Fetching Sanzo

[moonshadows]

Knocking in the door. Who the-? All the locals know that Gojyo will be in the tavern all night. I would have opened the door anyway out of courtesy, but now curiosity guides my hand.

“Cho G- er, Hakkai?”

The voice winces away from my name. The speaker is one of the highest-ranking priests from the temple, and his companions are of similar rank.

“Honored sirs!” I exclaim in surprise. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

The speaker grimaces. “The Honored Genjo Sanzo has holed himself up in some run-down inn, and has been there for just over two weeks. He won’t accept our messages or even speak with us. Perhaps we could persuade you to-”

I interrupt him with my raised hand. I don’t know what may have set Sanzo off, or why these high-ranking visitors want him back at the temple, but I know Sanzo well enough to guess what he’s been doing to his health these last two weeks.

“I will go,” I say. My visitors sigh with relief and excuse themselves.

I close the door and find some paper. First, a note to my friend and roommate.

 

                        Gojyo –

            Sanzo’s holed himself up somewhere again.

I should return by tomorrow night, but I

may be a few days

 

- Hakkai

 

Next, I jot down two lists of simple dishes that have worked before, in preparation for re-introducing Sanzo to food. I pack a change of clothes and some other items, and Hakuryuu and I are on the road within ten minutes.

*************************************************************

When Hakuryuu and I arrive at Sanzo’s current favorite inn, I spend a moment trying to identify which of the curtained windows may be his. Hakuryuu has driven through the night, so I leave her parked and go on in.

I enter the common room, and a pretty young woman comes to greet me. It’s early morning, and there are scattered guests eating breakfast.

“Welcome! Can I help you?”

I smile charmingly. “Good morning! I do hope you can help me. I’m looking for a friend, and I heard he was staying here.”

The lady nods. “If you give me your friend’s name, I’ll go tell him you’re here,”

“Ah, that would not be the best idea. He’s not very cheerful in the mornings.” I do my best to look apologetic.

The lady’s face clouds with doubt. “I can’t let you up without your friend’s permission.”

“You look to be a very kind person, miss,” I say gently. “I’m sure you’ve seen the way my friend has been, and are concerned for him. Let me describe him. He’s my age, about my height, blond hair, violet eyes, and has probably been drinking heavily for several days and eating sparingly, if at all.”

Her face brightens in recognition, but the hesitation remains. “I still can’t let you…he said…”

Part of me winces, wondering what sort of ‘do not disturb’ orders Sanzo came up with this time. “Please,” I hold one hand up and gently interrupt her. “I’m very worried about his health.”

She looks like she’s about to protest again, when a familiar voice bemoans the lack of pancakes.

“Miss…” Goku wanders over. “Could I get some—Hey, Hakkai! When did you get here?”

“Just now,” I tell him, smiling in greeting. “The temple sent me to check on Sanzo. Is he…?” I let the question trail off delicately.

Goku grimaces. “He’s been in his room for three days. He won’t talk to me at all!” There’s more than just simple frustration in his voice; Goku’s concerned, and that means this is not going to be pleasant.

The lady’s face clears at Goku’s acknowledgement of me. “My apologies, sir,” she bows to me. “Is there anything I can do to help you with your friend?”

I smile my thanks at her and pull out the first list and a handful of coins. “Could you please prepare the foods on the first half of this list for me, and put them on a tray with a cover? Oh, and some more pancakes for Goku?”

“Wah! Hakkai, you’re the best!” Goku beams at me.

The lady bobs her head in acknowledgement. “This will take a little bit of time to cook,” she says.

“That’s perfectly fine,” I assure her. “Goku, while she’s cooking, could you help me with some things?”

Goku nods, and the lady retreats to the kitchen. I direct Goku, and as quietly as possible we set up and fill the bathing tub in Sanzo’s room. This is not a quiet task, and I’m certain Sanzo must have woken up, but he makes no motion or sound and I’m too distracted to check. He is sprawled under the covers, an unhealthy tinge and a week’s worth of growth on his face. When we’re done, I suggest to Goku that the nice lady might need some more firewood to do her cooking, and that by now I’m sure his pancakes are done. Goku looks hesitantly at Sanzo’s still form, and I can almost see the protest forming on his lips.

“Oh, and Goku – it would be much appreciated if you could find what's on this list for me in town." The words are a sham; I don’t need any supplies and Goku knows it. The list is all food items – some of them are things that I know Sanzo will eat, and the rest are for Goku.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll get it, dunno how long it’ll take.” Goku looks broodingly at Sanzo for a few more seconds, then fixes me with a pleading look. Please do something about this, his eyes beg.

I give him a reassuring smile and a handful of coins, making sure my fingers brush his for a second so that he knows that I’m not leaving until Sanzo has been restored to what passes for his normal state of health. Goku flashes me a grateful smile and dashes out of the room and down the stairs. Under cover of that racket I make sure Sanzo is actually asleep, then follow more quietly.

Sanzo’s special breakfast is ready when I get down to the common room, and I bring the large, covered tray back up with me. It goes on a small table near the bed, and I seat myself in a straight-backed wooden chair to wait. I probably should have eaten something; I haven’t eaten since dinner last night. Oh well. Purging a body of alcohol and its residue is easy compared to even the simplest healing.

The chi I used to keep Sanzo unconscious has mostly worn off and although no visible sign betrays him, I know he is awake. I make a private bet with myself as to when Sanzo will give in, and then do my best to radiate patience and forgiveness, smiling as though I haven’t a care in the world. I don’t know specifically why Sanzo is abusing himself this time, but I know well enough what he’s feeling. Right now, he wants to separate himself from the rest of the world, as though it would separate him from the tearing fear of being hurt, of harming where he wanted to help, of having hope dashed. Sanzo is running away from life.

The reason I am here, right now, is to beat Sanzo over the head with a reminder that these things he fears go both ways – that while he seeks to distance himself from those he fears to lose and thus prevent the possibility of being hurt . . . he is in fact hurting those who care about him as he pulls away from them. His actions have consequences; his life is not entirely his own. I am taking shameless advantage of the fact that he does not want to cause me any trouble, and reminding him that his well-being is a part of my own well-being. This little bit of emotional blackmail wouldn’t work quite so well with anyone else but me, because it hinges on something very specific that once happened between us.

Sanzo dislikes most of his responsibilities, shirking Temple duties and those of his rank as often as possible, but there is one which he embraces and pursues with diligence. He knows that without his digging reminders that he is watching, I would abuse myself through starvation and self-mutilation, and I am using this knowledge and the accompanying guilt to pry Sanzo out of bed.

It should only take a few hours.

 

            ************************************************************

 

            Sanzo peels one eye open and fixes me with what on anyone else would be a death glare, but on him is merely grumpy.

            “Good morning!” I smile cheerfully at him, still sitting in the straight wooden chair as though several hours hadn’t just passed in silence.

            “It’s after noon,” Sanzo growls.

            “Oh dear, then I’ll have to ask the innkeeper’s wife to cook you lunch instead of fresh breakfast.” I keep my voice mild and unaccusing as I wave a hand at the large, covered tray on the table. “I’m afraid this one got cold.”

            A sound somewhere between a snarl and a whimper slithers out from between Sanzo’s lips, and I interpret it to mean ‘I don’t want to eat, I feel lousy’. There is a pang of guilt at knowing that I’m probably irritating him, but I grimly squash it.

            “Now, now.” I shake my head in a definitive manner, still keeping my voice mild but chiding him a bit. “You have to eat, and no arguments! You’ve been drinking without eating, and if you keep that up, you’ll put a hole in your stomach – and then you’d have to give up alcohol entirely!” I could probably heal him even if he did give himself an ulcer, but I hope to never have to try. And the threat of not being able to drink makes such a lovely argument for eating . . .

            The eye scrunches shut and a resigned moan signals Sanzo’s surrender. My smile becomes more gentle and compassionate; he won’t fight me as much now.

            “Come on, let me help you up.” I peel the blanket off Sanzo’s prone form and help him into a sitting position, hands glowing slightly with green energy as I take care of the first part of the hangover. “You’ll feel better after a hot bath and fresh clothes.” My encouraging smile beams down at Sanzo, who is still sitting on the bed, head down where he can’t help but see and smell his wrinkled, stained clothes. My tone is deliberately light; I know I’m grating on his nerves right now, but that can’t be helped. Everything is grating on Sanzo’s nerves right now.

Once Sanzo is sitting up and I’m certain he won’t fall over, I move to the bathing tub and focus my chi. There is a faint crackling sound followed by a muffled ‘whoomp’ as the chi hits the water, and I test the temperature. Good, not too hot. I step back into the main room and walk towards the door, pausing with one hand on the handle.

“I’ve heated the water for you. I want to see you in that tub when I get back! I’m just going to ask that nice lady to start cooking your lunch.”

Sanzo just growls as the door closes. Downstairs, Goku is working through his portion of the list. He looks up at me as I go over to his table.

“I got the stuff you wanted. These ones are for Sanzo, aren’t they?” He gestures to the small pile of foodstuffs set to one side. His face clouds with concern. “Is he . . .”

“He’s bathing,” I reassure him. “Or at least, he had better be by the time I get back up there!” Goku grins at my mock-threatening tone, and I smile. “I’d better get these to that nice lady and have her start cooking Sanzo’s lunch.”

Goku helps me gather the assorted bottles and objects. “Did he eat any of the breakfast?” He asks quietly, and I can hear the worry in his voice.

Has he eaten anything at all in the last three days? “No,” I answer in an equally quiet tone.

“Then . . .” Goku looks at me with something closer to his usual cheer. “Can I eat it?”

The mischievous sparkle in his eyes makes me chuckle. “I’ll bring it down when I come back for his lunch,” I assure him. “Right now, I have to make sure there will be a lunch for me to take up to him.” Another reassuring smile, and I turn to go find the innkeeper’s wife.

“Aren’t you going to eat something?”

He has a point. I should at least grab some fruit before I head back. “In a bit,” I tell him. “I don’t want to give Sanzo time to decide he’s going to try to shave himself.” Goku nods and turns back to his pastry.

The innkeeper’s wife is more than happy to prepare the second half of the list; I assure her I’ll be back down with the tray and cover in just a minute, and return to Sanzo’s room. I peek at the bathing alcove just long enough to make sure Sanzo is in the tub. He is, fervently scrubbing himself clean. I slip in, grab the tray, and quietly close the door behind me. Goku’s table is out of sight from the kitchen, so when I return the empty tray and cover, the innkeeper’s wife doesn’t realize that Goku, not Sanzo, is reaping the benefits of her cooking. A quick question, a brief trip to the cleaning supply closet, and back up to Sanzo’s room. The room is a mess, but not as bad as it could be. Sanzo ducks his head under the water, scrubbing at his hair, and I take the opportunity to slip in and claim his dirty clothes. Those get the chi-laundry treatment I’ve developed from traveling so much in the last few years; the sheets go down to the inn’s laundry room and I make the bed with fresh ones. Sanzo has few possessions to straighten, but the garbage in the room makes up for that. I consider opening a window, but discard the idea. I don’t want to risk Sanzo getting sick. Instead, I do a quick sweep-and-dust and arrange Sanzo’s shaving implements on the table before ducking back down to the supply closet while Sanzo’s dressing.

When Sanzo emerges from the bathing alcove, I’m standing expectantly by the chair, a patient smile on my face and my eyes closed. There is a pause; I can almost see Sanzo form a protest and give up. The memory of the first time I saw him hung over is still etched into my mind; I won’t make that mistake twice. By keeping my eyes closed until Sanzo sits down, I can spare him part of what is at least an equally painful memory to him by letting him believe that I don’t know how badly his hands must be shaking. A few almost-stomping footsteps, and he throws himself sulkily into the chair as I open my eyes.

Almost distractedly, I slowly work the last of the alcohol and hangover out of Sanzo’s system as I shave him. Most of my attention is focused on the straight razor in my hand; I don’t want to risk any accidental cuts if a knot of chi distracts me just as Sanzo shifts the wrong way. I’ve relaxed him to help prevent that, but there’s no point in taking chances. He almost looks asleep by the time I’m done; whatever’s set him off this time must be fairly horrendous for the mild relaxation to be such a relief. Before he takes my pause to mean that he can get up, I take his comb and start arguing with the knots he’s gotten his hair into. Without the threat of accidental cuts, I let my hands go on auto-pilot and focus on his energy system. Mild endorphins first, to keep him tractable while I work the tangles out. My focus goes deeper, checking his internal organs for signs of injury or decay. He is truly lucky he hasn’t put a hole in the lining of his stomach. A quick touch-up for the liver and kidneys, to make sure that this current bout of self-abuse hasn’t damaged them, and then I check his lungs. No new damage, thankfully. I tease a section of one lung stubbornly, trying to restore it to a state of health the damaged tissues have never seen, then give up and pull my awareness up and out. One last comb-through to make sure I’ve gotten all the knots, and then I clean the hair out of the comb and set it down on the table.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I say quietly as I put the shaving equipment away. Sanzo doesn’t move, and I smile tolerantly at his relaxed state. “You stay right there, I’ll be back with your lunch.” He doesn’t open his eyes as I move to the door, but that doesn’t mean anything. The door shuts behind me with a click; there is a pause, then uncertain footsteps and the door opens. Sanzo blinks in mild surprise and opens his mouth to say something, but I put a finger to my lips in the age-old ‘hush’ motion. “Now, don’t worry,” I chide gently, trying to keep my smile cheerful and not amused. “I’ll bring it up here, you just rest.”

Slowly, I nudge the door shut and wait; when I hear him move away from the door, I go downstairs and retrieve the covered tray from the kitchen. A quick peek under the cover to make sure everything is there, and then back up to Sanzo’s room before he tries to get out of eating. He’s sitting on the bed when I get back up. I take a moment to arrange the tray on the table, then pull the chair out in an almost ritualistic silent demand that he sit and eat. He sighs, then stands up and comes over to the table. I draw up a stool and sit calmly across from him, watching as he glares at the food and glasses of juice.

“Don’t you need to eat, too?” His growl is a weak attempt to get out of having to eat lunch; he must actually realize he needs to eat, if this is the most trouble he’s going to give me over this.

“I had the opportunity to sample the inn’s excellent cooking earlier.” My voice is steady and reassuring, but he catches the ambiguous phrasing and glares briefly up at me anyway. My smile deflects the glare, and he picks up his spoon in resignation.

He picks at the bread and soup for a few minutes, hesitantly eating a few bites. I don’t rush him – with the state he’s in, going slowly is better than eating too quickly, and I’m sure this hasn’t made his stomach any less delicate. The glare he’s giving the soup reads more as ‘how dare you not upset my stomach’ than anything else, and I mentally put a star next to the recipe on the list of Foods That Sanzo Can Eat Safely.

“So why did you come all the way out here?” Who told you where I was, how did you find out what I’ve been doing?

The irritation isn’t directed at me, so I ignore the unspoken questions and answer the one he asked out loud. “Ah . . . I had some very high-ranking visitors.”

“. . . Figured.” Sanzo sounds disgusted with the existence of the temple. His spoon prods the soup as though he wants to stab it, then stirs it a bit. “What’d they want?” Did they tell you what they want me to do now? Did they give you a message? Did they make you their errand-boy, their servant?

“I’m afraid they didn’t tell me.” My voice is the equivalent of an I-don’t-know-anything shrug. Right Speech . . . Sanzo deserves more of an answer than that. My smile freezes slightly as I quickly sift through and discard words and phrases. “Or rather . . . once I heard that you were staying here again, I was horribly impolite and didn’t let them finish.” My words are carefully neutral, keeping any hint of accusation out of my tone.

Sanzo scowls at the soup. “I take it this means I’m going to have to face them to find out what they wanted.”

He sounds understandably less than thrilled, and the guilt prods me again. If I’d let them finish, would I have been able to spare Sanzo having to face them? Would they have told me what they wanted him for, and could he have just gone off without having to go back to the temple? I would have gladly been their messenger and reported to them that Sanzo had gone off on whatever it is they’d wanted him to do . . .

“I’m sorry,” I allow the apology into my tone, but carefully strain out anything else. “I know how much you dislike spending time there.” Blame me, it’s my fault. “I shouldn’t have been so impatient as to leave before hearing what else they had to say.” My hands clench each other in my lap; my gaze joins Sanzo’s in the soup.

“It’s not your fault.” My pulse jumps at Sanzo’s quiet anger. “I should have known I couldn’t avoid them forever.”

There is a pause while I say nothing. I may have had the opportunity to spare Sanzo the trouble of dealing with the temple, and I blew it because I didn’t want to get mixed up in the politics.

“Hakkai?” Sanzo’s voice is gently accusing. “You don’t need to take orders from them. Try not to let them disrupt your life too much.”

But I would gladly take orders from them, if it meant you wouldn’t have to. “If you mean about coming out here,” I say carefully, again not accusing Sanzo with my tone of voice, “I didn’t give them a chance to ask. It was my decision to see how you were doing.” Sanzo’s not looking at me, so I put my unfair demand into my voice. You told me once to not worry about you, but how am I supposed to not worry about you when you do things like this? “You will take care of yourself, right?”

“. . . Right.”

I firmly push away the guilt at having just blackmailed Sanzo. He’s likely to be sent gods-know-where, and I doubt I’ll get a chance to make sure he’s taking care of himself. “Good! Then I have nothing to worry about!” My cheerful, oblivious tone is firmly back in place, pressing the point home with my use of the word ‘worry’. “Well, if you’re going to be traveling back to Chang An, I suppose I should head back home – when you’re done eating, of course.” I smile blithely at the sour look on his face; he knows I’m going to sit there until I feel he’s eaten enough.

“Of course.”

 

            ********************************************************

 

            The house is dimly-lit and quiet when Hakuryuu and I drive up at two hours before midnight. My usual contented smile fades into a slightly worried look. It’s still a prime hour for Gojyo to be at the tavern. Is he inside? Did he just leave a light on when he left? That must be it – he must have left a light on so that I wouldn’t come home to a dark, empty house. My smile comes back, warming me as Hakuryuu perches on my shoulder, chirping tiredly and nuzzling my cheek. I stroke her neck gently as I walk up to the house, assuring her she’ll get an extra-tasty treat before she goes to sleep.

            The door opens; Gojyo left it unlocked, as he tends to do. Well, no one has ever broken into our house, so no harm done. I close the door behind me and slip into the little kitchen, hands creeping carefully through the dark pantry until by feel alone I locate the package of candied fruits I’d stashed there months ago.

            Date? Please sweet wanting? Hakuryuu begs shamelessly.

            A soft chuckle as I fish out a date stuffed with coconut. I’ve pushed her hard these last two nights; she deserves the treat. One hand nimbly closes the package while the other snakes out and holds the date up for Hakuryuu. She snatches it and glides off into the dark house – probably to her little padded basket. I move out into the living area to tidy up a bit before Gojyo comes back. The soft light illuminates the still form of Gojyo, head propped up on his hands as he sits at the table. Cigarette buts are scattered over the surface of the table, and ashes from the cigarette dangling from his lips drop silently into the choked ashtray. He doesn’t move at my approach or seem to be breathing, and streaks of dried blood cover his face and arms. Another hallucination, then. My heart clenches at the sight of Gojyo’s corpse, but I steel myself and dismiss the image as I move closer to the table to clear away the cigarette butts. Those, at least, are real.

            Gojyo sighs and runs one hand through his hair, and once my body decides it’s not going to have a heart attack, I realize that he’s actually sitting there. His hair, not blood, is what I saw covering his face and arms.

            “Oh,” I manage in my usual mild, light tone. “You startled me.”

            Gojyo grinds the cigarette out in an ashtray, displacing several older butts. “So. How bad was he?” The words strive for cynical, but end up sounding pensive and worried.

            Something’s wrong. For Gojyo to refer to Sanzo simply as ‘he’ without adding any of the semi-affectionate insulting nicknames he tacks on to any reference to the monk, combined with the heavy, restless feel of his chi . . . Gojyo’s not usually this quiet, and I suspect the worry dampening his chi is being caused by something other than Sanzo’s state of health.

            “Stubborn, as usual,” I answer quietly as I pull up a chair and join Gojyo at the table. “He didn’t fight me at all, Goku was worried, and the priests came to me in person this time.” My fingers skitter along the surface of the table nervously, picking up cigarette buts and piling them in the ashtray. “Whatever it is this time, it’s bad.”

            Gojyo nods in agreement with my serious tone, a grimace indicating that he didn’t miss my gross understatement. “You make it there and back without any trouble?” His crimson eyes rake across my face, looking for evidence of injury. His chi roils underneath the heavy, still layer – a sure sign of concern for my well-being, a protectiveness I’ve only seen in him a handful of times in the last three years. There’s no hiding anything from him when he’s like this. Between that and Right Speech, I don’t even try to dance around what happened.

            “We encountered a group of youkai children on the way back.” The event didn’t worry me, but Gojyo will want to know why my sleeve has punctures in it. “They had lost their sense of self – they were feral, almost mindless. The ability to understand and form words was beyond them.”

            Gojyo does not press for details as he usually would; in that respect, he can be as relentless about making sure I take care of myself as I am with Sanzo’s health. Instead, he merely nods as though I’ve just confirmed something.

            “A guy in the tavern lost himself, too. Around seven-ish. He was threatening the other patrons.” The short, clipped sentences tell me exactly how that ended.

            We sit in silence for a few minutes, contemplating these events and coming to the same disquieting conclusion. For the last few weeks, we’ve been hearing rumors of youkai further to the west that suddenly lost their minds and became feral, attacking everyone around them in unthinking rage. If these rumors are to be believed – and tonight’s events certainly lend strength to the stories – then there is some sort of sweeping epidemic crossing the continent. The paranoid fear that all weaker-willed youkai will go berserk suddenly seems logical, and gives rise to the more horrible idea that if this epidemic keeps on, fully half the youkai population will go feral and have to be killed. The strain between human and youkai will take its toll on the youkai that remain, weakening their will and putting them at risk. The fear of suddenly becoming a mindless killing machine won’t help, either. And if this mysterious force gets stronger, it will begin affecting the stronger-willed youkai, as well. From there, it’s not hard to imagine that the only youkai left unaffected by this will be the ones with inhibitors, like me, and the ones with human blood, like Gojyo.

Youkai inhibitors like mine are extremely rare; even the simple pierced-earring ones are beyond the means of all but the most well-off youkai.

            The horror of the possibilities sinks into me, and I realize that this has to be what the temple wanted Sanzo for. Guilt follows eagerly in the wake of the horror. Despite what Sanzo said, I should have asked the priests why they wanted him to return to the temple. And if that truly is what’s going on . . . I should not have left. I should have stayed so that he could see that I was okay. On the other hand, I know that being gone unexpectedly for several days would make Gojyo worry about me, so the solution is to bring Gojyo with me so that Sanzo doesn’t worry about either of us. If we get a good night’s sleep and set out early tomorrow, we might be able to make it to Chang An before Sanzo leaves the temple again.

            “Let’s get to bed,” Gojyo says suddenly as I open my mouth to suggest the same course of action. “I bet that stinking monk knows exactly what’s going on. Well, I’m not going to just sit here and let him smirk because he knows something I don’t! Hakkai, we’re going to Chang An in the morning, and I’m gonna get an explanation from him!”

            I close my mouth and give Gojyo a grateful smile for his obviously manufactured excuse. He might genuinely want an explanation, but that’s not the reason he decided to go to Chang An; he knows that I’m likely to work myself into a guilt-laced depression if I’m left to brood. He’s been making excuses like this since before I began my second life. They may look arrogant and self-centered, but the intent behind them is entirely different, and it touches me deeply every time he does something like this.

            Gojyo pushes away from the table and flops into bed. I quietly gather the rest of the cigarette butts and dump them into the rubbish bin outside the house, then carefully incinerate them with a quick flash of chi. The door gets locked behind me as I go back inside, and I wind my way through the darkened room to my own bed. Hakuryuu is asleep on the blanket; I smile affectionately at her as I change into night clothes and carefully remove my eyepiece. She burbles in sleepy protest as I lift her up enough to slide under the covers, then settles on my chest with a contented little sigh once I’ve laid down. Between Gojyo’s muffled snores coming from the other room, Hakuryuu’s comforting presence, and the moonlight coming in through the window, I am able to fall asleep without worrying too much.

            In the morning, I think as I drift off, we’ll go find Sanzo and Goku.