Starlit Reflections

by Raye Johnsen

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    Fushigi Yuugi is copyright Watase Yuu, Flower Comics, Studio Perriot, Viz Communications and Pioneer Entertainment. Certain dialogue in this chapter is drawn directly from the Tomodachi fansubs; the script is copyright Yamazaki Masatomo and Karen Duffy and is used without permission.
    This fanfiction is written to entertain, not make money. If it did, the Mt. Leikaku bandits would undoubtedly (and gleefully) practice their craft and take all the profits.

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Chapter Eight: Shadows in Firelight

***********

She woke.

Dawn was sneaking in the window, tickling the edges of the room. She sat up to watch it, shuffling up in the futon and leaning against the cool wall, her back warming the whitewashed plaster through her nightshirt.

She never slept without clothes, for much the same reason that she watched the dawn. Dawn was good. Dawn meant the night was over.

Voluptuously she stretched, for no reason other than the fact that it felt good. Her hands curled out, loosening her wrists, and she did not notice if the gestures she made were enticing or not.

It had taken a long time to lose that awareness. Part of her wondered if she ever would. The rest of her ignored it, as she had ignored every time it had spoken since...

... dark hands grabbing her, dirty unwashed breath hot against her wrist, no, no, I don't want this, hands pulling at her skirts, "Let go of me, let go, let go", pulling pulling PAIN, no no STOP pain STOP PAIN NO the swirling darkness pulling as he was until she was swept away and there was nothing but

Soi came back to herself with a gasp, staring as the little lightnings arced from her clawed fingers, earthing themselves in the copper fittings set about the room.

The memory of the night she had been sold still burnt in her memory, as burnt as the corpse of the man who had paid the madam of the brothel good gold for the privilege of her virginity. Such a pity that he hadn't believed soap as as worthy of his money as the madam; if he hadn't terrified and repulsed her so thoroughly, he might have lived. Or maybe not; he had managed to rape her before she called the lightnings down on him, and the pain had been so bad she had felt certain he was killing her.

She was still divided between righteous satisfaction at his death - she had been a child of twelve, and any man who would rape a child deserved everything he got and then some - and remorse - because she had not known she was a Shichiseishi, then.

"Bad dreams, Little Soi?"

Dear Seiryuu, how she hated him. That smirking voice behind that painted face, those mirror-eyes that hid his soul while seeing everything you tried to keep to yourself.

"I didn't hear you knock, SIR Tomo."

"That would be because I didn't, Little Soi."

And he had no sense of politeness either.

Soi kept her face impassive. "I would appreciate it if you would leave now."

She just knew he was smirking behind that damn makeup. "And why should I, Little Soi?"

Flicking her eyes to the window, she replied silkily, "Because I'm about to get dressed, Sir Tomo. And I doubt you are interested in the sight."

He stood up quickly from the doorframe. While sometimes he did enjoy the sight of Soi's body, for she was a beautiful woman, today was not one of those times. It was a shame she was such a bitch, when all he did was suggest she should lend support to his leadership. From her reaction, one would think she was one of those Amazons of Jyousei. And so, instead of being in his rightful position as the leader of the Seiryuu no Shichiseishi, he was forced to bow to that boy, while Soi remained at his right hand. Bitch.

Soi watched him leave. Bastard, she thought sourly. Moral-less iceman, as cold as one of his clams. He had approached her, assuming the role of the leader of the Seiryuu no Shichiseishi, and started to try to give her orders before she had cut him off.

She still shivered as she remembered how coldly he'd dismissed the Twins. The first Shichiseishi to come together, the three of them had fallen into a kind of family. When he had threatened her adopted little brothers she had reacted accordingly.

Amiboshi understood that Tomo was a threat, but that he had to be placated for a time. Suboshi, though, was frighteningly innocent.

Soi clenched her fists, unconsciously arcing once more, as she thought about the last innocent who had attracted Tomo's eye. The poor boy had been - educated. Most thoroughly. Most painfully. Poor shattered soul.

The thing about Tomo was that he didn't perceive himself as part of the world. That which affected others didn't touch him, and the consequences that made others think twice were of no concern to him. This had proved a double-edged sword - it freed him to follow his own inclinations (Soi seriously doubted he had a heart), but it also meant that he didn't see when others were setting up traps in his path. He had already been caught up twice in events that Soi had deliberately triggered.

I will trigger traps for years if it will keep my little brothers safe, she privately vowed, before getting up to begin her morning routine.

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

Aagh, what a headache.

Hotohori kept his eyes shut as the mad little stonemasons inside his head decided it was time to bring out the sledgehammers. What on earth possessed me to drink last night? he wondered muzzily. Yukino knows I always get drunk on plum wine, that's why apple cider's served at Court. Why did he let me drink it? Today I...

He tried to move his wrists, and found that he couldn't move them; they had been bound behind his back.

What the...

Unwelcome memory returned, bringing with her knowledge of the forenoon.

Hotohori vented his feelings. Or at least tried to, and discovered the hard way that the dryness in his mouth was caused by a cloth gag, and not alcoholic dehydration. All he could do was gargle.

The weight he was leaning against shifted, falling against him, half on his back, half on his shoulder. Turning his head, he was confronted with a wealth of purple silk.

Nuriko was also bound and gagged, although she hadn't woken yet. Her eyelashes were halfmoons against the oddly-alabaster skin of her cheek. Hotohori watched her carefully, searching for signs of life, until he felt a faint breath against his neck.

Pulling his head up sharply, he noticed that Tamahome and Miaka were also awake. They too were tied together, but face to face rather than back-to-back.

Hotohori couldn't decide if he would have preferred that position or not. It would have been less strain on his muscles, but being Nuriko's pillow was a bit more personal than he felt comfortable with.

He sat there, stiff and aching, until finally Nuriko began to stir. The skin of her cheek brushed his neck as her weight shifted behind him, and the clean scent of her hair tickled his nose as the ruins of her intricately-looped hairstyle fell over his face and shoulder. He felt her start to stretch, pulling on his bonds, and he felt rather than heard her attempt to speak.

In an effort to let her know she wasn't alone, he let his head fall back gently against hers, resting the back of his head against the half-undone knot of her hair.

Her searching fingertips managed to catch and tangle with his.

Two days earlier, he might have quickly disentangled them. In less stressful circumstances, he might have pressed her fingers with his and then disentangled them.

Here and now, though, he did neither. Pressing his fingertips with hers, he tried to entwine them further. They couldn't speak, move or communicate, save with this press of hands. Neither could reassure the other, except by this touch.

Hotohori clung to his best friend's fingers, an uncertain child in a hostile world.

********

"And so Suzaku no Miko and her Shichiseishi waited for their captors to remember them," Yui read.

She really didn't feel good at all. She'd felt feverish, then she'd been dripping wet and now her wrists, knees and ankles burned and would not move, as if something was tying them together.

The fever hadn't gone, but fortunately she was dry now. Not that it really mattered.

As long as Miaka was trapped in this strange, unnatural world, she would wait and read, watching for her chance to get her back. As long as it took.

********

Tamahome could not believe his ears.

No, he could believe his ears. What he couldn't believe was what he'd just heard.

Was there some kind of power thing some girls held over other girls or something? Miaka had just come out with the most errant nonsense, and Nuriko had begun to protest, but then Miaka had said something, and then Nuriko had just shut up. She'd stopped mid-word, and was still staring at Miaka.

"So just wait for me, all right?" Miaka told them blithely, and left with the bandit.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hotohori hissed.

"Me?" Nuriko asked.

"Letting her go-"

"You couldn't stop her! Why do you think I could?"

"You're a girl too!"

Tamahome manfully repressed a snort. Nuriko apparently agreed, though, because she hissed back,  "So kind of you to finally notice!"

"With a neckline like that, how could I miss it?!" Hotohori shot back nastily.

The chill on Nuriko's voice would have been sufficient to provide iced tea at midsummer. "This style is considered 'classic'. It also was your late mother's favourite, Sire."

The door opened then, forestalling any more sniping. Tamahome craned his head forward as two bandits, grinning what they obviously thought were reassuring smiles at them, entered the room.

The bigger cleared his throat. "Um - miss," he ventured. "Uh - me and my friends, we kinda wanted ta ask ya. If ya behave, we'll let ya walk around a bit."

Tamahome blinked. "What?"

The smaller man casually cuffed him. "Wasn't talkin' ta you, boy. We're talkin' ta th' girls here."

Nuriko batted her eyelashes at the bandit. Hotohori managed to catch a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, and even from that angle he could see Nuriko's expression. It was sweetly saccharine and heartbreakingly innocent. He remembered that particular expression well. She had last worn it just before she'd annihilated him in one of their games of mah-jonng.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure, sir?" she asked sweetly, pinching Hotohori when he flinched.

The bandit seemed rather taken aback. "Uh, well, we kinda wanted ya to, well, you know, talk with us. Serve us sake an' stuff."

She smiled that terrifyingly cute smile again. "Certainly, sir. We'd be delighted."

He bent over and began to unfasten the ropes that bound Nuriko and Hotohori's wrists. Both wriggled - Hotohori energetically, Nuriko languidly - as the blood came rushing back to their fingertips.

The bandits began to usher them to the door as soon as they stood. Hotohori glanced over at Tamahome. "Sir," he said, pitching his voice as high as he could. Nuriko winced. Hotohori was one of Nature's baritones, and his voice was simply too deep to reach a female register convincingly. His attempt resulted in a very sharp falsetto.

It seemed, however, that Nuriko was simply being too nice in her tastes, because the two bandits didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, darlin'?" the smaller inquired.

Hotohori couldn't repress his nose twitching. "What about - him?" he asked, pointing at Tamahome.

Harsh laughter erupted from the two bandits. "Him?" they replied. "He stays here."

"Then so do I," Hotohori stated, sitting down.

The two bandits looked at each other.

Nuriko glanced at Hotohori. "Sirs," she said softly, pitching her voice low. Hotohori felt his eyes widen as his hormones sat up and began to comment on the fact that Nuriko was a very pretty girl, especially in that torn skirt.

"Sai is right," she continued in that low, husky voice that bypassed Brain and spoke directly to Instinct. "He won't be any trouble if his hands are tied. We'll promise to behave if he comes with us."

"Yes," Hotohori added. "He won't be any trouble, and neither will we."

The bandits nodded, almost dazed, and bent to untie Tamahome's ankles. They almost bumped heads, and Hotohori cursed internally as they managed to avoid the collision and the possibility of knocking themselves out for them.

While being herded out, Hotohori muttered in Nuriko's ear, "'Sai'?"

Nuriko lifted an eyebrow. "If they don't know what a sai is..." she murmured.

Hotohori blinked, then grinned.

***********

They didn't let Tamahome into the main common room, where they wanted Hotohori and Nuriko to serve the drinks.

Instead the two bandits took them to a small, bare room just off the main common room, which had nothing but a hard wooden bench in it and a lock on the door.

"We won't tie you up again or nothin'," the large one promised. "So long as y'go in quietlike, we'll just lock the door after ya. Then after we're finished, we'll let y'all talk an' everythin'."

"We're not uncivilized or nothin'," the smaller one added.

As they had no choice, Tamahome slowly entered the room and let the door be closed and locked behind him. Hotohori and Nuriko watched as the bandits carefully hung the key on a nail hammered in beside the door.

***********

Kouji was sipping sake and nibbling on onigiri in a corner of the common room. The girl had just been delivered to Eiken, poor creature. She'd seemed so innocent. Did she really have no idea of why she was there?

Ah, here were two of her companions, entering the room now. The girl in front, the one with purple hair, moved like a queen, her nose wrinkling with carefully hidden distaste. The girl behind her swung her foot out and strode forward, and Kouji damn near dropped his delicate, thumb-length sake cup.

That's no woman!

Purple-hair was a girl, but the man behind her was as virile as Kouji himself. He walked like a man. That was the only way to describe it.

However, all the rest of the guys were drinking themselves to oblivion with cheerful abandon and didn't notice the difference between the two. Bunch of fuckin' idiots, Kouji thought, pouring a little more sake into the warming dish set over the tea lamp./He's even wearing what men wear in Eiyou!

Hotohori, for his part, was quietly trying to hold onto his temper as he tried to cajole the drunks into giving him more information.

"Have some more sake," he murmured, pouring some more of the chilled liquid into the fist-sized glass. He watched the man gulp the drink down, repressing his connoisseur's sense of outrage.

That rotgut isn't worth savouring anyway, he told himself soothingly.

"Pre'y lady," a voice slurred behind him, "I really, really like you." A hand laid itself on the back of his hip, making his skin crawl.

Swinging around, he looked down into a boy's face. The youth couldn't be more than a year older than himself. His snub nose was bright red with the alcohol he'd drunk.

Hotohori forced himself to relax. "Many people say so," he replied with a light laugh. "But Nuriko has much better proportions than I."

The drunken youth pressed on. "Nah, she's not my type. I like big women!"

Across the room, Nuriko was watching. The jar of sake she was holding shattered beneath her grip. Why, that - "I'm going to kill him," she muttered venomously. She didn't specify which, and Nuriko herself wasn't quite sure which one she meant.

It should be mentioned that Nuriko was not feeling very well. Already suffering from the usual complaints of headache and mood swings that afflict most of the women who endure PMS, she had not eaten since breakfast that morning (it was after dark by this time), she was suffering a mild concussion, she was having to be polite to a bunch of bandits, she was watching Hotohori flirt with someone else (though why that was annoying was not something she was prepared to acknowledge), and, to top it off, she had several bruises from drunken, enthusiastic admirers who felt, erroneously, that a pinch on an available body part would not be taken amiss.

Altogether, she was in a mood that could be described as Somewhat More Than Merely Bad.

So it was that when one of the drunken bandits decided to press his attentions further than a pinch or a stammered, slurred comment, Nuriko lost her temper.

***********

The first sign Kouji had was when Daken came flying across the room, landing on the table directly in front of him, shattering his jealously-guarded bottle of decent sake.

The girl with purple hair had picked up another bandit. "I - HAVE - HAD - ENOUGH!!" she screamed, punctuating each word with another thrown bandit.

The man had stood up, unfolding himself from his seat, picking up and drawing his sword from where it lay on the trophy cabinet at the side of the room.

"You're both men?" one of his seatmates inquired in a horrified voice. A bandit came flying across the room, crashing into him and taking him into the wall.

"She isn't," the man replied mildly. He flashed them a very feral smile. They began to back away slowly. "I am."

The drunken boy lurched up to him. "I don't care, I still like you," he grinned idiotically. The tall man stiffened up, which the boy took as an invitation to embrace him. "Nuriko..." the man said, in a quietly desperate tone. A flying bandit promptly knocked the drunken youth unconscious.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"You're welcome, Lord Hotohori." The insanely strong girl strode over to him. "Let's go let Tamahome out and find Miaka."

Kouji decided to follow them.

**********

Pull. Huff. Puff.

I'm sure the trail wasn't this steep last time I climbed it, Kouji thought grimly half an hour later. He'd left the three insane ex-victims as they converged on Eiken.

The roar of flame he'd heard shortly thereafter indicated that the Tessen no Rekka had been brought into play. Unlike his usual assumption, though, he was placing no faith in Eiken's victory. He had finally remembered where he had seen a character on a person's body.

He'd known for years that Genrou was a Suzaku no Shichiseishi. It wasn't supposed to happen yet....

And when was it supposed to happen? When you were eighty?

.... but it was pretty clear exactly who and what Eiken was now up against: the Suzaku no Shichiseishi. They had finally come for their star-brother.

Which had meant that Genrou would be arriving soon, and lo and behold... Kouji wasn't the most religious man in the world, but to quote that weird blue-haired monk who'd crashed at the hideout last winter, 'Suzaku's ways are mysterious, but they're not stupid.'

Genrou would have surveyed the situation, and probably decided to hole up somewhere while he worked out a plan of attack. Knowing Genrou, there was one place he would have gone: Home. Taichou's Place.

Which was why Kouji was climbing the mountain in the dark.

He hesitated at a bend. Last time he'd climbed here, the rock had been loose and he'd narrowly escaped a fall. That had been in daylight, when he'd been able to see.

Still, there was no help for it. Kouji pressed on, turning a corner in the trail.

There it was! Taichou's Place stood just above him, most of it a hunched eagle shrouded in darkness. Two stripes of light, however, painted bright bands on the eagle's breast, shining down on him from the windows of the main room and lighting the path.

It was only a few moments later that he stepped onto the veranda of the small pagoda. He walked up to the door, hesitating. Genrou hadn't greeted him earlier.

Something to ask him about, Kouji decided, and knocked on the door.

"Good evening! Who's there? Genrou's best buddy is here to see him. It's Kouji. You're welcome. Please come in. Thank you," and Kouji suited his actions to the words.

"Kouji!" Genrou grinned, leaping up and linking arms with his foster brother. "Long time no see!"

"You saw me before!" Kouji retorted, as he fell into the stomping strut that they had developed into their own private celebration dance.

"Did I?" His foster brother asked, his tone shrugging it off as he danced his own joy.

"You didn't notice me? How cold," Kouji replied, his relief lightening his tone. Genrou didn't blame him for not holding on to the guys!

"Excuse me," the girl who Genrou had filched from Eiken's grasp said archly. She had been standing off to one corner of the room. "But who are you guys?"

***********

"Who are those guys?" the sergeant asked.

"I would say," Lieutenant Youji replied, "that they are the Mt. Leikaku bandits." He surveyed the six now severely-battered members of his squad. "And I think we should get off this mountain and to a healer's. The sooner the better."

"There's a village around in the valley on the side of the mountain," one of his two remaining scouts volunteered.

"Good. Let's go," the Koutou soldier replied.

"You're the leader," the sergeant muttered.

***********

"So you were supposed to be the Leader?" the girl asked, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, he was," Kouji affirmed. "But when Taichou died and you weren't around, Eiken took over." He looked over at Genrou. His voice dropped, taking on a more personal tone. "Taichou... worried over you, right until the end."

Genrou's face was shuttered. "Taichou," he murmured.

The girl suddenly stood up. "All right then! We'll help you!" she declared.

Kouji felt his jaw drop. "Huh?" he asked intelligently. Genrou apparently agreed with him, because he said "Huh?" too.

"You absolutely have to have the position!" she declared. "And I want to help Tamahome, Nuriko and Hotohori," she added.

Genrou obviously disagreed. "Hey, you-"

She cut him off. "It's no problem. Don't mention it," she assured him, patting his shoulder. Kouji privately decided that she was fearless as well as crazy. "Oh, and, since we're helping you, if we're successful, would you help me find Tasuki? Pleeeaaaase?" she suddenly begged, her eyes going all wide and gooey.

Genrou all but took a step back. "I didn't mean-"

The girl disregarded him. "We've decided! Let's go! Genrou! Kouji!"

Kouji could just feel the sweatdrop popping on his head. Genrou looked as flabbergasted as he felt. "She doesn't get that she's a hostage, does she?" he murmured to his foster-brother.

"Looks that way," Genrou muttered back.

**********

The mountain was no more easy to climb down than up in the dark, but they managed it, and it wasn't long before they were hiding in the bushes outside the main hideout.

Eiken appeared to be trying to rally the bandits.

"Genrou will be making a move on us tonight!" he was ranting. "Don't be careless!"

"NO!" yelled the bandits.

"NO!" yelled Miaka, outside the window.

Genrou thumped her (lightly, he didn't want to scramble her brains any more than they already were) on the head. "Don't get carried away!" he hissed. "In any case, they're listening to Eiken."

"What pussycats! So weak before Taichou's keepsake," Kouji commented.

"A keepsake?" the girl asked.

"Yeah, a paper fan," Kouji replied, in his Believe-Me-I'm-Deadly-Serious tone, which really meant that he was about to feed somebody a mare's tale.

"You're afraid of a paper fan?" the girl asked, amazed.

Ordinarily, Genrou would have sat back and watched the girl get toasted (she was annoying enough to deserve it), but she was the Suzaku no Miko, and that meant he had a certain obligation to her. "You've got it wrong," he interrupted brusquely. "It's a metal fan."

Kouji glanced at Genrou's set face. "It throws fire with an incantation," he volunteered, in a much more normal tone of voice. "It was specially made to incinerate enemies."

"We must get it," Genrou muttered, in an odd tone.

The girl had been distracted while this last had been said, and she suddenly noticed the cards Genrou had laid out in front of him. "Hey, these are what made those wolves appear!" she chimed, picking them up. "Are they magic?"

"It's sorcery," Genrou replied, distracted. "A Taoist gave them to me. Whatever is written on the cards becomes an illusion and appears."

Kouji touched his arm. "I'm going around the side," he said quietly.

Genrou nodded, and noticed the girl was still fiddling with his illusion-cards. "What're you doing? Give those back!" he snapped, snatching them back.

The bushes rustled softly with their passage as they sneaked away. Unfortunately, they weren't quite sneaky enough.

Genrou found a flash of silver pressed to his throat. "I've been looking for you, you bastard," a man with long brown hair hissed at him. "Where's Miaka?"

Kouji was in no position to sympathise. On the one hand, he knew who Nuriko was and why she was angry. On the other, that wasn't much help when she had him in a headlock.

"Nuriko! Hotohori! Tamahome! You're safe!" the girl exclaimed.

Nuriko dropped Kouji. He landed with a thump at her feet. "You took the words right out of our mouths."

**********

"All right," Hotohori conceded. "Are you sure about helping them?"

"Yes," Miaka insisted. "Because of Tasuki and because I just want to."

Genrou felt his ears burn. They were so blithely talking about Suzaku no Shichiseishi Tasuki, and they had never considered that maybe Tasuki had his own plans....

"That's what's so good about you.... ahh?"

"I was looking for you," Tarou said, his nose red with alcohol, hugging Hotohori. Genrou blinked. He hadn't even heard the boy come up to them.

It was funny to see the cool, collected young man dissolve into a panicky fluster as he was hugged. "AAAH!! NURIKO!!" he screamed in a whisper.

"There they are!" another voice yelled.

Genrou swore. "Leave this to me," he ordered the other five, striding to face the advacing party. "Come wolves!" he ordered, flinging an illusion-card at the enemy.

Mid-air, it smoked, shimmered, and with a soft pop, became a slice of chocolate birthday cake.

The advancing bandits blinked. They were prepared to fight wolves, not dessert, and the food hit them full in the face.

Despite slowing the advance, it didn't halt it, so Tasuki tried again.

This time the advancing bandits were beaned by hotdogs, toffees, noodles, milkshakes, burgers, chocolate cigarettes, ice-cream and sandwiches.

"HUH??" Genrou, Kouji, Tamahome, Nuriko and Hotohori chorused. "What are these?" Genrou demanded.

Miaka hunched down in a corner. Nuriko stalked over to her. "Miaka." she demanded.

Miaka chuckled nervously. "Not here...."

Genrou cut her off. "You did these?" he demanded.

"Um, yeah." She chuckled again. "I just..."

"LOOK OUT!!" Hotohori yelled, as flame filled the corridor.

"Welcome back, Genrou," Eiken hissed as the iron fan's flames died away. His hand on the weapon shook. "Whattsamatter? The wolves can't come out anymore?"

"Lord Hotohori..." Nuriko murmured, her voice desperate.

"We can't fight them, Nuriko," Hotohori hissed back. "Tasuki might be among them...."

"You can fight, just don't kill any of them," Genrou said, none-too-calmly. "Tasuki ain't there."

Tamahome glanced at him. "And how do you know that?"

"I know, 'cause I'm Tasuki!" Genrou snapped. "And I need that fan! You can help me get it, or you can get outta the way!"

"You're Tasuki?" Nuriko, Tamahome and Hotohori chorused.

Miaka glanced at him and then flung herself straight at Eiken. "Give me the iron fan!" she demanded, tugging at it.

He stared down at her in amazement, too startled to do anything else. "What are you?" he eventually asked.

"That belongs to Tasuki! Give it back!" Miaka panted, still pulling.

"Is this girl stupid or what, to make herself a hostage again?" Eiken asked, gripping her around the throat.

"She's just made things worse," Kouji murmured, his voice pure disbelief.

Miaka's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Don't fight. Don't do it for me. But... do none of you remember or respect your former Leader? Are you really all so afraid of the iron fan that you will fight your own comrades? Is that... is that what..."

Tamahome stepped forward. "... is that what a man does?" he hissed, completing her sentence. He leapt forward, burying his elbow in Eiken's throat. No sooner had he landed than he leapt up into a flying kick that threw four men to the ground. He spun into another strike....

... Tasuki ran forward, as fast as he could, as soon as he saw Eiken losing his grip on the iron fan, catching it before it struck the ground....

... that laid out another two men. Falling into a springing kick strike, Tamahome's foot broke another man's jaw....

... Eiken fell to his knees, scrabbling for the iron fan, until he heard a humourless chuckle and looked up to see Tasuki holding the fan. "It's all over, Eiken," Tasuki said flatly.

Tamahome straightened up and moved over to his Miko. "Are you all right, Miaka?" he asked anxiously, bending down to the girl.

Miaka simply flung herself into his arms.

Hotohori sighed as he watched.

*********

"No."

Miaka blinked. "But you're a Suzaku no Shichiseishi! You have to come!"

Tasuki shook his head. "I'm the Leader now. The guys need me."

"Surely your duty to the Miko -" Hotohori began.

"Ain't worth nothin'."

Nuriko gasped. "What are you saying?"

Tasuki shrugged. "You saw what happened when these guys were without a Leader - they accepted that piece of shit Eiken because he offered them guidance. Not good guidance, not even up to the old standards but still somethin' so they took it. I can't leave 'em. Suzaku knows what they'd take next time!"

"Your role as a Shichiseishi -"

"Will still be there later, won't it? You know where I am. It's not like you'll be summoning Suzaku tomorrow, is it?"

"Well, no," Miaka conceded.

"Then I'm stayin' here."

***********

Kouji watched the small party move off down the mountain. He climbed back up to the hideout and headed to the Leader's quarters.

Genrou was still sitting at Taichou's desk.

"You really wanted to go with them, didn't you?" he said quietly.

Genrou looked at him. "Bein' Leader's about doin' what's best for the whole gang. Not about just doin' what I want." He forced a laugh. "'Sides, can you imagine living with that girl, day in and day out? I'd go mad in a week!"

Kouji lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah." They both laughed.

**********

The mood was sombre as they descended from Mt. Leikaku.

"I can't believe somebody would just refuse to be a Shichiseishi," Hotohori said into the group silence.

"He didn't really refuse," Nuriko soothed. "He's just choosing to follow different priorities. He'll come when he's needed."

"But I didn't refuse!"

"Well, it's different for us, isn't it? You're the Emperor. You didn't choose to be, so you don't have any real ties to it. Tamahome doesn't have anything else to do. And being a Shichiseishi is pretty much what I do for my living anyway."

"You're one of my advisors, and that's your living, Nuriko."

"But I wouldn't be one of your Advisors if I wasn't a Shichiseishi, would I?" Nuriko asked reasonably.

Hotohori grumbled indistinctly under his breath.

During lunch, a fog blew up.

"Is this normal?" Tamahome asked.

"We are in the mountains," Hotohori replied calmly.

"I still don't like it," Nuriko said flatly.

"Then stick close," Miaka said.

In a darkened room, a figure watched and listened to the conversation. "Suzaku no Miko and her Shichiseishi. Do you deserve your title? We shall have to see how well you come through my trial."

The figure motioned, and a smaller figure stood and ran from the room. "Oh yes, we shall see...."

**********

Author's notes:

1. Sai are short swords, normally carried by ninja. Of much the same general configuration as the Italian stileto, a sai is designed for assassination or extremely close fighting, and so cannot be used as a throwing knife or in any other form of combat. Among non-assassins, it is a weapon of last resort and self defense, as it is easily concealed and very deadly.

2. Sake is wine fermented from rice. It is much stronger than wine fermented from grapes, and is usually served heated (which serves to burn off some of the alcohol - if someone calls for cold sake, they want to get paralytically drunk ASAP). It is usually served in very small china cups (around the size of Italian espresso cups) and drinking etiquette requires sake be sipped slowly.

3. Onigiri are balls of boiled rice, one of the simplest forms of sushi. Occasionally a strip of cooked seaweed will be wrapped around the ball, the rice will be lightly spiced or (if the intended recipient is a child or enjoys this sort of thing) the cook may mould the rice into a shape and add garnishes to add to the impression (currants for eyes and mint leaves for bunny ears, for example).

4. (For anyone who actually wondered...) Yes, the blue-haired monk Kouji remembers is Chichiri. He said that line when he realized who Tasuki was; Kouji remembers it because it struck him as a non-sequitur (Chichiri didn't tell them who he was).
    It is a paraphase of a line from 'God - The Ultimate Autobiography' by Jeremy Beadle. Specifically: "My ways may be mysterious, My wonders to perform, but they're not bloody stupid."

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