from his lips by the relentless winds and carried, unheard by any living thing, across the bowl of the valley. Anything but this. He moved, the action prompted not by any conscious desire, but by the terrible knowledge of his part in this vision, where he must go, what he must witness, whom he must meet, and why, why he needed to do it. He bent his face against the wind and slowly descended the burnt hillside, charred grass, blackened earth, the bodies of those unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the firestorm that had seared Zenmi-jou clean of life crumbling as he passed over and by them. The well-tended floating paths that had connected the Heavenly City to the shores of its watery cradle had been burned away along with the waters themselves, leaving the crumbled remains of pilings to pick his way across. The burnt-copper smell of blood hung so thickly in the air he could taste it in the back of his throat, along with the sick-sweet scent of burning flesh, and the taste of fire itself, a fire that knew no purpose but destruction. Tendrils of that flame leapt from the surface of the lake, thin crimson whiplets that lashed around him, caressing, probing, stroking, gliding over his pale flesh without burning, toying almost playfully with his hair and robes, even as the wind had. A welcome of sorts, from one master of Ashura-jou to another, a fiery embrace that drew him on, even as the deepest parts of his soul screamed in anguish and grief, in condemnation of his own folly, at the true enormity of this betrayal. He passed soundlessly through the crimson-lit halls of Ashura-jou, struggling to look neither right nor left, not wishing to see, again, the terrible carnage that had attended this moment, the butcher's bill that his foolishness had tallied. It was enough to know that the floors beneath his feet were sanguine and slick, and the stench of death clung to the ancient walls, hung thick in the superheated air, and the souls of the dead swirled around him, crying out in agony and hatred. He wished his heart twice as cold as it had ever been, wished for numbness to dull his abraded soul, and neither wish was answered; his face, scorched raw, stung as his eyes filled and overflowed and a cry of grief welled up in his throat. As he stepped into the throne room of Ashura-jou. Awash in blood to the depth of his ankles_.. Sheets of crimson flame writhing over the fire-blackened walls, showing vistas of devastation, of absolute destruction, of merciless slaughter, of death so vast even Death was glutted on the butchery_. A throne of skulls stripped of flesh and draped in blood-colored silk in which a single figure, a single living creature lounged, fine pale flesh wrapped in layers of scarlet and gold, a blade of clear crystal across his lap, an extravagant cascade of jet hair glittering liquidly, the longest tendrils of which trailed across the bloody floor. His eyes, sunlit golden, vibrant, beautiful, turned from the joyous contemplation of the horror he had wrought and he rose, elegant, slender arms outstretched and pure, dark voice crying out in true delight. "Father!" Warm arms enfolded him, drawing him into a fierce embrace, and he felt his own arms winding around his son's waist, their bodies pressed closely together, Ashura-ou burying his face in his son's blood-scented hair. Listened to his son's perfect voice whispering words of love, felt his hands stroking through his hair in an impossibly soothing motion. Felt their hearts beating in time, his blood pulsing with the same call to ruin, the same desire to kill, the same hunger for blood and devastation, the same soul-deep need to destroy. Tears poured down his face. Gods help me, what have I done? What am I going to do? Ashura-ou lay perfectly still in the coolly soothing comfort of his empty bed, wound in layers of silk and supported by layers of cushions and pillows, and stared blankly up at the vaulted ceiling until he was certain he was fully conscious, and the vision would not return again. He tasted salt on his lips, and the skin of his face stiffening with it, the pillow beneath his cheek damp, and for a moment completely failed to care. There was no one to see, after all, for he had commanded that he be left in peace before he retired, and no summons but one from Tentai himself should disturb him; well-trained, they had not gainsaid him in any way but their perfectly elegant acceptance of his command. Even the Twelve, who were normally inclined to argue points about security, had taken their leave of him with minimal debate. He wondered, briefly, what would become of them, and was rewarded with a flicker of images passing across the surface of his eyes. One day, I will learn not to ask questions of myself. Ashura-ou squeezed his eyes closed against a rush of hot tears, and succeeded in catching most of them behind his lashes. He knew, he had always known, how they would meet their endings, and it was on nights like this that he felt the need to remind himself of it again. To remind himself of the horrible price of what he was planning, to remember that he alone would not pay that price. He swallowed a sound of pain and pushed himself away from his pillows, drawing his robe around himself and staring almost-blindly around his cavernous empty bedchamber. There was not even the possibility of sleep any longer for tonight; he looked down at his bed with active revulsion and he strode away from it, and from his chamber, without any true destination in mind. It was even worse to prowl the coolly lighted halls of Ashura-jou, for every hall and turn and courtyard reminded him of what he had seen, and what he would do, what he would have to do, and how it all would end. It was not, he acknowledged to himself as he began the slow climb from Ashura-jou to Zenmi-jou, going to be a very good night. ************************************************************************** ************ Taishakuten regarded the mosaiced ceiling of his bedchamber, groaned deeply as it continued in its failure to relax him, and rolled to his side. He had, like every other visitor to the Heavenly City for this festive occasion, been accorded chambers that were typically set aside for honored guests and other such dignitaries. They were, like every other such chamber, luxuriously appointed, with pleasingly thick carpets, elegant and exceedingly comfortable furnishings, and dozens of no-doubt easily breakable objects of dubious utility that added to the general feel of living in someone else's house. It was not, Taishakuten acknowledged to himself through gritted teeth, the ideal place to come in an effort to relax after an evening of laborious socialization with the vultures of the Court. Not that he would have been able to relax in any case, but some places were less irritating than others to his already fully-roused nerves. He rolled onto his back again and released a slow, deep breath, forcing his hands to unball from the fists they had curled into. He had not expected to enjoy his time in the capital very much at all. His preparation for that lack of enjoyment had not stilled his aggravation, particularly as the day had dragged on into the evening, and the fundamental inanity of it all had begun wearing on him with a painful, grinding intensity. It had been all he could do, at a number of points, not to completely discard any attempts at courtly civility and simply turn and stride from the room, leaving both the Court and everyone in it behind, returning from the north and completing the mission he had been dragged from. That would, however, have burned far too many bridges that he might need again later, and so he had stayed, and smiled, and made reasonably polite conversation, and performed as well as he felt himself able given the circumstances. His thoughts danced restlessly around his entirely too brief encounter with Ashura-ou. In retrospect, he had to wonder what had possessed him-and then he had also to wonder what had possessed the Emperor, to accept, despite the War God's visible reluctance. And why, ultimately, Ashura-ou himself had not objected more strongly, for the right of refusal had ultimately been his_.or, it should have been, inasmuch as he was the challenged and not the challenger. It troubled him, in some wordless way, even as he had taken supreme delight in watching Ashura-ou's perfect grace and skill, in the sound of Paranjya and Shuratou's blades singing together, in the sunlit gold of Ashura-ou's eyes and the night-darkness of his hair. He was beauty, and he was grace, and he was all the things that Taishakuten was not, but which he valued in others. And when he found the slightest trace of Ashura-ou's blood on Paranjya's edge, he had been shocked, for he had not thought that a blow had actually been landed, his blade had not, to his awareness, slowed or registered the shock of contact, and neither had Ashura-ou reacted to being cut. It had not, he was forced to acknowledge to himself, been the ideal way to draw Ashura-ou's attention. With a growl, Taishakuten heaved himself out of the far-too-comfortable bed, fished about for his night robe and pulled it on. The only good thing about the rooms he was currently occupying was their location convenient to the gardens, which meant that fresh, spring-scented air flowed through the windows at all times and he could literally walk ten paces down the hall and out into the relative comfort of the night. The gardens were nearly another world compared to Zenmi-jou's halls and galleries, filled with far too many people who were certain of their own importance in the insanely convoluted scheme of the Court's life. Here there was peace, relative though it might be, and quiet, and the sense of the world, of growing things that had no knowledge of politics or society, and would not have cared if they did. Taishakuten allowed himself a soft, soft smile as the wind rolled over him, sweet with the harmonious perfumes of dozens of different types of flowers, and touched with the cool scent of flowing water and budding trees. The winter had been far too long, and he had been steeped in both it and war for long enough. The path he walked was bordered on both sides by well-tended expanses of lawn, copses of flowering trees, and the whole was illuminated by lanterns cunningly wrought to blend almost unnoticeably into the foliage. Overhead, the sky was bright with stars and the thinnest sliver of crescent moon, and so he had no difficulty seeing the path before him or where it led. A small stream wended its way across the path ahead, a small wooden bridge arching over it, and there another figure stood, draped in black shot through with gold, leaning against the balustrade, head bowed so that the shoulder-length hair obscured his face. It did not, however, obscure the identity, for Taishakuten would have known that lean and elegant form, the dark hair and pale, long-fingered hands, had he no eyes at all. He felt his throat go dry, a tremor running through his own form as, responding to some small sound he must have made, Ashura-ou raised his head and looked in his direction, half in shadow beneath the trees. The golden eyes rested upon him but, thankfully, did not capture his own, playing slowly over him. Taishakuten firmly resisted the urge to shiver, to react in any way, for he could nearly feel the caress of warm hands over his body, and the desire that lanced through him was so fierce it was almost frightening. Ashura-ou's voice was dark, low and soft, when he finally spoke. "Raijin Taishakuten_I see that you are spending a restless night, as well." Something in Ashura-ou's tone, or the words that he spoke, finally released Taishakuten from his physical and mental paralysis. "You might say that." Taishakuten found a wry smile curling his mouth and he allowed it to stay as he approached the golden light from the lamps lining the bridge falling over his face. "I am afraid that after more than a year in the field, I am no longer accustomed to the luxury of Zenmi-jou." "I can imagine that you must not be," Ashura-ou's tone was dry, his own eyes glittering in the light of the lamps. "I am given to understand from both Ryuu-ou and the documents I have read that the campaign was even more strenuous than we had expected it to be." "It was not," Taishakuten admitted, coming to a halt less than a blade-length from Ashura-ou's black-clad form, "an experience that I am anxious to repeat." "Hopefully," Spoken so quietly he barely caught the words, "you will not have to_for some time yet. Tell me, Raijin-" "Taishakuten," the word was out before he could stop it. "Taishakuten," Ashura-ou lifted golden eyes to his own, and it was all he could do not to surrender to the pull he had felt earlier, could still feel, even now. "tell me, do you ever think of the future? Of what may happen weeks, months, years from now?" Taishakuten opened his mouth, then closed it again, his practiced, self-assured answer unspoken. There was something in Ashura-ou's normally unreadable eyes, his normally pale, composed face, that obliterated any such belief, in himself or in anything else. A feverish intensity, a fierce need for-what? He nearly named it 'comfort' but such a thought was completely alien, supremely unlikely, and he discarded it the instant it crossed his mind. But that expression still persisted, a look that was not quite a plea. "I_do often. I wonder many things_." "Do you question yourself-and actions you have not yet taken, but may yet take?" It was in his voice now, giving his tone an edge that had not been there before, and, try as he might, Taishakuten could not read it clearly. "I wish I could say that I do not," Taishakuten admitted dryly. "Do not," Again that soft, almost voiceless tone, "think the less of yourself for the questioning, Taishakuten." He was silent then, brilliant eyes lowering again to the contemplation of the water drifting swiftly past them, the reflection of the stars and the glitter of the lamps, and Taishakuten drew even closer, unbidden even by himself. The dark curtain of his hair fell across Ashura-ou's face and Taishakuten's hands itched to brush it back, to run his fingers through its cool silken length, to caress the cheek it lay against. Moonlight graced the lord of the Ashura Clan in ways that even sunlight did not, turning his marble-pale skin silver rather than white, gleaming in perfect counterpoint to his fire eyes and midnight hair. His long-fingered hands, unadorned, laced themselves together and Taishakuten, daring greatly, laid his own over them, callused fingers caressing smooth, soft skin. The turn of Ashura-ou's head placed their faces inches apart, and Taishakuten breathed in softly, sampling the spice of his scent. "What do you question, Ashura-ou?" "Everything," An endless weariness in his voice, his golden eyes showing depths of fatigue that Taishakuten had not even guessed at. "always. I have no other choice." "There are always choices, Ashura-ou. One needs only to search until they are found." It was all he could do not to draw Ashura into his arms-he had already broken the promise he had made to himself, that he would not touch what was not his to claim. The smile that curved Ashura-ou's perfect mouth was bitter beyond words. "Taishakuten-" "My Lord." Taishakuten and Ashura-ou both started, Taishakuten disengaging his hands and taking a half-step backward, reflexively reaching for the weapon he had refrained from bringing with him. Ashura-ou merely went utterly still, his hands falling to his sides and becoming lost in the trailing sleeves of his long robe, half-turning to face the liveried servant that had come upon them so silently. He bowed deeply and held it until Ashura-ou acknowledged the obeisance-taking perhaps a fraction longer than was strictly necessary, while Taishakuten composed himself. "Ashura-ou, Tentai craves your presence in his chambers at your earliest convenience." Taishakuten's silver eyes widened a fraction, and he opened his mouth to protest the lateness of the hour-then closed it when Ashura-ou nodded his acknowledgement of the request. "Please inform Tentai that I shall join him immediately." The servant bowed deeply to Taishakuten, then a fraction deeper to Ashura-ou, retreated the customary three paces, and fled back down the path. Ashura-ou waited until he had departed before turning again to Taishakuten, golden eyes hooded, his face a thing of expressionless shadow. "I_It would please me to speak with you again, Taishakuten." "The pleasure would be my own, Ashura-ou." Taishakuten bowed deeply, and held the gesture long enough for Ashura-ou to realize that it was given in earnest. When he rose, the lord of the Ashura Clan 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>