Spellbound

*(2/6)

By Sakata Ri Houjun

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

Genrou awoke to silence.  There had to have been

something in the sake, he thought.  With a jolt, he

sat straight up, terrified.  And naked.

Surprise ran a swift race with embarrassment as he

imagined Houjun undressing him and getting him into

bed.  How had the smaller man carted him here?

His clothes, clean and dry, were folded neatly on an

old chest.  At least he didn’t expect him to run

around in his skin.  With some relief he reached

quickly for his jeans.

He felt better once they were zipped, then realized

that he felt more than better.  He felt wonderful.

Alert, rested, energized.  Whatever Houjun had given

him had rocked him into the solid, most restful sleep

he hadn’t experienced in weeks.  How long had he been

sleeping?

He went to the window to look out.  The view was

stunning.

He could see the rugged ground where the ruined temple

climbed; make out glints of stone where the sun

struck.  The ground tumbled away toward the road, and

then gave way to miles of green fields.  Houses were

tucked into valleys.  Trees twisted up, bent by years

of resisting the relentless wind.  And beyond all that

was a distant range of mountains, their peaks hidden

in the high clouds.

The sight swelled his artist’s heart.  The filtering

sun had softness, majesty he’d never seen anywhere

else.  He had to capture it.  He bolted out of the

room, down the steps and into the gentle sun.  He

grabbed his Nikon off the front seat of his car and

picked his position.

Houjun watched him from the temple ruins.  Such

energy.  Soon he would have questions that he would

have to answer.

He stepped to where a circle had been drawn across the

broken stone floor and stood in its center.  Power

tingled in his fingertips, but it was weak.  Raising

his arms to the sky, he began his chant.

Genrou could see Houjun though the ruins.  He was

beautiful, unearthly.  The language he spoke now

familiar from his dreams.  With unsteady hands, Genrou

lowered his camera.  Somehow he could see beyond the

words and into Houjun’s thoughts as clearly as if they

were written on a page.

Protect.  Defend.  The battle is nearly upon us.  Help

me.  Help him.

There was fear in his thoughts.  And it made Genrou

want to shield Houjun.  As he approached, the older

man’s eyes fixed on his.  He held up a hand quickly

before he could touch him.  “Don’t cross the circle,

no da.”

As he walked out of the circle, the wind that had

poured through his unbound hair gentled.

“Did you sleep okay, no da?” he asked as he combed

fingers through the unruly strands and began tying it

back.

Genrou’s eyes narrowed.  “What the fuck did you put in

my sake?”

“Nothing.”  He smiled at his camera.  “You’ve been

working.”

“Why did you strip me?”

“You’re clothes were damp, na no da.”  Houjun saw his

thoughts in his eyes and laughed.  “Genrou, I’ll not

deny that I looked.  But in truth, I prefer you being

awake and participating, no da.”

“I want some damn answers,” he said.

“Are you ready, no da?  I’ll tell you a story, Kou

Genrou.  A story of great love and great betrayal, of

power and lust.  One of magic, gained and lost.”

“I don’t want a story.  I want answers.”

“It’s the same, no da.  Once, long ago, this temple

was erected in honor of seven individuals, seven

shichisehi, who protected a miko and served a god of

fire.  At the end of a fierce war, only two of those

seishi remained.  Together, they protected a holy

relic known as the shinzaho that had been placed in

this very temple.”

Houjun walked toward curving stone steps and began to

climb.  Genrou followed.  He could see that some of

the stones were blackened, as if form a great fire. 

Laying a hand on one, he swore he could still feel

heat.

“One was a monk who was quiet and reserved and wielded

great magic.  The other was a bandit who had an

immense love of life that could not be quelled.  He

was as wild as the fire he controlled.  The bandit

left frequently because he was still young, but always

returned to the temple and his duty. “

Houjun walked across a wide parapet to a stone rail

that stood overlooking the hill, presenting Genrou

with an even better view that he had seen from the

bedroom.

“Years passed and the bandit found himself caught in a

battle during one of his adventures.  He was gravely

wounded.”

Gently he traced a fingertip on Genrou’s thigh.  The

redhead forced himself not to think about the

hallucination he’d had while driving toward this

place.

“He was weary when he finally arrived here.  The monk

tended his wound and in the end gave him his heart as

well.  The bandit offered back his own.  They were all

to each other from that moment.  The monk was known as

Chichiri, and the bandit’s name  was Tasuki.  Their

hearts were linked.

“They loved each other, and pledged one to the other,”

he continued.  “But the bandit still ventured out.  A

demon named Mikuni attempted to lure Chichiri away

from Tasuki.   She lusted after the monk, his body,

heart, soul, and his power as well, for Chichiri was

strong.  She ventured into his dreams, thought to

seduce him, but he spurned her.”

Houjun’s fingers tightened on the stone.  “Her anger

was immense.  She set to kill the man Chichiri loved. 

Mikuni planted seeds of doubt, hints of betrayal in

Tasuki’s sleeping mind.  She gave him visions of

Chichiri wrapped in another’s arms.  And with those

images tormenting him, Tasuki rode back to the temple

to accuse him.

“Chichiri was proud,” Houjun said after a moment. 

“They argued bitterly, tempers ruling over their

hearts.  It was then that Mikuni attacked.  She’d

waited for the moment when the lovers hurled pain at

each other.  Mikuni struck Tasuki down so that his

blood ran through the stones of this temple and into

the ground.”

Tears glinted in Houjun’s eyes.  “Chichiri’s grief

blinded him, but he cast a circle quickly, fighting to

save his lover.  He knew his wound was mortal, but

refused to accept.

“The walls of this place rang with evil demon’s power.

 In the circle, weak and dying, Tasuki reached for his

weapon and called upon his fire to vanquish the demon

and save Chichiri.  In his heart he called for

Chichiri, understanding now his betrayal and foolish

pride.  His name was on Tasuki’s lips as he died.”

Houjun sighed, closing his eyes briefly.  “Chichiri

was lost without him.  Mikuni wanted to take him,

willing or not.  With the last of his strength, he

picked up the bandit’s body and stumbled out of the

protection of the  circle and into the flames.  He

made a vow before he died.  He swore his abiding love

for Tasuki.  For a thousand years and more, he would

wait.

“The god he served was impressed with the strength of

his love and granted Chichiri that wish, one that

would reunite him with Tasuki.  That way, they could

fight Mikuni as one.  If their hearts were strong,

they would defeat her.  But such wishes have a price,

and this price was to vow that if Tasuki did not stand

with him, he would belong to Mikuni.”

Genrou waited a moment, surprised that he found the

story hypnotic.  Studying Houjun, he said, “Romantic

nonsense.”

He shook his head.  “Can you look at me, hear me, and

remember nothing?”

“You want me to believe I’m the reincarnation of a

bandit and you’re the reincarnation of a monk?”  He

let out a short laugh.  “We’ve waited a millennium and

now we’re going to do battle with the damn wicked

witch of the West?”

Houjun stopped directly in front of him.  “You can see

for yourself that I’m not without power, no da.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”  He started to turn.

“Hold!”  Houjun drew in a breath, and Genrou’s feet

were cemented to the spot.  Though his hand was

trembling with the effort, he smiled.  “See?”

“What is this?”

“Proof, if you’ll take it, no da.”  He reached out his

hand.  “I’ve called you in the night, Genrou, but you

wouldn’t hear me.  Can you look at me and deny it, no

da?”

“No, but I don’t want any of this shit.”

“I can’t make you want anything.  I can only make you

see.”  He swayed suddenly, surprising them both.

Genrou swept him up into his arms and carried him down

and away from the temple.  Houjun wound his arms

weakly around the redhead’s neck.  His mouth was close

to his, already softly parted in invitation.  Genrou

felt his muscles quiver.  If he was caught in a dream,

it was more vivid than any he had had before.