Redeemer

Shattered

Redeemer looked down at the worn ribbon in his hands. The strands of hair seemed to want to curl around his fingers, several dozens of black strands, no more than that, but they were a little piece of him.  

Finally, some grace had been granted. 

He sat silently, intent, as he unraveled them with care, twisted them into a precious coil and placed the hairs in a silk pouch that dangled from the leather belt. He lifted the ribbon to his nose and caught the tantalizing scent of lotus blossoms. 

It made him dizzy. His head spun, and he hesitated as he tried to regain his equilibrium.

He looked at the soft glow of the crimson band then slowly smoothed it out and wrapped it over and over again around his left wrist until the ends met, and he tied them firmly. 

He gazed at it for a long time. No matter what, he knew that he was tied to this phantom love forever, and he welcomed the tether.  Whatever came, he was wedded to seeing that Silhouette would lack for nothing again in this lifetime. Redeemer would be happy with just that; he was not worthy of anything more. No matter what his brother and son managed to pull out of it, there was a vast emptiness that yawned before him, a darkness as deep and black as the cave the Tortoise of Slaughter once occupied.

The flight back to the inn was slow and sluggish. Bichen knew his master was not in full control, and he took over the navigation for him.  He settled him gently to the ground and then sheathed himself in his scabbard. Redeemer was barely aware. He was practically sleepwalking by the time he arrived; the Cloud Recesses training was screaming bedtime to the exhausted man, and he mumbled an order for a hot bath in the morning. Then he stumbled up to his room. 

He began to strip down and caught his image in a cheap bronze mirror on the opposite wall. He stood and looked at the wreckage that stared back. Clothes covered in blood; he hastened to remove them all. His once-perfect body appeared hideous to him. The hated scars from the discipline whip. Wounds and bruises from past night hunts in various stages of healing. The well-loved mark of self-punishment and solidarity to a dead man, branded on his chest. Dull eyes, humorless mouth. Unhealthy pallor. It was no wonder that Silhouette had fled at the first good look at him.

Filled with a sudden burst of fury, fueled by self-loathing, he ripped Bichen from the scabbard. The sword's ice-cold light lit the room as he swung him full-force into the metal surface. The mirror never stood a chance as the loud shatter followed the blade's mighty blow, to mix with his master's scream that ripped the night. He dropped the sword to the floor and collapsed on his pile of quilts and pillows. He passed out immediately.

"What the hell was that?" Squeaked the tiny assistant to his master.

"Just that Redeemer character. Those night hunters are a strange breed, But they pay well. He'll be generous about damages too."

"You ain't gonna hold that talk about the Yiling Patriarch tomorrow, are you? I hear he goes off his nut when he gets started on that."

"That's what he wants to debate. He already paid upfront to hold it. If he gets out of hand, he'll double that first gold piece in no time." The innkeeper snapped.

"Your place, your business."

"And your place right now is emptying the slop buckets. Move it, you cheeky prick!"

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

Silhouette tossed and turned on the filthy pile left behind by the madman who had dared disturb his dreamless slumber. Sixteen lonely, drifting years, far removed from all the bullshit that had grown into a ridiculous and distorted legend. The trick was going to be figuring out how to fulfill Mo's spiteful curse and seek death again at its earliest opportunity. He thrashed to his right side and winced as his head turned on the straw-stuffed pillow beneath him. He cursed,  remembering the hank of hair and the ribbon he had left behind. He had snuck back to find the ribbon (who gave a damn about the plug of hair) only to trudge back empty-handed to the pathetic bungalow the Mo Clan had graciously let him live in. That crackpot Redeemer must have found it. Stole his pretty hair tie; now he'd have to go steal another one to replace it. And why? Red was not the man's color. Not fair. Not fair at all. None of this sorry horseshit was fair.

Redeemer... Now, there was a puzzling person. He was still startled at his reaction to him, but he could not figure it out. His memory was a mess since his return, and that man must be someone he knew in his former life. Someone important. Someone who could make him feel that kind of love and hate at the same time would have had to be a pretty huge someone. 

Suddenly, he sat up...Someone singing to him in a dark place as he lay wounded and ill... Nah...the person he remembered was a boy in his mid-teens, beautiful with full lips and bright eyes. That wasn't the man he saw. That guy was an absolute mess. 

He turned over once more, then gave up, fumbling for the nearly empty bottle of rotgut he found abandoned outside a brothel, dropped by a client in his haste to get to his whore once his number was called. He choked as the cheap liquor burned the back of his throat. Oh brother, what he would not give for a bottle of Emperor's Smile.  So sweet and dreamy...

He sat up swiftly as he heard, from the back of his mind...

"Lan Zhan! Pay for my Emperor's Smile!" His own voice raised in demanding outrage.

Well, that was something new and different.   He gingerly laid back down and closed his eyes. He hummed himself to sleep with that nameless tune, pretty and hopeful, that had been running through his head since his return. Tomorrow he would sneak into town and see if he could pick up Redeemer's trail and track that bastard down. He wanted his ribbon back, or he was going to make him pay for it. Maybe he could get his hands on some Emperor's Smile after all...