Echoes III By Moonlight He stood alone, in a field where the grasses were stained silver-blue-green by moonlight. Light winds ruffled the tall blades, causing them to wave gently, brushing against his legs in feather-like, ticklish caresses that made his flesh shiver in involuntary reaction. The same breezes slid through his hair, cool, gentle touches that dried the sweat forming in the slight humidity. There was something vaguely familiar about this place, but he couldn’t place the sensation, couldn’t remember anything specific about this place. There had been many fields in his life, most the scene of a battle, where he had fought to retain ownership of some item - perhaps food, perhaps jewelry, perhaps his very life - others, the scene of partings and meetings that he could no longer remember clearly. He stood there, lost in thought, watching the thin silver veils of clouds drift over the moon. There was quiet rustling sound behind him, and he whirled, his hand instinctively touching his hair, drawing through the silky red locks and drawing free his prized weapon, snapping the full blossom into the spiny whip that had saved his life so many times. Uneasily, he waited, expecting an enemy to appear, someone who would challenge him to a fight he didn’t want, or need, at the moment. The grasses rustled again, and he frowned, his eyes narrowing, probing the silver-tinged brush. Briefly, he cursed the weakness of his human eyes, as thousands of dancing shadows, created by the wind stirring grasses and tree branches, distracting him from his task. Many times, he would turn his head, trying to confront a moving figure, only to discover a trick of nature, the plant life seeming to mock him as they writhed around him, dazzling his eyes and confusing him. He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes and shaking his head as he attempted to clear his thoughts. Then, he heard his name, whispered in a voice he had always adored listening to, that voice ... the single word was a verbal caress, saying thousands of things with the tone by itself, a disbelieving brush of air that sang upon his nerves and buried itself in his heart. He turned, slowly, both hopeful and worried of what - who - he would find, waiting for him. There was no mistaking that slender, small form; there was no mistaking the crimson glitter of the figure’s eyes when moonlight threaded her silver arrows across the other’s face. He felt his knees go weak; he heard a small, sharply indrawn breath, one he wasn’t sure was his - or that of his seemingly impassive lover. All he knew was that somehow, impossibly, Hiei was there, standing before him, his you-ki a barely-veiled presence, flesh and blood that would not dissolve like any other fantasy. He dropped the whip almost instantly, reaching out with a shaking hand, trying to touch his lover, to assure himself of the small fire demon’s presence. “Hiei ...” he choked the name out, his voice soft and hoarse with strain. “Is - it is you, isn’t it ... ?” The words were more of a breathy prayer than a question as he leaned forward, fingers lightly brushing against the dark folds of cloth that Hiei wore. “Please, it has to be you ...” He was pleading with himself, with Inari, with any deity who could hear him. His hands fluttered, butterfly movements that ghosted to touch his lover’s arms, to close over the solid warmth, staring straight ahead of him with a glassy, blank look. Before he could register movement, two warm palms were cupping his face, holding it, tilting it upwards, into the moonlight, and into Hiei’s face. Those eyes were fired rubies, sparkling with a fey gleam that had nothing to do with the softly deceptive silver light of the moon. The beginnings of a smile edged and quirked the fine lips, changing the habitually stoic face into something else, something less defined, but nonetheless pure. “Kurama.” The deep voice said his name, caressed it, conveyed a thousand buried feelings with the single word. He wanted to reply, opened his mouth to say something, anything, to babble any of a dozen varying thoughts, but paused when gentle fingers pressed his lips shut, indicating the desire for silence. He obeyed, worshipful, lifting his hands hesitantly, settling them comfortably on his lover’s hips. They swayed there, lost in silence and moonlight, neither saying a word. Something crossed Hiei’s face and he frowned, shaking his head slightly, but held up a hand when Kurama started to rise, leaning forward to press his lips to the redhead’s brow. His voice was a ragged whisper as he spoke, and it hurt some deeply-seated portion of Kurama’s soul to hear the pain-tinged grief in his Koorime’s voice. “Kurama ... are you okay? Are you even alive?” Kurama blinked at the question, frowning as he pulled away to stare directly into the red eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Of course I’m alive ... I wouldn’t be here, if I wasn’t.” He smiled at the last part, taking the teasing sting out of his words, unsure of how his lover would react. He pulled Hiei closer, wrapping his arms loosely around the slender waist, resting his chin on Hiei’s sternum. “And, even if I weren’t alive,” he held up a hand to delay the jab of hurt he saw, “I would never leave you. You’re stuck with me, dearheart. Forever.” There was a suspicious sparkle in Hiei’s eyes, as he bent to kiss Kurama again. “Good. That’s all I wanted to know ...” he murmured, then released Kurama’s face, pulling away. He ignored the protest, tossing a fond look over his shoulder as he began to walk away, his small form illuminated by the moonlight. “I’ll be waiting for you, when you come home,” he said quietly, then vanished into the silver night. Kurama cocked his head to one side, bewildered, somewhat hurt by his lover’s sudden departure. The wind picked up again, sending his red hair sparking around his face, and in preoccupied annoyance, he swiped at it, pushing it from his eyes and face. He shivered in sudden cold, as the breeze became icy, whispering over exposed skin, drawing it tight, into goose flesh. Hiei had been acting so strange ... he had never know the fire demon to be so obvious in his concern, to ask such strange questions, to be so open with his feelings ... what had he meant, asking Kurama if he were still alive ... ? “Ojisan?” He blinked, turning around, searching for the source of that voice. It was lighter, feminine, almost unfamiliar, nagging at his memory. It came again, louder, more insistent, and from a high point. He stood, looking upwards, and saw, in the silver-laced black of the nighttime sky, a pair of intensely blue eyes looking at him. He started, jumping back, before realization dawned. “Chibi-hana?” “Ojisan, wake up!” Kurama blinked rapidly, inhaling deeply, feeling as if though he had literally fallen back into his body. Kuraihana was leaning over him, somewhat concerned, a small, white-wax candle clutched in one hand, the other resting on his forehead with a light, cool touch. Her blue eyes were wide, concerned, watching as he blinked and tried to regain his senses. “Are you all right? The dorei said you weren’t dreaming, but you were reacting like someone caught in a dream ...” her hand left his brow, and she sat back, allowing him room to move. He rolled to his side to stare at her, blinking widely. “I think I agree with the dorei, chibi-hana,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I was dreaming. The whole thing might sound cliché, but it was ... what I saw ... it was just too *real* to be a dream. Everything was too clear to be just a working of my mind.” He looked up at her, meeting slightly disbelieving blue eyes with calm, certain green ones. “I know it sounds strange to you, chibi-hana, and as a healer, it probably should. But it was not a dream.” He sat up then, hugging his knees to his chest and staring blankly before him. “Hiei was there, and I felt his presence; not just his you-ki, but also him. It’s something I can’t explain to you until you fall in love.” He looked up again, serious. “Because when you find someone else, someone who fits you so perfectly that you never wish to let him or her go, when you find your other half, you’ll understand.” Kuraihana remained quiet, digesting his words. “Hai, ojisan,” she said finally, uncertainly. “I don’t understand, but I’ll trust your judgment. Go back to sleep.” She rose to her feet, picking up the candle and pressing him back into a prone position with her free hand, smiling gently at his almost childish confusion. “It’s relatively early - the sun just rose an hour ago,” she told him with a wink, raising the candle to her lips, pursing them and blowing the tiny flame out. “So go back to sleep.” The door slid shut, and he was alone in the graying darkness. Kurama let a small huff, closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax, to slip into the light unconsciousness of sleep ... Yukina crumbled the bread in her palms and scattered the crumbs across the ground, smiling happily as the fat little birds she had befriended during her stay in the Ningenkai came hopping up to her, almost waddling, their movements clumsy and jerky as they fought for a choice piece. She sat back on her haunches, laughing slightly as one fluffed himself into a round ball of pale gray feathers and white fuzz, only his scaly yellow legs and round, red-rimmed eyes indicating that there was a living bird inside that mass. She leaned forward, holding out her hand, cooing softly, and it hopped closer cautiously, scuttling onto her finger, gripping lightly with black claws. She laughed, lightly running the tip of her index finger through the impossibly fine, powder-like feathers of the bird’s head. She was about to say something to the bird, perhaps scolding him for his rude manners, when she felt the presence of someone familiar approaching - someone she hadn’t expected to see for a very long time. Instantly, she had shaken the disgruntled bird off, ignoring it’s high squeaks for protest, and turned, one hand gripping itself into a fist, resting lightly over her throat. She didn’t see anyone, though she strained her eyes hopefully, trying to catch a glimpse of black, the glitter of sunlight off a white thatch of hair. She was beginning to doubt her own senses, when he stepped out of the shadows, a dark angel revealing himself to the unworthy mortal. Without another thought to the birds that had gathered around her feet, she jumped up, running to him, stopping just short of touching him. Hiei-oniisan had never been very comfortable with physical displays of affection, she had noted, even when it came to Kurama. She contented herself with looking at him, noting the bruised lines that had marred his face the last she had seen him were darker now, more pronounced. The smallest of reassuring smiles quirked his mouth, but still she was concerned, reaching out to touch his arm lightly, noting with surprise that he didn’t shy away, like he had in the dark week before he had left her. Instead, he reached up, catching her hand in his own. “Yukina,” he said softly, the grim tone that had haunted his voice for so long vanished. He sounded like his old self - and, at the same, different - happier, as if several burdens had been lifted from his mind. “I need your help; your knowledge of dreams. What can you tell me about them?” There was an almost desperate hope in his eyes, a light that was so bright it was nearly painful to look upon. Yukina dropped her gaze, staring at their feet, her brow furrowing in thought. “I’m afraid ... I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you, oniisan,” she said unhappily. “I’m not a mindhealer, you know. But I do know that they can, at times, predict the future.” “Is it possible for two people to share the same dream?” “I -” she paused, thoughtful. “I suppose so,” she said uncertainly. “If those two people had a spiritual connection, like twins, or ...” she paused, looking up, comprehension dawning, “... soul mates.” Abruptly, she slid her hands free of his, grasping his arms loosely above the elbows. “What are you trying to tell me? That you saw Kurama-san? Is he okay? Is he even alive?” The questions spilled from her lips in a desperate hope, fanned by the reckless gleam in his eyes. “Oniisan!” He gently shook her hands off of him, bowing his head slightly, the small smile growing somewhat. “I won’t say it is true,” he murmured, more to himself and the plants around them than to her, “but I saw Kurama. I know I did. He promised me -” he turned to look at her, his face unusually soft and unguarded, “he promised me that we would always be together, always and forever.” He closed his eyes, starting to walk away. “He’s not dead, Yukina. I can feel it.” With that, her brother was gone again, and she was alone. Yukina clasped her hands, almost as if in prayer, staring at the spot where he had been standing. Too much to hope for, to ask for, and it left her feeling lightheaded and giddy. She was almost dancing as she returned to her former position, kneeling and coaxing the annoyed birds from their treetop perches. Her laughter echoed with the bird songs, the first real sound of happiness she had made in a long, long time. Yo-mawari pulled the strip of black cloth tightly around the gash in his arm, muttering darkly to himself as he watched the innkeeper enter the room, followed closely by the healer as she knelt beside his unconscious challenger and set to work. The fight had been a relatively quick and easy little thing, Yo-mawari’s greater age and experience besting the boasting youkai’s meager skills. Except for the lucky hit that resulted in his now-throbbing arm, he had emerged unscathed. He hadn’t meant to let the taunting get to his head, to win over his better judgment, but somehow, he had found himself half-drunk and attacking the foul-mouthed youkai who had been slurring beside him. Now that the fool was out cold, and the influence of the sake had worn off, he regretted his actions, but it was too late; there was no way to go back in time, to undo actions or change the course of history. If only there was. Then, maybe, he wouldn’t be in this smelly, run-down place, set adrift by the loss of his brother and master, with only himself and the little shuriken-like youkai for company. He sighed heavily, then tugged on the ends of the bandage. The circulation was starting to cut off, flushing the skin bright red, but he ignored it, picking slightly at the tight cloth. Slim white hands danced into his vision, settling on his wounded arm, and he jerked, more out of surprise than any real pain, looking up into a pair of bright, serious blue eyes. The healer was watching him intently, ignoring the single, thin braid of dark hair that swung before her azure gaze, concern dancing in the vibrant depths. “They didn’t say you were hurt,” the girl told him quietly, tugging at the makeshift bandage. “Let me see that.” He almost protested, but froze at the icy gleam in her eyes, then silently held his arm out for her to see. With quick, efficient movements, she had picked the tiny knot apart and was unwrapping the bandage from the gash. He let out a small hiss at the pain; blood rushed back in to fill compressed veins, making his arm tingle as if on fire. The healer’s hands were almost frigid to the touch as she lightly probed her fingers around the cut, forcing a few dark droplets of blood to seep from the scabbing wound. She dug around in the brown canvas sack lying harmlessly by her feet, emerging with a small roll of clean bandages of white cloth and a small, metal canister that smelled of medicinal herbs. “That was a very stupid thing you did back there ... ah ... ?” she turned her statement into a question, glancing up at his face with inquisitive blue eyes. It took him a few moments to realize what she was asking, shaking his head to clear it of the remaining fog that the alcohol had drawn across his brain. “Yo-mawari desu,” he mumbled, somehow slightly uncomfortable under her stare, dropping his gaze to look at his arm. “You - ?” “Kuraihana,” she answered calmly, crumbling his makeshift bandage into a ball and dropping it, reaching instead to dab the blood and sweat from the injury, the green-gray salve rubbing into his skin, drawing another small sound of pain from his throat. It stung, like a thousand bees, the involuntary pain of medicine. After a few minutes, she wrapped a fresh white bandage around his arm, tightly, but not as badly as he had done before, with a professional flair that far outstripped his own meager medical prowess. He pulled his arm back in, twisting it a little, feeling the subtle tautness and strength of the wrap, silently nodding approval. He looked up, watching Kuraihana from the under the black fringe of his bangs, watching as she gathered up her supplies, noting the long, puckered scar that ran down the glossy black length of her left wing. For a brief moment, he idly wondered what idiot would be foolish enough to raise a blade against a healer, when she turned, meeting his gaze with her strange blue eyes. He could feel himself blushing, turning a shade of pale pink that stood out brightly against his black hair and dark clothing. Dropping his eyes, he missed her amused smile as she stood, tossing a look at the disgruntled innkeeper and the unconscious youkai she had been tending to before. “He’ll be fine, Okane-san,” she said cheerfully. “Just an awful headache, stiffness, and some bruises that he’ll regret later. In a few weeks, he’ll be back to guzzling your sake and insulting your patrons again.” She smiled whimsically, easily catching the tiny, jingling leather pouch the scowling youkai tossed at her, then left the room, her slippered feet making no sound on the rough floor. Yo-mawari refused to look up until he heard the door close, then shook himself, surprised. There had been something eerily familiar about the girl’s appearance - he had vague recollections of Kurama telling him of another youkai, one much like the healer, with long, straight black wings and the elf-pointed ears ... but that was it. He shrugged, wincing as tensed muscles protested the movement, then heaved himself to his feet. He stalked past the growling innkeeper, uncaring of the youkai’s evil glare, escaping up the stairs, going through his room and entering the cool solitude of the night. He closed his eyes, tilting his face upwards, allowing the coolness of the oncoming evening breezes and the fiery, dying light of the setting sun to ease his temper, soothe his troubled nerves. It felt nice, out here, alone, as if he were the only living being for miles, lost in his own private world. In his relaxed state, he could almost feel a smile starting to quirk his lips, when - :Help ...: a voice whispered in his mind. Startled, he looked around; he was alone in the darkening evening. The sun had long since set, and the round edge of the moon was peering from the ever-distant line of the horizon. The voice had been very real, though, and the sound of it still echoed in his mind. Suspicious, he drew his katana, ready for attack. “Who’s there?!” he called loudly, a command, in a tone that few could easily disobey. Years of experience as the Watchman of Yomatsu’s borders warned him of possible magic, a hallucinating drug to distract him, allowing his enemy to attack while he was distracted. “Who’s there?” he snapped again. :Help ... kyodai ... please ...: There was no mistaking the voice that time. Yo-mawari jerked up, stiff and upright, disbelieving at what he heard. He was aware that he was shaking slightly, but he couldn’t help it. That voice ... “Where are you?” he shouted to the nighttime sky, hearing his voice come back to him, mocking him with the echoes of the question. Frustrated, he sheathed his katana, turning in several circles as he looked around, desperate. “How do I know I’m not dreaming this?” he asked himself irritably, feeling worry gnaw at his heart like a living being. He started to call his brother’s name, when the mental touch came again, softer now, weaker. :This way ... under the moon ... mei-chan’s home ...: The voice trailed off, and his mind was bombarded by a set of images, showing him the way to the voice’s source better than any map would. :Hurry ...: came the whisper as the mental touch faded, leaving him alone in the night. No time to think, just react. In a smooth, easy jump, he had leapt from the jutting porch, landing on the ground with a light thud, ignoring the small jab of pain from his arm. He took off at a run, brushing rudely past a few newcomers to the inn, throat dry as he pushed himself faster, harder, bolting across the fields of gently-waving silver-tinged yellow grass. In his mind, he could still see the pictures his brother had sent, the guide that showed him the way; he could hear the reedy, rapidly fading whisper of Kurama’s voice as the mental touch dissipated entirely. It took only a few minutes - ten, at the most - to find the place. At first, he saw nothing - just the trees and grasses, and the bright moon, which illuminated everything with an eerie golden-silver light, changing what would have been a familiar scene into something ethereal, normal colors blended out into a shifting kaleidoscope of strange hues. He began to feel somewhat foolish, as if his depression and guilt had driven him to hallucination, and began to turn away ... And then, he felt it - the lightest, brushing presence of you-ki, familiar to him as his own. He tore through the field, searching, drawing worriedly on the feeling that was wavering in and out of his senses. “Kyodai!” he bellowed, his voice ringing through the stillness of the night. “Where are you?!” There was no answer, and he stood, breathing hard, feeling his eyes sting, the precursors to tears. He dashed them away and turned in a full circle, several times, confused, dazed, upset ... “Yo-mawari!” He whirled, hand moving instinctively to his katana until he recognized both the newcomer’s you-ki and voice. Relief coursed through him, making his shoulders slump, the adrenaline of the moment dying down, leaving him feeling drained. “Meijin ...” he whispered the word, staring at the small, black-cloaked figure who stood before him. “You felt it as well?” Hiei nodded, a sharp, quick movement, his red eyes darting across the field, before finally coming to rest on a large oak tree that stood, somewhat apart from it’s fellows, near the far end of the plain. In an instant, he was off again, dashing towards it at breakneck speed. Yo-mawari jerked himself to attention, following as best he could, watching as Hiei unsheathed his katana, bellowing a curse; as five dark figures ran from the scene; as Hiei dropped to his knees besides the two figures who lay under the tree’s spreading, green-gold branches. He drew closer, and then pulled himself to a sharp halt, staring in disbelief. The dark ground under his feet was stained even darker, shining with the dampness of blood. Some of the grass blades that wove around them were bloody, as well, and he swallowed a small shock of revulsion as his eyes moved to rest on the two victims of the fight, lying still under the tree. The girl - Kuraihana - was semiconscious, her blue eyes blank and dilated, staring blankly at him. Beside her, cradled in Hiei’s arms, his fiery head bowed, was ... was ... Yo-mawari took a deep breath, urging himself not to cry out, not to do anything rash, and slowly approached the three of them, holding up his hand in a pacifying gesture as Hiei’s head snapped up, red eyes wild, full of anger and grief, eyes that didn’t recognize him for a tense few seconds. Then, Hiei bowed his head, and returned to shaking Kurama lightly, muttering things that only the limp redhead could possibly hear. Yo-mawari knelt beside Kuraihana, who seemed to be fully coming around, and touched her arm. “Hey,” he said quietly, his tone soothing. “What happened?” She jerked, letting out a startled shrill, one that grated painfully on his ears. He winced, covering them, then cautiously reached out for her again. “Hello?” In a sudden, rapid motion, her blue eyes widened, then dropped to a more comfortable width, focusing on him. “Yo-mawari-san ... ?” she asked in a hoarse little voice, her hand ghosting out to touch his arm, then clutching at it in a desperate gesture. “Ojisan! Is he all right? Please tell me they didn’t kill him!” she babbled, shaking him slightly. “Is Kurama-ojisan all right?” Yo-mawari hesitantly gripped the girl’s shoulders, giving her one good, hard shake that snapped her head back like a rag doll. For a moment, she just sat there, still holding his arms, her head bowed, then looked up, still somewhat afraid, but also, at the same time, calmed. She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze. “Gomen ... but I was worried. Still am,” she murmured. Sapphire eyes flashed upwards. “Kurama-ojisan is all right, isn’t he?” “I -” he spared a quick glance to Hiei, who met the unspoken question evenly, giving a slight nod before glancing back at Kurama, tenderly stroking the soft white cheek. “He’s fine.” Yo-mawari turned to look at her. “What the hell happened here?” Kuraihana took a deep breath. “Well - I don’t know, exactly. Kurama-ojisan insisted that he wanted to leave; he wanted to go home, now. I tried to warn him he wasn’t ready to leave; he wasn’t fully healed yet - but he insisted.” She shuddered briefly, more from the cold than anything else, and he shrugged out of his coat, draping it around her thin shoulders. She smiled thinly, nodding her thanks before continuing. “I was worried about him - he really isn’t ready for traveling - so I told him that, if he had to leave, I would come with him - at least until I knew he was safe.” She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Safe! We didn’t even make it past my own territory before we were attacked. I suppose it was the same gang who dropped him on my doorstep, five weeks ago, come to collect their prisoner, but I don’t know. I do know they were fighters, and damn good ones, as well. Times like this, I wish I’d actually taken up on Kurama-ojisan’s offer to teach me how to fight.” She shook her head, sending her braids whispering across her face. “They were fast; I’ll give them that - they seemed to know I couldn’t fight back, so they concentrated on Kurama, first.” She shuddered. “He fought back, at first, but once they knocked his whip from his hands, he was helpless. They would’ve killed him, if you two hadn’t shown up. When they heard your voice, they ran - but not before tossing me against this tree.” She pulled herself painfully to her feet, swaying lightly. “Who’s that?” she asked, suddenly, pointing to Hiei. Hiei looked up, meeting her gaze impassively, before returning to his minute study of Kurama’s fine features, stroking the back of his fingers across the smooth rise of one cheek. Yo-mawari smiled, despite himself, putting his hands on Kuraihana’s shoulders and pulling her away. “That’s my little meijin,” he explained, turning the girl and himself so they faced away from the tender scene. “He’s Kurama’s lover.” “Oh.” Kuraihana’s blue eyes widened briefly, then became thoughtful. “I see.” She looked at him sharply. “Can you two get him home safely?” Yo-mawari came to a stop, taking the girl’s face in his hand and forcing her to look him straight in the eyes. “I,” he stated firmly, “would rather die than allow anything to happen to my brother, meijin, or their happiness together. Put your faith in that, little healer. If you can’t believe that Meijin would throw himself before the blade meant for Kurama, believe that *I* would.” She nodded, mute, then glanced sidelong at the two lovers. “I think I should leave now,” she whispered, gesturing. She started to slip into the shadows, then paused, her blue eyes twinkling cobalt fire in the strange light of the moon. “Take care of them,” she ordered, then vanished. He watched her leave, lifting a hand in a silent salute. “Hai. I will.”