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"Are you ready?" Chichiri asked.
I nodded, but I knew he hadn't seen me, so I grunted something vaguely affirmative. We were both captivated by the same view, after all. It was a grand one--blue skies that went on forever, jagged mountains jutting into the horizon, and more wildflowers blooming in the valley below us than I'd ever known existed.
The only ugly thing about it was the army about to march through.
I heard a sigh from Chichiri, and I knew he was remembering, just like I was. Seven years since Miaka had summoned Suzaku. Since everyone else was killed. Three we spend wandering frustrated. Then we figured out we could still help people, and we felt a lot better when we thought we were needed, so we became...well, anti-bandits, I guess. And the last year watching this.
Konan was safe--the blood of our friends had made it that way. But Konan was not the only Empire, and no country can remain at peace forever, even with the help of a god. Which was why Chichiri and I, the last remaining Seishi of anybody still living, were standing half-frozen on a ledge in Hokkan, watching the Kutou army arrive.
It wasn't like when Nakago was leading them. Their ranks were not nearly so sharp, so much of their drive was gone with him and with Seiryuu. But they were marching, and we would stop them.
"I'm ready," I said again.
"Good," Chichiri answered, "because we meet them at dawn." Since the battle in Miaka's world, he had almost completely stopped ending his sentences with 'no da.' I'd seen the pain that spasmed across his face when he did, and I knew it just hurt him to much to think about. He'd even stopped wearing the mask. I think he just didn't have the heart for it anymore.
Neither of us had ever recovered. We'd refused to leave each other's presence because nobody else in the world could understand. We clung to each other because it made our memories more real. Some nights we could talk about Nuriko and Hotohori and...everyone just as if they were still here, as if at any minute they might wander into our camp. But they never did, and slowly all our adventures became merely elabourate, altruistic suicide attempts. This was the best one yet.
We made camp in silence. Normally we talked, at least some companionable chatter that we could pretend was like old times, but not tonight. We moved in a long-practiced rhythm: he brought water, I made a fire, he cooked because though for seven years I had watched him, I was still abysmal at it. We ate, cleaned up, and stared into the fire that spit lazy crimson sparks into the sky.
"Ne, Chichiri?"
He made a noncommital noise to show he heard, but neither of us moved.
"You're the strategist--what d'you figure our chances are?"
The silence stretched out for so long I finally rolled over to look at him. He lay on his back, hands folded on his chest, his good eye open to stare at the sky.
Finally he said, "Fighting? Not good. We should strike and run away."
Morbidity required I ask the next question. "And if we don't? Could we decimate 'em?"
Not a quiver from Chichiri. Seven fucking years, and I still couldn't fathom that. "Probably. We could take out enough before they got us that they'd have to turn back home."
We both knew what I would say next. We both knew he would agree. "Right. Let's do it."
The smile that stole across his face was unbelievably sad. I didn't need to say any more, but I did anyway. I just had one question.
"They'll be waiting for us, right?"
Finally, a movement--he blinked back a tear. His voice caught in his throat when he answered. "They must be."
Satisfied, I nodded. "That's all I need to know."
I started to bed down, but this time it wasn't me who started the conversation. "Tasuki...what's the thing that sticks out in your mind the most?"
What a question. I paused, thinking--"Good or bad?"
"It doesn't matter. Either."
"Okay." I had a lot to sort through, to pick out one memory, but once I hit on it it was easier to choose than I'd ever thought it would be. "You were there--I was fighting Tamahome, when he'd been brainwashed. And I was about to blast him, but silly Miaka screamed at me. He smashed her arm, tried to kill her, and broke her heart, but she still loved him. It was never the screaming that distracted me, you know. It was--the idea. That you could take that much from somebody and still forgive them, still know your life would be over without them. And goddammit, was I jealous." It was more of a rant than I'd meant, but it seemed appropriate tonight. Hell, given what we'd decided to do, talking about anything and everything seemed appropriate tonight.
And that's what we did. I don't think I've ever just talked so much in my whole damn life. We relived every moment, let ourselves say and feel things we'd been keeping under wraps for seven years just to stay sane. But now it didn't matter. It didn't matter when Chichiri could no longer see through the tears that welled up and clouded his one good eye, or when I was reduced to silence and ragged hiccups til I regained my voice. Oh, but we laughed too, at things Nuriko had said, at Miaka's battle tactics, at what our friends were going to say when we saw them next. It was cleansing, it was healing, it was...final.
The night turned grey and blossomed into morning, and we hadn't slept. It didn't matter. We were going to defeat an army, and then we could sleep for as long as we wanted. We packed up our camp and returned to the ledge. The army was still there, unprepared, just starting to move. I felt skin brush my hand, as Chichiri slipped his fingers into mine. This really was it.
He turned and looked at me, pain and sorrow and relief and excitement mingling together in that expressive porcelain face. "Well?" he quipped, and flashed me a grin. "Shall we go remind the Kutou why they keep on losing wars no da?"
I felt a big, silly grin spread across my face as I raised my tessen. "Let's go kick some ass for Suzaku," I affirmed. "It's what we're good at."
Chichiri let go my hand and raised his fingers to his face. I lifted the tessen. We blinked; appeared in the midst of squadrons of Kutou soldiers who all looked surprised to see us.
"LEKKA SHIEN!!!" I shouted. Fire erupted everywhere. Chi crackled and leapt out from Chichiri's fingers, demolishing shelters for what seemed like a half-mile around. Soldiers fell or fled, yurts collapsed to the ground, chaos erupted everywhere. The rising sun took the form of great firey wings, and somewhere in the distance I could hear a great bird cry out in the conflagration of fire and magic and death.
And then, everything was silent.
