February 2000

Small spoilers for eps 30-33. 

Ghosts 

by murasaki



It had been a bitter winter that year. A heavy snow had fallen for days over Mt. Reikaku, 
obscuring the view of the valley for miles. Anyone unfamiliar with the area would never 
have known it was once the location of a bandit stronghold. The men had long since gone 
from the lonely mountain--all except for one. Hidden amongst the trees, high above 
where the bandits' had had their lair, sat a dilapidated house. A thin stream of smoke 
drifted lazily from the chimney, occasionally blown off course from its journey to the 
grey sky by a brutal gust of wind. Nightfall was approaching, and the hut's sole occupant 
was in the midst of making his dinner. 

An old man stood fussing over a small cauldron full of stew. He ladled the thick 
substance onto a metal plate and took it to the weatherbeaten table in the center of the 
room. His lithe figure had long since disappeared, and his hair, still as thick as ever, was 
more white than red now, but his golden eyes were still sharp. He regarded the simple 
room around him, a small smile playing over his lips. The house wasn't much, but he 
liked it there. His status as a Suzaku shichiseishi and his friendship with Konan's former 
ruler granted him the right to live in the palace, but the memories there were too painful. 
Not that the memories evoked by his secret hideout weren't--but here, he could remember 
the carefree, roguish life he lived as a boy, before destiny summoned him. 

His thoughts turned to those days, and suddenly he was young and strong and handsome 
once more, roaming the mountain with Kouji as if they were two forest gods. The 
happiness in eyes dimmed slightly when his old friend came to mind. He unconsciously 
brought his hand to his ear and touched the earring that dangled there. Its mate lay in an 
old grave just a few feet away from the house. "I thought we would be together even 
now, but you died a few weeks after we came back from the battle against Kutou. The 
day I buried you up here was the day I gave up the bandit life. And here I am, all those 
years later," he rasped, a wistful smile playing over his lips. "Che! Nothing we planned 
worked out, did it Kouji?"

He poured himself another cup of tea and carried his chair over to the fireplace, leaving 
the dirty dishes on the table for later. He fed a few more logs to the hungry flames and 
settled back in the chair. On the hearth before him, his old diamond tessen twinkled in the 
fire's glow, its gleam undimished with the years. He glanced at the enchanted fan over the 
rim of his cup. The most he used it for these days was to start the fire in the mornings. 

A half-forgotten image sifted through his memory, of a time when he and the seishi went 
to Hokkan. Someone wanted him to start a fire and he refused. Miaka? No, it wasn't her. 
His wizened features twisted in thought, then his eyes sparkled for an instant. It was 
him...Nuriko. He chuckled when he recalled that he ended up fanning him to keep him 
warm. How easily he had given in to his request! "Ah, Nuriko. I couldn't refuse you 
anything," he sighed fondly. His gaze drifted to the pegs on the other side of the chimney. 
Next to his coat hung a purple silk sash; the narrow strip of cloth was nearly in as good a 
shape as it had been the first time he'd ever seen it. He stood up and slipped it off the 
hook. The rich fabric gleamed gently in the firelight, reminding him of something else 
even lovelier, even softer. He fancied that he could still smell the spicy cologne the older 
man always wore in the cloth. "I remember when you bought this, Nuriko," he whispered, 
sliding his coarse, wrinkled hands over the smooth silk. "It was just before you went with 
Tamahome and Miaka to see his family that time. You said you couldn't resist a sash that 
matched your hair so perfectly." He laughed quietly. "And then you lost it. Or at least 
that's what you thought." A sly smirk crossed his lips at the memory, but it died just as 
quickly as it had appeared. "I'm glad I took it. I loved everyone in our little band of 
seishis, Nuriko, but I loved you most of all. I just wish I had told you."

Unable to stop the emotions welling inside him, he let himself indulge in a few quiet tears 
before berating himself. "What the hell are you doing, you moron?" he mumbled as he 
wiped his eyes. "Crying like a fool over a memory!" He hung the sash back up on its peg, 
suddenly feeling utterly exhausted. He stretched and yawned and walked back to the 
hearth, pushing the image of that sweetly smiling face to the back of his mind. After 
adding more logs to the fire and washing his face, he went to bed. "Oyasumi nasai, 
minna," he breathed as he nodded off into a dream. 

He was walking down an empty palace corridor, his bootheels clacking against the 
marble floor, the sharp sound echoing softly ahead of him. He rounded a corner and 
found a set of huge, golden doors directly ahead of him, from behind which the sounds of 
revelry emanated. Invisible hands flung them open just as he reached for the handles, and 
he stopped short of the threshold, blinking in surprise at the sight that met his eyes. In the 
middle of the room, seated around a finely laid table, were the seishi and their loved ones, 
laughing and talking, and completely oblivious to his presence. His surprise turned to 
awe, then joy. It had been so long since he had seen them, and he was desperate to join 
them, but he couldn't move. He tried to call out to them, but his voice was gone. All he 
could do was watch them helplessly. 

The dream vanished when he felt a tickling sensation on the end of his nose, followed by 
the fragrance of cloves. He twitched and swatted at his face, and the sensation ceased. 
Then the scent grew stronger and he heard a low, musical voice in his ear. "Tasuki-
chan?" 

The noise drove all thoughts of sleep away and opened his eyes. Half-concealed in the 
shadows by his bed stood a slight figure, and he bolted upright. Before he could speak, he 
heard the hiss of a lantern being lit, and his eyes widened as he gazed upon the person 
holding it. "Nuriko!" he exclaimed as he hurriedly climbed out of bed, wholly startled. 

Nuriko looked as beautiful as he did when they parted ways that fateful day in Hokkan--
only his hair was back in its familiar braid. He smirked at the bandit, his eyes full of 
mischief. "You took your time waking up, Tasuki-chan! Did you think you could sleep 
forever?" he gently scolded as he set the lantern down next to the dishes. "We've been 
waiting for you all this time."

"We?" 

His smiling face shone in the pale lamplight. "Chichiri, Kouji, and everyone else. Who 
did you think I meant?" he replied. 

Tasuki felt an intense pang in his chest when he saw that well-loved smile. "I've missed 
you all. I've missed you the most, Nuriko. There's so much I wish I'd told you." 

Nuriko went to him, his slippered feet moving soundlessly on the dirt floor. "I know, 
Tasuki. There are many things which need to be said, and we have an eternity in which to 
say them." 

"If only that were true!" Tasuki cried softly. He closed his eyes and raked a hand through 
his hair. "Wake up, Genrou! This isn't real!" he exclaimed in frustration, shaking his head 
as if to clear it. "Damn! Why do I keep having these dreams?"

Nuriko lay a finger to his lips to silence him, canting an look at the bandit through his 
long, dark bangs. "Why shouldn't a ghost dream of other ghosts?" 

Tasuki gave him a quizzical look, and Nuriko's merry laugh rang out. "You never were 
too quick to catch on," he said softly as he walked over to the hearth and picked up the 
tessen, admiring it for a moment in the reddish light before moving again to Tasuki's side. 
"It's time we were leaving now. I think you'll want to take this along," he suggested as he 
handed it to him. 

Nuriko padded to the now open doorway, and turned to grace him with a quick glance 
and another brilliant smile before he walked out the door. "After all, it's a very cold 
night."

~fin