moonshadows

Raiding the kitchen for leftovers makes me feel a little guilty; it is obvious that the remnants of the last few meals are intended for a sort of leftover soup. Unworthy as I am, however, I am still a resident of the temple and deserve to eat the same as anyone else does, even if I do so after the meal is over. Cold sesame-roasted tofu and red beans with rice are enough to satisfy the demands of my body; I eat quickly and leave quickly. The night air is too cold for sleeping outside, even if my garden weren't soaking wet and it would be bending - if not breaking - my word to Sanzo to sleep there with how much time I've already spent outside tonight. Furthermore, sleeping in a wet robe would be inviting all sorts of illnesses on my part, and being sick is not acceptable.

The baths are dark, but not much more so than the pre-dawn hours. I wash briefly, shivering at the cold water, and gratefully wrap a fresh robe around my body. There is a sort of shiver that has nothing to do with my flesh; my chi must be trying to combat the cold and failing because it will have nothing to fuel itself with until I have digested my dinner. Hands tucked into my sleeves, I make my way to my cell. Invitation aside, I should not be imposing on Sanzo's privacy just because my subconscious has an over-active imagination. Surely serving Sanzo as I have been, combined with a will bolstered by being secure in my duty, will allow me to defeat the hallucinatory horrors my mind paints in the dark.

The door to my cell creaks slightly as it opens, but it closes silently behind me. Sanzo's rain cape sits on my bed where I'd left it, folded neatly. I transfer it to the chair, set my eyepiece on top of it and lay down, resolutely ignoring the still figure already in the bed. After a minute or two, the temptation to look at the hallucination gets stronger and I roll over, away from it. I close my eyes, but neither sleep nor the nightmares come. Instead, I am horribly aware of the corpse behind me. Telling myself that it's not really there does me no good; the corpse starts breathing on the back of my neck. It takes a strong effort to not shriek and run blindly down the hall.

"Why did you let me die?"

I bite my fingers, choking back any reaction to Sanzo's hoarse voice. The hallucination says nothing else, waiting for a response. I should reply. I must defeat this fabrication of my own mind. "You're not dead," I say shakily. "You're upstairs in your room, sleeping."

Sanzo's corpse breathes on my neck a few more times. "Are you sure?"

Adrenaline courses through my body like ice water. Men have died from drinking too much alcohol. I'm not sure.

"You left me alone," Sanzo's corpse accuses me. "You want me to die. I'm just a barrier keeping you from your precious Kanan."

"No," I protest weakly, trying to tell myself that none of this is real. "That's not true..."

"You abandoned me. Like you abandoned her."

Real or not, I can't take this. Eyes averted from the bed, I fumble for eyepiece and rain cape and am out of my cell within two breaths, almost running for Sanzo's room. His door is unlocked, of course, but I lock it behind me and lean against until I've caught my breath.

Sanzo is in his bed.

Sanzo is still breathing.

My legs buckle in relief and I slide to the floor, eyepiece clutched in one hand, holding the rain cape to my chest. Sanzo is still breathing. I have not failed him. I sit there for several minutes, leaning against the door with my eyes closed, until the sound of metal striking the floor hurls me back into the waking realm. My eyepiece must have fallen from my hand when I drifted off. Well, no harm done. I set it carefully out of the way and use the rain cape as a pillow, slipping easily into dreamless sleep until Sanzo coughs. I jerk back awake, but he rolls over, still asleep. From the light coming through the cracks of the storm shutters, it must be just after dawn. Sanzo will need fluids and mild foods when he wakes, and I do not wish to risk him vanishing a third time. The rain cape gets draped over a chair and I slip out quietly, cleaning my eyepiece as I make my way down to the kitchens. There is a single acolyte stoking the fires, but he ignores me. It doesn't take too much searching for me to find a tray and assemble a selection of unthreatening things to drink and nibble on. Sanzo is, thankfully, still sleeping when I return. I set the tray on his table, lock the door, and set about finding his shaving kit. Unsurprisingly, it is exactly where it was when I last borrowed his straight razor. It takes only a few minutes to get that set up, as well.

Sanzo stirs slightly and moans from beneath his blanket, signaling either that he is awake, or will be shortly. Given the odor that wafts by with his exhalation, it can be safely assumed that he has not bathed since he was sick. He will have to fend for himself on that front; I have no way to bring a bath to him, but I can at least open the shutters and let in some fresh air. As always, it is a struggle to get the metal shutters open, and they screech protest before relenting. As the room floods with early sunlight, Sanzo utters a quiet but rather intense stream of curses - some without targets, but most of them aimed at me specifically. It takes me several deep breaths before I am able to shunt my emotional reaction into a mask of impersonal politeness. I swore to Kanan that I would protect her, and I failed. Seeing to Sanzo's needs is the only way I have to atone for that sin; if he curses me for that, so be it. I will bear it without anger or resentment, even if it kills me. I will suffer it without complaint for her. Mask firmly in place, I turn to the bed. Sanzo is sitting up, blanket tangled around him, eyeing the breakfast tray as though it contained poisonous serpents.

"I thought it would be better to bring it to you," I say calmly. "You need to replace the fluids you lost, and I didn't expect you to be up to dining with the rest of the temple."

Sanzo makes a strangled sound that might be either a bitten-back curse or a wordless expression of nausea, shooting me a dark look briefly before pulling the blanket tighter around himself, still glaring at the tray as though willing it out of existence.

"You left before you had fully recovered, and while alcohol comes from grain, it does not provide enough nourishment to replace the act of eating."

I probably shouldn't have said that. My tone was flawless, neither accusing nor implying disapproval, but the words themselves could be interpreted to be a criticism. It is not my place to determine how Sanzo should live his life. No reprimand is forthcoming, however. Sanzo makes a sound of discontent and reaches for the table with one hand, but he does not pick up food or drink. Instead, he holds his razor in one hand that trembles so badly that I'm afraid the blade will close on his fingers, and it is this that he is directing his extreme displeasure at, rather than the food.

"Glaring at the razor isn't going to make it go away," I say lightly, trying not to be amused. Sanzo gives me a sour look and attempts to put it back on the table, but his arm shakes and it falls to the floor. I bend down and pick it up. "Perhaps I had better do that for you. The way your hand is shaking, you're liable to kill yourself with it."

The blade slides smoothly back into the handle, and reach out to set it back on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I see that Sanzo has gone very still and pale.

Time seems to slow as he opens his mouth, and that hoarse voice from last night says, "I thought you were the one who wanted to die. Why should you care if I do? There wouldn't be anything preventing you from rejoining-" that pale face twists into a resentful mockery of Sanzo's features- "your precious Kanan."

My heart leaps into my mouth and I freeze, fighting down panic. The hallucinations have never come during the day before – am I no longer safe even after the sun rises? I know that my face must be reflecting at least a portion of what I am feeling, the same as the night Sanzo came to my cell and I first saw his phantom corpse. With considerable effort, I force a friendly smile onto my face and slowly set the razor down. That didn't really happen. It couldn’t have. Just pretend it didn't happen. He didn't really say that. Act like you didn't hear it.

"Ah, shaving can wait until you're feeling better." My voice is shaky. Sanzo has to have noticed. I glance at him to gauge my slip-up by his reaction, but he's looking at me in as much shock and horror as I must have been looking at him. "Ah," I scramble to find something to say, but my thoughts merely run in circles, and slowing them down enough to think clearly would surely shatter the fragile mask of neutrality I'm striving to hold up. "I'll just take my leave of you, unless there's something else you need..?"

Sanzo seems to be having as much trouble finding words as I am. "Water," he croaks out, and I smoothly pour him a glass and set it where he can easily reach. He's looking everywhere except at me, and I don't think I could bear to see what's in his eyes if he did meet my gaze. I bow formally and calmly go to the door, closing it gently behind me before my composure cracks further. Sanzo's expression...that means...

No. I will not contemplate that here. Where, then? My garden? Too well-known. Sanzo or Goku would look for me there first. The library is not a place to have a breakdown. Where...?

My cell is the only other private corner I know of where Sanzo would not immediately think to look for me - or at least, not without exhausting the other possibilities first. Thus, it is there that I go. The bed is visible from the window in the door, so I hide in the corner before allowing myself the luxury to finish the sentence that had hung uncompleted in my mind since I saw the look on Sanzo's face.

Sanzo was clearly as horrified by those words as I was. He could not have heard those words if they had been uttered by his specter. My hallucinations have never come out into the light. Therefore...

It was not a hallucination. As much as I would prefer it had been, it was not. Sanzo did say those words. My eyes close and I pull my knees up, pressing my temple against the cool stone wall as a wave of despair breaks over me. Emotions and bits of memory tug me one way, then another. Does he resent my presence that much?

~He should be made to live every day with the knowledge of what he's done.~ I laugh bitterly, tasting salt. That much has been accomplished, at least. Kanan's specter sees to that.

~What kind of man are you, Gonou?~ Do my hallucinations speak the truth not only in my own heart, I wonder, but in the hearts of who they represent? Did Kanan truly kill herself to escape my bloody embrace?

~I don't think you're going to drive him off. You'll have to try harder.~ The tavern keeper’s amusement, Sanzo's cringe. Does Sanzo want to drive me off? Or is it that he tries to drive everyone else off? Right Mindfulness. Base perceptions on observation, not conjecture.

~'Proper' is not exactly a concern of mine.~ Sanzo's scorn. The older priest's bald statement of Sanzo being disrespectful - is that how he's typically treated by the temple?

~Don’t bother looking for a place to sit. We’re not staying.~ That wasn't just for my benefit; Sanzo knew exactly where he was going. He must not eat with the other residents of the temple if he can help it.

~I see him. What about it?~ What time had it been when that monk woke Sanzo to complain about me in the Grand Hall? It was before dawn at least, and Sanzo is not fond of mornings.

Was the whole thing just a reaction to the situation? Lashing out in attempts to maintain his appearance of being strong? The more I think about it, the more that explanation makes sense. Sanzo was unhappy about being seen in such an embarrassing and vulnerable state; he didn't mean what he said. In fact, the only time I can remember him saying anything negative to or about me was at the trial. And if it's true that he dislikes the temple as much as he seems to, then maybe he didn't truly mean that, either. It might have been word games played within the temple's rules, using their arguments against them. A means to an end - and that end was my continued life.

~If you die now...I will have failed at everything important I have tried to accomplish in my life.~ What else has Sanzo tried to do? I know the bare facts about what happened to Koumyou Sanzo, but what other tasks has Sanzo set himself that he has been unable to accomplish?

~I'm going alone.~ Sanzo knew that the rainy season was starting. He knew he would get sick, and yet he still insisted on going alone. It wasn't just my presence; Goku said he did that often.

~Don't let them see.~ He was already sick when he said that; he much have traveled half a day at least when he should have been in bed. Too proud to show weakness? He shuts even Goku out and refuses to let himself be cared for.

~I ate it all, Koumyou.~ Does he always revert to such a vulnerable state when he's sick?

~Don't worry about me.~ He seems to not want others to care about him - does he not allow himself to care for others in the same way?

~It's my decision who I'm going to worry about.~ The tremor in Sanzo's voice...

The tolling of the noon bell banishes the fragments of memory swirling around and sets my thoughts back in straight lines. I have enough of a grasp on Sanzo's behavior to deal with the current situation. I am alive only to atone for my sins by performing their opposites; the primary expression of that is being attentive to Sanzo's needs and not causing him any trouble. It is not my place to judge him, or how he lives his life, but simply to be there in whatever capacity he may require. My ear aches slightly as I stand up; I must remember to not lean to the left. I am fairly certain that Sanzo didn't mean what he said. Therefore, it is not my place to be hurt by it. He wants me to live, and he has demonstrated concern for me since the trial, and perhaps before that. Somehow, between waking up on the road and arriving here, my eye had been bandaged. Well, that's just one more debt I have to Sanzo. If concern for another is not something that comes easily to him, then my duty is to live in such a way that I don't cause him any further concerns.

The door to my cell opens silently, and I head to the dining hall. It's my responsibility to see to Sanzo's needs. Right now, he needs to eat and replenish his strength, and if he has his way he'll likely hole himself back up in his room. Therefore, I will bring him food. If he indicates that my presence is welcome, I will stay. If not, I will deliver his lunch and give him space. I will not hold his words or actions against him and will not allow him to drive me away. A warm, impersonal smile fits itself onto my face. I will live the rest of my life repaying him for sparing my life, and if part of that means accepting whatever verbal blows he cares to throw my way, then so be it.

After all, I promised.

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

When I knock on Sanzo's door, a growled demand for my name is all the greeting I get. I'm never sure how I should answer that.

"It's me," I reply, for lack of anything better to say. "I've brought lunch, if you're up for it."

The silence I get in return is as much concession as anything. The door, surprisingly, is unlocked. Sanzo is almost hiding under his blanket, and despite myself I can feel my heart jump. My presence is causing him pain. The benign smile freezes slightly as I unload lunch from the tray and replace it with breakfast, leaving the water, juice, and weak tea on the table. If Sanzo wanted my company, he wouldn't be staring so hard off to the side with a stricken look. I bow slightly over the tray and leave.

Goku comes running up as I close the door behind me. He looks intently at the door and the tray of picked-at foods, then deliberately turns his back to Sanzo's room and walks down the hall with me.

"He's awake, then?" There is a mixture of hope, relief, hurt, and scorn in the boy's words. "Where'd you find him, anyway?"

"Yes," I answer the first question calmly, slipping him a sweet roll Sanzo didn't eat. "He was in the village behind the hill." I help myself to the sliced apples, and there is silence for a minute.

"Shoulda known he'd be there." Disappointment replaces the hope and relief. "I guess he's pretty hung-over, huh?"

Does he do this often? "Ah, yes, I would say that. He doesn't seem like he'll go anywhere for a while, at least."

Goku snorts. "Better not. Hey, thanks for everything. You're really an okay guy, an' I'm sorry you gotta put up with Sanzo's bad habits on top of having to stay here." He waves one hand, indicating and dismissing the entire temple before flashing me a grin. "Just remember to look out for yourself, huh? I'll see ya around!"

With that he takes off towards the dining hall, leaving me with the remnants of Sanzo's breakfast for company. I watch him go before balancing the tray on a thick windowsill and eat in silence, watching the rain.

Rain. Cold. Sanzo. I doubt Sanzo will be able to close the shutters by himself in his weakened state, but I also have to return the tray and dishes to the kitchen. With a sigh, I mentally gauge the distance from where I am to both the kitchens and Sanzo's room. May as well visit the kitchens first and drop off the dishes, then check on Sanzo under the guise of retrieving lunch dishes - assuming he ate anything, that is. The remnants of Sanzo's breakfast are quickly devoured as I hurry to the kitchen, chiding myself every other step. I should have thought ahead, should have closed the shutter before I left. I'm responsible for Sanzo being where he is, and in the state he is - ignore the possibility of where he'd be, and in what state, if I hadn't been told of the village behind the hill - so it's my responsibility to see to it that he doesn't get sick due to my inattentiveness.

When I return to Sanzo's room and knock, there is no answer.

"Sanzo?"

I press my ear to the door and can hear a faint rustle, as well as the muffled sound of rain. The door is still unlocked, and with raised eyebrows I open it slowly. Briefly, I catch a glimpse of the haunted expression on Sanzo's face before be becomes deeply interested in the mug of water I'd poured for him. He holds it in both hands, not drinking it, but rather staring into its depths as though it would reveal the mysteries of the world to him. Guilt and self-reproach both get shunted into my facade as I smile blandly and bow to Sanzo before wrestling the shutter closed again. I don't trust myself to comment on the rain and Sanzo's health. He has at least picked at lunch, but he can't have eaten much.

"Shall I leave the dishes for you a while longer?" I ask softly, not looking at Sanzo. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him nod jerkily. Another formal bow, and I let myself back out.

I should go to the library. Find some obscure manuscript and lose myself in the tale it weaves. Spend a few hours tucked into a nice corner, warm and dry. That’s what I should do, but I don’t. The stone Buddha in my little garden smiles at me as though reassuring me that this, too, shall pass. My chi will no doubt need to be used after having been so well-fed, and warding off the rain that trails cold fingers down my back should occupy it nicely. I kneel reverently before the Buddha. It’s been too long since I was here last, or at least it seems that way. A part of me almost longs for my thorny whip, but that thought gets cut off before it even forms. I cannot hurt myself in penance.

Cannot hurt myself…but I can still punish myself. The rain running through my hair and under my robes is like the hands of the youkai I killed, ghostly fingers seeking to drag me down to the realm I sent them to. Replaying the morning again and again, I ruthlessly strip it down, searching for the slightest word or action that was performed wrongly. When each possible infraction has been identified and magnified, I harshly remind myself of what it was I should not have done or said before mercilessly lashing myself with what I should do and say in the future, should the situation present itself again.

My eyes have been closed, the better to see my memory, but I am suddenly aware of my chi. The blue-white of it ripples and runs as it attempts to counteract the cold rain, but that is not what shook me from the web of self-reproach. Without opening my eyes, I know that someone is watching me. The rain hid his footsteps and the darkness behind my eyelids hid him from my sight, but the eye-searing blue sparks are unmistakable. I take a deep breath, calm once again and secure after my reprimanding. Composed, I look over to where Sanzo is clinging with pale hands to the arch that leads to the rest of the gardens. Although his very posture screams that my presence causes him pain, I feel only overwhelming concern for his health. His gaze flinches away from me as I climb to my feet, finding some insignificant detail of the ground to fix on instead.

“I’m sorry.” The words are barely audible, choked out through repressed coughs.

“Sanzo…” I ignore the apology, telling myself that I’m simply concerned for his health and that he’s apologizing for being out in the rain. “You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll get sick again.”

He was sick, he didn’t know what he was saying, and I have already forgiven the words – he doesn’t need to apologize for that. It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter. I hurry over to him, slipping his arm over my shoulder and supporting his weight. He’s soaked, and his whole body is trembling. How long did it take him to make his way to this neglected alcove? I hurry him back inside, almost carrying him, and guide him through deserted halls back to his room. He does not attempt to say anything else, either on the way there or when I strip the sodden outer robe from him and bundle him in blankets. He’s definitely shivering. I glance around for something else to warm him with, and see the small brazier I’d purloined still sitting in a corner with its bag of charcoal next to it. Well, that’s a surprise, but a useful surprise. I set it up on the table by Sanzo’s bed, absently eating half of his mostly-untouched lunch as I do, and pick up one of the coals. The candle and lamp have been out for three days. I’m going to have to do this the hard way. I force my chi into my hands, eyes closed in concentration. I can feel the tiny bolts cross through the unlit lump between my palms, and the coal starts to grow warmer. More chi; the lump is suddenly hot, and my hands jerks apart in reaction. The now-lit coal falls onto its brethren, who slowly follow suit and light themselves. That should warm the room sufficiently.

Sanzo huddles within his blankets, eyes closed. I gather up the remains of lunch and bow, closing the door behind me as I slip out. The dishes are entirely empty by the time I reach the kitchen, and it is not quite dinnertime, but I doubt Sanzo will be able to eat much anyway. As I leave my burden by the sinks, another monk comes in and imperiously demands a tray for the Abbott. One of the kitchen helpers assembles an early serving of dinner, a teapot and teacup, and carefully covers the tray. The monk takes it and leaves without a word of thanks. Dare I…?

Yes. For Sanzo, I will dare.

“Ah, your pardon,” I start politely. The kitchen helper looks up at me as though surprised to see me. “The Honored Genjo Sanzo would like to take dinner in his room, as well, and would like a pot of hot tea. If it’s not too much trouble…?” I let the question trail off diffidently, and the other man blinks a bit.

“Oh, no trouble at all…” He fills another pot and sets it in the coals to heat while dishing out more food than Sanzo would ever eat at a single meal. When the pot begins to burble, the man pulls it out with a short hook, scoops a portion of tea leaves into it, and carefully re-covers it before setting it on the tray. I place the cover over the tray and bow to the kitchen helper with my thanks, and he mutters that it was nothing. He is obviously not used to being thanked for favors that others likely consider to be part of his duties. I bow again and leave with the tray.

When I return to Sanzo’s room, I let myself in without knocking. It’s not until I see Sanzo fumbling for something inside his cocoon of blankets, obviously panicked until he saw my face, that I realize that I should have announced myself. I apologize, but he just looks uncomfortable and turns his head. It takes some careful maneuvering before I can get everything settled on the table around the brazier, and the scents of dinner catch his attention again. The cooks steamed the rice with jasmine, and Sanzo is eyeing it as though trying to decide if he would be able to eat it or not. The mug of tea I pour for him gets his attention first, however. His hands still look very pale and cold as he reaches for it, and he sips only slowly, mug carefully held in both hands to warm them.

“Will you need anything else?” I ask after a minute. Sanzo makes a discontented sound and shakes his head, so I bow carefully and let myself out.

Sanzo’s continued uneasiness with my presence leaves me at loose ends. I reassure myself that I have done everything within my power to make him as comfortable as possible. He is warm and mostly dry, has food and hot tea, and I have absented myself. I have not punished myself in ways that have been forbidden to me, nor am I fettered by emotional punishments. There is nothing further I can think of that would be of use to do and several hours before I must face the prospect of sleep, so I allow myself the luxury of the library. A thick treatise on the natures of various youkai clans catches my eye, and the author’s theory keeps my attention until the librarian shows me out. I make my way to Sanzo’s room, intending to retrieve the dishes that are no doubt still burdened by food long since cold, but when I pause by his door, there is no light behind it. Not wanting to wake or disturb him, I leave quietly.

Where to go? I wander the halls, pondering my extremely limited choices. My cell? I reject the idea immediately. The garden? It would be bending my promise to not stay outside all night, and it is no doubt still wet from the rain. The corner that served me twice before? It is sheltered, but still outside. No. With no other direction, I find myself in the area of the Temple that is devoted to meditation halls. The Grand Hall? I grimace, remembering the scene I’d caused that first night. Out of the question. One of the lesser halls, perhaps? I contemplate the idea, but find no objections forthcoming. A lesser meditation hall it is.

After a few minutes of searching, I find a small hall – no larger than a generous bedroom – with a dozen or so flat cushions arranged around the edges, leaving the center clear. Perhaps it is typically used as a meeting room, someplace where monks may gather for discussion; it matters not. I take a seat in the far corner and slow my breathing. Meditation in a silent, dark room is likely to fade easily into slumber, and if any should see me, they can hardly find fault in my perceived meditation.

The silence around me makes it easy for me to empty my mind, and simply exist in the moment. Thus it could have been a minute, or an hour, or half the night before I am suddenly aware of eyes upon me. My pulse quickens and my breath catches in my throat. I do not want to open my eyes and see if the ones looking back at me belong to one living, or dead. I listen intently, but mine are the only breaths I hear. The few noises made by cloth shifting come from my robes alone. The unseen eyes continue to watch me, waiting. It is only a matter of time before I give in and open my eyes with a sigh.

The room is empty.

Cursing myself for imagining things, I close my eyes again and strain to calm my heart and mind. My breathing slows and my pulse quiets, but my mind does not. The nightmares that harry me when the hallucinations fail have me in their grasp; each time I am able to empty my mind, it is filled with distorted memories of Dark Crow youkai that screamed and begged for mercy – for their wives and children, if not for themselves. It is a struggle to calm myself after each relived death, and it gets harder each time. Finally, the memory of a murder that I had done my best to forget plays itself out behind my eyelids: a babe not yet weaned. I admit defeat and stand up. Sanzo did offer me the option of sleeping in his room so long as I was quiet about it, and I can’t think of any other place where I would be able to get any rest.

The halls are empty and almost completely dark, but my eyes have adjusted to the lack of light and I make my way easily to Sanzo’s door. Slowly, I test the handle. It’s unlocked, surprisingly. As quietly as I can, I open the door and slip inside, closing it equally quietly behind me. There is a rustle of motion from the bed and I call Sanzo’s name softly, but there is no response. He must be asleep. The brazier is still lit, and a faint ruddy light warms the ceiling. I don’t wish to intrude – after all, I am only seeking refuge from myself – so I tuck myself into a corner and lean carefully against the wall. Thus sheltered, sleep comes easily and without nightmares. Even so, it is still a light sleep, one filled with blue-white clouds and deep red shadows and the occasional blue spark. I come awake again as the red shadows and white clouds fade out; the brazier must have gone out. Well, it can’t be far past dawn. The sun will heat the air soon enough, and the morning bell will start ringing within the hour.

As quietly as possible, I slip out of Sanzo’s room and close the door behind me. There will be time enough in the day to attend to the brazier and dishes from supper. I bathe in cold water and change before spending a few minutes meditating in a garden planted with young oaks, a stone Buddha nestled between them. This garden is close to the kitchens, and I am able to obtain a breakfast tray well before the Temple’s residents can descend upon the dining hall. The breakfast bell starts tolling as I near Sanzo’s room. When I arrive, I knock on the door and call Sanzo’s name. There is a pause, then rustling, and then Sanzo opens the door with a sullen expression. He stands by the door, glaring, as I set the tray on the larger table and pull the chair out for him. Unbothered by the glare, I turn my attention to the brazier and refill it. It has gone out, of course, but he won’t need its heat for a while anyway. The nearly-untouched dinner goes back on the tray it came up on, and with it in hand I bow to Sanzo. He says nothing, just looks at me sourly and opens the door. I thank him quietly and leave.

Goku intercepts me in the hallway. “Is he done with breakfast already?” He eyes the covered tray in my hands.

“Ah, no, this is from last night.” I shift the tray so that I can point behind me. “I brought breakfast to him just now.”

He nods and hurries towards Sanzo’s room with a determined stride. Somehow, I don’t think I’d want to be in Sanzo’s shoes when Goku gets there. The garden with the oaks is empty, despite its proximity to the dining hall, so I find a stone bench almost hidden by some bushes and make sure Sanzo's dinner doesn't go to waste. I have no desire to earn another lecture on wasting food when I return the dishes, and cold scraps are more fitting for one such as me than fresh, hot food. I pause to consider the wedge of flatbread in my hand, generously loaded with beans and rice. The lavish dinner that was prepared for Sanzo hardly counts as 'scraps'. After a minute of internal debate, I shrug and continue eating. I had an early dinner yesterday; if I skip lunch today, that will even out the big meal I am eating now.

The sun has not yet risen high enough to peer past the trees of this garden, and breakfast is shady and pleasant. I leave my corner briefly to bring the covered tray back to the kitchen, then tuck myself into the gap between two bushes and settle into the lotus position. When I look up again, I can't help but smile in amusement. The stone Buddha is directly across the garden from me, sitting in the lotus position. I rest my hands on my knees in conscious imitation of the statue's position, and let my mind become the still surface of a pool until the sun finally finds me.

The kitchen helper from last night is there again when I diffidently peek into the kitchen. I nod when he asks if Sanzo wants a lunch tray, and thank him for his kindness. The sun has steamed the night's rain out of the ground, and the air is hot and muggy as I take the familiar route to Sanzo's room. I knock on the door, but there is no response and no sound from within the room at all. When I cautiously try the handle, it's unlocked. Sanzo isn't here, but neither are the breakfast dishes. I leave the lunch tray on the table, tidy the room, and leave to find him.

It takes a few minutes and several hallways and gardens before I hear Sanzo's voice rising in a tone that manages to sound ominous and amused at the same time. A few turns later, I peek into a small brick courtyard of indeterminate function – the drain in the center and waist-high jugs hint at some sort of washing, but the rake propped in the corner is baffling – and find Sanzo facing down an older priest of high rank. It's hard to say who has cornered who; Sanzo has the other monk trapped in the tiny courtyard, but the smug look on the face of the older man implies that he is the victor in whatever discussion I have interrupted. That look gets more smug as he sees me in the entrance, and Sanzo breaks off whatever dire threat he was delivering in a quiet, intense tone.

I bow formally as he turns to look at me in surprise and – well, perhaps not dismay, but there is something about his posture that makes me think of a mother hen herding her chicks. “I've taken the liberty of leaving lunch in your room, Honored Sanzo.” Discomfort and something else war on his face. “Honored One,” I murmur to the other priest, making a second formal bow in his general direction before backing respectfully back around the corner. As I hurry away, I can hear Sanzo's voice rise again, adamantly declaring – or decrying – something I can't make out. Right Action, abstain from taking what was not given. Whatever they are discussing, it is not my business and not my place to overhear.

When the afternoon rains start, I am already in the library reading. There is a row of window-seats nearly hidden in the back, mostly forgotten, overlooking some of the gardens and in the lee of the wind. The rain falls steadily behind me, but the only sound of it is a faint drumming as it hits the roof. Before me is an old treatise on the development and use of chi, focusing on its connection with the nervous system. The author was more educated than I am; wading through his vocabulary is slow going. After a while, the dinner bell rings in the distance, but the sound barely registers. The author has included an illustration of some obscure chakra points, along with a diagram that seems to be misrepresenting where certain nerve clusters are in the body. Between the cramped writing and trying to see the points in my own weak chi, the bell is dismissed with barely a ripple of acknowledgement.

Just as I think I've sorted out the relation between the solar plexus and the chakra of the same name, a familiar robe moves into my field of vision. I blink a few times, scrambling to pull my thoughts back to the world around me. Sanzo's unreadable expression isn't helping. When he sees that I'm aware of his presence, his gaze shifts to just over my head and he looks out at the rain for several minutes. Once or twice, he glances down at me as though he were about to say something, then seemingly thinks better of it and goes back to staring out the window.

“Sanzo?”

He meets my eyes with a stricken look, then turns without a word and walks quickly out of sight behind the stacks. I watch him go, guilt tearing at me from both directions. On the one hand, I should have been aware of the time and seen to Sanzo's needs – taken him dinner if nothing else. On the other hand, however, it seems that my presence is still not welcome. Is there anything I can do? A quick glance out the window tells me that the temple is settling in for the night. At this hour, there is nothing I could do for Sanzo except to give him space. I stick a scrap of ribbon between the pages and close the manuscript. If I get a tall enough candle, perhaps I can stave off the hallucinations.

The lamps are still lit in the corridor that holds my cell. Unfortunately, they do not shed much light into the cell itself, even with the door open. I light my candle off of one of them, then seat myself at the tiny table and settle in for a long night of reading. Once again, the author's vocabulary and the subject matter draw me in, and the world around me ceases to exist until suddenly the candle gutters out in a pool of melted wax, plunging me into darkness.

It is at that moment that I hear hoarse, wet breathing coming from the corner of the cell.

My hands are already crawling along the back of the chair, reaching for the stone wall, when the walking horror steps out of the corner. Some small bit of my mind is thinking, So, this is what a week-old drowning victim looks like, but the rest of me is skirting mindless panic and edging closer to the door. A puddle of some fetid liquid creeps across the floor towards me, and I leap back with a smothered yelp.

“You didn't want to know,” the bloated ruin of Sanzo's face states accusingly. “I thought you would have been more attentive. If it had been Kanan, you would have made it your business...”

Skin hangs in strips off one waterlogged hand as it reaches for me, but my searching hands have found the door's handle and I dash down the darkened hallway, running out my panic. Only when I reach the more public corridors do I stop to catch my breath. After a minute, I continue more sedately to Sanzo's room. The door is unlocked again, and I open it as quietly as possible, listening for any indication that I've woken him. The only sound is my still-harsh breathing. I sidle into the slightly cool room, closing and locking the door behind me, and prop myself up in the corner. It feels like an eternity before my eyes adjust to the darkness enough to see Sanzo sleeping in his bed, and before my breathing quiets enough that I can hear his. With that welcome sound cradling my shaken mind, I drop once again into dreams of blue-white clouds billowing on a blue sky, one that fades into a somehow comforting field of warm maroon. Those clouds gradually shift into swift-running streams, pulsing gently, surrounding a shuddering blue-white shape against that red background.

It is my stomach that awakens me in the early morning. I stand carefully and stretch, glancing over at the bed to make sure that Sanzo hadn't woken up, and then slip out of the room.

Food first, or bath? Judging from the sliver of sun on the horizon, I'd better get to the kitchens first, and then bathe while everyone else is eating. The kitchen helpers are already setting breakfast out; I load a plate for myself and one for Sanzo, grab a mug of tea, and juggle everything until I can carry it. Sanzo is still asleep when I return to his room, so I leave his breakfast on the table and retreat. Remembering last night's admonition, however, I thread my way through the gardens until I am able to lean against the wall under his window, and it is there that I break my fast. A chuckle slips out as I realize that I never ate dinner last night; this truly is breaking a fast. Above me, I can hear Sanzo and Goku discussing something. Now that I know he's awake, it's safe for me to return my plate and visit the baths.

Once I am clean and dressed, however, my thoughts stray to last night. The book is no doubt fine, but the table will likely need to be cleaned. My cell isn't nearly so intimidating with the brightly-lit hallway at my back, although I do check the floor for any stains left by Sanzo's drowned corpse. Luckily, the cooled puddle of wax peels off the surface of the table with minimal effort, and I dispose of it before taking up the book on chi and nerves. Returning to the window-seat I'd occupied the day before is an appealing thought.

The librarian looks up as I enter his domain, and he waves me over with a smile of sour satisfaction. I wonder guiltily if I've done something wrong, or if he merely wants to share someone else's misfortunes with me.

“Yes, Honored One?” I start to bow to him, but he waves it away.

“Two things,” he says brusquely, hefting a worn volume and thrusting it at me. “First, you left this on the window seat last night. Never do that again, or I'll have you banned from the library.” Awkwardly, I juggle both bound volumes and open my mouth to protest. “Second,” he continues before I can even form an apology, “Sanzo left a message for you. He said to tell you that he's going to be in a meeting until late tonight, and not to wait up for him. But we all know you're not going to do that, so I'm giving you permission to take the manuscript out on loan. Guard it with your life.” He gives me a twisted smile at the last phrase, and the irony is not lost on me. I have no name. There is no record of my birth, and by that technicality I have no life.

“I will,” I promise quietly, but the librarian has already turned away in silent dismissal. I bow awkwardly around the thick books and make my way out.