4,865Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 105:
"Between a Rock & the Socratic Method"
It took them a moment too long to notice Cleo, who trailed through the door behind me on quiet feet—long enough that I wondered, for a split second, if I had imagined seeing her standing at the door. A quick look over my shoulder established that she had not, in fact, been nothing more insubstantial than a daydream, the sight of my own pinched face reflecting clearly in the lenses of her sunglasses.
But that pause was all it took. When I turned back around, I found everyone staring, eyes trained on Cleo's dark and brooding form. Only Atsuko didn't pay us any mind, because she had fallen asleep on the couch with a beer bottle in her hand.
"Why, Keiko," Koenma said with his trademarked acerbity. "I didn't know you would be inviting guests."
His tone made my hackles rise, metaphorically speaking. "It wasn't planned," I said, shooting a glance at Cleo. "Not on my part anyway."
Cleo just laughed—a sound like leaves in autumn, fallen bodies crunching softly underfoot, or threads on a loom under the stroke of nimble fingers.
No one else shared her mirth, however. Yusuke looked Cleo over with undisguised consternation as he said, "So who's your friend? Don't leave us in suspense now."
"She is…" Gotta choose my words carefully. "She's a part of my story I haven't had time to talk about yet." Sidling over to the desk near the door, I grabbed the copper wastebasket off the floor and tucked it under my arm. Yusuke gave me a funny look, but I ignored him. "I was waiting until we settled everything else before bringing her up. But—"
Koenma, standing on the opposite side of the living room, made a loud harrumph. "And here I thought you said the time for deception is over," he said with haughty disdain. "Forgive me if I consider that lying by omission."
And my hackles rose higher still. "No lies, Koenma. I was just trying not to overload all of you with information. It's complicated, and it's only going to get more complicated now that she's here."
"Now, is that right?"
Before he could continue, Cleo said, "May I be allowed to speak?"
She phrased it like a request, but it wasn't one, and everyone fell silent at the note of stone lying beneath her mild words. Koenma appeared stricken, almost—like someone had reached down his throat to squeeze his vocal cords in a cold fist. But apart from him, everyone else just seemed surprised at her air of quiet command, as if they had not expected someone who looked like Cleo to speak with such steel.
Well, almost everyone. On his windowsill, sweat slicked Hiei's face the color of oiled bronze, scarlet eyes trained with unblinking focus on Cleo. He looked like an animal who had spotted a predator—and for someone as vicious and predatory as Hiei, the sight was alarming indeed, sending a spike of disquiet deep into my gut.
Surprisingly, Botan recovered before anyone else. She looked Cleo over for a second, then said in a voice of disbelief, "You're a Spirit."
Her mouth hitched. "In a manner of speaking."
Koenma's brow furrowed. "And who, pray tell, are you, exactly?"
"My name is Clotho," said Cleo, without preamble or pause.
And for a minute, I thought she might have undersold herself. Botan didn't react to the name; neither did Jorge, nor any of the other demons and humans in the room. Only Koenma froze, uncertainty pushing his gaze from Cleo's face to her body and back again, sweeping across her in a roving glare of question and concentration. But then Cleo shifted, and her leather jacket came away from her side, revealing a small leather scabbard attached to her black belt. Atop the scabbard sat two golden rings, glinting in the light, the blade attached to them disappearing deep into dark leather. Koenma paled, staggering to the side, where he caught himself on the back of the armchair I had once occupied.
Yusuke, bless him, watched this with undisguised skepticism and scowled. "So does anyone wanna tell me why things just got super awkward in here, or…?"
"Clotho—well, I call her Cleo, but still." I took a deep breath. "Cleo is one of the Fates. The Moirai."
Kurama frowned. "Of Greek myth?"
"Yes." A hesitation, small, which I used to gather my thoughts. "Do all of you know what I'm talking about?"
"I do not," Yukina softly intoned.
"Hell nah," concurred Yusuke, "but it sounds ominous as fuck."
Another deep breath. "The Fates—there's three of them—control destiny," I said. "They measure how long a person's life will be, and when it will end. And they're the reason why Hiruko can do what he does." I placed a hand upon my chest. "It's how he placed me here, into the life of Yukimura Keiko. From context clues, I've been able to piece together that he stole something from the Fates that gave him the ability to manipulate reality and destiny. The thread of life, or the loom of life, or similar."
"You mean you don't know what he stole?" Kurama asked.
"No." I shot Cleo another glance, but she didn't move a muscle, nor did she indicate for me to stop talking. "There are certain factors that prevent Cleo here from describing what he stole. But red threads of destiny tend to show up when Hiruko is around, so…" I shrugged. "The exact device or object he stole probably doesn't matter, but whatever the case, he used what he stole to craft this reality, or at least bring the legend to life within it."
"The shonen manga, you mean," said Yusuke.
"… yeah."
"The shonen manga I'm the main character of, specifically."
"God, you're annoying. But yes."
Koenma started, as if waking from a deep sleep. "You're wrong," he said. "You're wrong, Keiko."
"Eh?" I blinked at him. "About what?"
"Clotho isn't a Greek Fate. She's just—Fate." Koenma spoke through gritted teeth, fists tight as bowstrings at his sides. "The Greeks may have given the Moirai the best PR, but the Fates belong to no one. They're revered through all of Spirit World, by all Spirits, as the impartial arbiters of destiny, who are notoriously reclusive and do not reveal themselves lightly." His fists tightened even harder, teeth like tombstones behind his lips. "Hence why I never thought I'd meet one face to face, nor considered one might be involved in all of this."
Cleo dipped her head toward the prince of Spirit World. "It's nice to meet you." A smile tugged her wizened mouth. "Pity it's under these circumstances."
It took a moment, but Koenma eventually processed the fact that Cleo was speaking to him specifically—and when it sank in, he jolted in place, falling to one knee with a grunt as his fist flew to press against his heart. It was incredibly odd, seeing him bow his head in an obvious show of fealty, but that's what Koenma did, face slick with sweat beneath the fringe of his silken hair.
"Oh, arbiter of Fate," Koenma said in hushed tones. "I am unworthy to stand before—"
Cleo just scoffed, though. "Stand up. The Fates have never been ones to stand on ceremony, and besides." She smiled as he rose, knees quivering beneath him. "I have a favor to ask of you."
"Anything," said Koenma, hoarse. "Name it, and I will make it so."
She gave a curt nod. "Very good." Here she waved at me, at the others, the room at large. "Tell everyone what you know about the advent of creation."
Koenma cycled through a series of emotions, then: confusion to shock, shock to displeasure, displeasure to polite reluctance. "I don't understand," he said, shifting subtly from foot to foot. "Why?"
"The beginning of everything. The world. Reality. The universe." Cleo's eyes bored into him like bits of a silver drill, burrowing and sharp. "Tell them what you think you know."
Still Koenma hesitated. "But surely you would know the truth of such matters better than I?" he suggested.
"Perhaps," Cleo said. "But I believe in the Socratic Method." She smiled, wandering with slow steps to the nearest empty chair. "Shall we begin?"
He waited until she settled into one of the room's armchairs, reluctance still splashed across his features. "As we discussed before you arrived, Spirit World is quite broad," he said, watching Cleo carefully—but her face remained still, sunglasses blocking her eyes from view like a shuttered poker player. "For every mile in Human World, there are a thousand in Spirit World. It should come as no surprise that pockets of population in Spirit World only interact on rare occasion. In fact, humans interact with Spirits more often that Spirits interact with other Spirits." Koenma briefly glanced in my direction, and then in Yusuke's. "And that is where humans gained their so-called understanding of religion and gods. Meddlesome Spirits who descend to the mortal realm and enact feats of great power must seem like gods indeed to those of the mortal realm. But the Spirits know the truth."
"And that truth is?" murmured Cleo.
Another hesitation, but Koenma shook aside his misgivings to say, "Erebus, according to the Greeks—the primordial being who appeared from the depths of chaos and birthed the world as we know it. Elohim, according to the religions of Abraham—a being that emerged from the void to create the heavens and the earth. An, Enil, Enki and Ninhursanga, according to the Sumerians—beings who created civilization and humankind. And of course, the Kotoamatsukami, according to the legends of Shinto—the first gods, who came into being from the unformed chaos of the universe. There are many explanations for the origin of the universe, if you ask humanity."
"I didn't ask humanity," said Cleo. "I asked you."
He swallowed, still watching her with unyielding focus. "The many human stories tend to have certain factors in common. Like I said before, humans meet Spirits surprisingly often, especially before modern history. They gleaned bits and pieces of the truth, mere fragments of the whole story, from these Spirits. We can infer that something akin to the truth exists within the commonalities of their legends."
"But as you said, Spirits know the whole truth—not the partial truth humanity snatched from centuries of eavesdropping," said Cleo. "I will say it once more: I want to know what you think."
But Koenma hesitated again, and this time, the hesitation never ended. He looked around, eyes rambling across the room, avoiding looking both myself and at Yusuke, not to mention the sleeping Atsuko—the room's three humans, I couldn't help but note. That made sense, though. Revealing the literal origin of the universe to some ragtag bunch of mortals probably went against some code or another, wouldn't it? Not that Cleo gave a hoot, if her disappointed sigh was any indication. She turned her face away from Koenma, looking instead at me over the rims of her dark glasses.
"My child," she said. "Tell me what you know, or at least what you think you know, about Hiruko and his objectives."
"Wow." I whistled between my teeth. "That's a remarkable change of subject."
She held up a hand. "Just wait for me to connect the dots. And while you wait, tell me what you think you know."
"Uh," I said, rubbing at the back of my neck. "I only know what I've said before: Hiruko stole something from the Fates so he could create this world" (Koenma scoffed at that) "and all the legends inside it."
Kurama sat up straighter. "Legends," he repeated.
"Sorry." I rolled my eyes. "Manga."
Incrementally, Kurama's brow lifted. "Legends… plural," he said.
"… oh," I said.
"Shit," I added.
"Wait a sec." Yusuke sat up and pointed at himself. "Am I not the only main character anymore?"
"Well," said Koenma, rounding upon me slowly. "This is certainly interesting."
Cleo's hand descended to her knee with a smack. "Not to you, it isn't." Cold silver eyes gleamed over the top of her sunglasses, sharp as knives and hard as steel. "The other stories will not come into play for some time, and distracting you with knowledge of them is not in your best interest. Hiruko will exhaust this storyline, mine it for all it's worth, before moving on to any other schemes in earnest; he does not have the energy to do otherwise." Enunciating every word with excruciating care, she stared directly at Koenma as she said, "Leave Keiko be on this issue. Do not ask her to elucidate. Am I understood?"
Elsewhere in the room, Kurama nodded, prompting Yusuke, Botan, Jorge and Yukina to do the same. "Yes," he said on behalf of all of them. "Yes, of course."
Koenma, however, did not back down. With bold defiance he said, "But I want—"
Cleo interrupted Koenma without speaking, her glare so intense it could nearly be heard as well as seen. He fell silent at once, but then he shifted gears, wheels turning behind his bright brown eyes.
"Fine. I won't ask to know more," he said. "But I still don't understand why you are asking questions when you could be giving answers, instead." At Cleo's blank expression, he added, "You're Fate, after all. Shouldn't you be able to tell us everything?"
Cleo smiled. "Why should I talk when you and Keiko have all the answers?"
"Wait. We do?" I said, meeting Koenma's eyes for just a moment. He looked as skeptical of me as I felt of him, regarding Cleo with a disbelieving frown.
But Cleo took it in stride. "Separately, no. But together, you and Koenma have all the puzzle pieces. You just have to put them in the proper order." She bared her teeth, less of a smile, more of a grimace. "I only intervened because your attitude toward Keiko is irksome, Koenma, and I don't have all day to listen to you dance around the truth."
Koenma opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again without uttering a word. It was difficult to keep a small smile of satisfaction from breaking across my lips at the sight. Watching Cleo chastise Koenma felt like seeing the alpha of a pack put a younger dog in his place with single snarl, and in that moment, I had never felt more grateful for Cleo's presence—but soon she turned to me, and gratitude gave way to confusion once again.
"You encountered Hiruko recently, and he revealed to you a memory—one you had forgotten, by his design, but one you had made attempts to retrieve before," she said. "Isn't that right?"
I nodded.
She turned to Hiei. "You were the impetus for the initial stages of that memory's recovery, were you not?"
A ripple past through the room, one that spread in time with the pounding of my heart. Eyes darted between Hiei and myself, but I refused to meet them, staring instead at Hiei. He sat in profile, face impassive even as his eyes drifted to the side, eyeing Cleo from across the room. An assessing stare. A wary stare. A stare of cold evaluation. And then that eye drifted in my direction.
Please, I tried to tell him without words. Please. Don't tell them what I made you do to get me to that memory.
He looked away before I could tell if he understood.
If anyone saw our wordless exchange, they did not say so. "Hiei?" was all Yusuke said. "What do you have to do with Keiko's memories?"
Hiei responded with the brusque efficiency so characteristic of him. "When we first met, Meigo said something about me that no one in any of the three worlds could possibly have known—let alone a human girl like her." He continued on before anyone could ask what that something was; Yukina was sitting right there, after all. "Obviously I had to find out who had told her such a thing. I used the Jagan to see inside her mind, where I saw her past." A pause. Then: "I also saw the moment of her death."
"How awful!" Botan said as my heart beat like a churning engine in my chest. Her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide and swimming above them. "No wonder you believed her right away."
Words surged into my throat, trying to drown out the pound of my pulse. "That's what I meant when I said I had no choice but to tell Hiei the truth," I said in a rush. "He saw the truth firsthand. But that's not all he did. Having him rattle around inside my brain unlocked something I'd forgotten: the fact that when I died, I met Hiruko, and we talked." I grimaced, trying not to think about the image of my own face, mangled in a horrible car wreck. "But no matter how hard I tried, I could never unlock the memory completely—I could never recall the conversation we had before Hiruko made me become Keiko. Hiruko apparently blocked it on purpose for some reason, but he unblocked it and showed the memory to me just a few days ago." Here I turned to Cleo, scowling. "And Cleo—I think he's not the only reason I couldn't remember things about the time I spent being dead."
"It's true," she said with easy calm. "I blocked that memory from you as well."
Hiei swung his legs off the windowsill and looked at Cleo full on, then. "Black stone beneath red thread," he said, staring at her. "Barriers to keep her mind at bay."
Yusuke made a sound of frustration. "OK, somebody's gotta explain what that means," he said, "because right now it sounds like Hiei's trying to write a poem or something, and it's creeping me out."
While Hiei shot Yusuke a glare, I explained, "Inside my head, we found the place where the memory exists, but it was blocked by a wall of red threads. Like a huge net of them, almost, all woven together to keep me out. But beneath the red threads was a wall of black stone—two separate barriers preventing me from accessing that one specific memory." A deep breath, because the truth still did not come easily to me. "Hiruko let down his wall of red threads when I met him here on Hanging Neck Island recently. And I saw… well, I saw most of that memory. But there was one part that remained hidden from me." I eyed her askance, wondering if she'd play coy. "Hiruko said you were responsible for that, Cleo."
"Yes, I was," she said without an ounce of hesitation.
"But why?" Koenma said while I just stood there with my mouth open. "Why block Keiko's memories? They're hers to remember, aren't they?"
"Two reasons," said Cleo. "I did not want Hiruko to possess the power to reveal the truth at whatever point it most suits him, because that point would surely spell disaster for Keiko and all her friends." Finally regret tinged her expression, lips turning down at their withered corners. "I sought to protect you from his meddling, my child. Imagine if he had revealed that memory to you while you were trying to defend yourself, or while running from a threat."
I couldn't keep from wincing. "That'd be bad."
"Yes, it would."
"But that just makes me wonder how I saw the memory when I met with him the other day," I said. "You let down your guard that time, at the same time he did. Why did you do it? Couldn't you have kept your barrier in place?"
"Yes," she said, "but I determined it was a safe time for you to regain that memory, and I went along with Hiruko's plan."
"Not completely, though. There was still a section of that memory I could not remember."
"Again, by my design."
Exasperation curled its claws around my chest. "Why, though?" I asked her. "Why then, and not sooner?"
Her sunglasses slipped down her nose; she swiped them off, resting them on her knee as she regarded me with a bold, piercing stare. "Do you remember how much pain that part of the memory caused you?" she asked, voice no louder than a whisper. "How violently you reacted, writhing in agony upon the floor? The truth he spoke nearly immolated your soul. The truth would surely shatter your mind you if you heard it now, wrapped in mortal flesh as you are." Her glasses went back on, eyes obscured from view. "That is why I let the barrier down, but only just enough for you to hear what you needed. It's the part I blocked out that matters most, that contains the fundamental truth." She smiled, though I saw no humor in it. "That fractured remembrance holds the key."
"But—but it was nonsense," I said, not understanding. "I just heard babble, like too much static blocking out a TV show."
"To you it sounded like babble, maybe," Cleo said—and when she glanced at Koenma with pointed precision, he did the smallest of double-takes, pointing at himself in confusion evident. "To him, I hazard a guess that the words will contain meaning, indeed."
"… oh. Huh." I hesitated, but only for a moment. "The memory was disjointed and broken, but I could make out a series of words. I don't know if I remember them all, though."
Cleo nodded. "Try, my child."
"OK… but, if I had help…"
I looked to Hiei, then, as I had looked to him for help the first time the subject of this memory reared its head. He lifted a brow, immediately understanding but doubting the legitimacy of what I wanted. I just gave him a nod, though, and he pushed away from the windowsill, striding toward me with long, quick steps.
"It will not be pleasant if you resist," he said as he came to a stop. Scarlet eyes searched my face. "Are you certain you want my help?"
"Yes," I said, with more confidence than I really felt inside. "I need someone to safeguard me, to ensure I don't misremember. Can you do that? Be witness to my memories?"
Hiei inclined his head. "I can."
He waited for me to nod before beginning. If the Jagan on his forehead hadn't flared bright purple beneath its bandana, I might not have even noticed his presence in my mind. It felt like an itch, like bugs crawling around my brain on tiny, prickling feet, and as the itching intensified, I summoned the memory of my memory—the memory of the meeting with Hiruko, and within it, the memory he had stolen from me. Of sitting on the couch after my death. Of hearing Hiruko speak, persuading me to do as he asked. I tried to remember his words exactly as he said them, allowing the itch of Hiei's presence to follow me through the recollection unimpeded.
Not that Hiei was some passive onlooker inside my head. Sometimes the itch grabbed at the memory, snagging into the fiber of remembrance like a burr into a delicate hem, demanding I replay something with greater clarity. I closed my eyes up tight, blocking out the world until it was only my memory and Hiei that remained.
His voice still cut through the memory-fog like a knife, though, when he said, "Interesting."
"What is?" I said, lips hardly moving as I spoke.
"You didn't find his plans repugnant when you heard them. You approved, even." Disbelief rang hollow in his words. "You wished him luck."
"You what?" Koenma said.
I didn't reply, because Hiei pushed the memory onward, and the sounds of the real world fell away. I didn't let myself resist, allowing him to lead me through the memory until we reached the point where it shorted out, obscured by roaring static that allowed nothing but the smallest smattering of random, nonsense words to filter through the noise. Hiei replayed this part a few times, but soon he moved on, watching as my memory-self writhed in agony on the floor after hearing that obscured truth from Hiruko's mouth. But soon that part ended, and the memory drew to a close. Satisfied, I prepared to open my eyes, hoping to turn to Cleo to discuss.
But Hiei held on tight. I attempted to withdraw, but he did not allow it, itch hooking stubbornly into my memory and pushing it forward—past my meeting with Hiruko. To the part where Shizuru rescued me. And forward still, to the tournament itself, and then—
"Hiei," said Cleo, steely voice unexpectedly close. "That's enough."
I opened my eyes and found Cleo standing just a foot away, hand outstretched and clenched tight around Hiei's arm. He stared up at her with teeth bared, but when she did not flinch from the fire of his stare, he made a sound of dismissal from between his teeth and jerked his arm away. The itch in my brain drained away bit by bit after that, fading completely after he walked away and took up his post at the window once again.
Koenma regarded Hiei from across the room with a frown, and soon he asked, "What did you mean when you said Keiko wished Hiruko luck?"
"It's like I said," said Hiei as he got settled. "Hiruko told Meigo what he planned to do, but although the memory of the plan is blocked, the aftermath is whole." Here he glanced at me, lips thin in his tanned face. "When Meigo heard Hiruko's plans after her death, she approved. Or at least she didn't disapprove. She even said she hoped he succeeded."
"But what does that mean?" Botan asked in a hushed murmur.
Jorge stroked his chin. "Is it possible that whatever Hiruko wants, it's not actually that bad?"
"No."
We looked at Cleo as one. Though the word had come from her mouth with quiet, heavy certainty, her face turned the color of old milk as she sank back into her armchair. Sweat slicked her forehead, matting clumps of grey hair to her skin in silver rivers.
"It's not that Hiruko's plans are good, or even neutral," she said, mopping her face with a hand. "Keiko approved of his plans only because she did not understand the gravity of them. He didn't tell her the consequences of what he seeks to do, nor the dire side effects of what will happen to this world should he succeed." She licked her lips, eyes peering with silver fire over the top of her sunglasses. "My child, do not let your resolve waver. You had no idea that if he were to get his way, he could undo the very fabric of the world, and—"
She stopped speaking, then, an ashen pallor flooding her olive cheeks.
"Well that sounds ominous as fuck," said Yusuke.
Cleo's chest hitched, and she vomited a fountain of bright red blood.
I was ready, though; I knew what the sallow tinge on her face must prophesy. Just as she bowed her head, I darted toward her and shoved the wastebasket I'd been holding ever since she arrived under her chin. As she heaved, she took the basket in her hands, and I gathered up her hair and held it against her clammy neck. The others gasped and exclaimed at the sight of the fountain of blood that came pouring from Cleo's mouth, but I didn't react. I just waited for her to finish before giving her my handkerchief. As she dabbed at her mouth, I took the trash can and set it on the coffee table—and then I reached inside.
"Keiko!?" Yusuke yelped. "What the hell! That's gross!"
"Oh, shut it," I grumbled. My hand closed around the object at the bottom of the can, just where I thought it would be. "Gimme a minute."
He grumbled right back, but he didn't stop me from carrying the bloody thing into the kitchen, where I washed it clean in the sink. Blood swirled down the drain in thick red strands, a whirlpool of thread ichor that soon ran clear. Drying it off on my shirt, I walked back into the living room and deposited the object on the coffee table with a click of stone on glass.
"That is why Cleo can't speak freely," I said, staring at the smooth black pebble. "It's why she won't just tell us what she knows. Every time she says too much, this is what happens."
"A rock?" Yusuke said in stuttering disbelief. Puu wore the same look in his spot on Yusuke's lap, comically enough. "She barfs up a rock!?"
Yukina stared at the stone through wide eyes. "How awful!"
"As far as I can tell, this happens when she gets too close to saying something that would give everything away," I said. Standing at Cleo's side, I watched as she continued to dab at her mouth, eyes downcast. "Truths too big for mortal ears to comprehend, as she'd say."
Koenma grimaced. "So you're saying that we're caught between a rock and the Socratic Method. Literally."
"More or less. She can guide, but she can't just give us the answers." I gestured at the stone. "This curse, or whatever it is, just gets in the way."
"There… might be another reason she can't talk."
Everyone turned to Jorge. He held a pillow in his gigantic hands, claws worrying the fringe on its edges with surprising delicacy. Although Koenma looked at him with outright surprise, Jorge didn't spare the prince of Spirit World a glance. He only had time for Cleo, looking at her through his beady eyes while a thoughtful frown seized his lips, jutting tusks gleaming in the lights overhead.
"And since when did you become an expert of the Moirai?" Koenma said with unconcealed impatience.
"Oh, lay off," I couldn't keep from snapping, earning a glare from Koenma. More kindly, I added, "What do you mean, Jorge?"
"Well…" He took a deep breath, broad blue chest inflating under the lines of his beige coat. "Cleo-san here protected you from one of the truths of the universe by blocking it out of your memory, so I don't think she'd try to tell you another truth like it on purpose. Why shield you then but expose you now?" When I nodded, understanding what he meant, he continued, "Which means that's not what she was trying to tell us now, and that's not why she coughed up…"
Blue skin tinged green, Jorge swallowed and gestured at the stone on the coffee table. Koenma crossed his arms, grudgingly impressed with this assessment.
And so was Kurama, it seemed. "A sound induction, Jorge," he said, green eyes glittering. "I believe I see where you're going with this."
"Care to clue us in, oh mighty geniuses?" Yusuke snarked.
Kurama chuckled. "The crux of the matter is that Cleo is one of the Fates. Isn't that right, Jorge?"
"Yes," Jorge said. "Koenma-sir, you called Cleo an 'impartial arbiter,' and I think that's exactly what's wrong. An impartial arbiter of fate wouldn't be allowed to do or say anything that could sway fate in any particular direction or another." He turned to Cleo at last, looking uncertain when her face remained impassive. "It's not that you can't talk because you were about to say some big universal truth we aren't allowed to know. You can't talk because what you were about to say would imbalance the scales of destiny." He ducked his jutting chin, twiddling awkwardly with his thumbs. "Is that right, Cleo-san?"
She remained quiet—but then her mouth hitched, just a little at one corner. "Typically I stick to weaving or sewing metaphors," she said. "Justice is in charge of scales, as I recall… but you should be grateful for your assistant, Koenma." This made her smile for real. "He's sharp, this one."
Jorge almost melted, a neon blue blush suffusing his powdery face. But Koenma wasn't impressed, tossing his hair and saying, "Helpful as Jorge can be, this doesn't put my mind at ease. If you can't tell us anything we don't already know, what use are you?"
Botan gasped and reached over to swat his knee. "Koenma! You're speaking to Fate, remember?"
"No, Botan," Cleo said, holding up a hand. "It's all right. He's correct to question my presence here, meager as it is. But we've strayed quite far from the path." Turning my way, she said, "Keiko. Hiei. The fragments and words Keiko recalls from her conversation with Hiruko—what are they?"
Hiei and I exchanged a look.
Hiei said, "Power. Create. Fiction."
I added, "Source. Reality. Canons."
"Stories. Prove. Fate."
"Yu Yu Hakusho," I said.
Yusuke made a face. "What's that?"
"The name of the manga," I said.
"Oh." He grinned. "'Yu' for Yusuke? That's badass!"
"Shut up," Hiei said. "There's more." And he gave me a nod to continue.
I said, "World. Real." Suppressed a shudder. "Appeal."
"Makers," said Hiei. "Worthy."
"And belong."
For a minute or so, silence reigned.
Then Koenma hoarsely whispered, "Makers?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm pretty sure it means Hiruko himself, since he made this whole wor—Koenma, are you OK?"
It was a stupid question, because he very clearly wasn't OK at all. Ash entered his cheeks in a pale wave, like spilled spoiled milk, as he sank into his seat and carded his fingers into his hair. Koenma stared at the floor in silence cut only by the small smack of him sucking frantically on his pacifier—an object that looked all the more out of place now that he bore the weight of an apocalypse on his face.
But Cleo did not appear perturbed. "Do you understand now, Koenma, why you and Keiko must work together?" was all she said in her neutral, even tones.
"I do," Koenma breathed.
"Will you tell them what you know?" said Cleo.
"I will." His fingers clenched, pulling at his hair a little harder. "Although I'm pretty sure I'll be breaking a hundred Spirit World laws in the process, but..."
Cleo laughed, a sharp exhale through the nose that spoke more of ridicule than humor. "Would it be moral to withhold the truth from them?"
Yusuke glared. "You'd better say no!"
"Not particularly, in this case," Koenma said, not hearing him. "But…"
"Then what good are the laws you would break," said Cleo, "and why should you respect them?"
Koenma considered this a moment, soon breathing a heavy, resigned sigh. "Touché." He shoved out of his chair and spun, waving to indicate the room with a flutter of red cape. "All right, listen up, all of you. Under no circumstance is anything I am about to say to leave this room—am I understood?" He looked at each of us in turn, face set like he'd been carved from stone. "You will not leave here and create a new religion or cult, and you won't go around flaunting a puffed-up sense of superiority after you learn something the rest of the world has no idea exists. And Yusuke, that goes double for you."
"Hey!" the aforementioned yelped, incensed. "Why me?"
"Because you're already flaunting your protagonist status, and this might put it in overdrive." He didn't wait for Yusuke to react, once more meeting each of our eyes, staring so hard I half expected he could see the colors of our souls. "No one is to breathe a word of this outside this room. Do all of you understand? Have I made myself clear? I want to hear you say yes."
We dutifully chorused an affirmative, although some of us were more cooperative than others. Jorge, Yukina and Botan agreed quite readily, but Kurama looked almost annoyed—annoyed and eager, sitting on the edge of the seat with a familiar glimmer in his eye. Yusuke, meanwhile, just looked bored, idly playing with Puu's large wings, while Hiei rolled his eyes in open defiance of Koenma's order. But when he caught Cleo looking at him with her deadpan stare, he gave a grudging nod before facing the window, gazing moodily into the dark beyond.
"Good," Koenma said. "Now pay attention, because I will only say this once." He took a deep breath, squeezed his eye shut, and spoke like a deflating balloon. "The word 'Makers' does not refer to Hiruko, as Keiko so erroneously suggested. Hiruko did not create the world." His eyes opened. "The Makers did."
Koenma stood there in silence for a time, as if waiting for us to react. No one said anything, though. We just stared, confused and apprehensive. Privately, I still thought Koenma was wrong about Hiruko not making this world, but I didn't say anything. He resumed speaking again before I could find the words.
"The existence of the Makers is known to none besides the highest echelon of Spirits in Spirit World—those Spirits whom humans refer to as gods, and who govern the roads to the afterlife, a realm even we may not enter or explore," Koenma said, voice scratching in his throat. "But these gods are mere insects beside the Makers."
"Oh, I don't like the sound of this," Botan muttered, slumping deep into the couch. "Not one bit."
Koenma ignored her. "The Makers created the laws of reality and birthed the universe as we know it. There's a reason the various creation myths and legends of the world's religions are similar to each other. They're based on one true story, little do the humans realize it."
"Before the advent of the world, there was chaos and void at once," he continued. "If that sounds paradoxical, it is because it is. No human mind could possibly comprehend the landscape from which the universe emerged. Even I can't grasp the full nuance of that statement, but what I do know is this: The Makers did not materialize from this formlessness. They were this formlessness. The Makers created the world so much as they are the world. The Makers are primordial beings, impossible to understand, unfathomably powerful, and beyond the realm of even my comprehension."
No one said anything. The air had been sucked out of the room, drawn into the manic gleam radiating from Koenma's sharp eyes. He began to pace, wearing a hole in the carpet with every slide of his slippered foot.
"Even the highest Spirits, those whom humans revere as gods, cannot fully grasp the Maker's power—and with good reason," Koenma said. "All of the 'gods' humans claim to worship descended from the Makers, for Spirits can claim the Makers as their originators. My father, lord Enma, is the grandson of the Makers. His parents were Izanami and Izanagi of Shinto legend, who—along with the Kotoamatsukami of Shinto lore—were birthed from the Makers themselves."
I put up my hand. "Question!"
"I'm not done yet," Koenma retorted.
I asked anyway. "You've referred to the Makers as both singular and plural."
"Yes."
"Which is it?"
"Yes."
"… excuse me?"
"Yes. Singular and plural. Neither and both." Koenma's stony expression brooked no argument whatsoever, even if I didn't understand what the hell he was getting at. "Get used to referring to them in terms that contradict each other, because this is the stuff the Makers trade in. The Makers are myriad-faced and multi-faceted, many and one, singular and plural, chaos and order all at once." To Cleo specifically he said, "That is why I didn't give them a straight answer, when you asked me to explain the origin of the universe before. The Makers are as difficult to explain as they are simple to explain. They are the god of the gods. They are everywhere and nowhere. They exist in the act of not existing and have been sleeping, dormant, dead, alive and missing for centuries, even as they live on in some secret place beyond our grasp."
"… I don't think I get it," Yusuke muttered, face screwed up as if he'd been asked to solve an advanced trigonometry problem.
"And for that, I do not blame you," Koenma said. "But what you should get is this." Once more he drew himself up to his full and not unimpressive height. "If Hiruko wants something from the Makers, he will have to move heaven and earth to get it—perhaps literally. And if the Makers stir from their wakeful slumber, the world will feel the force of their movements to its very foundation. And what consequences will be wrought from this, I simply cannot say."
"So… Hiruko wanting something from the Makers is a bad thing," Yusuke surmised.
"Yes," Koenma said, as if it were obvious. "Yes, of course it's a bad thing!"
Kurama stared at Koenma with far-away eyes. "Grandson…" he mused. "You said your father is the grandson of the Makers?"
Koenma nodded.
"So you're their great grandson, then."
But Koenma, who I imagined would crow and brag about such a thing, only grimaced. "In a manner of speaking. Parentage for the Makers isn't as simple as birthing a child. More like… extracting one of their faces, and giving it independence. But my soul is connected to theirs, if that is what you're asking." A pause. "Well. I can't imagine they have something as simple as a soul, but…"
"And so is Hiruko," Botan said.
Koenma scowled. "Hmm?"
"If Hiruko was telling the truth about being your uncle," she said, each word slow and careful, "then he's related to the Makers somehow, too. Right?"
"Wow." Yusuke laughed, slapping his knee. "Talk about keeping it all in the family, huh?"
While Koenma chastised Yusuke for saying something inane, and Yusuke made more jokes about inbred royalty, I stared at the floor in silence. Yusuke meant what he said in jest, but something about his words struck me as…
"Kei," Kurama said. "What's wrong?"
Kurama regarded me from his seat on the couch with a worried cast to his expression, mouth turned in a gentle frown. Yusuke fell quiet when he heard Kurama say my name, and soon Koenma followed suit. Being in the spotlight was the last thing I wanted, but just then, that's exactly where I found myself. Even Cleo watched me with shrewd eyes, as if trying to discern what I was thinking in the set of my pinched face.
"It's nothing," I said. "Just… something Hiruko said to me, is all." I shrugged when Kurama murmured an inquiry. "He asked me a weird question, back when we talked last, and I…"
"What did he say?" Cleo softly intoned.
Another shrug. "He said something about my mother."
Alarm crossed Yusuke's face, tightening it with tension. "What about your mom?"
"Oh. Not that mom," I said, glad when the trepidation left his face. "I mean my first mom. From my old life." Wringing my hands on my lap, I said, "Hiruko knows everything about my past. Things none of you know yet. Or may not ever know, really." It was hard to speak, after that, so I kept careful watch on the toes of my shoes, trying not to remember how many people hung on my every word. "One thing he knows is the relationship I had with my parents. Namely that it was complicated—complicated and painful. How I had always longed for their approval. Specifically my mom's, and—"
Kurama's voice broke through like a gentle, but insistent, wind. "What did he ask you, Kei?" he murmured.
I looked up and took a deep breath. "He asked me to what lengths I would go to please my mother."
For a minute, no one spoke.
But then, surprisingly, it was Jorge who broke the silence. "Paired with the other words you recall from your word-soup memory, it sounds like Hiruko may want to do something for the Makers," he suggested. "Like perhaps he's doing something by their request, or on their behalf."
"No," I said. "I don't think that's it."
Kurama regarded me coolly, tactician's mask settling snug atop his pretty features. "You're thinking about the nuance of some of the final words, correct?"
"Yeah. It's subtle, but…" I sorted through the word-soup, picking out the ones that supported my burgeoning theory. "Prove. Appeal. Worthy. Those words make it sounds like he's trying to impress the Makers, doesn't it?"
"Impress them, like… so they'll give him a reward?" said Yusuke.
"I think that's exactly it."
Koenma sucked on his pacifier a few times, smacks loud in the quiet room. "So Hiruko wants to prove himself to the Makers in some capacity," he said, words hardly louder than a murmur. "The question is what he'll request if they find him worthy, as the 'word-soup' indicates."
Botan's troubled eyes roved across Koenma's face. "Koenma, you said the Makers are… dormant. Sleeping. Something like that?"
"Yes," he said. "No one has communicated with them in thousands of years."
"Well, if that's the case," she said, "how do you suppose Hiruko can prove anything to them, if they're in that state?"
Trouble clouded his eyes. "I suppose he'll have to wake them up, somehow."
"That also sounds ominous as fuck," Yusuke remarked.
"And that's not the worst of it," I said.
His brow shot up. "The heck do you mean by that, huh?"
"Hiruko is powerful." Disquiet made my stomach churn, but I held nausea at bay. "Powerful enough to put my soul in another body, and bring a legend—"
"A manga, a manga!" Yusuke insisted
"Right, right. He's powerful enough to bring a manga to life." I breathed in through the nose, then slowly out the mouth. "But if Hiruko is that powerful, what could the Makers give him that he couldn't simply make for himself?"
No one spoke.
Soon Koenma said, every word a burden: "You're asking what is beyond even Hiruko's immense power."
"Yes," I said. "I am."
The silence that followed lasted a long time, haggard and cold like a rocky mountain slope. Cleo's eyes drifted shut, and she didn't move in her seat—a stone on the side of that chilly peak, unbothered by the threat of frostbite or avalanche. I wished I had half of her composure. It was all I could do to sit in unsettled silence with my friends, avoiding meeting their eyes as I twisted my fingers on my lap. Soon words bubbled up, the silence too severe to bear for long… but the words did not come from me.
"It's that final word that I can't stop thinking about. 'Belong.'" Botan whispered, and all eyes turned to her. "If the legends around Hiruko are to be believed—and I believe they are, Keiko, from everything you've told us—he was cast out as a baby. Placed in a boat and set adrift, rejected by his parents before he could even talk."
"That's right," I said.
Yukina shuddered; Hiei glanced sharply in her direction when she said, "How awful."
"Makes sense he'd want to belong somewhere, if he's lived through that," Yusuke said. He rolled his eyes, just in case we thought he was getting soft. "Still think the guy is a pompous ass, but…"
"You're right, Yusuke—about both points." Couldn't help but throw in a dig at Hiruko, even though I did agree that his backstory was pitiable indeed; it earned me a high-five from Yusuke, which felt nice after everything else that evening.
Botan didn't join in our revelry. "My point is just that I don't understand why he couldn't affect fate the way he does and conjure up a place for himself, without the Makers' help." Hearing her voice these thoughts aloud brought sweat to the surface of my palms, but still she soldiered on. "Why does he need their help to get what he wants? If he can really affect destiny, can't he simply create a place to belong on his own? Make his own world where he's beloved, or…?"
"Were you not listening?" Koenma said. "The Makers created reality, not Hiruko. Persuasive as Keiko is, I still don't believe that he created this reality. It flies in the face of—"
Cleo's eye snapped open. "Koenma," she said, word a whip-crack that silenced the prince at once. "Put aside your preconceived notions. Allow yourself the humility to accept, if only temporarily, that this world is—" Her cheeks paled again. "Is—!"
I was ready with the wastebasket before she started heaving up another black stone—that physical representation of Cleo's unspoken, but broken, rules. She murmured thanks between heaves as I held back her hair and rubbed her shoulders, the others watching in silence as I took her second expelled stone and washed it in the kitchen sink. I set it beside its twin on the coffee table as she dabbed the blood from her lips, ignoring the queasy looks adorning the faces of my friends.
Botan, ever helpful and happy, watched Cleo with anxiety writ across her cheeks. "There's no easy way for you to tell us the truth, is there?" she said when Cleo finished cleaning up her face.
Cleo's lips thinned. "No, Botan. There isn't." Her eyes rose to meet Koenma's, who bowed to Cleo on reflex. "But I can say this: Have faith in your analysis of Hiruko's goals and motivations. Whether he made this world or not, one thing is clear. Hiruko is at the very least capable of pulling this world's strings, and that is threat enough."
"I just wish we knew what he was going to do next, so we could intervene," said Botan.
"At least we know it's got something to do with the Makers though," Yusuke said, affecting a bright grin. "And that's gotta count for something, right?"
Koenma blinked twice—and then his nose thrust high into the air. "Yes, Yusuke. That's exactly right," he said. "Now that I know the Makers are a crucial part of his plan—" he shot a look at Cleo, who did not react, but also did not shake her head "—it's clear that the next step in solving this mystery will fall on my shoulders."
Yusuke scowled. "What's that mean?"
"It means we know that Hiruko is going to approach the Makers at some point," Koenma said. "Now we just need to know how he attends to achieve this so we can stop him before he succeeds." He smiled, eyes glittering. "And that means…"
"Oh no." In the corner Jorge covered his face with his hands. "Sir, you have that look in your eye!"
"… it's time to do research!" Koenma made this pronouncement with relish, spinning toward the door with a dramatic flourish of his cape. "Fear not, everyone. I will unearth the secrets of the Makers in short order. No doubt we will soon be in possession of the reason Hiruko needs the Makers' help, not to mention why he's so fixated on our group—not to mention what it all has to do with you, Keiko."
My smile felt (and probably looked) tight. "I look forward to your findings."
"As you should." He swirled his cape again. "And with that, I'm off."
Cleo lifted an eyebrow. "Leaving already?"
He seemed to remember himself, turning so he could bow at her in farewell. "My lady Fate. If you'll excuse me. We have no sense of Hiruko's timeline, so I'd rather be on the safe side."
"But—" Botan bolted to her feet. "Koenma, sir, wait just a moment!"
"Yeah!" said Yusuke, who also stood up. "Wait a sec, would ya! Before you go riding off into the sunset to save the day through being a nerd, I have a favor to ask."
Koenma's face contorted into a mask of incredulity. "A favor?" he repeated. "What kind of favor?"
"You forget already?" Yusuke asked. "I know Keiko distracted everybody from my big win, but it's only been a few hours since we won the whole Dark Tournament! Aren't I supposed to get a wish or something?"
Kurama sat up a littler straighter at that. So did Hiei, the pair of them watching Yusuke with careful eyes. Botan, however, looked crestfallen—had Yusuke interrupted whatever she'd been about to say? I didn't have time to ask, mostly because I had to turn away from my friends and hide my face behind a hand, smile threatening to tear through my composure. The prize for winning the Dark Tournament was anything the victor wished for, and Yusuke had a very important wish to make right now. Even Cleo watched Yusuke with eyes like a hawk's, mouth a thin line in her weathered face.
Koenma paused. "You are entitled to one wish, yes," he said eventually. "But I—"
"And since the tournament committee is dead and whatnot, I'm asking you to grant it." To my confusion, Yusuke's eyes shifted in small increments until he looked at me askance. "But, first… Keiko?"
"Uh…" I shifted awkwardly where I stood, still fighting back a smile. "What?"
He ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck as if embarrassed about something. "Well…"
My smile threatened to break free; I smothered it with a frown. "What are you looking at me like that for? Just make your wish!"
His eyes darted over to me and away again. "I wanna be sure you're OK with it, first," he mumbled, still rubbing at his neck.
The question did not compute; per canon, he would ask for Genkai to be resurrected, and there was no reason he would need to consult me on the issue. Staring at him in blank confusion, I said, "But why would I need to be…?"
He looked at me once more, and then he looked at Koenma before taking a deep breath. "Koenma… if it's possible, and if Keiko wants it…" Yusuke shrugged, half of a laugh burbling in his throat. "Could you send her back—back to her old life?"
No one said anything. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I was too numb for words, or emotions, or even the merest flicker of confusion. Yusuke's face held nothing but sincerity, a hope I did not comprehend—because I was too stunned to comprehend anything, just looking at him in silence as he shuffled from foot to foot. Eventually he smiled, a sheepish look he aimed at me.
"I mean, it's not like I want you to go," he said. "But from everything you said, you had an entire other life somewhere else. So I just thought you might wanna—"
"FUCK NO, I don't wanna!"
Shocked into silence at my outburst, Yusuke just gaped at me, as did everyone else. I stood there with chest heaving, breath rattling in and out of my open mouth as if I'd run a hundred miles in the span of a heartbeat's song. The words had ripped free of my mouth like they'd been torn out by a rusted hook, painful and raw and bleeding, surprising even me. Or perhaps they surprised me most of all. In that moment, it was hard to say.
Yusuke recovered sooner than I did. "You mean you don't wanna go back?" he asked, confused. "But why?"
"I mean—" I choked. Regrouped. Choked again. Somehow found the will to grind out the words: "I mean I miss my old life, yeah, but—but Yusuke, that's not what you want to wish for!" At his bewilderment, I shook my head so hard my ears began to ring. "It just isn't, OK? And it's not what you're supposed to wish for, either! You're supposed to wish for—" The words wouldn't come, Genkai's name a reluctant ghost in my mouth, so I just shook my head some more, wildly gesticulating with every word. "You can't waste your damn wish on me, OK? You just can't waste it—not on me, of all people!"
"It wouldn't be a waste, grandma," he shot back.
"Yes, it would," I retorted. "Because there are far more important things for you to wish for than to send me back to a life that hasn't been mine for fifteen years, and—"
"Is it really that simple?"
It was Cleo who said this, voice echoing like a stone dropped into dark waters. Wordlessly I gaped at her, watching as her glasses slipped further down her nose to reveal the steady silver eyes waiting on the other side.
"Is giving up his offer as simple as that for you, my child?" she said, whisper soft with emotion I could not put a name to. "Do you really feel no desire to return to your former existence?"
I wanted to reply, to fire back just the right response, to do what needed to be done to get Genkai back—but I couldn't. Her eyes demanded honesty, and in that moment of misplaced time, I didn't have the head to analyze my heart. Or at least I didn't have the wherewithal to find answers to the questions rattling so loudly inside my skull, questions like: Would I go back if I had the chance? It was impossible to say, because as far as I was concerned, it was an impossible decision. I'd given up so much to be here, in the world of Yu Yu Hakusho, sacrifices utterly immeasurable… but I'd gained so much in this world, too. Good parents, great friends, no more chronic pain, adventure and thrill—gained by trading a loving partner, my writing success, the hard-fought battles I'd won with my self-esteem and personal development. Making me choose between lives and two equally beautiful realities just wasn't fair—
The words Hiruko had whispered in my ear echoed through my head again, but before I could think about how much clearer, simpler, easier they made this choice, I tore my focus away to place it elsewhere. Back to the matter at hand. Back to Genkai, and the decision I had to make that could impact her—could impact all of us—with such devastating consequences.
"It doesn't matter, anyway," I said, shoving all of this aside. "It doesn't matter what I want, because I don't think Koenma could achieve sending me back even if it's what I desired." I rounded on Cleo, holding up a finger in warning. "And if fate has to stay impartial, then you can't send me back either, Cleo. So it's a done deal. I'm staying here."
Koenma's mouth settled into a thin slash. "You're right," he said. "That wish is beyond me. Sending you back would require me to know where you came from. As I don't, that wish would be impossible."
"So I'm stuck here no matter what, and that means Yusuke has to use his wish on something else," I said with near-manic intensity. "He has to spend his wish on the thing he really wants. So, Yusuke—Yusuke?"
He had fallen back onto the couch with a groan, Puu grumbling and scrambling out of his arms to sit on Botan's lap. "Man, am I glad to hear all of that!" Yusuke half-laughed, half-moaned as his head lolled over the back of the couch, one arm draping across his eyes. "I didn't wanna use my wish on you, anyhow, grandma. Not for a million bucks!"
My gaping mouth snapped shut. "Then why did you even offer?"
"Hey, it's not like I wanted you to go away or anything." He peered out from under his arm with another sheepish, relieved grin. "But it felt wrong of me to not give you a choice, you know?" Another sigh; he covered his eyes again. "I'm just glad you said no, because…"
"Because there's something you actually do want," I surmised, dread in my stomach fading in the wake of burgeoning satisfaction. "Something really worth the weight of this wish."
"Yeah." He let his arm drop, sitting up with a grim smile. "I get the feeling you know what it is."
"I do," I said.
He searched my face for a time. Looking for guidance, or confirmation? I couldn't say. I kept my features composed (a miraculous feat, under the circumstances) until Yusuke found whatever he was looking for. He turned to Hiei and Kurama, then, glancing at each of them in turn.
"Kurama. Hiei," he said. "I know Kuwabara feels the same way, but do you two?"
Kurama nodded. "We do."
"Hmmph," said Hiei, mouth concealed in the scarf around his neck. "Do as you wish."
"I'll take that as a yes." Yusuke smiled again, that grim nuance from before still in effect. "But it's probably impossible to use my winner's wish to get Genkai back, too—huh, Koenma?"
Koenma didn't say anything for a time. He and Yusuke traded a long, silent look for what felt like hours, though it couldn't have taken longer than a few seconds. Too soon he flapped his cape, turning on his heel and away from Yusuke's questing gaze.
"Come along, Jorge," was all he said. "And goodbye, all of you. You'll be hearing from me very soon, I'm sure."
We chorused a goodbye, both Jorge and Botan running after him into the hall without another word. I hardly noticed Botan's absence, however; I was too busy staring at the suite's front door, mouth dry, wondering what Koenma's long silence could mean in the grander scheme of Genkai's fate. I could only hope, with every shred of hope left in me, that he would follow canon and resurrect Yusuke's teacher, bringing her back to life in honor of Yusuke's winning wish. But…
A hand wrapped around my wrist, fingers cool and soft. "My child," said Cleo. "This is why you're here."
Still, I could not tear my eyes from the front door. "Hmm?"
"You were willing to forgo your own happiness in favor of your friends," she said. "Do you realize that?"
She was complimenting me, I thought. It took a minute to sink in. By the time she did, I'd become aware of the heavy silence and the many eyes trained on me. Fidgeting beneath their gazes' weight, I awkwardly intoned, "I mean… it's no big deal. No one could've made good on that wish, anyway." A deep breath, but it did nothing to settle my nerves. "And besides. It's just what needed to happen."
"But it isn't 'just' anything," Cleo chided. "Hiruko may have miscalculated, picking someone who cares so deeply for the world in which he set them. You'll safeguard your friends with ferocity, no matter what happens. It makes you uniquely suited for the role he cast you in."
I choked down a wry laugh. "He said he picked me at random."
"Hiruko says a lot of things. Not all of them are true." The annoyance in her voice was hard to miss; even Kurama looked amused, hiding a smile behind his hand. "In fact, that liar's tongue of his is how he managed to steal—"
She stopped talking, chest expanding as she held down the ichor surely bubbling in her throat. I reached for the wastebasket again, but she waved it away, mouth set amid the pallor of her grey cheeks. Soon she settled back against the cushions, cheeks hollow with fatigue. Cleo looked worn, somehow. More tired, and frailer, than I had ever seen her.
Still, her voice held steady when she said, "My time on the mortal plane has come to an end, I think." She passed a hand through her hair. "And I have done what I set out to do, anyway."
"Can you tell us anything else before you go?" Kurama said. "Even the smallest of details may help."
Cool eyes looked him over. "… will you take a warning?" Cleo asked.
Kurama said, "Of course."
She nodded once. "You're on the right track, regarding Hiruko. Allow Koenma's research to take priority; I have no doubt he will uncover the key to Hiruko's plans, and soon. Stay the course, and in the meantime…" Cleo's lips twitched. "Don't let Keiko be a bad influence."
I looked down at her in shock. "H-hey!"
But Cleo just laughed, that dry-thread sound again. "You overthink, my child," she said. "You know it, and so do I. Overthinking will complicate the days to come, so leave that bad habit of yours where it belong—here, on this island, never to be seen again."
Because even I know better than to back-talk Fate, I muttered, "… I'll try."
"Good." Every movement an effort, Cleo rose to her feet so she could collect the stones of truth from their place upon the coffee table. "Now walk an old woman out, would you?" Her eyes slipped across the room, assessing. "And remember, all of you, that fate is on your side."
The others looked somewhat relieved, or at least a little comforted, by what she'd said.
But as we left the suite, all that echoed through my heart was dread.
Cleo stared out over the dark, starlit island in silence. Below us glimmered the far-off ocean, moonlight limning the trees in silver and the towering bulk of Hanging Neck Rock in liquid light. She had led us here without a word after we left the suite, and for a time, we simply stood on the roof without speaking, admiring the island in gentle quiet beneath the stars. It felt like the time we'd had our first real conversation, I realized with a pang of sweet nostalgia. She had driven me out of the city on the back of a motorcycle, climbing the hills outside of town so we could view the twinkle of brilliant city lights.
Here, though, there were only stars, and the shining moon, to guide us.
I felt a tug at my wrist eventually, Cleo's fingers plucking at the bracelet peeking from beneath my sweater sleeve. A smile lit her face, eyes luminous in the starshine.
"Interesting," Cleo said.
"Oh?"
Her sly grin held unspoken secrets. "You have an eventful summer vacation ahead of you, my child."
My heart stuttered. "Dare I ask?"
"Dare I answer?"
"Probably not." A beat. "When will I see you again?"
She released my wrist. "It depends. But soon." A beat passed for her, too. "Perhaps sooner than you dream."
I couldn't help but smile. "Pun intended?"
"Perhaps," Cleo replied, cryptic as ever.
My smile turned bitter. "Why do I keep asking you for a straight answer?"
"Not sure. It certainly isn't wise of you."
I rolled my eyes. "Very funny, Cleo."
She didn't reply, wandering a few feet away from me across the gravel-strewn roof. Her hand wandered to the scissors in their scabbard on her hip. I resolved to keep my eyes on her, to witness her vanishing act and divine what method she used to disappear—but before she could get away, a question tugged the corners of my heart.
"Cleo?" I said, shy as a little girl. "Can I ask you something?"
She turned my way again, hand falling from the scissors. "Yes, my child?"
"Do you... know what Hiruko said to me? As the stadium collapsed, I mean." My breathing faltered; Cleo's face did not move, reaction as unknown as the method of her travel. "He whispered in my ear, and… anyway." I swallowed. "Do you know what he said?"
She said nothing.
Then: "Yes. I do."
"Is it true?" I asked.
"Does it matter if it's true?" said Cleo.
"Yes," I said at once—but then I vacillated. "No. I don't know."
Her expression shifted at last, lips pressing tight, lines gouged around her mouth. "Oh, my child." She walked toward me, a hand settling firm onto my shoulder. "Don't let it grieve you. Truth and facts are so often not the same thing." Her chest hitched. "If what you feel—for your friends—is—"
She spun away, coughing up a stone and a deluge of sky-dark blood. I held back her hair, as I always did, until her retching ceased. She looked more ashen than ever in the starlight, blood like tar upon her mouth as she bent to retrieve the truth-stone from the pool of her shed blood.
"You know the answer, anyway," she said, liquid gurgling in her throat. "You just don't want to believe it."
"It's horrible," I said, because it was.
"Yes," Cleo evenly agreed. "But so are so many other things in life, and you believe them just the same."
Without a word, Cleo opened her arms, and without a word, I stepped into them. It felt like being hugged by a grandmother, soft and gentle and full of security. And when she whispered in my ear, it didn't feel anything like Hiruko's dark mutterings. Her words were bracing, a hot drink on a cold day—not the chilled draught Hiruko poured without warning into my ear.
"I'll be watching, my child," she told me. "And when you need me most, I will appear." Her embrace tightened, just a little. "I promise."
I held her more tightly, too. "Thank you, Cleo."
"Of course, my child. Of course."
She stepped back, then. Her arms fell to her side. We looked at one another for time immeasurable. I tried to read the wheel and whirl of destiny in the starlight glancing off her platinum eyes—but her hand strayed to the scissors in her belt too soon.
In the space between moments, Cleo vanished, leaving me standing alone upon the roof.
For a while, I didn't move. I stared at the pool of blood she'd left behind and said nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing. But then a cold wind swept past, jostling my hair, placing a chill in the depths of my bones, and I shivered and headed for the roof's access door.
When I wrenched it open, I came face to face with Hiei.
I stumbled back when I met his scarlet gaze, but he didn't flinch. He only stared in thick, heavy silence as I caught myself and stood upright, hand pressed tight to my wildly beating heart. "Hiei. What are you—?"
"I know that Hiruko spoke to you as the stadium collapsed," said Hiei.
"You—?"
"I'm the one who carried you to safety, Meigo," he said, as if I should have known this sooner. "I saw everything, although I did not hear a word. "
My mind raced, pieces clicking together in short order. "Is that why you followed us up here?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, curt as always. "And you discussed the matter with her, just as I thought you would. So tell me, Meigo." His chin rose, scarlet eyes like flames in the dark. "What did Hiruko say to you as the stadium rained ruin about your head?"
We didn't speak. We just looked at each other. I wondered if this curiosity of his had been why he tried to look at other memories while he occupied my head. I wondered how long he'd been wondering, and why he thought I'd discuss this with Cleo. I wondered why he didn't just read my mind to find out already—but the way his eyes met mine, endlessly firm and so intense, shamed me into silence. My eyes drifted to the stars, drinking in their impartial light.
"I vowed never to lie to you again, Hiei," I said. "I promised that the time for deception was over." I shivered, but not from the cold. "And this—I don't want to lie about this, either. But.."
"Then don't," said Hiei.
"But the truth… it isn't something you need to hear." I met his eyes once more, pleading for understanding with my own. "It can only hurt you. And I haven't figured out what it means yet. It isn't useful, and it hurts… so what's the point in telling you? What's the utility of it?"
Hiei's head rose higher. "I can make that decision for myself."
I started to protest.
But the weight of this secret hung heavy around my neck, an albatross unwilling to take flight, and my will to resist dissolved like bitter salt in boiling water.
"Fine, then," I said, dully. "But I won't say it out loud. Read my mind, if you must—but Hiei—"
He was already there, itch settling firm around my brain, and soon he found the memory of that moment in the crumbling stadium and seized upon it, prey in the talons of some great beast. Words died in my throat as he replayed the instant Hiruko took me in his arms to whisper in my ear. I watched his face as he listened, waiting for the moment his face would spasm in horror and confusion—and when it did, his eyes flashed to mine. He let the memory go as if it burned, and in silence, we stared at each other beneath the cold, cold light of distant stars.
"Please don't tell anyone," came my whispered plea. "Please, Hiei. Please don't tell—"
Hiei said: "I won't say a word."
It was a promise, a vow, an assurance of solemnity, no more elaborate or flowery than the words Hiruko had whispered in my ear—those horrifying words, so simple and yet complex, unknowable but certain as they settled deeper into my gut with every passing hour. Soon they'd settle deep into Hiei's soul, as well. In the coming days and weeks, we'd sometimes catch each other's eye, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between us in recognition of the secret we—and we alone—did share.
As the stadium collapsed around us, Hiruko had taken me in his arms. He had breathed a tortured sigh and pressed his mouth against my ear, a shudder passing over him like a wave over a tattered net. The shudder passed through him and into me—and in time, into Hiei—before Hiruko opened his mouth and spoke.
"Oh, my darling girl," Hiruko had said as he took me in his arms, stadium falling to pieces all around us. "Oh, my darling, lucky child."
Another shudder, another sigh.
Hiruko had said, "You didn't think any of this was real, did you?
And for the life of me, I honestly could not say.
NOTES
Insert upside-down smile emoji here.
And with that, we have learned a greater truth about the construction of the universe (something Koenma NEVER would've divulged to Keiko and company if Cleo hadn't pushed him). We have learned that Hiruko is doing all of this to please, impress or appeal to the Makers, who created the universe but have been sleeping/dormant for millennia. Cleo clearly knows Hiruko's goal, but she can't say it aloud.
Because Jorge was right: Cleo can't tell the truth because she's not allowed to influence Fate beyond a certain degree. Cleo was at least able to say that a side effect of whatever Hiruko wants from the Makers will "undo the very fabric of the world," giving us a sense of stakes. And lucky for us, NQK has a pretty good idea of what Hiruko wants: The construction of a world where he can belong, at long last. It is now up to Koenma's research to help them figure out what Hiruko's next steps must be. Although why Hiruko requires the Makers to create a world where he belongs is unclear, it's clear they need to stop him before he can do some damage.
And as for what Hiruko said? Don't worry. Keiko will be discussing that with certain Switcheroo friends of hers very soon. Truthfully I intended to keep it a secret for a bit longer, but this fit, and now we can all wrestle with the implications of this together (it's been lonely, not being able to talk about this, omggg).
If you're truly freaked out by that ending, know this: I HATE the trope where someone wakes up and "it was all a dream" that didn't actually matter. That is NOT where this story is headed. Hope that helps!
We have one more chapter on Hanging Neck Island before the Dark Tournament Arc officially comes to a close. In it, we will have catch-up and reaction moments from various cast members who haven't had the spotlight yet, plus a general typing-up of loose ends. It will likely be rather episodic in nature—like a collection of scenes or vignettes—and I'm actually pretty excited about it.
See you next time (hopefully next weekend, Sunday, May 3), and MANY sincere thanks to these amazingly magnanimous sunflowers for reviewing chapter 104: mothedman, MiYuki Kurama, rezgurnk, MissIdeophobia, balancewarlord, shaybaybayXO, SesshomarusLuver, MyWorldHeartBeating, Convoluted Compassion, The Eternal Forgotten, SanguineSky, noble phantasm, A Wraith, Domitia Ivory, abbynicks126, MyMidnightShadow, Yakiitori, Vienna22, Kaiya Azure, tehquilamockingburd, tammywammy9, EdenMae, xenocanaan, Kirie Mitsuru, SyrinxSilenus, spworynski, Call Brig on Over, kitty-ryn, Melissa Fairy, LadyEllesmere, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, NightlyKill, buzzk97, MetroNeko, SterlingBee, C S Stars, tatewaki2000, TheEccentric1, BOSS02109, Kuesono, Sorlian, Andrea019, MysticWolf71891, Shadowed Replica, kiralol101, AnimePleasegood, jonrich31, cestlavie, Caelyn M and guests!
