Here Lies Gonou Chapter Ten: Fractured Expectations

[moonshadows]

            Sanzo is gone. Sanzo is gone. That single thought circles my brain while the shock wears off, and then the panic settles in. Sanzo is gone. My breath comes in little whimpering gasps, and I can feel my chi roil under my skin. I fell asleep and somehow didn't wake up - my ear doesn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, I was leaning on my temple. The guilt rises, threatening to consume me, but I push it away. I need to find Sanzo. The storm shutters open easily at my reckless jerk, letting in a gust of wind and a faceful of rain. I lean out the window, searching the ground below for any sign of impact, but there is nothing. As I shove the shutters closed again, it occurs to me that Sanzo would not have been able to close them if he'd jumped out the window. I would feel more foolish if I weren't in the middle of mindless panic over the disappearance of the one man I absolutely can not fail.

            Stop. Think. Mindless panic is not productive and will not bring Sanzo back. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, hands clenched hard enough for my nails to leave indents in my palms. Sanzo is gone. Right Mindfulness. Do not assume.  Find the truth. Think. He did not go out the window. He must have gone out the door. Sanzo was tethered.

            I left Sanzo tethered to the bed frame. Regardless of where he went or how he got there, that is the last place I saw him and it is the first place I need to check. Another deep breath, and I open my eyes. The bed is neatly made. If Sanzo were kidnapped, I doubt the intruder would stop to make the bed. Therefore, it is more likely that Sanzo left under his own power. My train of thought runs into a wall and falls over - I had Sanzo tied hand and foot, how could he get out of that? Stop and think. I tied his wrists - shy away from the overheard memory - and then untied them so that he could eat. But I tied them again afterwards, didn't I? Shaking the fuzz from my head, I run back over the events of the previous day. I untied Sanzo's wrists so he could eat, and then fell asleep in the chair. When I woke up, he was asleep with the blanket pulled up. Furthermore, I had to pull his hands apart to hand him the mug of broth, and I did not re-tie the restraints. And then I passed out.

            The blankets come up at my tug. The strips of sheet are there, neatly untied. Sanzo left under his own power. That somehow fills me with more dread than the thought that he'd been kidnapped. He left under his own power. He left of his own volition. He left because I somehow failed him.

            No.

            I take that last thought and crush it underfoot. Right Mindfulness. I will not make assumptions based on insufficient information. There is no proof that something I did caused Sanzo to leave, nor that his leaving is, in fact, something to panic about. There are a hundred logical reasons for Sanzo to have left under good or neutral circumstances, and I will not make any assumption about what happened until I find out what did happen. Ruthlessly, I take the panic and the guilt and push them away, channeling them into the calm facade I've been cultivating. I can have my nervous breakdown later if need be, but if Sanzo is somehow in trouble, I won't do him any good just standing here freaking out. There is a quiet knock on the door, and then it opens and Goku walks in.

            "You slept through breakfast," he says, perching cheerfully on the bed.

            Breakfast? Then that means...

            "So...d'you wanna go grab some lunch? You've been cooped up in here the last few days - have you even left at all? I don't know how you do it, it'd drive me nuts being in the same room for three days, not to mention being stuck with Sanzo when he's sick and cranky. Hey, those bruises are almost gone! You sure are a fast healer! I guess it's 'cause you're a youkai now, huh? Hey, what'd Sanzo hit you for, anyway? I asked him, but he just told me to shut up and -"

            "Excuse me," I interrupt the flow of chatter, and Goku breaks off in surprise. "When did you see Sanzo?" My voice is calm and smooth; my masks are firmly in place.

            "Oh...just this morning, when I came to see if you wanted breakfast."

            "Did he say he was going out?" I am pleased that I sound only mildly interested, rather than doing the verbal equivalent of grabbing Goku by the shirt and demanding he tell me Sanzo's whereabouts.

            Goku blinks. "Yeah, he did. Said he'd be out for a while. Why?"

            Need an excuse. Think. Think. "Ah, I'm afraid he'll catch cold again if he gets caught in the rain. I'd like to bring him a rain cape."

            "Oh, okay." Goku jumps up and rummages in a chest. "He never remembers to take this. Here-" he thrusts a bundle of waterproofed wool at me. "-I'll show you where he usually goes. That's probably where he is now. C'mon!" He grabs my sleeve and tugs me towards the door. "We can grab something to eat in town!"

            Clutching the rain cape awkwardly, I allow myself to be dragged out, just barely managing to close the door behind me before Goku herds me down the hall. The temple is mostly empty while everyone is at lunch; the only people we see are the guards on the way out, and they only have time for a quick shout of surprise before we get too far down the stairs and vanish into the throng. The air is warm despite the rain; it will rain until the sun goes down and the air cools, but it seems like the entire population of Chang An is out trying to get their errands done despite the downpour. Goku weaves in and out of the crowd easily and I follow as best I can, rain quickly soaking me and running from my hair into my eyes. I lose sight of him several times, but he appears again within a few seconds, tugging on my sleeve to guide me in the right direction. Once, he reappears with a pastry, winking as he hands it to me with a comment that it's better than the food the temple serves. I slip it into a fold of my robe for later and weave through the crowd with him until we get to narrower streets and shabbier buildings. A few landmarks seem familiar through the rain, but it is not until Goku stops outside a seedy-looking tavern that I remember when I would have been here before.

            "Stay here a sec, okay? I'm gonna make sure he's here."

            Goku slips inside, leaving me in the street with the sudden knowledge that this is the tavern Sanzo had gone to while the youkai healer was tending to my wounds. The youkai healer...he'd said something, something that I hadn't grasped the meaning of.

            ~Contact with any other living person brings the possibilities for healing, but at the cost of learning things you may not have wished to know.~

            If I weren't still so wound up, I'd laugh. The mental eavesdropping must be a common side-effect of chi-healing. It's a relief to know that I'm not the only one that's happened to. Any further revelations are cut off as Goku suddenly slips up beside me.

            "He's in there, table in the back. D'you want me to wait for you?"

            "No, thank you." I shake my head. "Sanzo's still recovering; he needs to rest a bit more. I'll just deliver the cape and come back with him. We shouldn't be long."

            Goku raises his eyebrows skeptically. "If you say so. See ya!"

            Within seconds, he's vanished into the maze of streets. I take a deep breath and enter the tavern.

            It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, but there's only a handful of people in the place and Sanzo is at that same corner table as before. He glances up as I start to move between the tables, and in the dim light it almost looks like he flinched when he saw me. By the time I've gotten to the table he's slumped at, his attention is riveted to the bottom of his glass. The scent of alcohol wafts by me as he drains his glass and, remembering the first time I saw him drink, I examine him for evidence of inebriation. Or at least I try, but he doesn't look up at me and he doesn't say anything, so all I have to go on are his hands - which are slightly shaky, but not enough to qualify as 'drunk' opposed to 'weak from being sick'.

            "I brought you a rain cape," I offer quietly. "You can go back to the temple without having to wait for the rain to stop."

            Sanzo snorts into his empty glass, then refills it from a bottle on the table. When the sloshing liquid settles, the bottle is less than a quarter full. Several minutes pass in silence as Sanzo nurses his drink and I stand there, unsure of what I should say. Sanzo is still recovering from pneumonia and shouldn't be drinking at all, much less heavily or on an empty stomach. On the other hand, it seems like when Sanzo is under stress, he can't eat unless he drinks first. There must be something bothering him, and I won't be able to even attempt to figure out what if I'm not here. That, even more than the fact that I don't know the way back, is what keeps me there, just standing awkwardly in the corner, waiting for Sanzo to acknowledge my presence. Sanzo finishes his drink and pours the remainder of the bottle into his glass, still not even glancing in my direction. Another long stretch of silence passes as the level of Sanzo's glass gets lower and lower, and as he's draining it, the tavern keeper comes over with a second bottle.

            "So, is this your new acolyte?" He jerks hi head in my direction as he sets the bottle down, then gives me a questioning glance when Sanzo doesn't respond.

            "Ah, it appears so." I answer the question ambiguously, not wanting to go into details but also not wishing to appear rude. Sanzo just grunts and pours himself another glass.

            "Has he got a name?"

            "No," Sanzo answers shortly, raising the glass to his lips again to cover their sardonic twist.

            There is a long pause; the tavern keeper takes the bottle and goes off to attend to another patron. It is several minutes before he comes back.

            "So, you want to tell me why he's here and you're a wreck?" The tavern keeper needles Sanzo, but just gets another grunt and a glare. He tops off Sanzo's glass and scrutinizes me, then drifts away again.

            Again several minutes go by while Sanzo sips and I stand in silence. This, apparently, is not lost on the tavern keeper as he comes back to pour another glass.

            "He hasn't said anything in the last hour, has he?"

            Sanzo ignores the question; I smile apologetically.

            "I don't think you're going to drive him off. You'll have to try harder." The admonishment is teasing, mocking Sanzo's seriousness. I smother a wince, and Sanzo cringes slightly.

            It's like time is paused; the rain beats on the roof, Sanzo sips his drink, the tavern keeper comes over now and then to pour another, and I stand in the corner like a shadow, holding the forgotten rain cape.

            No wonder Goku was skeptical.

            The windows are covered, and even if they weren't, the clouds are obscuring the sun. There's no way to gauge how much time has passed before the tavern keeper finally pauses after filling Sanzo's glass and looks at me as though weighing my worth.

            "He's still here, you know." Sanzo hunches over his glass, trying to ignore the digging reminder that I'm still standing there. "Looks like you found one that will put up with you, at least." There's open amusement in the tavern keeper's voice, like this is a long-standing ribbing he gives Sanzo every so often.

            Sanzo just draws in his shoulders as though trying to shrink into his robes. The tavern keeper gives me a 'what can you do' shrug and walks off again. Well, at least the panic and guilt have died quiet deaths, unnoticed and unlamented. It no longer matters so much why Sanzo came here, except that something is bothering him. I don't have any idea what I could possibly say that would convince him to tell me, but I won't walk away from him. Even aside from my vows, he's still recovering from pneumonia. If he's going to drink himself sick, I'm damn well going to be there to carry him back to his room.

            The tavern keeper comes back. "Do you want something to eat?" The words are address to Sanzo, but there is a questioning glance tossed my way as well. I shake my head silently, and he nods at me.

            "No." Sanzo's refusal is a vehement demand that the world leave him alone rather than the rejection of an offer.

            Be attentive...I've seen Sanzo reject food, and that's not what just happened. So he does want food, or at least would eat if food were presented. It's my responsibility to correct that lack, but I have no money with which to buy anything, and in any case, I wouldn't want to leave Sanzo alone. He's disappeared on me once; if he does it a second time, I don't have Goku here to guide me to him.

            Wait, Goku gave me a pastry. I shuffle the rain cape a bit and pull it out. Some of the crust has flaked away, but the waterproof wool seems to have protected it nicely. It's awkward, shifting the bundle of cloth to one arm, but I manage to set the pastry on the table by Sanzo's elbow without dropping anything. He glances over at it, still not looking up, and this time there is no hiding the flinch. He actually shifts in his seat, turning away from me slightly and hunching miserably over his drink, trying his hardest to ignore both me and the pastry.

            The drumming of rain on the roof starts getting patchy as the skies find themselves without much more water to shed on us. The sun must have gone down some time ago; the rain will stop soon.

            "I see he's being attentive." The tavern keeper looks from the ignored pastry to me, eyebrows raised in surprise and possibly admiration. Sanzo just snarls something not meant to be heard clearly and holds his glass out in a demand for more alcohol. Once the glass is filled, the tavern keeper looks at me again. "You can have a seat, you know."

            "That's alright." I gently reject the offer of hospitality. "We shouldn't be here much longer."

            Sanzo's cringe gets more pronounced as the tavern keeper walks away, and he whimpers slightly with a twitch that may have been an aborted glance back towards me. As if to emphasize my declaration, the drumming on the roof sputters into weak fits and then dies as the rain stops. Another long stretch of silence, made almost ominous by the absence of rain. Sanzo nurses his glass as though trying to make it last as long as possible in what may as well be a fit of sulking. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and almost looks at me several times, but catches himself before his head turns more than a fraction. The tavern keeper is watching us, leaning against the bar and grinning at Sanzo's discomfort. It's obvious that he's not going to refill Sanzo's glass.

            Suddenly, Sanzo slams the glass down onto the table and snatches the pastry so smoothly that I almost miss it, going from sitting to stalking towards the door without seeming to actually stand up. I hurry to catch up and follow him through the nearly-abandoned streets. The pace he sets is uncomfortably fast; several times I have to jog a few steps to catch up. I can't quite see his hands, but the furtive motion of his shoulders hints at him eating the pastry I'd gotten from Goku. Well, at least he's eating something. The guards have barely enough time to glance up in surprise as we pass, and then we're inside the temple. The corridor is a wide one, well-traveled, but at this hour there is only one older monk in it shuffling towards us. He looks up as we get closer, recognizing Sanzo.

            "Most Honored Genjo Sanzo!" The whining, accusing tone causes Sanzo to stop dead, fists clenched discreetly. The monk hobbles up to Sanzo, the very picture of rightfully offended piety. "Your companion has been insufferable these last few days! I certainly hope you do not intend to name him your successor! Even this one-" he gestures at me "- would be a better choice, as disgraceful as it would be! He at least knows how to address his elders with respect."

            There is a snort from Sanzo, and I would swear that his lips twitched as though repressing a smirk.

            "You were an appallingly disrespectful brat, you know." The monk continues, and I get the sudden urge to back slowly away from Sanzo. "I don't know what your predecessor ever saw in you, but he was always going on as though you were the next Bodhisattva. Everything he said was always about you. 'Kouryuu this' and 'Kouryuu that' and-"

            "That. Name. Is. DEAD."

            The hiss that escapes Sanzo's clenched teeth resonates like lightening in my very bones, and I find myself edging away as though from a dangerous predator. His eyes are clenched shut so tightly that the flesh around his eye sockets is white. I fully expect blood to drip from his hands with how his fists are clenched; his arms are trembling with the stress of it. There is a handful of seconds where Sanzo seems to be trying to get himself under control, and before that happens the monk lets out a terrified squeak and bolts the other way. The next few minutes are spent with only Sanzo's strained breathing to break the silence, and then with an effort he resumes stalking down the hall. Still a bit shaken, I follow him. I'm glad I did not call him by any name but his own. This would explain his vehement reaction to my assertion that my new name would not change what I was.

            Still wary of Sanzo, I let him get a bit ahead of me, and when he reaches his room the door is shut and locked by the time I catch up. Well, I have this poor neglected rain cape with me to keep me dry if it rains in the night, and it's been a while since I visited my little alcove. I'll just return it to Sanzo in the morning.

            The wall of my alcove has cooled by the time dawn arrives, but the rain cape keeps me warm and I drowse contentedly until the morning bell reminds me that I'm being slothful. I stand a bit stiffly and stretch, shaking the rain cape out carefully and folding it. The gentle midnight rain barely caused a stir and was more soothing than anything else, although my dreams were once again filled with Kanan's eyes. Early-morning sun sparkles in the drops left from the rain, and despite myself I am cheered. Sanzo is well again, I am rested, and everything seems right in the world. I am hungry, of course, but my duties come first.

            The corridors are mostly empty, with a few acolytes hurrying to finish their chores before the rain starts again. They pay me no mind, and my bland smile becomes a bit warmer. I much prefer to blend into my surroundings and be forgotten, especially with what I am and what my surroundings are. Sanzo's door is locked, of course, so I knock.

            Nothing.

            I knock again. "Sanzo?"

            No response.

            When an ear to the door proves only that my hearing isn't good enough to detect any signs of life within, I give up and squash my distaste enough to stash the rain cape in my cell. The dark windows in the doors gape at me, and I sternly remind myself that they are just windows. Nonetheless, my footsteps are more hurried than normal as I make my way out and to the dining hall. Sanzo is not there, but Goku is, and once I have assembled a tray I seek him out.

            "Hey, I was wondering where you were! How long were you in there last night, waiting for Sanzo?" Goku's cheerful babble holds just a touch of smugness.

            "Ah, later than I'd hoped."

            He nods wisely. "Past sunset? I'm surprised you got him out of there at all."

            He jumps up and slides his plate onto the tray before winding through the crowds towards the exit, keeping up a stream of chatter. We arrive at Sanzo's door, but it's still locked. Goku breaks his flow long enough to whine at Sanzo to unlock the door, but there's no response. After two seconds of silence, he presses his ear against the door and his brow furrows under the thick golden band inhibiting his chi.

            "He's not there." The words are tense, clipped. Goku looks up at me with confusion and the barest hint of panic. "He did come back last night, right?"

            I nod.

            "He...uh...probably just went into town for something. He does that sometimes. Hey, tell you what! Why don't you take your breakfast and eat in the garden with the koi pond - nice and quiet there this time of day - and leave the tray here, I'll just run into town and sniff him out. He still needs to eat, right? He just got over being sick, everyone needs to eat when they've been sick. You just stay here in the temple and I'll go find Sanzo, okay?"

            It's rushed, even for Goku, and the boy somehow manages to take the tray, shove my plate into my hands, and make shoo-shoo motions all at the same time. Bewildered by Sanzo's absence and the tightly reined panic in Goku's voice, I allow myself to be shooed away. As promised, the garden with the koi pond is empty, and I eat in mindful silence. When I judge that the kitchen has most likely cleared, I take my plate back and venture to Sanzo's room. Goku is nowhere to be seen, of course, and the tray is sitting outside the locked door. As I turn away, however, something catches my attention. An anomaly that it takes a minute of close inspection to identify - a detail about the tray that sends a tendril of dread down my spine.

            Goku's breakfast hasn't been finished. That detail occupies my mind as I make my way to the library, select a book at random, and hide in a corner. The book is open before me, but I don't see it. Instead, my vision is filled with the memory of that half-eaten meal lurking like a portent of doom on the tray. There's no doubt in my mind that Goku was trying not to panic. I've never seen the boy afraid, except for a few moments when I had Sanzo's gun trained a hand's breadth away from his forehead. Emptying my mind of all emotions and resolutely ignoring the stirrings of my own panic, I replay the scene in memory. Yes, Goku placed emphasis on my staying within the temple. Something's not right here. He guided me through the city just last night, why would there be a sudden need for me to remain within the temple walls? Facts and hypotheses swirl around in endless loops. Every so often I reject all the potential answers and go back just what I know, but there's nothing to build from. I don't know enough.

            The noon bell knocks me out of my restless thoughts, and with a sigh I give up and put my book back on the shelf. Just outside the library, I nearly collide with Goku.

"Oh, there you are!" The boy is a bit wild about the eyes, glancing off to the sides as though watching for someone or something. "Hey, I wanted to catch you before you went to lunch. You don't need to bring Sanzo anything, he's still out in town. Oh, and it's raining again, so you might want to stay inside so you don't get sick."

He gives me a deep, searching look at that and I nod, unsure of what to say. This seems to be enough for him, and he takes off running down the hall as though trying to get out of the temple as quickly as possible. I watch him go for a minute, then turn towards the dining hall. I am still not comfortable in the presence of the monks and priests, and I am certain they feel the same way about me. I eat quickly, not tasting the food at all and - despite Goku's admonishment - seek refuge in the privacy the rain offers. The idea of fetching Sanzo's rain cape from my cell occurs to me, but I do not venture back inside. The stone Buddha in my alcove-garden smiles benevolently at me as I kneel before it, as though to reassure me that this, too, will pass. Drops of rain make their way through my hair, running down my scalp and face, trickling down inside my robes. I can't help but think of Kanan, of how the rain soaked me as I made my way to Hyakugan Maoh's fortress. My chi stirs blue-white inside me, billowing towards my skin to counter the chill weather. I can feel each separate drop of water on my skin with a clarity that keeps the depression and guilt at bay.

I don't care if I get sick.

Mindfully, I trace the paths of the raindrops down my scalp, my arms, my back. Mindfully, I acknowledge my desire to inflict harm upon myself and accept that this desire is the main reason I am meditating in the rain. A bubble of glee at the thought of how sick I may get; I mindfully put it aside. A shard of unease at the knowledge that Sanzo would not approve. It turns into a dart of resentment towards Sanzo for taking off like this and worrying Goku, and I firmly set it aside. I'm sure Sanzo had his reasons.

Thankfully, the sensory acuity granted by my excess of chi allows me to spend the hours acknowledging physical sensation and not striving to hold off the memories of the sins I committed. The evening bell tolls, but I ignore it. I don't need to fuel my chi any further until the excess has dissipated somewhat. Goku does not make an appearance, however, and I do not question his absence. Wherever Sanzo is, he will not willingly leave until the rain has stopped, and Goku is surely having as much luck convincing him otherwise as I did. My thoughts slide back into the labyrinth of running water, and it is not until much later that they emerge again and I find myself stiff and cold, with the last drops of night rain running down the Buddha's face. My chi no longer swirls blue-white within me, and as I check the position of the stars to estimate the time, my stomach growls. I must eat to fuel my body when my chi is not able to do so, and it can't be any later than midnight. The kitchen will be safe.

            The corridors are dark and deserted, but my eyes adjust easily to the dim light and with my previous experience rummaging for food, I am able to find the leftovers from dinner. I find myself edging closer to the banked coals in the larger fireplace; hunger must not be the only side effect of low chi. Either that, or the rain was colder than I thought. There are stools under a tall table by the fireplace; I pull one out and sit with my head propped up, thoughts once again on Sanzo's second - third? - unexpected departure. Goku was undeniably on edge when he found me around lunch. Surely, if Sanzo were in danger, Goku would not leave his side for something so trivial as to tell me not to bring him lunch. If Sanzo were fine, on the other hand, there should be no need for Goku to be so jumpy while delivering Sanzo’s message.

            Wait. Goku said only that Sanzo was in town, not Sanzo had sent him. I carefully review Goku's words again and realize that he never specifically said that he'd found Sanzo, either. Surely with how worried he'd been - he didn't finish eating, and that's more worried than I've ever seen him - he would have calmed down once he'd found the priest. That can only mean that Sanzo is still missing, or had not been located as of around noon today. Resolutely, I squash the urge to worry. Either Goku found Sanzo after lunch and they are both back in their respective rooms, or Sanzo is still missing. I won't know which it is until the morning bell rings, and until then there's no point in working myself up with hypothetical horrors.

            A little reluctantly, I stand up and push the stool back under the table. Warm and comforting as the kitchen may be, it is not a place I can sleep. Again I navigate dark corridors easily, finally entering the thick silence of my cell. The rain cape is folded neatly on the chair where I left it, but there is a pale figure lying on my bed. It does not move or breathe, and I keep my eyes averted as I snatch the cape and hurry out. I have no desire to see whether it is Kanan's body or Sanzo's. The rain cape is in place around my shoulders long before the night air makes me shiver slightly. For half a second, I consider actually sleeping in my cell, but reject the idea. It may be cold outside, but at least I won't have to share the garden with a dead phantom. A memory flashes past and instead of going to my thorny alcove, I head towards the corner I'd tucked myself into just before Sanzo returned. With the bush cutting the wind and the cape holding in the heat of my body, I drop off quickly.

            Sounds filter into my dreams long before I actually wake up. There is rustling and murmuring, and the Dark Crow compound I am fighting my way through starts to be built of bushes and trees rather than walls. The further I get, the less it looks like a compound, until I am running through a forest that is horribly familiar, chasing a figure that leaves a trail of broken branches and bloody leaves. The figure stumbles and I leap for it, knife outthrust for a killing stab. When I look up, however, my knife is buried past the hilt into the gut of a man with dark brown hair and green eyes, and my hand is fully inside the wound I made. When I pull it out, the knife is gone, replaced by talons half the length of the fingers they grace and coated in blood. I stare into my own eyes for a moment, shock reflecting in bewilderment, and then an angry rant shakes me again into the world. My view is partly obscured by the bush I am behind, but I can make out that Goku is being chased by a man who is yelling and waving a rake in both hands. I watch them pass out of sight around the corner, then slip out from behind the bush and back inside the temple.

            It will be another half an hour or more until the morning bell rings. I take my time in the baths and dare to allow myself to enjoy the thorough scrubbing and feeling of being clean. My back, in particular, is scrubbed as it hasn't been since before I launched my assault on Hyakugan Maoh. From the baths I go directly to Sanzo's room and dutifully present myself to bring him to breakfast. Before I can knock, however, Goku slouches towards me sullenly from the other direction. Eyebrows slightly raised, I give him a mildly expectant look. Sanzo, it seems, has not been located or has refused to return. I wonder if Goku will tell me which it is, or just try to evade it somehow.

            Goku glares at me for a long moment, his manner remarkably similar to Sanzo's as his stance challenges me to say something. "I'm still working on it," he finally grumbles reluctantly. "You just stay here." He folds his arms petulantly, and there is nothing for me to do but nod, and walk away.

            I take my breakfast to the koi pond again, and eat absently while watching a monk who must be a groundskeeper tend to the water-plants. He shoots me sullen looks at first, then ignores me as he finishes and leaves. I feed the last bits of my meal to the koi, enjoying the solitude and waiting for the rest of the population to finish eating and scatter before venturing back into inhabited areas. My quiet reflection is interrupted by the groundskeeper returning with the rake he'd chased Goku with earlier. He looks at me sourly, which seems to be a natural expression for him, and slaps a pair of thick gloves into the palm of one hand.

            "You the nameless one?"

            I nod, mildly stunned that anyone has sought me out at all. This is the first time any resident of the temple has addressed me without my first approaching him first.

            He jerks his head off to one side. "You been messing with any of the back gardens? The viney ones?"

            "I cleared the dead vines out of one," I offer apologetically.

            The groundskeeper grunts. "You did a good job, but don't do it again. Got some delicate plants back there."

            "My apologies, I didn't realize I would be intruding."

            He waves it off. "Aah, you didn't hurt the roots, which is more than I can say for some, and I wasn't looking forward to tangling with the thorns. Just don't do it again." He nods to me, then turns and stalks back the way he came.

            I am left blinking after him. It hadn't occurred to me that the temple would have someone to look after the gardens, but I've been horribly self-absorbed since my arrival. A part of me wonders if I should feel guilty for my actions with the vines, but the groundskeeper didn't seem to mind much. After all, I was excruciatingly careful to leave the live vines intact. This little encounter has opened my eyes to an oversight in my actions, however. I have started to atone for failing Kanan by being attentive to Sanzo, but there are a thousand youkai who are dead because of me, because I didn't care about their lives. Until I can find another way to atone for that, I should at least be aware of the people whose lives I am entering and strive to make my interactions as unobtrusive as possible. I am only alive to atone for my sins; my life has no meaning outside of that. If I can slip smoothly through the lives of those whose paths I cross and not cause them any problems - or even better, be helpful - then I will be able to start undoing all the damage I've done.

            Knowing that the kitchen will still be busy, I take my plate back. This time, however, I do not merely set it atop the pile and meekly retreat. Rather, I seek out the monk that seems to be in charge of the kitchen today. He turns from chastising an acolyte, giving me a resentful look.

            "What do you want?" He looks me up and down dismissively.

            I smoothly duck my head in a moderately formal bow. "This unworthy pair of hands wishes to serve those who follow the Buddha," I reply with as much submissive respect as I can manage. He's already decided he doesn't like me, so appeasing him and attempting to make myself useful will be an excellent test of how much I need to work on my new resolution.

            The monk's face twists in a sneer. "Well then, unworthy one," he stresses the formal phrase, and there is no doubt that he does not mean it symbolically. "There are pots that your hands would be well-suited to cleaning." He jerks his chin at the huge pot the chastised acolyte had been halfheartedly swiping at.

            The acolyte's face lights up in almost malicious pleasure, and he gives me a facetious bow as he surrenders the pot to me. Bland smile never wavering, I bow first to the monk and then to the acolyte before taking stock of what I've gotten myself into. The pot is easily large enough to hold a grown man and does not look like it has been thoroughly cleaned in months. Large patches of the charred and semi-charred remains of several unknown recipes are generously splattered on both the inside and the outside of it. I have at my disposal: a chunk of harsh soap, a bucket of water with a dishrag, and a worn wooden scraper. This will not be pleasant, but hard, dirty work is exactly what I deserve. Mindfully, I pick up the scraper in one hand and the dishrag with the other, and set to work. The task before me is sufficiently difficult that there is no room for thoughts more complex than "too much debris, wipe with cloth, continue scraping" and I am soon thoroughly engrossed. My world narrows; the glaring monk and the rest of the kitchen fade out and only the pot and its stains remain, until suddenly the noon bell rings and I discover that the pot has been scraped and rinsed to gleaming cleanliness, and the rag and bucket are horribly soiled with bits of burned food. My back aches horribly, my knees are stiff and sore, and my fingers are wrinkled and dirty, but the pot is clean.

            "Good enough," announces a growling voice behind me.

            My back spasms painfully as I start and twist around on my abused knees, catching my balance on the edge of the giant pot I'd devoted the morning to cleaning. "Ah, thank you, honored one," I manage to stammer out.

            The monk looks at me sourly, as though irked that I have not given him a reason to dislike me. "Go get washed up before eating. You've done enough." The monk turns away, dismissing me.

            Slowly, I climb to my feet and stretch for a few seconds before retreating to the baths. The sleeves and hem of my robe are filthy and soaked; I will need to change into a clean one. I take my time and enjoy the solitude of the baths as I wash thoroughly, emerging finally in a fresh robe. Most of the residents of the temple will have finished eating by now. What food remains is either cold or warm, depending on how the dish was meant to be served, but it doesn't matter. I scoop some rice and beans onto a round of bread and snag a wedge of cheese, then slip out silently and find an alcove in the gardens to eat in. A small bird of unfamiliar species joins me, watching with tilted head from the top of a bush. I break a piece of bread off and toss it towards the bush, and after a moment the bird hops down and pecks at it. We eat in comfortable silence for several minutes before the bird picks up the last of the small chunk and flies off. Having been abandoned, I seek refuge in the library as the afternoon rain starts. Obscure northern mythology occupies my attention until the evening bell, when I realize that I haven't seen Goku since just before breakfast.

            More than a little concerned, I hurry to Sanzo's room. Goku is leaning against the door sullenly, arms crossed and a worried scowl on his face. He looks up at my approach, but his unhappy expression does not lessen any. There is a long moment where he seems to be weighing two courses of action, and then he sighs.

            "I need your help," he says, and that simple statement causes a jolt of foreboding to shoot from my stomach to my heart, choking me with unknown terrors.

            “My help?” I repeat, trying to sound politely confused rather than stunned and verging on panic.

            “Yeah.” Goku scuffs the floor angrily with one foot. “I can’t find him. I’ve checked the bar and all his usual places, and no one’s so much as seen him. I thought maybe something had happened to him so I checked the – um, I checked around some more, but it’s like he just disappeared. I know it’s not like him to go for a classier inn, but it’s the only section of Chang An I haven’t checked yet.” He breaks off and scowls down the hall. “That’s why I need your help. No one in that part of town listens to me and a lot of ‘em don’t like me even being there. I’ll take you there tomorrow, and you can ask everyone if they’ve seen him.” He slouches down the hall the way I came, muttering that I should get some sleep and that he was going to get something to eat.

            Somehow, the thought of dinner doesn’t appeal to me right now and whether it is chi or nerves, I feel very restless. I don’t think sleep will come to me for a while. I slip down the hall and make a left, searching for the lesser meditation hall with the wooden Buddha. When I find it, however, there is sound coming from inside. I keep going, not wishing to intrude. On a side corridor, I stumble across an unusual meditation hall with a dozen or so alcoves set into the wall opposite from the door, which is in the middle of the left-hand wall. There is another door to the right on the back wall, and a modest stone Buddha to the left, at the front. Each alcove has tiny Buddha set into a niche on the front wall at eye-level if one is sitting or kneeling. The hall is empty and dark, which suits my mood perfectly. A glance confirms that there are alcoves on both sides of the hall, and I select one at the very back where I will not be seen by anyone coming in the side door, and stand a good chance to be hidden by shadows if anyone comes in through the door in the back. My chosen alcove is furnished with a wooden meditation stool and a sitting Buddha with a spray of preserved flowers draped across his lap. I wonder fleetingly who left them there as I settle myself on the stool, then direct my attention inwards. Sleep is not likely to be kind while I am fighting off worry. I close my eyes, shutting out the rest of the world, and search for my chi.

            Darkness from behind my eyelids, giving no distraction from outside my body. I focus on the field of my inner vision, but my body is dark. I contemplate my circulatory system objectively, and am rewarded with a dim red glow. Slowly the glow grows stronger, forming a lump that shudders in time with my heartbeat. Once I am able to sense my heart clearly, I extend my internal perception. The glowing representation of my heart begins sprouting branches, and time passes unnoticed while I watch the path of my veins and arteries unfold like the dawn illuminating a river and all its tributaries. Eventually, I am nothing more than a vessel for my circulatory system and turn my attention to my nerves, instead. The glow this time is white, tinged with blue and green, and begins in my spine. As the glow spreads and branches off, my spine starts to look very much like the worn, gilded illustration of the Tree of Life I once saw when I was younger. Again the branching continues, and I am treated to an unobstructed view of my nervous system. There is the fleeting desire for a pen and a sheet of parchment so that I could accurately illustrate what I’m seeing, and an idle thought that I should take up medicine, if I can harness this sort of insight. The pressure-points that can allow an outsider to control some of the body’s functions are clearly visible, shining like tiny lights in this softly-glowing network. I admire them for some time, correcting my memories of where I’d learned they were.

When I judge that it must be close to dawn, I slip out of the meditation hall and find a window. The sky is pink, but the sun has not yet risen. Goku stated he would take me into the wealthier portion of Chang An today, and if I am to be presentable I will need to be clean. As always, the baths are deserted at this time of day and I take more pains with my appearance than I normally would. There is a comb that was left in one of the bathing stalls; I do not take it, but carefully comb my hair and place it back where I found it.

Once I am clean and wrapped neatly in a fresh robe, I take my position by Sanzo's door and wait for my guide. After a few minutes, I find myself nervously brushing nonexistent lint from my robe and straightening it and my hair. I wish, now, that I had not cut my hair short over my left ear. I am very conscious of my inhibitors and the stigma they hold, and displaying it to the entirety of Chan An is not a comforting thought. Of course, I remind myself forcibly, no one is likely to recognize them as having belonged to Hyakugan Maoh and therefore identify me as his killer. Nonetheless, I make a brief attempt to cover them but give it up when the feel of hair on the curve of my ear does nothing but irritate me.

Shortly after the breakfast bell sounds, Goku hurries up. He rakes a glance over me, nods, and gruffly asks, "You hungry?"

I realize that I'm not hungry, and shake my head. He jerks his chin, indicating that I should follow, and hurries out. I follow at a jog, more fascinated by this display of Goku's worry than worried about what's causing it. As we pass through the city, he draws my attention to the names of the roads we're taking so that I can find my way back again. At one intersection, however, he stops and scowls at an inn with a wrought-iron fence.

"This is it. You're on your own. Don't ask for Sanzo by name, just describe him. An' be polite. I'm gunna check the usual places again. Oh-" he stops and fishes out a fistful of coins, pouring them into my hands as I blink in startlement. "Get something to eat if you're hungry. May as well enjoy not being in that stuffy temple, eh?" He flashes me a grin and takes off, out of sight within seconds.

On my own. In the middle of Chang An. Well, standing here isn't going to help me find Sanzo. I push aside the startlement and tuck the coins into a pocket in the sleeve of my robe, straighten it and my hair one last time, and walk into the inn. The innkeeper greets me politely, and I bow before asking if he's seen Sanzo. I give an accurate, if unflattering, description, but the man shakes his head. He hasn't seen anyone matching that description in the last three days. I thank him and leave, and then realize I'm not sure where to go next. He kindly provides me with some nearby inns and bars, and I leave again.

The next innkeeper hasn't seen Sanzo, nor has the bartender. He hasn't been to any of the establishments on this street, and when I reach the end I find myself faced with the choice of going left down the cross-street, or right. With a shrug, I go right and continue asking. My description is becoming streamlined, and by noon I am able to rattle off the request and description smoothly, but have managed to become hopelessly lost. It takes another hour to backtrack to where I started, and this time I turn left and cover the areas I'd missed earlier. By late afternoon I am again lost; once more I backtrack, then work out a rough mental map of the district as I make my way back to where I'd left off. I'm skirting the edges of Chang An by the time the sun starts to set. When the innkeeper of the establishment I visit next greets me with an exasperated “You again?”, I realize that in my wanderings I must have been here before and not known it. I bow and apologize, explaining that I'm not familiar with the city.

"This friend of yours must not want to be found," she says briskly, tucking a few strands of hair back behind her ear. "Have you tried the place behind the hill?"

At my blank look, she explains that there's a little farmer's village roughly an hour's walk from here, and gives me directions. The inn sounds like it couldn't have more than a half-dozen rooms to it, but it would make an ideal spot to hide if one doesn't want to be found. I thank the woman and start walking, out of Chang An and up the hill.

All day, I've been resolutely ignoring the circumstances that brought me out of the temple, and focusing instead on my task. But now, there is no such distraction and I am forced to put the thoughts more and more forcefully aside. By the time I reach the crest of the hill, I have entered a sort of unemotional and objective mindset, separated from reality by an iron detachment. Legs ache after the climb, but they are not mine. Breeze ruffles hair, but it is not mine. There is a body descending the hill towards the tiny village nestled in the valley below, but it is pure coincidence that my mind resides within it.

The inn is worn and shabby, with a small corral attached to the barn. Several horses are stabled, to judge by the sound, and a lone goat eyes me crankily from within the corral as it pulls at some uninviting vegetation growing by the fence. Light and the sounds of comfortable people leak out from around the door, which is rough and may have once been painted green. The conversations do not still as I enter; rather, they rise a notch in audible speculation. For some reason, each voice seems clear and distinct and every motion almost leaps out at me, even peripherally. For example, the swaying of a loose sleeve of dusty cloth around an arm. It clings to the doorframe in an unmistakable attempt by the person on the other side of the wall to keep from falling over. Within seconds it vanishes and was the only portion of the person's body visible, but in an unemotional, detached way, I am certain that it was Sanzo's.

A woman in plain, worn clothes greets me. The stocky, balding man behind the counter is undoubtedly her husband. I smile, the same empty smile that has been given out so often today that it has become a mask, and blithely deliver Sanzo's description and my request for information. My words and motions seem stilted, to me, and hers feel scripted. It is no surprise that she confirms that such a man has been here for three days, drinking heavily without eating. I am almost able to predict her words when she expresses relief that the temple has sent someone to fetch him, and I am bowing and thanking her almost before she tells me that he was in the common room, but must have gone back to room three, in the back hallway. She points to the doorway I saw the arm clinging to, and like a character in a play I follow Sanzo's path.

The hallway is dim and dingy, but it doesn't make a difference. A faint, warm glow comes from behind the third door, and it opens easily to my push. The room is small and equally worn, with rough wooden walls and a small-paned window. It is a room intended for farmers to sleep off their inebriation in, nothing more. The cot is sturdy but shabby, and a large basin such as is used to wash clothes sits on the side of the room to my right. It looks rusty. Sanzo is sitting awkwardly on the cot, half-sprawled, off-balance and propped up as though he had fallen onto it. Considering his odor and appearance, he does not appear to have been sober in at least a day or two. His hair is sticking up in several places, adding to the disheveled appearance. His eyes, when he glances at me guiltily, are bloodshot, and he hasn't shaved in a few days.

"So," I hear myself say, "this is what you meant when you said that I would hardly be a stain on your reputation?"

Sanzo opens and closes his mouth, looking further away from me and squirming slightly, torn between evading my presence and finding an answer. The cold, calculating part of me seems to be in control, and none of this charade elicits an emotional response. I am a vessel of dispassionate logic; smoothly, I close the distance to Sanzo. Calmly, my hands reach out and with exact precision, apply pressure to the clusters of nerves that I had so recently seen shining behind my eyes, disabling Sanzo's arms and legs. Muscles no longer responding, Sanzo is a slight, but still dead weight beneath my hands and with no hesitation I maneuver him to a kneeling position in front of the basin. Those loose sleeves serve to keep his arms restrained; with my right hand I gather them and the back of Sanzo's robes, pinning his arms behind him and holding him up briefly while the fingers of my left hand crawl across his abdomen, following sickly green strands until they sink almost of their own accord into a knot where several intersect. Sanzo doubles over as the muscles of his stomach contract, and I spread my left hand out to catch his chest so that he does not fall. It cushions him against the forward motion while my right hand holding the loose fabric pulls him back, and I am able to keep him steady while his body empties itself.

It is a long time before he stops retching.

When the spasming of Sanzo's stomach muscles finally ends, I lean back slightly to grab the corner of whatever rough material served as a blanket, and wipe his mouth. His eyes roll towards me, but if there is any comprehension in them, it is buried beneath exhaustion and he does not speak. He is still largely dead weight, but not beyond what I can carry. With some careful maneuvering, I am able to get him to his feet. My right arm around his waist and my left keeping his left over my shoulder make it seem that I am merely supporting Sanzo, rather than carrying the majority of his weight. He is at least aware enough to feel shamed at the situation, but does not fight me. The sense of following a script returns as I guide him back to the common room, where the patrons chatter amongst themselves at Sanzo's expense. The woman wipes her hands on a stained dishrag and comes over, expressing some measure of joy on my behalf that I was able to find my friend. I thank her warmly from behind my mask, words that hold no meaning for me spilling forth effortlessly. Most of the coins Goku had left me with go to settle Sanzo's tab, along with a few extra in apology for the mess we've left her with. She wishes me good night and I return the sentiment before making my way slowly out of the tiny tavern and into the night. Within a dozen steps, Sanzo goes fully limp and I crouch slightly to maneuver his sleeping form onto my back.

My shield of emotional detachment remains firmly in place, and in a tiny corner of my mind I am able to enjoy the exertion in the quiet night air, Sanzo's body a warm weight countering the cool breeze as I resume my solitary trek back to the temple. It is between two and three hours to midnight when we enter Chang An again, and the streets in this wealthy section are largely deserted. With the cold, logical portion of myself to the fore, I am able to easily navigate through the streets and it does not take more than an hour until the temple steps loom before me. The guards pay us no attention as I slowly pass, but once we are inside the temple proper Goku appears from somewhere behind us, concern and jubilation vying for expression. He does his best to keep both in check, however, and simply tells me to go to Sanzo's room, and that he'll meet us there. He runs off, and with a mental shrug I shift Sanzo's unconscious body a bit higher and make my way to his door. When I get there, I can hear a scrabbling from the inside of the room, and the protest of the metal shutters, and then the door opens. Goku pants very slightly as he holds the door open, and then closes it behind me.

"Should we do anything else for him?" I ask as I try to lay Sanzo on the bed, but only succeed at easing the fall as he tumbles from my back. There is a growing realization that I need food, and quickly, and the detachment breaks in the face of that need.

Goku scowls at the priest, hands jammed into his pockets. "Nah. He did this to himself. Let him suffer." He glances at me, then scuffs the floor with one foot and turns to the door. "I'm going to bed. You can do whatever you want."

I watch as the door closes behind him, my own needs fighting with my oath to attend Sanzo's. However, until he wakes, there is little I can do for him. I settle for covering him with a blanket, and then take my own leave.