"Heero."
"Yes?" His voice echoed. It sounded strangely hollow, even to his ears. His eyes were wide open, and he couldn't see anything but white all around him. It wasn't a cold white, it felt warm, cozy even, peaceful. "Where am I?"
"You're in bed, silly."
How could he be in bed? Wasn't he standing just a moment before? Tilting his head, Heero could see the frame of the bed, as white as his entire surroundings; it was minimal, as if someone had drawn a fine line with a soft pencil. He didn't understand it. The warmth he was feeling… blankets? Covers? He felt more like he was bathing, enveloped in warm, soothing water.
A light caught his gaze. A sparkling light, captivating, reflecting all kinds of light: soft purple, lilac, magenta, warm yellow, a little bit of green and blue… it was so beautiful and intense at the same time, that he wanted to cry. How could it be possible to see so much beauty and be unmoved? He wanted to touch it.
"Not yet, my love."
He looked up. Duo was standing at the foot end of his bed. He looked ethereal, his hair loose and the long strands gently flowing in a warm gust of wind. Dressed in all white, he was an angel, his violet eyes staring at him with love, passion and care. Longing, Heero reached for him. The smile on Duo's face faltered, turning into a bittersweet expression and he closed his eyes for a moment.
"Duo?" He never wore his hair loose like this. Even in Heero's presence he always kept it braided or pulled back. His mother had taught him how to braid it. Helen Maxwell… strange that he remembered Duo's mother's name, right now, at this moment. Heero turned his head a little, looking at the strange light. It had taken a shape of a crescent moon. What was it? Why couldn't he keep his eyes off of it?
"How I wished you were mine," a soft sigh, a whispered gust of breath that reached him, caressing his ears. He could hear him perfectly even though Duo's lips hadn't moved. "But you're not mine at all. You're not my Inochigami."
Heero's body convulsed. The warmth and the peaceful state of his surroundings rippled with sudden fear. Shinigami? Now he understood what the crescent moon shape was, and the next second he saw the carved, wooden handle adorned with the mythical signs. It was a scythe.
"Please," he whispered.
"Don't be afraid." His eyes were violet, but the love in it wasn't meant for him. The black outline of his pupils was an endless dark, a primal force, existing since the birth of the Earth. "I'm not sorry, Heero Yuy. There's no place for you in my realm yet." A voice like Duo, so familiar, so warm, yet so creature-like and otherworldly. Heero was reaching for him, his arms were moving on their own, reaching for death as it promised warmth and happiness, not cold and hopelessness.
"You're safe."
"I'm safe," he repeated, the fear completely gone and replaced by bliss.
"Safe. You is safe." Shinigami's voice changed, suddenly adorning a heavy accent. "You is safe, sir."
Heero shook his head, eyes closed, a frown marring his face. Something was wrong. That voice wasn't like anything he heard before and he opened his eyes, gasping loudly. He was staring at a dark ceiling with wooden support beams. Right next to him was an old, bald man, his wrinkles visible in the light of many oil lamps and candles. He was sitting cross-legged at Heero's bedside, holding a mug of hot tea in his hands. He was wearing a chuba, a warm, ankle-length robe bound around the waist by a long sash.
The old man smiled a toothless smile at him. "You is safe," he repeated.
"Safe… where's Duo?" His voice came out raspy.
"Duo are safe," the monk said. "He not suffer. Good clothes, good stamina. Not like you. Sickness," the man pointed a bony finger to the ceiling. "Height. Cold."
"I…"
"You rest." The man's voice didn't leave any room for protest. He held the mug of tea close to Heero's lips. "Here. Drink."
The liquid was scorching hot and extremely salty to the taste; as soon as Heero sipped, he spat it back out again. The elderly man calmly pulled a piece of cloth out of his chuba and whipped Heero's mouth clean. Before he put it back again, Heero was lost in unconsciousness, but this time it was a warm, comforting and healing sleep.
"You is awake."
Heero blinked. The old man was still sitting beside his bed, cross-legged. He seemed to be amused, the smile firmly dancing on his lips.
"You is strong."
"I… thank you." Heero didn't know what else to say. The scented candles gave off a strange perfume that he couldn't identify. He blinked again, his eyes not used to dim light.
"Feel better?"
"I want to see Duo."
"Of course, of course." With surprising ease, the man unfolded his legs and got up quick, reaching out his hand to help Heero up. The woolly blankets slid off of his body, and he realized with a shock that he was naked. Not disturbed in the least, the elderly man picked up a stack of clothes and handed it to Heero. It was a chuba just like the man's, who had to be a monk, or so Heero presumed. His bald shaven head was an indication, but he didn't dare to bring it up as he was afraid to offend the man. The monk had no trouble helping Heero with the traditional garment, leaving the right shoulder and arm free. He finished tightening the belt and after Heero donned sheepskin high boots, he noticed that the monk was barefoot. The room they were in was empty, except for the bed and a small table with some pottery on it. Heero still felt a little light-headed, but it wasn't from the altitude sickness; he was confused about everything: where he was, where Duo was, what had happened since he had jumped out of the Cessna, where was his laptop…the monk stood still in the door opening, his hands folded and he bowed slightly to Heero.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Sorry about what?" Heero asked, not-understanding.
"Heero Yuy, come with me." Another monk motioned for him, but the contrast between him and his fellow monk couldn't be greater. This wasn't a monk dedicated to prayer and studies. He was tall, bald shaven, and muscular. He didn't wear the traditional chuba, but a white, cotton shirt and dark red pants along with leather high boots. A few long knives stuck in the belt of his pants, and from the look on his face, he knew exactly how to use them.
"It's not our usual way to wear weapons in public, Heero Yuy," he said. "My name is Tsering Wangdu. Please follow me. You can walk?"
"I'm okay," Heero said, though his knees buckled just a little. "How long was I out?"
"Three days. You're lucky to have survived, but Duo already told us that you were a tough one. Nature is unforgiving, especially when you tread her without permission."
"Excuse me?"
Tsering didn't smile or jest. He only jerked his head into the direction of a large hallway. "How well-versed are you in Buddishm?"
"Not very well."
"I'm not going to explain it to you all. But we believe that everything has a meaning, and everything has a heart and a presence. Mother Nature is a strict mistress. You should've asked her permission before treading upon her."
"We were shot out of the sky," Heero answered irritably.
"I know. Your friend is praying for forgiveness. We'll find him in the Great Hall."
Duo, praying? Heero decided against commenting and focused instead on keeping up with the monk's firm pace. He had quite the difficulty to think of this man as a monk. Didn't Buddhism revolve around peace and forgiveness? Why was he wearing those knives so obviously in sight? It would be a big mistake to assume he was 'just' a monk; he had to be a formidable fighter. Heero was at his guard, taking in his new surroundings. The floor was covered with tiles that had the color of the Himalayas; dark blue, with snowy white and sky blue speckles. The walls were wainscoted, much to Heero's surprise; he wondered what kind of wood the monks had used. The butter lamps provided dim light, enough to make out mandalas on the sparsely decorated walls; the art was breathtaking, the vibrant colors not being done justice by the light. Interspersed with the mandalas were large prayer wheels mounted on the walls, available for every monk to take and use them. The reverence of this monastery was audible, visible and tangible; Heero slowed down as he didn't want to surpass Tsering's pace.
"We respect the silence," Tsering suddenly spoke. "Respect the silence as well, Heero Yuy."
"You talk a lot about respect while carrying weapons," Heero shot back before he could help himself. The monk wasn't offended, more so, he showed a smile.
"You have the right to speak your mind, and I will answer as I see fit. Like I said before, it's not our usual way to wear weapons in public. If you pay attention, you will see many of my brothers scorn me just because I wear these knives on me. However, it has been proven through history that it has become necessary to defend ourselves."
"Defend from what?" Heero's curiosity was piqued.
"Your friend will answer," Tsering said, halting in front of a carved door. Lowering his voice, he continued: "Any friend of Duo Maxwell is my friend. Now be silent, and just watch."
Some way or the other, Tsering managed to open the door soundlessly. It was dark inside the room, and Heero had to get used to the ocean of candle light that lit up in front of him. Soft humming, as in a chant, was the only sound to be heard - as if shocked, Heero touched his own ears. He could hear at least fifteen different voices, no matter how harmonious the chant. Om mani padme hum, over and over again, in a beautiful yet strange hypnotizing rhythm, and it wasn't until Tsering moved to the right that Heero's trance was broken. Just as silent as the monk, he followed him to the corner of the room, and then saw what the men were revering. A sitting bodhisattva, a statue of a nameless man on his way to enlightenment, was with its back to the wall, dressed in traditional clothing and jewelry - Heero saw two strings of beads around the statue's neck, but perhaps they could be pearls - and holding up two large prayer wheels in his hands. The statue was completely carved from gold; an astounding piece of craftsmanship.
He sat down just like Tsering, and mimicked his position; hands held up, the palms pressed together in front of his chest. The monk didn't participate in the chanting, though. Could that be of his violent nature? Heero peeked through his lashes to search out Duo. It wasn't hard to miss him, if only for the tell-taling chestnut braid; all the other monks were bald. Five rows of five men, and Duo was exactly in the middle. He participated in the chant, concentrating on the correct pronunciation. Heero was glad to see he was all right, and couldn't wait to hold him in his arms again.
The chant was over, but not every monk stood up and left. Duo rose to his feet as well, every movement controlled and gentle. Respect the silence. The monks probably wouldn't appreciate it if Duo waltzed all over them to run towards the man he loved most. He left his position in the middle and walked over to Heero, opening his arms. They hugged briefly, and Duo used the opportunity to whisper in his ear.
"You look damn sexy in a chuba."
"I can hear you perfectly," Heero responded, a smirk on his face. He was delighted to see that the cut on Duo's face, when he had smacked into the control panel of the Cessna, had healed completely, without leaving a scar.
"I know." He kept his voice low. "They used ancient rituals and the sacred knowledge of old Tibetan medicine. I don't know how they did it, but I'm forever grateful; your lips were purple, your hands and feet were swelling, and you were lethargic. As soon as your nose started to bleed, I knew it was very bad."
"How did they find us? How did we get here?" Heero asked.
"Not here," Tsering interrupted them. "Come, my friends. I know a place where you can sit and talk without being interrupted… or overheard."
"This is our library," Tsering announced as he opened the door. He allowed Duo and Heero to enter, then he made a slight bow and said: "I'll be back shortly with some tea."
No sooner than the door had closed, they grabbed each other in a tight hug, pressing their bodies against each other, hands pawing all over to check if all the injuries had healed. The kiss was searing, intense, burning heat that made them both gasp for breath, and they simultaneously cupped each other's faces.
"I was so scared," Duo said. "I was so afraid that you had such severe hypothermia that…"
"I know," Heero shivered. The possible loss of limbs wasn't very appealing to him, and he could still feel the cold, as a fiend watching over his shoulder to strike when he least expected it. "I knew I wasn't doing well, but I couldn't do anything about it. I… my body didn't want to move, I couldn't think straight…"
"Next time, I'm going to force you to wear Hilde's clothes," Duo said sternly. "I had no symptoms at all."
"I'm glad." Heero stroke with his thumb over Duo's forehead. "The cut is gone."
"Yes, and your skin has healed too."
"My skin?"
"Remember the missiles? You were so close to the impact that its heat scorched your face. If I ever get my hands on Marco Bartoli…" Duo's voice became menacingly low, like a growling caged tiger. Heero brought up his own hand to his face, only to find normal, unscarred tissue.
"I do remember the missile, but.."
"It's okay." Duo kissed him on the cheek. "It all went so fast. Besides, Howard is going to kill me for ruining the Citation."
"What's the damage?"
"Twenty-two million," Duo answered deadpan.
"Ouch." Heero groaned.
"It's times like this that I'm glad material assets don't mean a thing to me." Tsering had re-entered the library soundlessly and put a tray on the table in the middle of the room. "I can't feel for your loss."
Heero wanted to break up their intimate hug, but Duo stopped him. "He knows," was all that he said. "It's okay."
"Please, sit down." Tsering calmly distributed the tea mugs and two bowls filled with boiled yak meat and tsampa, the Tibetan staple food made of roasted barley flour. He shoved the salted tea towards Heero, and obviously knowing Duo's sweet tooth, the butter tea towards him. Duo accepted his mug gracefully, imagining it was a double cappuccino with lots of chocolate sprinkles and shaved almonds on top. Heero prepared himself mentally for the taste of the salted tea; in his place, he imagined a simple cup of strong, very strong coffee.
"This is Barkhang monastery," Tsering explained. "One of the very few to have survived, due to our remote location. We're close to the Annapurna, but our exact location is unknown but to those who are friends, or inaugurated into the deep secrets of our ways."
"Secrets?" Heero parroted.
"As I mentioned before, history has proven that it's necessary to defend ourselves." Tsering's accent was light, almost pleasant. "We are the fighters guild of our group, so to say. I hesitate to say 'cult' or 'movement', as that would be an offense to the Buddhist religion as a whole. Barkhang has a rich history, as we've always taken a stand against oppression and aggression, and where words fail, we resort to our own tactics of dealing with adversaries, not because we like to answer violence with violence, but because sometimes there's no other answer possible."
"You should talk to Relena Peacecraft," Duo said. Tsering laughed.
"The woman you call Queen of the World would make a great Rinpoche," he said. "She has the compassion, the strength and the courage to lead a nation into peace. We don't accept female monks, though."
"Don't tell Relena that she'd make a great reincarnated Tibetan lama," Duo whispered to Heero. "She'd come down here and take over the entire monastery." Heero choked on his salted tea and would've almost spat it out, covering his predicament with coughing into his hand. Tsering didn't notice or didn't think it was important, as he ignored it and continued.
"We help those who are in need, who are poor, who are sick. But we also help those who want to fight, who will take up arms to protect those what's dear to them, even if they have to suffer from the discontent they're receiving."
Heero nodded. He'd seen some of the other monks avoid Tsering, not looking directly at him or stepping pontifically out of his way. The monks wearing the same clothes and weaponry as Tsering, greeted him with a distinctive bow.
"Our ancestors fought against Genghis Khan himself." Tsering stared into his tea. He hadn't touched the tsampa, though Duo was chewing on a dollop of the stuff. "We helped Dalai Lamas to survive and we helped them to escape. We know seven ways to cross the Himalayas without alerting the border patrol. We know how to take out our adversaries with the least amount of force or violence… but that doesn't mean that the violence against us is equally merciful."
"I didn't know there was any…force of organized fighter monks," Heero said.
"Not many people know," Tsering shook his head, "and you saw the reaction of our own people. Nonetheless, it needs to be done. Without our interventions, the world might've been totally different from what it is today."
"Which interventions might that be?" Heero asked, jaw slightly clenched. Duo searched out his hand and squeezed it gently.
"That's not our place to ask, Heero."
"You may ask questions," Tsering said, "but I might not be able or willing to answer them. Rest assured, Heero Yuy, that I don't lie and don't deceive - my task here is sacred, even with blood on my hands. For now, you can eat and rest; leave the pressure and strain behind you. Allow your mind to recover, and prepare for what is yet to come."
Heero watched Tsering leave, his hand still caught in Duo's. The door closed, and he looked at Duo again.
"You know, I think he's hiding something from us."
Duo couldn't help but smile. "These people do not answer questions like we're used to, love. He has probably answered you a thousand times over - you just have to search between his words."
"I'm not sure if I want to do that," Heero pouted. Duo chuckled.
"You're so sweet when you're pouting. Eat something. You still need to recover your strength."
"All right." Heero served himself some of the boiled meat and the tsampa, but neither dish was specifically tasty to him. Duo told him that dinner was usually noodle soup or stew with potatoes; Heero was still marveling at the salted tea, but apparently it was a Tibetan custom to put salt, never sugar, in their tea. They ate in silence, rolling the tsampa through the last bit of Duo's butter tea to knead the food into dumplings that were easier to digest. After finishing the last of the boiled yak - tender, beef-like meat - Duo moved away the dirty dishes and hopped onto Heero's lap, wrapping his arms around him. Returning the embrace, Heero moved his right hand onto Duo's braid, wrapping the large amount of hair around his fingers as he scratched his neck.
"How did they find us?" He asked softly, as they gently kissed and patted each other. Duo pressed a kiss on top of Heero's head.
"The monks don't have any technology but this," Duo kissed Heero's ears and eyelids, "and Nyingchi Airport, Lhasa Gonggar and Bamda airport are too far removed from this location, and well, a black fighter jet is bound to get some attention, as well as black smoke and an obvious explosion. I didn't know what to do, Heero. You had fainted, you were bleeding, and the hypothermia was…killing you. You can't imagine my relief when Tsering found me. He's a smart man, a good man."
"How well do you know him?" A little jealousy seeped into Heero's voice, and he didn't imagine the tighter grip Duo held him in.
"The dagger of Xian," was all that he said. He had retrieved that particular artifact years ago, right after he broke up with Heero. It had been his first expedition with Solo, his brother who would drown in their quest to discover Atlantis. The turbulent time had left Duo heartbroken and grieving, and he was well on his way to alcoholism and worse when Heero crossed his path again. They had never spoken in-depth about the break-up, nor about their reunion; they seamlessly resumed their relationship, as if nothing had happened in-between. Heero had seen the dagger on display at the national museum and knew what he was talking about. He decided to leave it up to Duo what he wanted to tell; he didn't want to sound like a jealous boyfriend.
"I never knew monks could fight, or rather, that they wanted to fight," Heero said, nuzzling Duo. He was rewarded with a kiss.
"Even though Tsering make it look otherwise, it's not as much about choice, as it is about tradition," Duo said. "From father to son, a vow from generation to generation. There are very few monks searching to join the fighters, and those like Tsering have taken these duties upon them because of the vow they took from their fathers."
"That's… pretty intense. So he had no choice in the matter?"
"Practically not." Duo kissed him again. "He wasn't kidding when he said that his ancestors fought against Genghis Khan. And if you thought that Maxwell Manor was a fort, Barkhang is a Fort Knox inside a Fort Knox."
"Why? What's their secret history? What have they been fighting for?"
"They're not only fighters, but guardians as well, Heero." Duo looked tired all of the sudden. "They guard the holy tomb of Kol An Anuum and his sword."
Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 |