On the Nature of Dragons and Kami by Kiro
Index
Chapter 1: 0. Time
Chapter 2: 1. Attachment
Chapter 3: 2. Knowledge
Chapter 4: 3. Death
Chapter 5: 4. Heresy
Chapter 6: 5. Trust
Chapter 7: 6. Order
Chapter 8: 7. Respect
Chapter 9: 8. Possession
Chapter 10: 9. Freedom
Chapter 11: 10. Defiance
Chapter 12: 11. Justice
Chapter 13: 12. Time
Disclaimer: I do not own Saiyuki Gaiden. Not even a copy of the manga. *sob* But I do have scanlations or translations of most chapters. ^_^
0. Time
The Wheel of Time. Ouroboros, the great snake with its tail in its mouth. Circles representing infinity, like the rings exchanged by lovers.
Regret accomplishes nothing. He cannot alter the past. It does not matter, it does not keep him from remembering. The long centuries when time seemed to stretch endlessly, the recent years when change stirred and coiled around a few souls, the day just past when time and change struck with fangs and venom.
Time is not only a wheel, but a snake eating its tail. It does not merely turn, it consumes.
Goujun had little respect for the concept of non-attachment that the kami valued so highly. It was not that he was incapable of undertanding the internal logic of the philosophy, but that he could not accept it as truth when the underlying assumptions were so unnatural. Attachment was as much a part of life as breathing, from the time a child was first held by its parents, until the time death came for an honoured elder surrounded by descendants.
Family was not important to the kami. Children were rare -- it was not often that a soul was judged worthy of reincarnation as a kami, after all -- but children were not treasured, not nurtured. Supposedly spiritually advanced, such children matured quickly, with little need of a childhood or parenting as other races understood it. The weakness of bonds between parents and child was actually commended, according to their principles of non-attachment, since such weak bonds were easily broken and forgotten as soon as the child was ready to make his own way in Heaven, alone.
By contrast, family was vitally important to dragons, who loved and protected their children fiercely, who remembered and honoured strong connections to their ancestors and relatives throughout the long millenia of their lives. Duty to family was one of the most important principles of a dragon's life.
Goujun had followed his father into service to the armies of Heaven, succeeding him as Commander of the Western Army and Dragon King of the Western Sea, when his father had retired to spend his last millenium or so with his wife and children. He had taught Goujun to balance his duties in Heaven and his duties at home, how to devote himself to his responsibility to his work and to his own family.
When it was expected of him, Goujun had married the woman his parents had chosen for him, trusting in their judgement. He was often away from his mate, but over the years they grew comfortable together, and eventually came to love one another. Within a century they were expecting a child together. The baby dragon prince, when he was born, could not have been more loved. It was as it should be between parents and child.
During the first centuries of his son's long childhood, Goujun spent as much time as he could with the child and mother, reluctant to leave them for his duties in Heaven. Yet having a son made those duties all the more important. The treaties and alliances between dragons and kami were all the more vital and personal to him now that he had a family of his own to protect, who were relying on him to maintain the unique position of political and spiritual autonomy that Heaven allowed the dragons.
The fundamental differences in philosophy and values between the kami and dragons set him apart, leaving him isolated and alone even in the crowded palaces of the Heavens. Goujun had become resigned to it, not expecting things to change, but then he had encountered one kami unlike any he had met before.
They first met soon after Goujun had become Commander of the Western Army, when Tenpou was still young, although having reached adulthood the immortal kami never did age further. There was something about his energy, his attitude, his soul-scent, that caught Goujun's attention from the first time he met the young soldier.
Tenpou was equally drawn to his commander, and not just because he was his commander. They were fascinated by each other, drawn together by a thread of fate or karma that ran far deeper than the opportunism that motivated most alliances in Heaven.
Goujun soon learned the kami had not entered the army for any of the usual reasons. As far as Tenpou knew, his family had never been involved in the military. It still seemed strange to Goujun not to know such things about one's family, let alone not be expected, if not honour-bound, to follow in their footsteps. Tenpou had not been drawn to the military by a hunger for power for its own sake, nor was he looking for cheap excitement, and he was most certainly not wanting a position where he could avoid thinking, like so many other young soldiers.
No, Tenpou thought constantly, and was always looking for new ideas, new ways of thinking, new experiences to think about. Tenpou had a desire -- rare enough among the kami, at least as far as they would openly admit to such things -- a burning to desire to learn. He wanted to understand conflict and war and violence in all its complexity and paradoxes. He also had a brilliant mind for strategy, and a fierce need to protect those who depended on him, such as could rival that of a dragon.
Goujun found he could speak freely with this kami and truly be heard and understood. It was something he had never considered possible, to be able to talk to someone in the Heavens about how he perceived the world, and be met with interested questions and a desire for understanding instead of the disdainful or blank looks he would receive from the other kami.
Tenpou truly wanted to know how the Dragon King thought; he wanted to understand Goujun in a way that no one outside his family ever had. No, perhaps even more deeply than his family understood him, because Tenpou's understanding and respect went far beyond roles and duty to something much more personal than family, and Goujun found himself reciprocating.
What did that make Tenpou to him?
His, of that there was no doubt. And Tenpou had no objections.
Goujun had assumed the role of mentor to the young kami, arranging for officers' training and creating opportunities for promotion where the slowness of change in Heaven would otherwise not offer them. Tenpou had risen to the challenges he offered, moving up through the ranks quickly, proving himself worthy. There was a great intensity within him, and a formidable capacity for violence, which he channeled into encounters on the battlefield.
And into their encounters in bed.
Tenpou was stronger than he looked and knew how to best use his hidden strengths, testing Goujun and proving himself before offering himself in complete surrender to his rightful superior, as such a sacred gift should be given.
Tenpou did not fear pain; and not only in the ignorant way that immortals tend not to fear it, believing that it cannot endanger them. Rather, he was fascinated by the experience, craving the intensity of it, eager to understand the complexity and paradox of pleasure and pain woven together. He honoured the claims Goujun put on his body, revelling in the marks of ownership made with fangs and talons.
Goujun saw it all as one more way they fit together, one more way the dragon did not have to pretend to be something he was not, one more way he did not need to hold back his real thoughts or feelings or passions.
"Mine," he would whisper, fiercely and possessively into sweat-dampened hair as they lay tangled together in the remains of the sheets.
"Yours," Tenpou would agree raggedly, contentedly, when he found his voice. "Always," he would sometimes add, after the first decades together had only brought them closer.
It was a heady feeling to have an immortal being promise to belong to you forever. Centuries together didn't dampen the intensity of it. Dragons were not immortal, despite lifetimes spanning millenia, but Goujun was young, and Tenpou could live forever. He always thought there would be more than enough time. Change happened slowly, after all.
Except when it happened far too quickly.
editted 1 June 2005
In the eyes of the kami, knowledge was currency, poison, curiosity, tedium, gossip. It was bureaucratic, a need to pretend control through documentation. It was politic, opportunistic, shading into blackmail as it was shaped and filtered and edited. It was consumable, disposable, something to occupy a bored mind for a moment or a year and then be discarded like refuse when interest waned.
Knowledge to the dragons was a weapon, a shield, and a responsibility. A weapon to be used in the fight for what was right and just. A shield to defend a position that could never be surrendered. Responsibility to test for truth and understand it deeply, to accept and guide the changes that knowledge demanded, to act as honour required of one who knew.
Knowledge was not to be shared with one who could not be trusted to recognize and respect it. It was not to be entrusted to one whose loyalties might be questioned. It was saved for those in whose possession it might become wisdom. And so, the dragons tended their knowledge in ways that might be seen as jealous and petty hoarding to other races.
Goujun rarely visited Tenpou's office-turned-library. Besides the official difference in rank and the private power dynamics that made it more fitting for Tenpou to come to Goujun, he did not like to confront the maelstrom of disorder that was Tenpou's tangible horde of knowledge. He was, however, very aware of the contrast between the outward mess, and the ordered repository of knowledge within the marshal's mind.
Tenpou had asked him to stop by so that he could show Goujun the newest texts he had acquired from Below, but lately Goujun had other reasons on his mind to venture into the private library.
It was only after Goujun knocked a second time that Tenpou eventually called for him to come in, but the marshal did acknowledge his superior officer's presence quickly once he entered, by scrambling to his feet and bowing deeply while murmuring a broken string of greetings and polite apologies, all without looking up from the book he was engrossed in until he had finished the passage. Finally he closed the book around one finger to mark his place, instead of setting it aside, which made gathering up the books he had wanted to lend Goujun and clearing off a chair more of a slow and awkward process than it needed to be.
"Thank you." Goujun said gravely, bowing as he accepted the texts, before seating himself in the offered chair.
Tenpou smiled absently and lowered himself to the floor at Goujun's feet. He leaned against Goujun's knee as he opened his own book again, murmuring more apologies and something about being almost finished, although it looked as though he had at least fifty pages to go in the thick volume.
Goujun allowed himself a small indulgent smile, brushing his fingers through Tenpou's hair before perusing the books Tenpou had lent him. One of the philosophies about strategy and the nature of war seemed to be intriguingly close to draconic thought, reminding him of his assessment that his Tenpou might be worthy of knowledge kept by dragons.
"There is an ancient scroll I would like to show you, someday," Goujun said thoughtfully.
"Oh?" Tenpou looked up from his book and turned to him, eyes focusing on Goujun much more quickly than they would at any other interruption, he was sure.
"It has been handed down in my family for generations, and is now in my younger cousin's keeping. However, dragons tend to value knowledge differently than other races, and we are slow to share it. My cousin must be convinced that you are worthy before he would let you see it."
Tenpou closed his book around his finger again and stood, to lean against the desk and face him comfortably rather than twisting to look up at him. "What it is about? Can you tell me?"
"It is rare for dragons to write down our own knowledge, though we do seek and treasure the writings of other races." Goujun absently ran a finger along the worn leather spine of one of the books he held. "Our own race shares its knowledge through oral heritage and ancestral memory within families. Occasionally, however, we do record our interactions with the other races of Heaven and Below, and give written form to our most powerful magic so it will not be lost to Time. The scroll I am thinking of is one of the oldest such histories."
Tenpou was focused on him entirely now, eyes shining with interest and breath quickening.
"The scroll itself is an object of great power, but the knowledge it holds is also weapon and defense, a record of the events leading up to the dragons' alliance with the first kami, from the ancient time when we helped order the world and separate Heaven from Earth. We received sacred oaths of rights and freedoms, political autonomy, and a position almost equal to that of the kami. Formal alliances were established ensuring that neither of our races would ever turn against the other, but would aid each other in times of crisis."
"I have heard and read only the vaguest references to this," Tenpou confessed, glancing at the overflowing shelves behind him.
"I know." Goujun sighed heavily. "My presence and position in Heaven is meant to be living memory of that ancient alliance, but the kami themselves have long since ceased to honour that history. That is why I would like to convince my cousin to let you see the scroll, so that you may become keeper of such knowledge as well. It is not right that Heaven should forget such things." Although, Tenpou was hardly a normal part of Heaven, but there were no others he would trust with such knowledge in its pure form.
"I would be honoured to receive such knowledge," Tenpou said reverently. "I do hope your cousin can be convinced of my respect for it."
Goujun suppressed a snort, imagining what his cousin would think of the disordered state of Tenpou's personal library. Yet he did know the great respect with which the kami treated knowledge itself. In the meantime, he could smell Tenpou's arousal at the prospect of being allowed even a glimpse at such a rare scroll. The familiar, intimate scent was having its own effect on Goujun's desire.
Pushing the thought aside for the moment, he stood and set the borrowed books on the chair before he continued gravely, "Few know why I command and serve in Heaven's Armies. Many more would be too easily convincied if given reason to suspect that my loyalties to Heaven and to my own kind are contradictory. It is my duty to prove beyond doubt, in my service and in my life, that my loyalty to the kami and my loyalty to my people and family are meant to be inseparable, by the nature of the trust and ties between our races. Both loyalties are necessarily absolute. There is no room in my duty or honour for politicking or opportunism. And no personal attachments could ever be allowed to conflict with those loyalties."
Tenpou frowned but nodded, accepting the price of such knowledge and duty. "But as long as such attachments are not in conflict with those loyalties, then...?" he began, trailing off questioningly.
Goujun stepped forward and reached out, pulling the kami against him to whisper into his hair. "Then nothing need come between us."
Kami had no understanding of death. It was so rare for death to come to one of their own kind that they called it unthinkable. They refused to acknowledge the possibility that it could happen to any of them, as if their denial would protect them. They thought themselves so removed from it that they had no capacity at all to understand the concept of honouring the dead, nor respecting death itself. When it came for one of them, claimed a kami's soul, it was met with denial, then disdain. A diminishing, in their minds, of the one who had died. Kami were far above death, so one who fell victim to it could not truly have been worthy of divinity, warranted no respect, was often regarded as no better than a unclean creature from Below Heaven.
Dragons respected death as part of life, one necessary for the other in the unending cycle of rebirth. Dragons could live for millenia, but were not immortal nor invincible, and their long lives and strong attachments meant they witnessed the deaths of many honoured ancestors, just as they might witness the births of many treasured descendants. Furthermore, dragons were dependent on killing in order to live. Every dragon took life in order to feed, yet did so with respect, acknowledging the souls torn from bodies and returned to the cycle of rebirth, and often choosing to hunt prey that were strong enough to have a chance, who might take a dragon's life instead if the scales of fate and karma should tip. Thus, it was always known that a dragon's life might be cut short abruptly, leaving family to mourn the loss and honour the dead.
Goujun knew of the death of one of his soldiers almost immediately after it happened, of course, long before attending his marshal's formal and public report before the Jade Emperor. And of course he was already expecting Tenpou to come to his private quarters as soon as he was free that evening. He was, however, surprised by the large wine jars Tenpou brought with him.
"Care to join me?" Tenpou asked, instead of explanation, as he set the jars on the low table.
"In what? Drinking, or getting drunk?" Goujun asked, retrieving two small bowls from the cupboard. "Wine does not affect a dragon so, although I can appreciate it for the taste. You do not look like you are in the mood to appreciate such things after today, but I did not think you to be the type to indulge in drunkenness."
"You can't get drunk? Hm, interesting, it figures," Tenpou said absently, opening a jar and filling the two bowls. "Kami can if they choose to. You're right, I never have. I suppose it's an experience to investigate. Now seems to be a good time."
Goujun merely raised an eyebrow at him.
"Have you ever lost a man?" Tenpou asked sometime later.
"Before today, you mean? No. But I have seen death before. I have lost honoured ancestors, and even younger relatives, to age and to violence. At home, dragons have no rules against taking life, nor are we so cut off from watching nature take life. We know that someday it will take our own lives. The cycle plays itself out all around, all the time, in the Lower World. Death is not such a foreign thing to me."
"I had only read about it," was all Tenpou had to say. It was a large enough admission and realization to last through the rest of the wine jar.
Dragons are comfortable with silence, and feel no need to fill it when it stretches between companions.
"I failed him," Tenpou mused when he spoke again, much later. "If I'd known... I could have done things differently. I could have prevented it, somehow.... He was my responsibility. I should not have let him die."
"You cannot interfere with fate or karma, Tenpou," Goujun chided gently. "He was your man, and you did the best you could for him with what Time allowed you to know. He was yours, he fought for you, and he risked death for you, as was his place in the order of things. Do not deny his own duty to you and to his place, to match and balance your responsibility to him."
"Fuck the order of things," Tenpou muttered half-heartedly, as if trying the attitude on for fit. He then sighed when Goujun took no offense at what he knew his marshal did not mean. He was well into the second jar of wine, but his face was still unflushed, his voice controlled despite the difficult and unfamiliar emotions.
"He was my man as well, Marshal. And you are mine. Yet all our men risk death, and we must let them, just as I must let you risk death," Goujun reminded him. "Because you are mine, not despite it." He did not say how difficult that was sometimes, when he sent his Tenpou into the field to face the increasingly dangerous crises in the Lower World. His voice did not shake. A dragon's voice does not shake. "Because you are mine, because you are what you are. And because we submit to order and duty. Because we both belong to something greater, the cycle of samsara: life and death and rebirth."
Tenpou frowned thoughtfully as he drained his wine bowl again, then leaned forward to refill it.
Goujun allowed some time to pass in silence before speaking again. "No, I have not lost a soldier in the Army before," he began carefully. "It has been a long time since the Armies have been this shorthanded, and the Lower World in such turmoil, while there is no one who may kill in the service of Heaven."
Tenpou narrowed his eyes, gazing into the middle distance with intensity.
"It is unbalanced, it is becoming disordered. Death has become not only possible, but inevitable, even for a kami. Death itself is not a thing of unbalance, but it can be used... to unbalance those who do not know how to accept it."
"Used..." Tenpou considered quietly, "to unbalance -- to manipulate -- those who cannot accept. It's deliberate and planned, isn't it? The personnel problems, the chaos below, and now the fear and desperation that will be spreading through the ranks at the realization that they could die if things continue as they are. If one of my men, one of your men, could die, any of them could."
Goujun knew it was no boast: they were the best, the most effective leadership in the Armies. They made their men the best. If the best was seen to be so vulnerable, it had a much greater effect than the loss of even more men from an undisciplined unit in the Eastern Army.
"Someone in Heaven must be behind this..." Tenpou's eyes widened slightly at the implications.
Goujun said nothing, but met his Tenpou's hard, clear gaze steadily. The final jar of wine was almost finished, but despite Tenpou's declared intentions, he was no more drunk than Goujun would have been if he'd had as much as Tenpou instead of only sipping occasionally from his single bowl.
"Unbalancing the ranks, undermining the leadership, frightening the civilians... preparing them to accept something that they otherwise would not... something that goes against order..." Tenpou continued, thinking aloud, not flinching away but following the train of thought to its conclusion.
Goujun said nothing. There was no need to give voice to thoughts that were already being spoken.
Tenpou's eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to an angry hiss. "I will not be used or unbalanced or manipulated. I will defend and protect what is mine, whatever the danger or cost."
Thoughts a dragon would think, spoken as a dragon might speak, if such things needed to be spoken among dragons. Thoughts a dragon could not dare to speak in Heaven, among kami. Goujun said nothing, but met Tenpou's gaze and let Tenpou read what he alone in Heaven had learned to read from dragon eyes.
Tenpou topped up the two bowls with the very last of the wine. They raised the bowls in solemn salute to each other before draining them, in the manner of sealing an oath or pact among certain cultures Below.
"I will not leave for home tomorrow as I had planned," Goujun told him. "I will stay to deal personally with the aftermath of our soldier's death."
Tenpou began to protest about being able to handle the paperwork and any further inquiry about the matter for a few days, but Goujun shook his head.
"It is not just because of official matters that may arise from it, but as a show of honour and respect for the man who has died. I must also make myself available to counsel the living, the men in his unit who have been left behind and must now make sense of what has happened."
"Are you sure you will be all right?" Tenpou asked. Because of the recent deadly crisis Below, Goujun had already been pushing the limits of how long he could remain in Heaven without returning home, and Tenpou clearly knew it. "Please, let me help. In any way that I can."
Goujun closed his eyes and bowed in silent gratitude for the offer of what was too great to ask for, then rose from his chair and crossed the room to sit beside Tenpou. Tenpou kissed him hungrily, then leaned back along the padded bench seat, pulling Goujun down atop him and scattering cushions to the floor.
"Mine," Goujun whispered, pushing Tenpou's uniform jacket off his shoulders. He leaned down to bite at the side of his Tenpou's neck, where the quick-healing marks would be obscured by the hair Tenpou had grown long over the centuries, perhaps for that very reason.
"Yours," Tenpou gasped, as Goujun's sharp teeth broke the skin and his tongue lapped greedily but carefully at the blood, precious and sacred to a natural carnivore honour-bound to live by the rules of Heaven while in Heaven: rules that forbade killing and the consumption of flesh, so that Goujun must otherwise fast between visits home to the Western Sea.
Later, Goujun would carry his Tenpou to bed to sleep off the effects of the blood-loss, knowing from experience that the kami's nature would allow him to recover by morning.
"Always," he would whisper, echoing his Tenpou's mumbled promises, stroking his hair and keeping him warm with his own body while he fell back into healing sleep.
Although it was far from the first time, Goujun would always be amazed that Tenpou would offer such a thing, his very life blood, to strengthen and balance Goujun. Sharing life, to answer need or as a response to facing death, was one of the most sacred and intimate practices among dragons, and not something Goujun would have ever dreamed of receiving from a kami. Even after centuries it was not something he could ever take for granted.
Yet Tenpou continued to give himself to Goujun more deeply and completely than Goujun dared ask for, and promised that he always would.
The kami abhorred those with golden eyes; children denied any claim to innocence because of their parentage. Heresy. Itan. Unclean. Things -- for they were not seen as persons by the kami -- that did not belong clearly in Heaven or Below, but straddled the boundary as if it meant nothing more than a line on a topographical map. Their very existence denied the boundary, might negate its reality, might somehow undo the separation between Heaven and Below, returning the world to the state it once was. A world in which the powers of nature and the five elements had been untamed and wild, and the dragons had ruled alone.
Dragons had no word for heresy. The concept was alien to them. From the beginning of Time, they had always been fascinated by the other races crawling on the Earth, stumbling towards intelligence and understanding. Along with the other ancient magical beasts who inhabited the world at the time, the dragons had aided in the taming of the forces of nature so that civilization was possible for these new sentient races. The dragons had supported and ordered the weaving of energy required in the separation of Yin from Yang and Heaven from Below, creating a new plane of existence for such beings to aspire to in their unique spiritual cycle of rebirth, a place of power from which the kami could rule the world Below without being part of it.
For their role in the establishment of Heaven and Earth, the dragons had been granted continued power, autonomy, and spiritual independence. They still ruled themselves and the elements, maintaining the dynamic balances and order of nature. They lived and died following their own spiritual path, to be reborn again as dragons.
As for the kami's notion of heresy as it applied to children born from the union of a kami and another race, it was not an issue for the dragons, whose genetics were simply too different to be compatible with the other races. No children could be born of dragons' interracial unions even if they were wanted. Such unions were very rare anyway, not because of any stigma among the dragons, but because of the vast differences in thinking and understanding, which few could truly bridge.
Yet, although it was so rare as to seem mere myth if not for the dragons' absolute trust in their own history, it was known that deep bonds could develop between a dragon and someone of another race, sometimes deep enough that the dragon would chose to give up being a dragon forever, and cross into the cycle of rebirth that included kami, human, and youkai.
Goujun found himself pondering this idea again and again in quiet moments alone. Had it become a personal matter for him? Would he ever be willing to bind his fate to Tenpou in such a way? He was not simply a dragon, he was a Dragon King. To be other than dragon was unthinkable.
And yet, if such a thing were possible...
But no. He had a deep connection with his Tenpou because he could be truly himself with Tenpou, he did not have to speak and act as other than a dragon. It was Tenpou who acted as other than a kami, as if he had once been a dragon himself...
...which made far too much sense to be denied. Goujun recognized it as a truth he must have known subconsciously for a while, and so accepted it now calmly, without hesitation.
But if Tenpou had the soul of a dragon, and yet was no longer born into the form of a dragon, it meant he had made a choice and bound his karma and fate to someone else, someone who meant far more to him than even his own dragon-nature. Goujun observed the bright flare of jealousy that now illuminated the extent of his possessiveness towards his Tenpou, exploring it and measuring it against his own unalterable draconic nature.
"Mine," he hissed at the empty darkness of his bed chamber. Yet when he thought of the reply, he could not help but wonder who else his Tenpou may have once promised to belong to forever, and sleep continued to elude him.
Dragons believed that trust should not be a decision, but something that came naturally among creatures who knew their places, who would simply be what they were, without guile or deception. Dragons could be trusted to be dragons: honest, loyal, inextricably bound by their unbreakable oaths. Dragons could also be trusted to be jealous, possessive, and selfish, but respecting of that which already belonged to another, especially another of equal or higher rank in the order of things. Such was the nature of trust among creatures who do not know how to betray.
Kami could be trusted, if it could be called trust, to be honest only when it suited them, seemingly respectful and generous to those suceptible to flattery who had something they wanted, but always looking for an opening to exploit, a way to take what they wanted at the expense of others. Trust became a decision, and a risky one that often led to pain and loss, because betrayal was always to be expected.
The general being transferred from the Eastern Army rubbed Goujun the wrong way long before he even arrived. The report outlining his military record and the circumstances of his transfer couched the reasons in euphemisms to spare the dignity of the Eastern commander, but it was clear that the general had been having an affair with his superior officer's wife, and apparently taking few pains to hide it. It seemed he was just too good a soldier and a leader to expell from the army on only one offense, although there were hints of other indiscretions that could not be proven.
The thought of such blatant disrespect for hierarchy, order, family, and personal possessions (though he knew the kami would misunderstand and take offense if he worded it that way) made Goujun take a dim view of the man from the beginning. He trusted that his Tenpou could handle the troublemaker, although with the recent shifts in power in the military, they both had more than enough trouble to deal with already.
"I wonder just how badly order and morale have decayed in the Eastern Army that a general would do such a thing and let himself be caught, just to get out of it?" Tenpou mused quietly, reviewing the report. "I hope I can get him to trust me enough to explain."
Goujun narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He trusted his Tenpou not to say anything so dangerous where it might be overheard, but he wondered if Tenpou might be ready to trust too easily. He growled softly, hating how paranoid Heaven was making him.
"Trust me," said Tenpou's eyes, as he stepped around the desk and bent to press his lips to Goujun's frown. "I am yours."
"Mine," Goujun said with his talons as his hand slid inside Tenpou's shirt and across his chest, eliciting a soft moan as Tenpou tilted his head back, baring his neck in a gesture of submission that transcended race and species.
After a moment's heady distraction, Goujun sighed as he reluctantly pushed Tenpou away. His office was not private enough for such lapses in self-discipline, not when the Army was being kept so busy and they were likely to be interrupted again at any moment, not when Tenpou must be seen to be acting on his own now.
"You are dismissed, Marshal," he said, reluctantly. "Until later..." he added in a whisper. Later there would be more than enough time, later would be worth waiting for.
Unless later never came.
Order was not something that dragons imposed from outside, but from within. There was no separate Heaven for the dragons, they were part of the order of nature that they ruled. They cultivated order through balance, guidance, and the removal of corruption, to let order establish itself in the way that nature intended. Nature's own way was order and hierarchy: the network of food chains, hunter and prey, dominance and submission among the animals who lived in packs and herds, and respect of territory among the solitary beasts. Even some of the races overseen by Heaven still held to the natural order, the tribal youkai and the few remaining tribal humans.
True order came from the balance of competition and co-operation, each member of the group according to his own strengths and weaknesses finding his own place, for the good of himself and of his people. Such a balance required trust, trust in each individual to do what is best for all, trust that the many will act in turn to benefit the most individuals, trust in the larger order of nature, trust in the order of life and death, disaster and regrowth, even when it cannot be perceived by those within. Perhaps the lack of trust was at the root of the unbalanced, unnatural, static, and stagnant "order" of Heaven.
A man of low rank who refused to be content with his place in the order of things had recently presented his son in service to the Jade Emperor. It was strange to see such a strong connection between a parent and a child in Heaven, but it quickly became apparent just how twisted a parody of family that bond was.
The child Nataku was itan, heresy, according to the kami's foolish superstitions. Already marked "unclean" by his golden eyes, he was thrust into the role of War Prince, Heaven's assassin. The boy was strong and skilled and so successful in the near-impossible missions his father forced him to undertake, that it was overlooked that his unnatural loyalty and obedience was only to his father Litouten, and not to the Jade Emperor and the hierarchy of the military.
Goujun could not overlook such a travesty of order, however, watching in horror as Litouten gained more and more power over the military by means of his complete control over its most important weapon. It only made sense, Litouten convinced the Emperor, that he who commands the War Prince so successfully must also have control over the Armies that support and supplement the campaigns of the greatest assassin the Heavens had known.
The whole situation made Goujun want to hiss in disgust and apprehension. Yet, this Jade Emperor had never been one to listen readily to the counsel of dragons on the matters of the kami, and now Litouten was poisoning his ear against Goujun and any other voices of reason that might speak against him.
It was soon made clear -- though in no way Goujun could prove the threat, of course -- that it would be entirely too easy to convince the Emperor that a dragon could not be trusted to be loyal to the kami when his real loyalties lay with his own kind. It would be just as easy to convince the Emperor that the dragons had gained far too much power, that their political and spiritual independence was an affront to the Heavens, that it was insulting to the kami and to the Emperor himself that the dragons thought themselves the near-equals of the kami. And then it would be easy to convince the Emperor that the War Prince and the Armies should be deployed to put the arrogant dragons in their place, as should have been done millenia ago.
So Goujun held his tongue and seethed, and his Tenpou who knew him so well knew that things were very wrong at the highest levels of the military, though Goujun was careful not to discuss it with him. His family and his home were too important to Goujun to risk having his loyalty to Heaven called into question.
He trusted that Tenpou would be far safer. He would have far more freedom to question and disagree. After all, he was still a kami, no matter how he might think like a dragon, no matter how he deliberately let his hair obscure his chakra as if he wanted to hide his divinity rather than display it boldly as all the other kami did. Tenpou was still a kami, and kami never truly turned against each other. Surely it would destroy the fundamental order of things if they did. Surely things could never go that badly.
Therefore, Goujun had given his Tenpou time and space and freedom, to act on his own and find out what he could, and to put that brilliant mind for strategy to work to find a way to change things, all with Goujun's silent encouragement and Tenpou's silent understanding. It was difficult to keep the distance between them, though they knew it was necessary for Goujun's sake, for his family's sake, while Tenpou investigated and questioned and quietly voiced his suspicions in certain circles, but both believed it was only temporary. There would always be time in the Heavens.
"Mine," Goujun would say with his fingers as they brushed Tenpou's hand, while accepting a personnel report or strategy proposal laced with carefully-worded hidden meanings.
"Yours," Tenpou would agree with his eyes, before bowing just a little more deeply than necessary. "Always."
His immortal promising forever. There would be time to fix things, time to set things right, time to restore order, and more than enough time to be together again.
The kami did not seem to understand respect. They thought of it as simply a way to act, a form of flattery, rarely sincere. It meant nothing more than an expression of what they thought they could get from a person, measured out according to how much that was worth to their own schemes and ambitions.
Dragons understood that true respect was something that went far deeper. Ulterior motive did not enter into it; respect was not for personal benefit. It did not only affect interaction with others, it permeated every thought and feeling about them. Respect was earned not only through accomplishments, but through a person's nature, the integral values and strengths that illuminated each word and deed. Respect was also an inherant function of order and hierarchy. It was something that did not even require thought in the true order of Nature.
Goujun doubted that genuine respect existed in Heaven, outside the Western Army, that was. Yet he and Tenpou did elicit true respect from the vast majority of their troops. Of those who still did not understand respect, almost all were trained to at least behave respectfully. The Dragon King had no tolerance for disrespectful behavior.
The new general, however, seemed to aspire to making disrespectful behaviour into an art form.
Once again, Kenren insisted on ignoring Goujun as their paths intersected at a junction of hallways, not even offering a greeting before crossing in front of him.
Goujun's boots clicked sharply on the polished floor as he came to a halt. "General. I believe I have warned you about neglecting to show proper respect to your superiors."
General Kenren also stopped walking, but took a drag on his cigarette and blew it out again before turning to face him. "And I believe I'm off duty. I also believe that respect must be earned." Goujun was sure that Kenren deliberately left off his title.
He narrowed his eyes at the kami. "What do you mean to say, General?"
"Your position as Commander is hereditary, is it not?" Kenren smirked, but there was no humour at all in his dark eyes. "And Tenpou has told me how... grateful... he was that you made sure there was a path to the top for him, always a promotion waiting for him when he was ready, or at least ready according to your assessments. Always objective, those, I'm sure."
"General--" Goujun began warningly, only controlling his temper because he knew he was being deliberately provoked, and he would not allow himself to be manipulated into anger.
"Yes," Kenren said simply, the mocking smile replaced by something much more serious. "I am. And I earned that rank. The hard way. On my own. No one cleared a path for me or gave me a hand up. You throw my records in my face as if I have something to be ashamed of. Read them again, and this time try to pay attention to the parts other than the jealous gossip and opinions about my personal life. See if you can find one complaint about my conduct while on duty. Try to come up with one example of a failure to act above and beyond expectations while in the field. You want my respect? Prove you deserve it. And show me a little real respect while you're at it."
Goujun was probably expected to be further angered by Kenren's abrupt departure without leave, but instead he found himself frowning thoughtfully at the General's back as he stalked away.
Author's note - Final score: Kenren 3, Goujun 0. Ouch, the burn!
It was difficult to define how kami thought of and expressed possessiveness. Being immortal, there were very few things they wanted to possess forever, and those tended to be desired as symbols of status rather than for the thing itself. Possession of another person was about control and status only, with no deeper motivation, and definitely no sense of anything owed in return to the one who was possessed, to balance the relationship.
It seemed that most possessions in Heaven were either too easy or nearly impossible to acquire, and so that which could be possessed had little meaning to kami. It was the pursuit for attainment that captured their interest. The actual possessing of it seemed to bore them quickly, and they were never satisfied with what they had for long. Furthermore, they had the audacity to pretend that taking something or someone for granted, rather than appreciating and nurturing and protecting, was a manifestation of their virtue of non-attachment.
Possession, to dragons, was ideally as selfless as it was selfish. Dragons understood they had a duty to what was theirs, to hold on to what was important and not let go. When it came to relationships, dragons did not place much importance on monogamy, since reproduction could never occur accidentally or outside of a bonded pair. Still, one who belonged completely to another could not be allowed to also belong to anyone else -- not only because of jealousy and possessiveness, but because dragons understood that someone who tried to devote themselves and give themselves to more than one master would end up tearing themselves apart in the end.
Goujun was not particularly surprised by Tenpou's formal visit to his office, since they rarely allowed themselves to be seen meeting under other circumstances now, but the reason for the visit did catch him off guard.
"You wish to become General Kenren's adjutant?" He kept his tone neutral, but set the request on his desk and rose to his feet to better look his marshal in the eye.
"Yes, sir," Tenpou said evenly. "For many reasons, I believe General Kenren and I could both serve much more effectively if I took on such a role."
Goujun narrowed his eyes. "You would disrupt the established order and hierarchy...." He circled his desk to stand before Tenpou, so they could speak quietly and not be heard by the staff in the outer office. "Why?" He rarely asked justification for Tenpou's decisions if none was offered, but this he could not accept without question.
"It would not be such a disruption, sir, to have General Kenren and the other generals of the Western Army report directly to you, rather than through me. My own unit trusts General Kenren completely and already takes orders from him."
Before Goujun could call him on avoiding the question, Tenpou continued more quietly, "I am, however, afraid that my own knowledge and suspicions may have become a... disruption, of sorts, in dealing with certain officials. It would be better if someone less biased could interact with them in my stead. Such a person might also be given opportunity to observe certain things I would not, if suspicion has been placed on me in return. In which case, it may be safer for you and the rest of the Western Army as well, if I withdraw from active command."
Goujun watched the mixed emotion in his marshal's eyes for a minute, then finally nodded understanding. He saw Tenpou relax slightly, knowing the commander's decision had been made even if not yet formally voiced. "What reason will you give publically?"
"Oh, several of the best kind of reasons: true ones," Tenpou smiled deviously. "My inappropriate interest in the writings of the Lower World has become an all-consuming obsession, to which I'd far rather devote my time and attention." His light, cheerful tone took on a challenging note as he continued, "There's also my high estimation and admiration of my new general, who I think may be suitable for a promotion to field marshal himself someday, if such an opening becomes available in a century or two -- perhaps when I retire to my books completely -- so I've decided to nurture his leadership from below."
Goujun frowned at the double-entendre, knowing it would not be unintentional from the mouth of Field Marshal Tenpou. He narrowed his eyes and hissed. "There will be rumours, about the nature of your relationship, and in just what sense you prefer to be 'below' him."
Tenpou, to his credit, did not flinch at the acid tones he had seldom heard from Goujun, and never before directed at him. Instead, his eyes darkened dangerously. "Of course there will be such rumours, sir. Of course I will act most angry and upset about such things being said to my face, and about the threat of such things said behind my back. Certain people will be delighted at the prospect of something they can use against me as a provocation or blackmail. Of course I intend to make good use of such a distraction."
"You are using him," Goujun stated. It was not quite said with the tone of an accusation.
"Of course I am," Tenpou replied evenly. "Just as you are using me." It was not quite said with the tone of accusation either. "It doesn't mean that's the whole of it, but certain things must always come first, hmm?"
The anger and jealousy Goujun had been suppressing throughout this meeting flared again, but he refused to give into it, only allowing himself another soft hiss.
Tenpou raised an eyebrow at him, perhaps deliberately baiting him now.
Very well.
He reached out quickly, grasping the back of Tenpou's neck to pull him close. "You are mine," he growled beside the kami's ear.
Tenpou did not respond physically, neither resisting nor submitting. "Yes," he said without hesitation. "I am yours. Always. But," and now he pulled back, just enough to look Goujun in the eyes, "I am not only yours. I am also free. I belong to myself first, and I may choose to belong to others. Just as you do, Goujun. You belong to your wife and family and your people. You belong to your duty and your principles. I have never protested that, never resented it. Only...." He looked away now as if second-guessing what he had been about to say, something Goujun had never seen his Tenpou do.
Goujun loosened his possessive grip on Tenpou's neck to make it comforting rather than challenging, though he was still wary. "Only?"
Tenpou's eyes were clouded and unreadable behind his glasses when he looked at Goujun again. "I only hope that, in time, you can decide to be free, to belong to yourself first, as well."
Goujun expected to be angry, but found himself suddenly shaken instead. He frowned at the strange pain in his soul, sharp and cold and aching. Letting his hand fall as he stepped back, he turned away and closed his eyes. He wanted to get out of this place, to escape, to throw himself into the sky and fly, alone, where he might be able to clear his mind and meditate upon Tenpou's words and understand his own reaction to them... but no, he had work to do, duties to fulfill. He could not leave Heaven now.
He took a deep breath, reflexively drawing on centuries of self-discipline to set the matter aside where it would not affect him until he could find an appropriate time to deal with it. Yet... "Thank you," he said softly, so softly he was not sure Tenpou would hear. He was not sure he wanted him to. He was not sure if he meant it, no, he was not sure what he meant by it.
Tenpou stepped close and kissed him briefly. "I know you don't really understand, but I hope you will, in time."
They had both set aside the unspoken rules against such demonstrations of their relationship, especially while on duty and in Goujun's office where interruptions were frequent. They had both set aside rules of what must remain unspoken, as well. Certain things must always come first, as Tenpou had said, but order worked best as a fluid, changeable thing, not rigid and unable to adapt. Yet balance and hierarchy must be maintained.
Goujun brought his hand to Tenpou's neck again, caressing it. "Mine..." he breathed. He did not mean to sound slightly questioning.
Tenpou closed his eyes and tilted his head back at the familiar touch, smiling smugly. "Yours," he affirmed. One eye opened slightly, regarding him mischievously. "And yet..."
Goujun stilled his hand on his marshal's neck and waited, although he had little patience left for games.
"Perhaps I am not the only one who could be, who is meant to be." Tenpou suggested, his tone only half-teasing.
"Explain."
"General Kenren, like you and I, does not think like most other kami." The marshal's tone was slightly troubled now, not teasing at all. "He had no mentor, the way that I had you. I know his attitude rubs you the wrong way, but it is his own way of saying he perceives the corruption and stagnation in the military and despises it. He has learned to be slow to trust that there could be people in positions of authority who might be worthy of his respect, who might hate the current situation just as much. He already belongs to you in one sense, as your soldier. He could be more, he deserves to be more. Perhaps, when we've found a way to change things and you've both proven yourselves to each other, you will have time to work such things out between you."
Goujun frowned thoughtfully, recalling the few conversations he had had with Kenren. They had always started with disapproval and warnings on his part, and a disrespectful attitude in response. He nodded, conceding that he might be as much to blame as Kenren for the antagonism between them. It was past time to try giving the general respect and benefit of doubt instead of suspicion, guidance and opportunity instead of judgement, especially if he had never received them from his superior officers before.
Tenpou smiled slyly and wrapped his arms around Goujun's neck, pressing their bodies together as he whispered suggestively, "I am possessive, too, but with you I would share."
A polite knock at the door forestalled any chance to reply to Tenpou's implications, as military training coincided with dragon reflexes and centuries of practice. Tenpou was standing at attention at the proper spot before Goujun's desk, and Goujun was calmly returning to his seat as he called "Enter."
The messenger from the Jade Emperor's palace delivered his letter efficently, and having no orders to wait for a reply, quickly departed again. The air of military formality lingered.
"About my request, sir?" Tenpou inquired.
"Approved. Report to me along with General Kenren early tomorrow afternoon so that we may work out the details of the transition."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Commander."
"You are dismissed," Goujun said, though his eyes had a different message: "Mine," now without agression or uncertainty.
"Yes, sir." The marshal bowed, his eyes not leaving Goujun's. "Yours," they promised silently, before his Tenpou turned to go.
Kami were taught to think of freedom in terms of non-attachment, regardless of how hypocritical most them were about actually practicing such ideals. Denying attachment even to their own families, the kami did not even allow their children the freedom that innocence should allow. Protection of the innocent was not understood in Heaven. Even kami children were forced to bear the full brunt of the consequences for their actions alone. Itan children were regarded as so far from innocent that they bore the consequences not only for their own actions, but for all of Heaven.
Dragons were expected to think of freedom in terms of flight. Yet such freedom had its own inherent limitations. Even the strongest among them could not fly forever, but was bound by the limits of hunger and fatigue. There must always be somewhere safe to which to return, a place to rest, or flying would not be freedom but only a final act of desperation when no other options remained.
Freedom could never be absolute while there were consequences. The natural order of things stemmed from consequences from actions, and no one could be free of the consequences of their own actions unless someone else would assume those consequences for them, like a parent did for a child, like a king did for his people. The dragons remained free, in a sense, because of their alliance with Heaven, and it fell to Goujun to maintain that freedom. This required sacrificing his own freedom to choose his own path, his freedom to act and speak and react as he might wish. Freedom of his own would bring harsh consequences for the freedom of his people.
Goujun was not free to indulge in flight at the moment, nor was he free to express the rage he was feeling, but at the very least he had the freedom to get outside. Away from his office and his duties, away from the kami, away from the compound of the Western Army and the palace of the Jade Emperor.
He had the time in his normally crowded schedule to do so, because he had taken pains to reserve the afternoon for a meeting with the Jade Emperor, Litouten, and the commander of the Eastern Army.
At the last minute, however, Litouten had rescheduled the meeting to the morning, and had notified Goujun only after he had missed it.
Again.
Litouten had patronizingly insisted that the urgent memomorandum had been sent and Goujun must have simply overlooked it, somehow, but he was quite sure that Goujun's staff would have record of it.
Again.
Goujun did not dare express his rage, did not dare to retreat to his office, did not dare linger in the busy hallways as he made his way outside as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. His temper might explode at the slightest provocation, and so Fate in her perversity was all too likely to be tempted to push Kenren into his path. Goujun might very well hurt him, if he encountered him right now.
He almost wished for the freedom to go work out his violent tendancies with Tenpou. It had been a while since they had had the time to spar, with swords or staffs or barehanded. Goujun was stronger and faster physically, but his Tenpou knew himself and Goujun all too well, and was quicker when it came to improvising something completely new in the heat of the moment. He was also crafty and devious, "like nature itself can be," he would argue in their abstract debates about honour and fairness after such bouts. Goujun might very well hurt him, if forced into such an argument today.
Regardless, he did not dare go to the field marshal's office in the middle of the day, when his visit would surely be noticed. And he would be all too likely to find someone else there these days. As a general, Kenren technically had his own office, but it was widely known he was never found there. Rumours were indeed beginning to circulate about just what it was that Tenpou and Kenren were doing while spending so much together. Goujun might very well hurt them both.
But as satisfying as it might be in the short term, they did not deserve to bear the brunt of his unchecked temper, and he knew he could not afford to risk antagonizing those two now. He trusted his Tenpou to never truly turn against him, but even temporary resentment could be a dangerous thing.
Away from the crowded corridors and promenades, Goujun slowed to a less brisk pace and breathed deeply, drawing on his self-discipline to master his temper once more. Eventually he turned his focus outward again, and found he had come to a stop beneath a cherry tree that was perpetually in blossom, where he had occasionally sat in the moonlight with Tenpou. When times were simpler. When they were more free. The spot had a far different feel now, in the bright sunlight of afternoon.
He was not quite alone even here. There were others nearby, an adult and child, slowly and erratically crossing the open meadow of tamed wildflowers. Watching them, he recognized Konzen Douji and his ward, the itan child said to have been born from a mountain Below. Son Goku, he had been named. The one who is aware of emptiness, perceiving that which cannot be seen by the eye. A mysterious name for a being with such a mysterious origin, with an unknown purpose, which most of the kami tried to ignore rather than speculate on.
As a ruler and guardian of the elements, Goujun could not help but wonder why the Earth had produced such a creature, for such things did not happen without cause. Yet the boy was clearly innocent of his purpose, for all his ominous strength. Goujun made a mental note to inquire further details from Konzen, and then have one of his own people investigate the mountain from which the boy had been born.
He knew Konzen Douji professionally, of course. In the bureaucracy of Heaven, they were both of similiarly high rank: Konzen in charge of paperwork for Kanzeon Bosatsu, and Goujun responsible for authorizing any documents that flowed between the Western Army and other offices and bureaucracies of Heaven. Besides the familiarity that came from centuries of receiving each others' reports and memoranda, Goujun and Konzen had also become acquainted at various official functions, despite the fact that neither could be said to socialize.
Tenpou had once claimed to be a friend of Konzen when offering to deliver a report, but Goujun did not know whether it was an exaggeration to suggest they shared an actual friendship. Konzen had always appeared coldly committed to his ideal of non-attachment, in a way that was more harshly honest and less hypocritical than other kami. Still, Goujun suspected that Konzen's conception of non-attachment was far from a path to enlightenment, as the kami's understanding of attachment itself seemed too distainfully intellectual, without emotional understanding. How could one truly understand and aspire to non-attachment if one had not first known and understood attachment? How could one be free of that which one feared?
Thoughtfully, Goujun watched Konzen watching Goku. The blond kami looked almost flustered as he yelled after the child about not running too far from him. Goku shouted an acknowledgement but continued chasing something through the tall flowering grasses. Goujun wondered if Konzen was finally beginning to gain such an understanding of attachment despite himself. He wondered how it would change the kami, given time.
Konzen shrieked a little when Goku popped out of the grass near him, brandishing a snake. Undoubtedly harmless like all plants and animals allowed in Heaven, and Konzen surely knew it, flushing as he chased after the child, scolding him furiously. Goujun withdrew behind the tree and turned away, lest his amusement be noticed by the kami who was already embarrassed enough without realizing there had been a witness. Yes, Goku was certainly changing him, and quickly. Change was inevitable when it came to children, after all, and itan children in particular were known as harbingers of great change. It was why they were so feared in the unchanging Heaven.
It was highly unusual that there were two itan children living in Heaven now, he mused, thinking of Nataku as well. The boys were close to the same age, and also close to the emotional and intellectual maturity of his own son, who was now old enough to shapeshift and maintain a man-form without much effort or conscious thought.
There had been no children in Heaven when Goujun's own father had first brought him to Heaven, when he was only a little older than his son was now, to show him his future and formally present him to the Jade Emperor. Idly, he almost wished that he could bring his son here unofficially, and let him make friends with the golden-eyed boys.
Of course it was impossible in reality.
It was too great a danger for one still innocent of the ways of Heaven, where even children were denied freedom from consequences, especially those who were other than kami. Konzen might try to watch out for his ward, but no one could really protect the itan children from the consequences of what they were, nevermind the consequences of what they might do.
Besides, the itan children were labelled unclean, and that which is unclean is often suspected of contaminating that which is too close to it. It would be noticed and remembered, in the kami's long memories, that Goujun's son had associated with the boys, and it would be rumoured that he might have become contaminated or proved himself unclean as well. There would be lasting consequences for the boy even centuries later when he would join Heaven's armies.
Furthermore, the itan children were not expected to live long. Goujun knew that encouraging attachment to either of them could only bring the pain of grief at unjust, needless deaths: a pain that might still ache and cripple when his son filled Goujun's position hundreds of years from now.
Finally, even if he did not let his son meet the itan children, it would be far too unsafe to bring the boy to Heaven now, officially or unofficially, while his own position was being subtly undermined and any opening would be exploited and used against him, when threats to the dragons and Goujun's own family had already been made clear.
It was Goujun's responsibility, as father and ruler, to be a caretaker, to watch over and guide and protect his family and people from actions that would lead to harsh consequences, just as it was the role of a guardian to accept the worst of the consequences on behalf of an innocent ward. He could only hope that Heaven would allow him and Konzen to continue to fulfill their roles, to quietly defend the freedom of those who should be allowed their innocence.
Dragons understood that defiance was a symptom, not an illness, like a body's means of fighting infection with fever. It was a result rather than a cause of a breakdown of order, though if ignored or answered unjustly it could all too easily create a vicious spiral of disorder. At times it became necessary to reorder hierachies to accommodate change and new strengths and weaknesses, and a wise ruler was expected to provide paths for change, means for protests to be voiced and heard, without threat to the balance of respect and authority.
Most of the kami accepted that defiance was not an option under an absolute ruler. They did not understand that it was the absolutism that made defiance the only possible form of honest, open protest. Despite their early adulthood, they often expressed their dissatisfaction with the status quo in adolescent, petty ways. Their disobedience was secretive and dishonest, and nothing they dared stand firm about if challenged. No one dared to truly demand change. The cost was too great.
Goujun wondered if anyone else in the crowd was as unimpressed by the ironic contradition of a mandatory show of support and loyalty. Attendance at the Jade Emperor's birthday celebrations was required, and non-attendance would be judged as an act of defiance. Tenpou would appreciate the contradiction, he was sure, and perhaps General Kenren was devising creative ways to subvert his show of obediance while following orders to the letter. Catching sight of them across the crowded courtyard, he could see that Tenpou had not bothered to change into his uniform for the occasion, although he was unsure if it was a deliberate sign of disrespect or if it simply had not occured to the field marshal that he should. Goujun could only guess at his thoughts, too far away to even exchange glances with him.
For once he was to be "honoured" (if one could call it that) as Dragon King before the kami. He was required to stand at the front of the gathering, where he could be displayed as one of the Jade Emperor's status symbols and a demonstration of his divine authority over Heaven and Earth, the foundation from which he justified his needless wars. Goujun was indignant, but as long as the Jade Emperor was only indirectly implying such dominance over the dragons and not yet threatening to enforce it, there was nothing Goujun dared to say or do in protest. The Jade Emperor's speech would doubtlessly be technically correct, but juxtaposing truths to communicate something untrue, that would nonetheless be easy to deny if challenged.
For now, Goujun had no choice but to play his part, waiting to be referred to in the most infuriatingly patronizing ways. He could only choose to carry out his assigned role with dignity, whether the watching kami recognized it or not. He could less afford to defy the Jade Emperor than any of the kami could, and none of them dared.
A sudden commotion in the crowd drew his attention, and soon drew even more attention as the Jade Emperor also noticed and stumbled slightly in his oration. The itan child Goku was in the centre of the disturbance, he realized, and then felt a terrible sinking feeling as his sharp eyesight and hearing informed him that Tenpou had also gotten involved to defend him -- and yes, there he was, Kenren too, enthusiastically joining in and making a brawl out of what might otherwise have remained a minor disturbance. The fools, both of them! What could they be thinking?
The Jade Emperor's own guards were being dispatched already, and Goujun's hands fisted inside the long silk sleeves of his formal robes as he fought to keep his composure and not visibly react to the situation involving his men, even while he raged inside at his inability to act. He could only school his features and try to plan what he could do afterwards, to mitigate or deflect the consequences to his officers and the Western Army.
His train of thought was distracted by the appearance of the guards at the edge of the brawl, and the sudden cold fear that Tenpou and Kenren might actually defy the Jade Emperor's own men and make everything many times worse by resisting and fighting them. Before they had a chance, however, the subsequent arrival of Konzen Douji changed everything. It did not diffuse the tension but shifted it to a far different quality as his officers finally dropped their fighting stances, assuming arrogant poses to match that of the blond kami as he scolded them while ignoring everyone else.
It seemed Tenpou had been correct about being Konzen's friend, though Goujun was surprised to see Kenren acting so familiar with him, slinging an arm around his shoulders before being shrugged off and berated, presumably for his recent behavior.
Goujun was straining to hear over the murmurs of the crowd already, so his sharp hearing easily picked up Konzen's ringing voice when he finally acknowledged and addressed the guards. "These men are with me. I will take responsibility for their behaviour and leave." His tone was not apologetic at all, but challenging. Defiant. And then he simply turned and commanded the others to follow, perfectly assured of his authority and his right to leave without offering further justification or waiting for permission.
The stunned crowd parted before them. The Jade Emperor's guards, completely unaccustomed to facing such open defiance, without agression or underhanded threats, were at a loss to react until there was nothing left for them to do but return to their posts.
Watching his two officers striding off after Konzen and Goku, Goujun narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. Those four... they are dangerous.
But what made them so dangerous was not that Tenpou and Kenren were among the most skilled fighters in Heaven's armies, nor the reputed strength of the itan child.
Such open honest defiance was dangerous in itself. It had been effective because it was unanticipated, so it could not be readily countered by those unprepared for it. It had been a rare act of actively accepting consequences and taking responsibility without waiting for consequences to be forced upon them, and thereby creating the power and freedom to dictate consequences of their own.
Goujun had never seen anything like it in Heaven before. He wondered if it could truly succeed, or if they were only delaying the inescapable. Too many people had witnessed, people who would not let such defiance pass unpunished, including the Great Minister Litouten and the Jade Emperor himself.
Yet those four were dangerous in other ways, which perhaps would not be recognized by those who opposed them until too late, if at all. Goujun had seen the way they protected the child and each other, the way they guarded each other's backs.
It was clear to him that those four had somehow become a family, regardless of whether they thought of it that way themselves, whether anyone else in Heaven could recognize it as Goujun did. A family in a place where no one maintained family attachments -- or almost no one, he amended to himself, recalling not only Litouten and Nataku, but remembering that Konzen Douji was the nephew of the Kanzeon Bosatsu, who exhuded a subtle but unchallengeble air of defiance in every word and action. The bodhisattva's influence might account for much now, if Konzen had picked up such traits through the familial attachment he'd been given no choice but to maintain.
The family that had been formed by those four was something else entirely, something new. It was not a family bound by blood ties. There was nothing forced or arbitrary about it, it was something they had chosen freely. They were becoming bound by something stronger than blood, something that ran even deeper, if such a thing could exist.
What Goujun saw in them, between them, proved that something did.
He felt an ache of something like jealousy, but without anger or resentment. Envy, perhaps. Wanting to have what they had, not instead of them but with them, as one of them. A wistful longing to be part of it.
Kami believed that justice was arbitrary, the sole domain of the Jade Emperor, dependant on his whim. They did not understand it as an independant ideal that each person should seek out and uphold. Not caring about unfairness to others, preferring to avoid matters of justice as long as it did not affect them personally and directly, they did not recognize that they would all eventually be made to pay the price when injustice and unfairness became pandemic.
Dragons believed in individual responsibility for justice: to act justly, and to intervene in cases of injustice. Of course, The Dragon King was expected more than anyone else to uphold the principles of justice in all that he did.
Justice was rarely simple, just as truth was rarely straightforward. By their very nature, dragons could not lie. Such manditory honesty, however, led them to a deep awareness of the limits of the truth. Dragons were as devious as they were honest, especially when it came to dealing with other races, and they knew just how far the truth could be bent and twisted without breaking, just how effectively honesty could obscure the truth better than a lie.
In Heaven, Goujun had also learned that there were times and places when honesty had to be withheld, and injustice allowed to pass unchallenged, in order to prevent greater injustices. Despite Kenren's reckless attempt to prove otherwise, an audience before the Jade Emperor was clearly such a time and place.
"Escort General Kenren to be disciplined."
Goujun might have protested the Jade Emperor's order if there was even the smallest chance that any good could come of it, but Kenren's protests had lead to this in the first place. And as much as it should be Goujun's responsibility to discipline his officer, Goujun was being too blatently ignored now, in sharp and deliberate contrast to when the functionary had been careful to identify Kenren as a general in Goujun's Western Army when he had stepped forward.
Instead of speaking out, Goujun attempted to follow the guards who were "escorting" the general, as roughly as they could despite Kenren's resigned compliance. Before he could reach them, however, Goujun was intercepted by another pair of guards, who politely requested -- in a manner that made it clear it was no request at all -- that Goujun accompany them to answer a few questions about his part in the incident. After all, Goujun had had no more reason to be there than Kenren did, as only Nataku's unit had been summoned to appear before the Jade Emperor today.
He was led down a narrow back hallway to a small room, empty but for two chairs and a bare table. He took a seat when it was made clear he would not actually be invited to do so, while one of the guards stationed himself inside the door and one outside. After what was obviously a deliberate delay meant to unnerve him, a third kami arrived to interrogate him. The man did not introduce himself, and Goujun was not sure if he officially reported to the Jade Emperor or to Litouten. Unofficially, he knew, it did not matter -- such distinctions were becoming increasingly irrelevant.
The questioning infuriated Goujun, but he schooled his temper and answered as calmly and unambiguously as he could, even knowing that despite his carefulness, his words could be misrepresented and twisted against him, against Kenren. He was grateful that Tenpou had not been directly involved, even while painfully aware that his marshal's connection to Kenren was too obvious to be overlooked.
Why had he been there at all today, when he had not been summoned to appear before the Jade Emperor?
A legitimate desire to stay informed firsthand and to show support to the Jade Emperor and the War Prince Nataku. (He could not explain how he could no longer trust his own staff to keep him accurately informed, no matter how Litouten had compromised his own strategy by making that clear to Goujun.)
No, he had not anticipated that Nataku's unit would be ordered to go on a mission Below today, so of course he had not planned to have the order disputed by Kenren. No, his lack of expectation did not mean he thought that the Jade Emperor should not have given the order. It did not mean that he agreed that Nataku was still too injured to be sent on another mission already, clearly neither he nor Kenren had the means to assess such a thing (despite Nataku's visible wounds).
He would never dare to suggest that Kenren's troops could handle the mission better than Nataku's unit, that the Jade Emperor's orders were less than perfect. He would never presume to think that he could perceive the perfection or imperfection of any order, being aware of his own imperfection and the fallibility of his own judgement, the incompleteness inherent in his understanding of the universe.
The kami blinked stupidly at him, utterly lost at his last statement. Goujun sighed inwardly and allowed him to redirect the conversation away from "irrelevant philosophy" with a gracious nod.
No, he had not signalled Kenren to step forward or speak out today. He had not even been aware that the general was in the audience hall until he had spoken up and pushed through the crowd. Kenren had been a fool, he agreed to that readily, would have volunteered it given the chance.
No matter how honourable his intentions (and Goujun was thoroughly impressed by the general's honour and courage and sense of justice, even if he could never admit it aloud), he must have known that publically disputing a formal order of the Jade Emperor would be received as insolence at best. No matter how politely Kenren had initially phrased his argument as a reasonable suggestion, a generous offer of service, the implicit criticism of the Jade Emperor's decision would not be forgiven. That Kenren had dropped the courtesy and responded with veiled accusations when his suggestion was met with insults would only make the consequences far worse, and the general must have known it.
The questioner's attempts to trip up Goujun and make him contradict or incriminate himself were sloppy, transparent, and most of all slow. Wasting his time. Keeping him busy while time was running out somewhere else? What were they doing to his general?
Abruptly he came to the end of his patience and stood, letting the flame of his temper shine through his eyes, drawing on the aura and presence he possessed as Dragon King, which he normally kept subdued in Heaven. There would be consequences for this, but so be it. He had a responsibility to his officer. "We have been through this too many times. As you seem to have nothing new to ask, I have nothing more to say. If you are at all informed, you know I cannot lie, and I have answered you truthfully. I have more important things to do than continue to waste my time here. Most importantly, I am obliged to see to my officer, whose discipline is my responsibility. You will tell me where he is that I may take custody of him."
Caught by surprise, the questioner and guards were unprepared to argue, answering him before they even realized they were speaking. Goujun turned and swept out of the room before they had a chance to regain their footing.
Their directions to where Kenren was being held turned out to be misleading, but Goujun was not terribly surprised by that. Undetered, he continued his hunt, targetting the weak prey among the guards who would misdirect him, demanding answers he could use even if false. Discerning the truth that could be found within their lies was much like seeking the source of a river by swiming against the current. Slow and tiring, but the only way when the land was impassable.
Gaining access to the dungeons, when he came to them at last, required the kind of exchange he most hated, twisting the truth till it caused him pain, balancing implicit threats with unspoken promises. Finally the guards withdrew, and he was inside with a ring of keys cold and heavy in his hand.
The dungeon was colder, damper, and filthier than anywhere in Heaven had reason to be. Goujun's nostrils flared at the reek of blood, fear-sweat, and other bodily fluids, that overlay the stink of mould and mildew that he had thought did not exist in Heaven.
That Heaven should even have such hidden dungeons was appalling. Justice was not compatible with secrecy. Yet he had been expecting his Tenpou to work secretly against injustice, he forced himself to admit. He had blinded himself to the compromises that reality demanded, unwilling to acknowledge his passive and indirect betrayal of his principles. At what cost?
Goujun's footsteps echoed on the hard floor, so it was no surprise that Kenren anticipated him before Goujun spotted the general in his dim cell.
"Yo," Kenren called, with forced cheerfulness despite what sounded like a painfully raw throat. "Come for the grand tour?"
The general was clad only in his trousers and his blood, seated on the cold floor against the wall with his arms shackled overhead. The evidence of torture marked his face, his chest, his arms.
Goujun swallowed hard against the disgust and rage that such injustice could be done in Heaven. Unlocking the cell, he fought for a steady and mild tone with which to scold his officer. "I always thought you were a fool, but..." Goujun shook his head ruefully, "Until now I did not suspect you were this much of one."
Relaxing slightly, as much as his chains would allow, Kenren gave him a genuine grateful smile at the familiar ground, and perhaps at the note of grudging respect that had crept into Goujun's voice. "Tiresome, isn't it?"
It was as close to an apology as he was going to offer, Goujun knew. He could not help but respect him for that as well. Still, refusing to regret did not mean he would not admit there might have been a better way.
"I am your commander," he reminded Kenren sternly. "Why did you not ask me before asking the Jade Emperor?" He tossed Kenren the keys to his shackles, trusting he could manage them himself, knowing he needed any control over his situation that he could get right now rather than enduring the further humiliation of needing everything to be done for him. "If it had been a suggestion from me, he might have listened." He cringed inwardly at how hollow the words rang even in his own ears.
Kenren caught the keys neatly with his toes and tossed them up to his hand. "Is that so?" he asked with mock-innocence, as if the idea had never occured to him. The look he gave Goujun, however, held all the bitter accusations that the dragon king was already levelling at himself. If so, why didn't it occur to you to say something yourself? Oh but no, surely you did think of it, but you did not want to take responsibility and end up here in my place. Coward. And yet, the accusations were quickly gone from the kami's eyes, which now mirrored Goujun's own frustrated helplessness. More quietly, Kenren continued, "I think it would have turned out the same."
Goujun looked at him closely, surprised at the knowing look of empathy from the kami. You are right, I could not have made a difference either. Yet that was not entirely fair, for perhaps Kenren had made a difference, forcing the kami who had witnessed to face the unfairness and injustice they had been blindly accepting.
"Besides..." Kenren continued, when he had finished unlocking his shackles, "I just had to say something out there, you know? Whatever it was..."
Goujun folded his arms across his chest, an unconscious protective response to the raw honesty from the kami. That the difference Kenren had made was significant enough to threaten the Jade Emperor and Litouten was clear from the extent of the injuries the general had received in punishment. A warning to him and to anyone else who might have been swayed by the message behind his rash act.
Yet, a poor strategy as it served as additonal evidence of the pervasiveness of injustice in Heaven, and all who saw Kenren in this state would recognize it if they had already been forced to face the truth. The question was whether the need to speak or act against the injustice would outweigh the implied threat. "Even though you knew you would end up like this, it still had to be said?" he asked, letting admiration colour his voice.
Kenren grinned broadly, though it must have caused him great pain from the bruises and cuts on his face. "This is nothing..." he declared, in a ghost of that familiar arrogant challenging tone, but the smile and arrogance faded quickly. "It hurt a lot more when Nataku punched me."
Goujun gave him a sharp look, which Kenren met unflinchingly.
"Always having to act like an adult, when he's just a kid. Seeing him act like that..." Kenren broke off with an involuntary grunt as he gathered his legs beneath him, preparing to stand, "...is always so painful..." With a deep breath, he made a first attempt to get to his feet, but his legs crumpled and he fell backwards, sliding down the rough wall with a gasp, leaving faint trails of blood.
Entering the cell and crossing to him, Goujun reached down to help him up, but Kenren flinched away from his touch. Not personal, a reflexive reaction, his injuries making touch too painful. More signficantly, Goujun realized again, after what Kenren had endured he needed more than anything to have control: over contact, over his own body. Goujun extended an arm just enough for Kenren to grasp if he needed to keep himself from falling again, but allowed him the desperately needed dignity of getting to his feet and walking out of the dungeons on his own.
"Maybe what really hurts is..." Catching Goujun's elbow, Kenren smiled gratefully at him, but his eyes were hard and cold with anger and determination. "That he can't tell anyone that 'it hurts.'"
Goujun had no reply but a dark sigh and a nod, and Kenren needed to save his breath for walking and climbing the steep stairs out of the dungeon.
There was no sign of the general's uniform jacket or boots, but Goujun did not dare leave him here alone to go acquire new ones for him. Kenren refused the offer of his cloak. "People might get the wrong idea about us, after all," he teased with a wink. "Can't have that, when you won't even risk gossip about you and Tenpou." He ignored Goujun's warning look, acting as if he had said nothing out of line.
Nothing more was spoken as they walked. Goujun glared at anyone who dared to stop and stare, while Kenren simply grinned at them. Finally they reached the Western Army compound, and Kenren released his grip on Goujun's arm.
"My thanks, Commander." An attempt to bow was quickly aborted with a wince and a stumble, but Kenren grinned self-mockingly as he recovered. "If you'll forgive the lack of a proper demonstration of respect to my superior officer one more time, I really should be able to manage on my own from here."
Goujun shook his head. "There's no need. Let me accompany you to the infirmary."
"Ah, no thanks. Like I said, this is nothing. What I need most of all right now is a drink and a smoke, and the infirmary's not going to allow me either. Besides, our marshal will be worried about me." Shaking his head, he amended, "No, about both of us, I think." Before Goujun had a chance to respond, he continued, "You've wasted enough time cleaning up after my mess, I know you have many much more important matters to take care of."
Goujun narrowed his eyes at the suspected sarcasm. "Taking care of my men is an important part of my duty."
"Oh, Goujun! I'm tempted, really, but unfortunately I'm in no shape to take you up on that offer today, it'll just have to wait." Before Goujun could react -- to Kenren's inappropriate interpretation of his words, or to the intense look in his eyes which held nothing of mockery -- Kenren shook his head and continued much more soberly, "In the meantime, I trust you to make sure that my men don't have to pay the price for my foolishness as well."
Goujun nodded approvingly. "Of course."
With a final grateful smile, Kenren turned and walked away, with as much of his usual arrogant strut as he could manage. A vain attempt to hide his pain from the soldiers he passed in the hallways on the way to Tenpou's office, despite how little the signs of abuse marking his body left to the imagination.
Tenpou had been correct about Kenren, he realized. The general was worthy of far more credit than Goujun had given him. For all his superficial insolence, he had a deep understanding of honour that spoke to Goujun's own. He too had been a fool, not to recognize it sooner. Remembering the look of desire the general had given him, and the way his own body had responded despite the inappropriate situation, he acknowledged that there might just be potential here for a bond such as he had with Tenpou, transcending the differences between dragons and kami, if they could be given time to develop it. For the first time, however, he felt a cold premonition that time had almost run out in Heaven. The feeling was gone before he could make sense of it, but the sense of urgency lingered.
The approach he had chosen to take with regards to the growing corruption in Heaven, leaving the matter to Tenpou and leaving his Tenpou to work alone, had proved to be of high price and little worth. For all that the marshal had uncovered of the machinations of Litouten, and the tyrannical excesses of the Jade Emperor, things had continued to get worse. In the meantime, Goujun was disgusted with himself for his own inaction and powerlessness. He could no longer sit idly by and hope that things would improve. His honour demanded more of him.
He also truly hated to be pretending at such distance and cold professionalism between his marshal and himself. It offended his honesty even while he ached so desperately in body and soul for his Tenpou that it was sometimes difficult to think of anything else. He could not afford to let things continue in this way. It did not even matter so much anymore that his Tenpou had hardly been alone while without him. "With you I would share," his marshal had told him when they had spoken of Kenren, and the implications of the offer were all the more evident after today.
He shook his head and forced his train of thought back to more immediate and serious challenges. As Tenpou had also said that day, certain things must come first.
So many paradoxes that threatened to tear him apart. He was torn between his duties and responsibilities, oaths he could not break, and the values that defined his very nature, that made him what he was. And yet, those paradoxes could not be as completely irreconcilable as he had chosen to believe, for at the centre of the impossibilities he still existed as both Dragon King and Commander of the Western Army of Heaven. He still had power, and no matter how that power might be limited and threatened now, the potential was there to be grasped, no matter how high the cost.
A high cost did not make something impossible.
He was oathbound to be loyal to Heaven, to the Western Army, to the Jade Emperor, but loyalty could mean many things. It could, perhaps, even lead to honourably opposing one to whom he had sworn to be loyal, if that one had proven no longer worthy of that loyalty, if the unspoken but integral conditions of the oath no longer existed, if the oath was treated with such blatent disrespect that it had been all but broken already.
No. How dare he allow himself to explore such thoughts. It was his family and his people who would pay the painfully high cost for his presumption, these exercises in rhetoric to search for a loophole, a way to live and die true to his principles, freedom to accept the consequences for acting as he believed. He did not live for himself, he lived for them, and it would be a great injustice to them all to wish otherwise as long as he still had the means to protect them from the wrath of Heaven.
The blood on his sleeve silently admonished him for having already failed to protect his reponsibilities.
Dragons could sometimes perceive Time as an endless flow of energy, just as they could occasionally sense the bonds that linked souls between lives. Time flowed ever onwards like a river, never the same, always making things strange and new. Washing away the past, bringing a future that could not be anticipated or prepared for in advance, leaving only the present to be lived just as it was.
Time meant eternity for the kami, an interminable succession of unchanging moments. Nothing mattered when tomorrow would be the same as yesterday. Kami ignored that which was transient, thinking such things too brief to be worthwhile. The short lives of the races Below were only noticed when a nuisance, to be batted away like a fly and forgotten.
Dragons were amazed at what the races below could accomplish in the time they had, as if the brevity of their lives made them burn all the brighter. More creative, more focused, more passionate. And somehow, paradoxically, they seemed to be more free even while bound to their quickly-turning cycles of short life and close-following death.
In Heaven, surrounded by kami, the illusion of too much time could cloud the vision, blinding one to what was most important until it was too late.
Goujun dropped everything as soon as the soldiers burst into his office, wild-eyed and incoherent, stammering about General Kenren and Field Marshal Tenpou and bloodshed in the Jade Emperor's audience hall. Pausing only to grab his sword, he ran.
Nothing could have prepared him for the scene he had found when he arrived, nor for the events he witnessed then.
What had happened before his arrival? He had to reach Tenpou and Kenren. They appeared uninjured, but they were armed and already covered in blood, Goujun saw with a sinking feeling. He began skirting the room, trying to stay out of the fighting until he had better assessed the situation.
The itan child Goku was at the centre of the chaos, transformed into a primal force of nature, with the shape of a youkai and the mind of a feral beast. The dazed and disbelieving kami who had tried to stop him had not stood a chance; the dead and dying were scattered everywhere, and the reek of fresh blood was overpowering.
"Do not go near him!" he warned the courtiers who stepped forward to attempt to restrain Goku. They ignored him, and paid the price for their stupidity, torn to pieces and discarded before Goujun could draw breath to call out again.
Perhaps the only one who could oppose the child was the other itan child, Nataku... But, no, he saw with horror, the War Prince had already fallen, and now lay unconscious in Litouten's arms. He was bleeding profusely from a gaping slice through the shoulder. What -- who -- could have wounded the child in such a way? Only Goku might be strong enough, but he held no sword.
Even as Goujun watched, Goku turned on father and son. He hissed sharply as Litouten panicked and threw Nataku at Goku, who tossed the other child away like a broken doll before lunging at Litouten, tearing at his face and tossing away a bloody eye as the kami screamed in pain.
"That's enough!" Kenren exclaimed, stepping forward. "I can't stand to see this," he continued, speaking in a firm but calm tone now as he tried to get through to the feral child. "Nobody wanted this to happen, not even you. If you go on being violent you'll have to take me on, Goku!" He kept his sword pointed at the ground, non-threatening but ready.
Goujun wanted to yell at the general for being a fool, but did not dare make a sound. It seemed that everyone in the room held their breaths, until recognition dawned in the child's eyes and he bared sharp fangs in a smile.
"Nice mess you've made here," came a sardonic voice from the doorway.
Goujun turned to see Lord Kanzeon Bosatsu enter the hall. The bodhisattva did not bother to pick a way around the blood and wreckage, stepping over bodies to cross directly to the three kami gathered around Goku, for Tenpou and Konzen Douji had joined Kenren even as Litouten had scrambled away.
"Give it up," Kanzeon admonished. "You guys can't take the little guy on. Though I guess you know that without me telling you."
"You took your time," retorted Konzen. "But never mind. Is there a way to get Goku... to get his limiter back the way it was?"
"Hm, a way?" Kanzeon smirked. "We can put an end to him, and that's it."
Goujun growled in disbelief. What dangerous game was the bodhisattva playing at now? Surely a new limiter could be made with little difficulty, just as the child's original limiter had been made, shaped from the power of Heaven made solid. Konzen could probably do it himself if shown how.
"C'mon, kid," Kanzeon called to Goku before the others could react. "Let's get this over with fast."
"Stop!" Konzen cried desperately. Goku ignored him and ran at Kanzeon, only to be punched hard and thrown back, hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the stones that lay about, debris from the earlier fighting.
With an animal scream of rage and pain, Goku sprang up to attack Kanzeon again, who easily grabbed him and brought him crashing down, using his strength and speed against him.
The child choked and went limp, defeated. Unconscious, he looked tiny and fragile despite the blood that covered him almost completely.
"No hard feelings, Seiten Taisei," Kanzeon said, raising a hand for a final blow.
"Stop!" demanded Kenren, even as Konzen dashed forward to put himself between Goku and his death.
The blond kami grabbed the upraised arm and punched Kanzeon as hard as he could. He was obviously no fighter, but he had the strength of desperation to put behind it. It was still nothing against the incredible power of the bodhisattva, who smiled tenderly and then disabled him neatly with a punch to the gut.
"Hmph," snorted Kanzeon. "Raising your hand to me. You've got some nerve, Konzen Douji." Despite the scolding words, the approving tone of voice was unmistakable. "Don't have any regrets now."
Was that what the bodhisattva was really trying to accomplish? Goujun wondered. Testing their resolve, pushing them into a corner with only one choice left, making them commit themselves to that choice that was no choice at all?
"I won't have any regrets," Konzen vowed through clenched teeth when he caught his breath, something unrecognizable in his eyes as he took Goku in his arms.
Kanzeon smiled at him and stepped back, then looked up suddenly to catch and hold Goujun's gaze from across the room. And what about you? What will you choose to do? Will you have regrets?
Goujun gasped as the bodhisattva looked away again; he had not been aware that he had stopped breathing when their eyes had met. How much time had passed, in what had only seemed like a heartbeat?
Litouten was yelling hysterically now: taunting Konzen and Kenren and Tenpou, condemning them all for treason, declaring them enemies of Heaven, and ordering newly-arrived reinforcements of soldiers against them.
His marshal and general had flanked Konzen, who still held Goku in his arms. Tenpou had a sword and a gun, Kenren held two swords. The two of them were hopelessly outnumbered. They exchanged a look and a smile with each other that made Goujun feel as though something in his chest was tearing.
And then they began to fight. To kill. In Heaven where killing was forbidden.
But of course. They would defend their family at any cost, even knowing it would condemn them to death.
Or worse than death, Goujun realized, recalling Nataku's broken body. When there was no War Prince allowed to kill those who opposed Heaven -- or even when there was, but the enemy was too greatly feared and hated -- Heaven's Armies would seal away those who were a threat to Heaven, denying death and therefore denying rebirth and life, rather than trusting their souls to the cycle of karma and samsara. The unnatural practice had always disturbed Goujun, for all that he had authorized such orders for centuries. The thought of it happening to his men was so horrifyingly repulsive he wanted to retch.
He refused to allow it. Better that they should die fighting than suffer such an unnatural fate, sealed outside time.
Goujun raised his sword to Tenpou and stepped forward.
"Don't leave one of those animals alive," Litouten was screeching. "KILL THEM!"
"Stop it!" Goujun roared. How dare he continue inciting his soldiers to senseless violence, soldiers who stood no chance against his men but whose needless deaths his men would be charged with, soldiers who did not know how to kill but who might just overwhelm his men through sheer numbers and injure them enough to take them alive. "General Kenren! Marshal Tenpou!"
Kenren looked his way first, horror flickering briefly in his eyes that Goujun would oppose them, but it was quickly replaced with a strange smile, a peculiar combination of acceptance and defiance. He turned away from his commander to guard Konzen's and Goku's far side, leaving Goujun to Tenpou, who was already closer.
So be it.
Shooting, slashing, and stabbing the soldiers who had closed around him, Tenpou danced free of the falling kami and turned to Goujun at last.
There was nothing of honour and everything of nature's way of necessity and survival in the way Tenpou struck, catching his cloak with his sword and pulling him off balance before slashing at him, such that Goujun barely managed to catch Tenpou's blade on his own sword and push it back.
Their eyes met for an instant, but the intensity that passed between them conveyed volumes, and left Goujun disoriented.
It comes to this. Time has run out.
We both must fight for what we believe, for what we cannot lose.
Family. Duty. Justice. Freedom.
And so one of us must die at the hand of the other.
But which of us wants this more?
Which of us is certain about what he is doing?
Which of us will have no regrets?
Which of us is truly willing to pay the price?
Which of us can let go?
Goujun saw Tenpou move, should have anticipated his next attack, but somehow he could not avoid or parry the kick aimed at his solar plexus.
He choked and crumpled as the air was forced painfully from his lungs. The edges of his vision went black, and he dropped his sword. Not his sword. The sword of the Dragon King of the Western Sea, passed down by his ancestors through time.
Time.
Cycles of karma.
Life and death and rebirth.
A circle never repeating; a spiral or helix when seen from another angle. Threads twisting around each other again and again, yet always changing, never the same.
Goujun can feel the cycle of karma shift, though he cannot perceive how, accepting his offering of complete surrender before it is consciously made. It does not matter if he is to die minutes or centuries after this, his path has been irrevocably changed and set in a new direction. It does not matter if he will get the chance to see his family thousands of times yet or never again, he knows he has already said goodbye and turned away.
Tenpou is speaking, a rueful apology and something about what a bad guy does. It does not make much sense to Goujun, but it does not matter, the words they speak aloud to each other are not what is important now. Tenpou is holding him upright, Goujun's back against his chest, his sword against Goujun's neck.
A hostage to provide safe passage.
Pressed against Tenpou, he can feel two hearts pounding, not in unison but in counterpoint, and yet it is hard to tell which heartbeat is his own, but it is not what matters now.
Letting centuries of tension drain from his body, Goujun submits completely.
He tilts his head back, baring his throat.
Tenpou's blade bites into his neck, just a little, to prove this is deadly serious. Mine.
Goujun can feel the blood, just enough, to bind a dragon's oath. Yours.
He closes his eyes for a moment, an eternity.
Always.
~ end ~
Author's notes: Although this chapter draws heavily on chapters 16 and 17, I have only ever seen the aestheticism.com translations for those chapters and only a couple of scanned frames from the actual manga, so I claim creative license for my interpretation of what happened. (Meantime, anyone who could point me to scans would win my eternal gratitude.)
Comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated. It's still not a final draft, almost everything subject to change without notice.
Thanks for reading.