Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author claims no ownership of the characters within, nor received any compensation for this work.
All you can bring back is what you can't leave behind.
Whenever the note rummaged to the surface of all the things in his pack, whenever it fluttered out as he searched for something, whenever he so much as brushed past the parchment with his fingers, Chichiri remembered the soul-shaking shock he'd felt when he first read the words. He knew that Tasuki could write -- he could use those talisman papers after all -- but he hadn't dreamed that the bandit would come up with something like that.
The note had first appeared atop a neatly-packed bundle of his things, piled with the kasa and shajuko of his adopted trade. It had been a surprise to see those things, his travelling accessories that he'd put away after coming to Mount Reikaku, but it was the note that rocked him. Only a few characters which told him not only to leave the home he'd known for a year, but also the conditions of his return. Tasuki had been brief, succinct and to the point, which was completely unlike him.
"That's what really did it, no da," Chichiri murmured, trekking a long the increasingly rocky, increasingly steep trail. "That's how I knew he was really serious and that I really did have to go no da. If he'd thought we could work it out... we would have just fought about it some more no da."
Stopping for a breath, Chichiri shielded his vision from the bright sun overhead, surveying the road before him. Out on the highways of Konan again, he'd had time -- months of time, how many exactly he'd lost count -- to consider that year on the mountain. After all this time, he could watch the scenes in his mind's eye, falling apart one by one on the road that led him to where he stood now.
Chichiri had been heading toward the mountains for a few days now. His wanderings had taken him in this direction before, but he'd always found a reason to turn his feet elsewhere. Now he was closer to those wild lands than he had been since he'd left the bandits' mountain, and he wasn't turning back.
"Funny," he sighed to himself. "I should have found another road hours ago no da. But here I am, still walking, no da."
He sighed, and took a deep breath of the cleaner, thinner air, and for a time all was silent but for the slight clink of the shajuko as he walked. "Ne, Hikou, I can't think of anything but those days, no da..."
~***~
Blues, greys, moonlight falling in boxy chunks on the floor and the mussed pallet, the tangle of sheets trapping the sleeping redhead. He had been possessive, clawing, and just a little rough tonight. Just like he knew Houjun liked. Just like Shun'u himself preferred. That shared passion for biting and tussling between the sheets kept their sex life exciting and fresh, a pulse-pounding ride every night that Houjun never tired of.
He leaned on the windowsill, nude but unashamed. If any of the bandits spied him in their window, they might stop and admire the boss' strong, lithe lover from a distance. Shun'u did like to show him off. Part of his possessiveness, it seemed, that he wanted everyone to know what he had. Houjun never argued it, since it felt wonderful to be admired. Wonderful to be so very precious to his lover.
Outside the world was quiet, only the faint birdlike calls of the bandits on night watch assuring each other that all was well. From their window he could see the training yard, the central hall of the bandits' compound, and the road that wound down the steep mountainside. In the moon's light, in the stars' light, the road gleamed silver amid the black of the mountain rock, a winding snake that led out into the world, out into new sights and new adventures.
Were there new roads out there now, built in the time he'd been living here on Mount Reikaku? Were there new paths to wander that he had never seen?
"'Chiri?" came the sleepy voice from the pallet behind him. Shun'u often forgot, when tired or drunk or concentrating on something else, that they called each other by their given names now. "Whatcha doin'? C'mon back to bed."
Houjun turned away from the window, looking down at the tanned, muscular man waiting for him in their bed. With a sigh, he left the window and the road behind, and sunk himself once more into his lover's embrace.
~***~"Sounds simple, doesn't it? I woke up in the night, and looked out the window no da." Chichiri glanced to his right, as he often did when narrating his thoughts like this. Pretending that someone walked alongside him, that a familiar face looked back at him. "But that wasn't what he saw, no da. He just saw me looking at the road, instead of being in bed with him no da."
"Mm... no, different road no da," the monk added after a moment's consideration. "This one doesn't go up the mountain, there's only one that does that and it's not easy to pick up no da. They guard it, no da. Like all of their treasures, it's not open to just anyone no da."
That open road had been like a cheating lover between them. Chichiri longed for it while Tasuki resented it. And, like any other infidelity, Chichiri's lust for wandering its dips and curves had only concealed a deeper, darker rift between them.
~***~
The little town not far from the mountain's foot had only the smallest of inns, but the tavern was bright and homey and boasted some of the best ale in the region. Together they'd come down the mountain for a little retreat, both to gather supplies and to spend some time together away from the bandit stronghold.
In this place they were Tasuki and Chichiri again, their names well-known as the only surviving two of Suzaku's Seven Celestial Warriors. People tended to make a big deal of them, which neither of them really enjoyed. But when the drink was good and the company was rapt, Tasuki could spend hours telling tales about the days of the Priestess and the war with Kutou, the adventures that the Seven had had together.
Chichiri filled up their mugs again, quietly ensuring that his own was watered-down enough that he could keep his head while Tasuki drank freely. As he wriggled his way between the crowd of listeners around Tasuki's table, he caught the end of his companion's latest tale.
"... and that's just a mask, y'know, he don't really look like that. Show 'em, Chiri." The redhead's grin was innocent, not to mention completely sloshed. Chichiri shook his head, trying to formulate a quick and witty answer that would keep the magic mask on his face, covering what he hated to show in public.
But Tasuki would have none of it. "C'mon already! Show 'em what a handsome guy you are under there!" With the gang of a dozen or so men egging him on, he reached up, trying to get his fingers under the mask's edge to take it off if Chichiri wouldn't.
Fear-anger-betrayal welled up in him so quickly that Chichiri didn't even have a second to think. He couldn't shouldn't wouldn't show his face, not in public, not to these strangers, not now, not ever! Panic seized him and he smacked Tasuki's hand away, with a resounding SLAP that silenced the entire room.
And then he fled.
~***~
He had stamina to spare, but now Chichiri had to stop and rest. This was the turning point. "Going on or going back meant making a decision, no da," he murmured to his invisible, imperceptible companion. "Just wandering off the road puts the decision off over and over again... and you're more likely to get lost that way, no da."
Chichiri stood there at the crossroads, looking up at the steep rise of the mountain that loomed up ahead. "Don't worry, I never really get lost no da. You know I've even tried before? I've tried to walk without looking and lose myself, no da. I tried that right after you, Hikou..."
He sighed, still putting off the decision of whether to go on or go back... or to wander off the road again. "It didn't work then, and it doesn't work now, no da. I always end up coming back to a place I've been before no da. Around and around, up and down all those same roads... wondering how many times I've walked them, no da."
~***~
"What's gotten into you, Houjun?"
He heard the bandit bang into the room, the door dropping heavily shut behind him. He didn't turn around, sitting on the bed and trying desperately to meditate himself back into calm. But with Shun'u stomping on the wooden floor, with his annoyance just seething through the room, Houjun couldn't very well concentrate on meditation.
Looking up, he started to reply, but Shun'u put a hand over his mouth and growled, "You know I ain't talkin' to you with that thing over your face. You show me your real face or just stay shut up."
Gods, but he could be harsh when he wanted to! Part of Houjun wanted to shrink back from him, turn away, leave the mask up and pretend. But he could feel the portent of something rising between them, and he Knew like he Knew the life force of the other Seishi that it wasn't going to be an ordinary argument. When Shun'u moved his hand, Houjun lifted the magic mask off his face and let it simply disappear.
Shun'u stood back with his arms folded, those strong and burly arms that always made Houjun feel safe. Never lifted a hand to him in anger, Shun'u hadn't. Never once had he threatened violence, even when they got cross with one another. Houjun never feared what he would do. He only feared what Shun'u would say.
"You know I don't like taking it off in public no da."
"You know I think that's stupid."
Silence fell over them, bringing down the awkwardness of an old argument they had never resolved. Usually it ended with an affectionate ruffle of his bangs, or a promise that one day he'd be able to go around without the mask. Tonight, though, Houjun didn't feel much like restating that old lie. And it seemed Shun'u wasn't interested in affectionate ruffling either.
"I don't want to..."
"Yer hiding!" Shun'u finally burst out, clenching his fists. "Like a coward, yer hidin' who you are and not lettin' anybody see! Yer..." Choking off in frustration, he let a low growl substitute for words, then leaned over and grabbed Houjun's shoulders. He startled at the sudden contact but it never occurred to him that Shun'u might try to hurt him.
"You got so much you never show anybody," the redhead whispered fiercely, shaking him slightly but not too hard. "You got a real smile an' a real laugh! I've seen 'em but you won't let nobody else!"
It was difficult to argue with an emotional Shun'u; his feelings were so raw and overwhelming that they blotted out everything else -- even the reason that Houjun clung to so tightly and relied on so heavily. He knew all the reasons, in his mind, why he only went unmasked in private. He had all the words on the tip of his tongue, right there at his disposal, but his voice was stolen away by the powerful press of the other Seishi's emotions. Those feelings he could sense as clearly as his own.
Frustration. Resentment. Admiration. Love. For him. It choked Houjun to know how much.
"It... it bothers people no da..."
"That ain't it! That ain't the real reason!" The bandit was shouting now, too loud and too close but the monk didn't want to turn his face from it. Shun'u shook him for real then, the force of it yanking his head back. He was still dizzy from the surprise when his lover growled at him again.
"How long 're you gonna hide what happened ta Hikou? It ain't about the scar anymore, we both know that. You wear it so you don't have ta be the same guy who couldn't save his best friend. When are you gonna let that go?"
Everything felt heavy and pressured in his ears. For a few moments he thought he could actually feel his heart trying to escape his chest. He had told Shun'u the story of his hometown, his friend and his fiance, only once. After that he had never spoken of it and had discouraged his lover from trying to bring it up. They had let it lie, a secret between them, only...
...it had festered and grown and melded with all the other secrets and little things they didn't talk about. They never spoke about Houjun's past. They never spoke about Shun'u's past either. They rarely mentioned the Priestess or the other Seishi between the two of them. If they did, neither of them ever mentioned their names. Their friends. Mitzukake. Chiriko. Hotohori. Tamahome....
Dazed, overcome, Houjun's gaze fell, landing on the baubles Tasuki wore around his neck. Beads, jewelry... and a simple cloth pouch, tied with twine, that contained a rope of purple braid which hadn't seen the sun in more than a year. He might change his jewelry but he only took that off to bathe, sleep and fuck. That, there, the one thing that Shun'u would never admit to, was the only thing that Houjun had to fight with.
"How about when you let go of Nuriko no da."
In an instant, Shun'u had let go of him and retreated across the room. Houjun thought he ought to be furious, perhaps even righteously indignant. Instead, a kind of empty calm had fallen over his heart. No upset, no sorrow, not even triumph.
Shun'u looked at him over his shoulder, his back to the monk. "Runnin' again. You can't just say it's true so you gotta run away from it. Just like you look at the road for a way out... now yer lookin' in me for a way out." That tone was soft, deadly, striking right in the heart like the point of a dagger. The bandit's attacks were rarely so pointed; he preferred the broad sweeping destruction of the tessen. But he could wield a knife to strike deep and sudden and fatal.
Gritting his teeth, Houjun managed to stammer out, "You aren't going to admit that you've been stuck on Nuriko all this time either, no da..."
"Don't you talk about him!" Back in force was the fiery blaze, the sweep of Shun'u's arm just like the wield of his favorite weapon. "Don't you even... don't you dare!"
He was gone with the thudding of boots and the slamming of the inn room door.
~***~
When he got back to the mountain the next day, their room was quiet and still. On their pallet was a neat pile of everything he owned. His knapsack was packed with all his extra clothes and small things, his kasa and shajuko settled on top of the pack ready to be donned again. And on top of it all, the little note, which he'd kept all this time:
All you can bring back is what you can't leave behind.
"So few words say so very much," Chichiri marvelled quietly. "It told me first that he had to leave, but then it also said that I could come back no da. I didn't know how I could feel so much despair and so much hope all at once, no da. I knew I had to go... but I also hoped I could come back. Back to Tasuki, back to... us.
"All I had to do was leave behind the things I couldn't let go of, no da."
Tasuki never asked anyone to do things he couldn't do himself. He never expected anybody to take on something he didn't think he could do. There on the mountain, the bandit would be doing the same thing. All there was to do was walk on, and try to return better than he had left.
So, here was the mountain again. Once, he remembered well, there had been happiness at the summit. Warm fires and good company and a hot, tender lover who could go all night and be ready for more in the morning. He remembered raucous dinners with the bandits that went on for hours; Tasuki's exaggerated tales and Kouji's bad jokes. Sometimes, he could still feel the muscular arms that held him, the gentle lips that kissed him good night every night no matter how tired they were.
Leaning his weight on the shajuko, Chichiri whispered, "I guess that was happiness, Hikou. Happiness in ignorance at least, no da. Finding comfort in the pleasant. Just ignoring the painful no da."
Tasuki had seen that. Tasuki had always been more interested in what was under the masks, what lay beneath the layers of clothing Chichiri wore. He'd always wanted Chichiri himself, man, monk and seishi. Trappings of life and duty were just layers of dust to be swept aside.
Chichiri sat down on the ground, his back very straight, looking very seriously at nothing. He was alone on the road but it was time to have a very important conversation. "We've been walking together a long time, Hikou no da. I've kept you with me all this time. I guess I was afraid of really and truly losing you, no da."
No answer came to him but the light breeze from the cooler mountaintop, but then again, Chichiri expected none. No matter how often he talked to this unseen spirit, he knew in his heart that Hikou was not truly there. "You've been a crutch, no da," the monk admitted in a whisper. I thought I was keeping your memory alive, but I was only using you to prop myself up no da. It's been a long time, but now... now I think I've got to stand on my own. Shun'u doesn't want you, no da. He just wants me."
Chichiri got to his feet as he spoke, his voice growing stronger and more certain. "He wants me, no da. He wants me to come back to him, he told me so in that note no da. But I have to go back to him alone, so, this is good-bye, Hikou." In a softer voice, he added, "I'll always think of you. I'll always hold on to your memory. But I'm not going to hide behind you any more."
Taking a deep breath, Chichiri turned his back on the road. He imagined he heard a sigh on the wind, but he wouldn't turn around to look behind him. Now, only the mountain was in front of him, and it was up the rocky mountain trail he would have to go.
Tramping over rocks, hopping over tree-roots and fallen limbs, it quickly became clear that this would be no easy journey. Unlike Tasuki he couldn't just scamper up the steep incline; he'd gotten the calluses on his feet over long flat roads, not these difficult mountain passes.
The actual path became less distinct, more like a climb than a walk. Now Chichiri needed two hands to pull himself along, both to grab at branches and outcroppings, and to steady himself along the sometimes narrow ledges. With a sigh, he had to drop the shajuko that he often used as a walking stick, in order to free his hands. There was nowhere to tuck such a large thing for such a difficult journey -- it would have to be left there. Without a second thought about coming back for it, Chichiri abandoned the staff and hauled himself up to the next bit of flat space.
What need was there for a monk among bandits, anyway?
It was rough going, navigating around rocks that grew ever sharper and bushes that had developed thorny defenses against the harsh mountain conditions. His hands were quickly scratched up by thistles and rough bark. At first it was only roughened skin and pink welts, annoying but not critical. It wasn't long before a long thorn dug right into the heel of his hand, however, and Chichiri had to stop to do something about the bleeding. He couldn't very well be leaving a blood-trail up the mountain with all the wild things that lived there.
There were bandages in his pack, but the rucksack was on his back and he was balancing a bit precariously on this rock ledge. Bit by bit, he shifted the bag around front and pawed through it, searching for the wraps to protect his hands. With a frown of dismay, Chichiri realized he was getting little spots of blood all over his things. "I don't have that much," he muttered to himself. "You'd think I could keep what I do have nice no da."
Bandages finally in hand, Chichiri tried swinging the pack back around to his back again... but he misjudged the weight of it. Before he could scramble to catch the strap, the bag had slipped off his shoulder and tumbled merrily away down the mountain. Chichiri would have smacked his forehead if his hands weren't still bleeding. There hadn't been anything in there that he couldn't replace, really.
Nothing but the note from Tasuki, but then again, why had he been hanging on to that for so long?
After catching his breath and binding up his hands securely, Chichiri started off again. Without his rucksack or his shajuko it was much quicker climbing. He was a great deal lighter without all of that stuff weighing him down!
Crawling through a thick lump of scratchy bushes was his next trial. No way around them, sharp dropoffs to either side of him. The mountain grew ever steeper and more dangerous the higher he climbed. He went in head first, face down, wriggling and crawling through as close to the ground as he could get. Tiny scratches and pricks poked at him everywhere, but there wasn't that much bush to get through. He'd get his head out before his knees even went in!
Just as Chichiri emerged from the bramblebush, he felt a worrying tightening around his neck as the string that kept his kasa on his back dug into his skin. "Damned gigantic ha...!" he choked off as the tie pressed into his throat, cutting off his air. Tugging and pulling, trying to free himself, just dug the garotte further into his windpipe. He couldn't yank himself free and keep the hat, so he reached up and undid the strap with one finger. Immediately he toppled forward, dragging his feet free of the brambles and gasping.
Muttering curses to himself, Chichiri inspected the rather intimate marriage of his kasa and the thorn bush. He'd only tear up his hands further if he tried to pull it free; otherwise it would have to be cut. Naturally the only knife he owned had just tumbled down the mountain with the rest of his possessions.
Irritated, Chichiri stomped a foot and glared at the rocky soil he stood on. "Are you determined to eat up everything I ever owned no da?"
The mountain, predictably, made no response.
All he could do was keep climbing. Going down would be too precarious, and besides, by now it was shorter to go up.
"Shorter to what, no da?" Chichiri asked himself as he started trekking again. Hand over hand, climbing up a rocky face when there was no other way, straining and reaching for the next handhold, he felt the rock and gravel dig into his skin. It cut into the fabric of his shirt, reducing it to ribbons and raisin red lines all down his chest.
Heaving deep breaths, he hauled himself up over the tiny cliff, resting on his hands and knees. His own voice was the only comfort he had when travelling, and even though it hurt to talk as he gasped for air, he couldn't give up that solace now.
"How far do you..."
Roots and branches stuck out crazily all over the steep incline, allowed to grow wild to deter climbers less determined than Chichiri. He grabbed and scrabbled at the dry, scratching wood, even though sticks stuck in his hair and pulled long locks free of his tail. He forced and pushed himself up the flatter inclines, even though the rocks wore away at his shoes and his feet pulsed, swollen in their confines.
"... really think you're..."
Tossing off the remains of his shirt, Chichiri looked down at his aching hands. The bandages were quite brown now with blood, dried and then torn fresh. How long had he been going like this? How long did it take one skinny monk to climb an entire mountain? Taking a deep breath, he faced the sheer rock wall that blocked his path, and made a grab for sharp, skin-tearing handholds.
"... going to go no da?"
His muscles screamed for relief as he had to force himself up, inch by inch, scraping his bare chest and arms. A tiny push with his hands, a little shove with his feet, moved him up another inch. Letting go was impossible, but moving forward was nearly so. Chichiri's entire body was consumed by agonizing fire, limbs protesting that they could go no further.
But the edge of the rock face was in sight, if he could just get his hand up there. He could see the grass tufting out, he was so close! Just another stretch... reach his fingers...
"As far as I have to go!"
Chichiri pushed. A jutting stone cut into the paper-thin mask he wore -- if not for it the rock might have taken out his other eye. The tear was long before Chichiri could turn his head away from it. The sweat slicking his forehead and cheeks was too much for the malleable magic substance and the mask slid weakly right off his face, fluttering down unseen beneath him.
Chichiri reached, fingers just touching the grass above his head.
A warm hand clasped around his wrist and *heaved*.
He slid up the rest of the way and toppled onto fresh, tickly grass. Splayed on the cool support of possibly the only flat surface on the entire mountain, Chichiri gasped deep, panting breaths and looked up.
Framed by the sun, fiery bright bronzed hair, somewhat matted with twigs and leaves, and a tanned but tear-streaked face loomed over him. Almond-curved amber eyes and a shaky smile that Chichiri had dreamed about for months now hovered just before him. The bandit was as bedraggled as he, only the remnants of trousers clinging to his hips, his chest bare... not even a little cloth bag hanging around his neck.
He had the strength to lift himself up, and then topple into Tasuki's arms.
Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat. Even blood to blood, each of them covered in tiny cuts and scrapes. Whatever Tasuki had been through, it had torn away everything from him as Chichiri's climb up the mountain had done for him. Only one thing remained.
"Tasuki no da, I'm..."
"'Chiri, welcome..."
"Home."
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