The Wandering God

44 Not Close One's Eyes Even In Death 1/2

死不瞑目
Sǐ bù míngmù
Not close one's eyes when one dies.
Die with a grievance or discontent.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Our journey south flew by, compared to the slow trudge the journey north had been.

On the first night, Sanli stopped outside my tent as I was about to settle for sleep.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight? Just to keep you warm?" he asked. "I swear I'll keep my hands, or rather hand, to myself." He wiggled the fingers of his uninjured hand at me. The other hung bandaged in a sling about his neck.

I looked to where Zakhar was talking to a pair of Zhangyu's soldiers, by the fireside. I knew he felt my gaze, but his eyes, as they had since that day in my room, refused to meet mine.

"Thank you prince. But it seems I have gotten used to the cold."

"Alright, Ao," said Sanli softly. "Let me know if there is anything else you need."

I lay down to sleep, huddled under the bearskin Zakhar had given me, when we first started our journey north all those months ago. I had imagined sharing it with him, on our return journey. Of his warmth beside me every night while we slept.

I had lied to the little prince. I was cold that night. And every night that followed as we journeyed south. The fresh wind thawing the last of the winter's snow didn't matter.

Sanli and Kageyama had quickly realized what had happened between Zakhar and me. They tiptoed around us both as though we were broken glass.

Silence sat between the two of us like a void, broken only by the most essential of communication. It hurt, the absence of words.

But what hurt most of all is that Zakhar wouldn't even look at me. Coward.

But perhaps I was also a coward, for accepting the silence.

We traveled across the plains, past outcroppings of stone, around hills and through the small valleys in between. We recrossed the great ruined bridge, the a relic of a distant age. It mocked us all for the pettiness of our daily lives, our foolish needs and ambitions. It had been there long before, and would be there long after, when all we desired had crumbled to dust.

And before I knew it we had returned to the Valley.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The pink and purple light of evening was playing across the sky when we reached the Valley at last.

As we stood staring down at the pagoda and tapered roofs of Memorial temple, still topped with snow, I thought how much had changed between the four of us since we had all stood here months ago and admired the rising sun on the autumn trees.

I shook my head. Do not waste time and thought for sentimentality. You are becoming as bad as Yan and Lu.

I glanced at Zakhar. He had already reigned Dunya toward the trail leading down to the temple.

He has chosen his road. And now you must choose yours.

We wove down the narrow trail to the temple complex, a party fourteen strong with the addition of Zhangyu's men. When we reached the courtyard of the temple, a monk ran out to greet us.

"My prince!" the monk said, hurriedly clasping his fists and bowing. "You are just in time. The vigil will begin at sundown."

It was not the welcome Sanli was expecting. "Vigil?" he asked, confused.