Destiny Calls

"Good morning, daddy." Komyo murmured, kneeling with her small bag in front of the grave. She frowned as she saw the state of it- leaves and dirt scattered at the base of the pillar, her previous flowers still there, dried out completely by the hot sun. Weeds sending tendrils up from the ground around the Hingan-style grave.

Heedless of her fine kimono, she set to weeding and cleaning the grave, using her claws to dig up the roots of the unwanted plants and the sleeve of her kimono to brush away the dirt and to shine the surface of the grave.

"I'm sorry it's been so long, daddy. It's been hard. I'm trying to watch out for Mother and Aki, but you know how they both are. ...Aki's been doing better, but the stone you left to him, and the armor...they weigh heavy on him. I wish I could do more, I try and be the steady stone that he can find his center and strength in, but I worry about him. I wish you were here... to see him and be proud... and to guide him, too. To give him someone to talk to that... that knows. I think... I think that's what's hardest on him. It's the first time either of us have ever had to really handle something...alone."

She swallows hard, tears closing her throat and gathering in her lashes. Resting a hand on the stone, she whispers, "Daddy... tell me what to do. Tell me what to say, what I can give him that will ease his heart. What did Mother give to you? What did the tribe give? Were you... were you so alone too?"

The thought made her heart ache, remembering her father's easy smile and the way his eyes lit up with pride when he looked at her even if he didn't always understand why she did what she did. Akihito needed that smile, now. Her hand tightened up into a fist and she beat it lightly against the stone without realizing it, crying out softly, "Why aren't you here, daddy?! Why can't I find you... I've searched for your spirit, the way the tribe teaches, the way the onmyouji teach. But you're gone... I didn't learn fast enough to find you before you forgot. I tried, daddy. I'm still trying so hard... Trying to keep everything together. Trying to help Mother even though she's gotten so... so..." Her voice trails away, unable to speak ill of her mother to her father. Eyes closing, the Auri woman shakes her head and murmurs, "I'm sorry, daddy. I know you'd tell me I shouldn't worry so much. But I love them, I love them and I can't heal what's broken, what's hurting. ...I can't even heal myself. I miss you, I miss you so much, and now that I've left the Sugisekki... I don't know where I'm going to go. What I'm going to do. Please... please find a way to send me a sign. Something... something to tell me I'm doing right. That I'm going the right way."

Leaning her head forward, she touches her forehead to the sun-warm stone and whispers again, "Please." Then she draws back and pulls a few things from the bag. New flowers and plants- sweet and earthy scents from the Steppe to adorn and mark the grave as well-tended and loved. A pair of cups and a flask of kumis. A little container with a few buuz. A bowl and a stick of incense that stood in the bowl. Lighting the incense, she waited until the smoke began to rise before pouring kumis into each cup, raising hers in a salute, and drinking. The alcohol burned and made her head spin for a moment, and she smiled as she remembered the first time she'd taken a sip from her father's cup. How she'd shouted! And of course, Aki needed to try it too after that. Her mother laughing, her father looking sheepish at letting the little ones get into his cup. The little tableaux of family was far, far away from the grave that stood in this cemetery. It was the family that Komyo held in her head as she drank her kumis. When it was done, down to the last drop, she put the flask and her cup into the bag and, reluctantly, rose to her feet. She touched her fingers to her lips and transferred a kiss to the grave, brushing it against the stone.

"I love you, daddy. I'll visit again next moon, I promise."

The moment she teleported into Reunion, the sights and sounds of the Steppes wrapped around her like a well-worn coat. The fall air was crisp, much colder here than in Hingashi, and Komyo was immediately grateful that she’d pulled her woolen clothes out of her closet for this journey- if it was this cold on the ground, it would be freezing once she was in the air.

And that is exactly where she intended to be.

Marching out of the village, the half-Xaela headed to one of the tallest hills in the area and put her gloved hands to her mouth, letting out a trilling sound that rose and fell in a long, unbroken breath. The noise seemed to echo in the still air until she heard a joyous screech in reply. She smiled into her high collar and watched as her yol sailed into view. A good scratch was in order and she gave the massive bird a rabbit as well, bought in Reunion for just this purpose. Burying her hands into the feathers, she scritched and rubbed as her bird Arslang gave little clicks of her beak and preened at Komyo’s hair with little affectionate nibbles.

Their ritual of greeting done, Komyo hopped up onto the yol’s back and leaned down, whispering in Xaelic, <”Take me home.”>

Arslang screeched out a confirmation before taking to the air.

----

The sounds of domesticity were all around her, little hisses and burbles and sizzlings in her horns as she hummed one of the koto songs she was learning. The humming quickly turned into actual song, meaningless syllables tra-la-la-ing off her tongue as she swayed her hips and let her tail bounce lightly off the side of the stove and the drawers in the counters. A knife rested easily in her hands and she chopped and cut with a keen precision.

A radish here. A sausage there. Cupping and shaping the rice. Adding the little details in seaweed. Popping little pins into the tamago and the ginger to keep the folded shapes neat. Carefully not burning herself on the curried patties. Then packing it all away in a little box that she tied up in a cloth. The finishing touch, a little note-

Lucubration: Study or meditation

Onmyōdō (meaning "the Way of Yin and Yang") is Hingan-style spell-casting. Methods range from Yin/Yang, the Five Elements, shikigami, and divination to ofuda and alchemy.

The scrolls and tablets with their complicated symbols were stacked in carefully controlled chaos on her small desk, balanced precariously along with a star globe and a stack of yet-unblessed ofuda. Komyo hummed softly as she followed the lines of the scrolls carefully with a small stylus, reading the same passage over and over...and over...and over…

She tossed the stylus down in frustration and looked up and out the window of her chambers. The stars were bright, but not as bright as they were on the Steppes. The song she was humming came back into her head- a festival song, a Xaelic song, sung for the glory of Nhaama. Brushing silvery hair out of her eyes, she sat in indecision for a moment before letting out a huff of air and rising, moving to her closet.

The kimono and obi were shed with uncharacteristic speed and lack of care and as she pulled on the leathers and furs of her second home the studious young woman’s demeanor shifted slightly. She relaxed, she smiled, she glanced in the mirror and did a silly little dance. Then her gaze moved back to her desk and she sobered. That’s right. She wasn’t going out for fun. This was strictly a journey made to enhance her studies. One must understand the elements if one was to practice onmyodo. And to understand the elements, one must seek them out where they were in abundance. She was studying the air and the stars tonight, and so she must go to the place where the air was clear and the stars shone brightly.

For the Darkhan, that was the Steppes.

Reunion would be safe enough, she thought, as she checked the knife in her boot and wrapped a cloak with a deep hood around herself. She could go southwest from there, to where the hills began. Still within the protection of the Qestir, but far enough out that the firelight of the small village would not interfere with her studies. Akihito would be disappointed that she did not call him, but he was off on some errand- likely with Tsubaki. Her lip curled slightly at the thought of the miqo’te and she shook her head. Something about him just had this way of crawling under her skin. The way he looked at her- or maybe the way he looked at her brother.

Letting out a frustrated little puff of air, Komyo pushed both hands out as if to physically shove away the thought. Stars, Komyo. Focus on the stars.

Her goal firmly at the forefront of her mind once more, she plucked the little packet of ofuda from her strewn about kimono and tucked it into a deep pocket in the sleeves of her furs. Just in case. Then her eyes closed and she called the aether to herself to teleport to Reunion.

The village was mostly empty at this time of night, a few Qestiri patrolling and one or two travellers stumbling wearily into the protection of the wooden walls. Komyo kept her hood up as she waved to one of the patrollers before heading out into the wilds of the Steppes. It didn’t take long for her to get to the place she had envisioned- a small, flat jut of rock, just steep enough that she had to climb and scramble to surmount it. Once up there, though, she could sweep crimson eyes over the vastness of the land- and, more importantly for her lucubrations, up at the sea of stars.

Settling down with her legs crossed, she picked up a stone with a sharp edge and began to draw out and name the constellations, calling the aether of the stars down to fill each drawing with silvery light and briefly make them shine. Their trajectories, their strengths, their weaknesses, the way they balanced each other- it was all so much easier to remember this way. The scrolls could never take the place of actually holding the magic in her hands, feeling the strands of aether like strands of silk flowing through her fingers. The constellations flared and burned in her mind’s eye and Komyo smiled up at them.

SLAP

The sound ricocheted off the walls and echoed painfully in her horns. The burn hit just after and her hand lifted to her reddened cheek in shock, eyes gone huge as tears sprung into them unbidden from the shock and pain of it. The half-Xaela woman stared at her mother, the shorter woman drawing back her hand for another strike.

“HOW COULD YOU!?” She screamed and Komyo drew back a half-step. The quiet, implacable, demure demeanor of her Raen mother, Akiko, had cracked and revealed someone she did not know underneath. “Do you have ANY idea of what you’ve done?!” Akiko continued, advancing on her daughter.

Komyo felt her own temper sliding through her veins like ice. “I did what I had to do.” she hissed back, voice softer, colder. “He would have died in there and you- you would have had me leave him!”

“Idiot child, I was arranging for him to be released! You went behind my back, you made these promises, you’ve put *everything* at risk! I expect such rashness from Akihito, but not from you. You’re smarter than this, Komyo. I raised you to be smarter than this.” The disdain in her mother’s voice cut the young woman to the heart and those tears spilled over her lashes and rolled down her now-aching cheek and jaw.

“I- I had to, mama. We lost papa, I couldn’t lose Aki, too.” She protested through her tears.

Akiko dropped her head into her hands, shaking it slowly. When she lifted it, her face was calm once more and she moved to her daughter, reaching out to pull the younger woman into a hug. Komyo cried on her mother’s shoulder, the grief of her papa’s death and the fear of losing her brother still so fresh they stung more than her cheek. 

Sighing, Akiko stroked Komyo’s hair and comforted her with soft sounds and gentle rocking. Yes, the girl had ruined her plans, but she had learned long ago that plans rarely last long. Contingencies are a necessity. Perhaps part of it was her own fault- she knew how deeply her daughter was devoted to her twin. If she had told the girl that she had her own ways to get her wayward son released from gaol, perhaps Komyo wouldn’t have approached the Yakuza at all.

Perhaps it would be best if she told her… No. No, the child wasn’t ready for that. She had proved it with this foolish, foolish act.

Komyo lifted her head and brushed away her tears, wincing as she felt the bruise beginning to form on her cheek. “Mama, please tell me- why are you so angry at what I did?”

Akiko shook her head, expression inscrutable. “You were rash and foolish, Komyo. That is all. The Yakuza are dangerous people to be indebted to. They will ask much of you. I worry you will regret this, that is all.”

For the first time in her life, Komyo looked into her mother’s eyes and knew without a doubt that she was being lied to. Her faith in Akiko’s infallibility was shaken to the core and along with her burning cheek, an ache started in her heart. First her papa’s death, then Akihito’s imprisonment, now her mother’s betrayal- wheels started whirring in her head as she rested her head back on Akiko’s shoulder and allowed herself to be comforted, all without saying the words that burned on the back of her eyelids.

The sun was bright and cheerful and the streets smelled of recent rain when Komyo’s geta clattered lightly over the stone streets. One of her classes had been cancelled, the students turned out to enjoy the late-summer day and gain inspiration out in the city. Kugane bustled, adventurers and locals crowding the city streets. The young Au Ra was easily swept up in the tide, gliding through the crowds with an enigmatic smile tugging at her lips. It really was a beautiful day.

She wasn’t really paying much attention to her destination, though her stomach was making quiet protestations at her forgetting lunch, so she turned down an alleyway that would lead to one of the larger avenues only to notice a small commotion down the street. Her curiosity piqued, she wended her way through the little knot of on-lookers to see a Hyuran man in white robes knelt in a knot of his disciples. This wasn’t an entirely foreign sight, but the claims of the old man were new. One of the people to her left jostled her in his excitement at receiving one of the pamphlets and she looked over his arm to read.

“Ancient technique learned from the secret masters hidden in the Doman mountains! You, too, can become a disciple of the great Sensei and learn the ways. Defend your family and yourself with this revolutionary martial school.”

Komyo’s lips pressed into a line and she rolled her eyes. She couldn’t tell exactly what was going on in the center of the crowd but when they picked up the chant of ‘Let her try!’, she took advantage of the jostling to get a little closer to the action- only to find herself looking upon a Xaela woman who appeared very, very serious as she spoke to the ‘master’. A white eyebrow ticked upwards and her tail picked up a sway as she tried to puzzle out exactly what the game was. The Xaela was obviously not a plant- she could see the other disciples in the crowd, their hair-cuts and the cut of their clothing so patently uniform it was almost insulting. But surely the old man wasn’t going to actually face a Xaela warrior in the middle of the Kugane streets?

“I am not afraid!”

The shout made Komyo almost groan. It was so *earnest*. This could only end badly.

When the other woman took up a boxer’s stance, Komyo examined her for a long moment, then looked placidly over at the old man and his disciples. There were quick whispers behind her- a few people placing bets, it sounded like. One of the disciples uttering what sounded like a prayer.

The *crack* of knuckle against bone brought her attention back to the center of the crowd. The old man was down and the Xaela had the most amusing ‘Oh shite’ look on her face. Komyo couldn’t help it, she covered her mouth with her sleeve to hide her laughter as the other young woman suddenly took off and bolted out of the crowd and down the avenue. She was tempted to call after her, but decided better of it as she turned and took a different path, not wanting her own dark scales to cause suspicion.

*Well done, cousin. Well done.*

CW: Drug use, sex

“When the theoretical properties of the metaphysical are sublimated into the factual reality of the religio-philosophical… Komyo!”

The half-xaela woman looked up from her notes. “Yes, sensei?”

“Are you paying attention?”

“Of course, sensei.”

“Hrmph.”

And on she droned, reading from a scroll so ancient it was probably written in the time of the gods. Komyo took extensive notes- but she also added in her own observations in the margins. Her mind whirled and spun like the astrolabes, flashes and sparks of ideas flying behind her eyes like distant stars. Practical application of the theoretical. The potential of applying Xaelic ritual and magic to Hingan rote geomancy. Blending magic, blending blood, thoughts clamoring constantly, constantly, constantly.

The class ended and Komyo was still scribbling away until the sensei’s frustrated harrumph startled her out of her thoughts and made her scramble to her feet. She bowed politely, the exact depth that one shows an honored elder, then she spun and hurried to her next class. She stopped on the way to drop into the kimono shop, the flower shop, the shop that sold hair ornaments. Her head filled with knowledge, filled with obligations, filled with names and faces and details. She asked after his wife. After her daughters. After his elderly parents. Filed away the answers in the constantly whirring machina of her mind.

Another class- chirurgeon skills this time. Anatomy. Physiology. The aetherical applications of surgery. The application of force to affect healing. Bones and sinew and serum and blood and guts and brains. Her head ached and her horns echoed with words that were rapidly starting to lose their meaning. She hadn’t eaten this morning. What time was it? Past noon, surely. Past that, the sun was beginning to set as her notes took on a shaky quality. She had to eat or she would do something embarrassing. She would pass out, or slur her words, or swing her tail and strike someone with the sharp spines as she struggled to keep her balance.

All the while, her head whirred and ticked and whirled. Theoretical. Practical. Astronomy. Anatomy. Aetherology. Dance. Song. Tea. Precision. Precision. Exacting precision.

Komyo rose from her last class and walked on unsteady feet out of the classroom, her dizzy head lowered. She needed food. Back to the markets, a street stall, the vendor recognizing her and offering her a skewer of takoyaki, liberally drizzled in sauce. She fumbled the payment out of the small pouch in her obi gratefully, not realizing she had tipped far too much.

The dizziness abated significantly as she ate and made her way down the avenue. Without the fuzziness of low blood sugar, the woman’s mind was back to it’s wild dance, it’s unceasing clamor. So much to learn, so much to do, so much to remember. It was the hairstylist’s birthday in a couple of suns, she would have to send sweets. The sweets vendor owed his monthly dues. She would have to bring Aki with her to ‘remind’ him. The vegetable merchant’s son had lost at dice, he was one to watch.

(Companion piece to This )

The dark-scaled, brown skinned young Au Ra woman was the only one like her in the dance class and the places around her were noticeably empty. The teacher at the front of the class did not care to correct this and so it remained the way of things, as it had been for years, now. It was shortly after dawn that the class began. Komyo, an older student at this point, knelt at the front with her fan laid on the tatami before her, so carefully and delicately placed that it would seem to be made of a material that would shatter if looked at too hard. She bowed, her fingertips lightly touching each other and barely touching the mat, her hair falling forward to obscure her face momentarily. Then she picked up her fan and rose gracefully to her feet. The music began, and she entered the steps of the dance.

As her body moved, her mind wandered.

Step, slide one foot before the other, tilt her head to the left-

Father and Akihito never returned home last night. It was unlike them- breakfast was usually a family affair.

Snap the fan open, the sound sharp and startling like a bird exploding from the brush. Raise the curved edge to her cheek and lower her lashes, averting crimson eyes away-

Something felt wrong. Something felt off. They would have sent word if they were going to be away for long. And she couldn’t feel Aki.

Step forward, bend at the knee, smooth and graceful. Let the edge of your sleeve brush the tatami before turning in a small circle, remaining bent, then rising and lifting the fan above your head, turning it in your hands then sweeping it down.

She couldn’t feel Aki. She could always feel Aki. Something was wrong.

The music picked up and Komyo moved with it, the steps exceptionally precise, every tilt of her head, gesture of her fingers, even the curve of her tail fitting the dance, telling a story. It was in the final steps that the world tilted suddenly and she swayed in place. Her fan clattered to the floor and the teacher’s attention snapped to her. The Hyuran woman snapped a sharp “Otome!” at Komyo, but she couldn’t hear it. The world was rocking, the earth had become unsteady, and it was all she could do to keep her feet planted and sway like a reed in the storm as her brother’s anguished scream echoed horribly in her head.