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the rainmaker
They stood on the edge of the precipice without fear, looking out into the lush valley that stretched before them for many many li. There was green everywhere, incredibly subtle hues of such varying degrees it was hard to believe that they could be called the same color: deep pines and velvety mosses, pale meadows and rich olives. All were scattered across the land in the patchwork pattern of life. Though Tenpou usually chose the bustle and noise of cityscapes for their trips below, Gojun always brought him to places like these, where humankind had yet to make its indelible mark upon nature.
Of course, these rendezvous were not exactly permitted, but the Dragon King of the Western Sea had discovered early on that his marshal could be most persuasive when he’d fixed his mind upon something. To his own surprise, Gojun realized that he did not mind bending the rules, sometimes. In fact, he found himself looking forward to their personal excursions beyond the Dimension Gate, occurrences that were far more frequent than was prudent.
Nobody had to know.
“Well Commander, I must say you have outdone yourself. This prospect is magnificent,” Tenpou remarked.
“I thought that it might please you,” Gojun answered with a brief smile.
“And so it has. And here I thought that nothing could be more delightful than the street markets of Bangladesh, with all those tantalizing spices and bolts of colorful tapestries.” Tenpou closed his eyes and breathed in the air. It had a heaviness to it, the promise of rain that remained teasingly out of reach within the clouds above. Gojun mirrored the gesture. His senses were sharp, picking up the smells of the world around him: soil, tree bark, fauna, and …
“When was the last time you took a shower, Marshal?”
“Oh? Hm. I believe it was the day before yesterday. I knew we would be coming down today, so I made a special effort for your benefit,” Tenpou said unabashedly. He appeared to be sincere, unbelievably enough. Gojun sighed.
“I thank you for your efforts. I suppose it could be worse.”
Tenpou shamelessly lifted his collar and sniffed himself. “Your senses do you credit, Commander. I will be more mindful next time.”
Gojun snorted softly. In truth, it did not matter either way. Tenpou might be relatively slovenly for a military officer, but that had little effect on Gojun's appreciation for his company. He had a feeling Tenpou knew this already. He glanced up at the clouds and raised his palms to the sky. This would be the first time he’d ever used his divine power for such a purpose, but he seemed to be going through a lot of firsts when Tenpou was involved.
The clouds darkened and swirled, answering the summons of the Dragon King. They would come when he called, to gift the lands with rain as he saw fit. A light drizzle fell upon them, warm like summer and shimmering, crystal clear.
Tenpou looked up at the rain, a light smile upon his lips. His glasses were drenched and foggy, but his eyes were obviously laughing behind them.
“This is quite handy, for one so keen on cleanliness. Of course, there is the danger that I might rely upon you from here on out, thereby neglecting my personal hygiene even more,” he said in a teasing voice.
Gojun turned to him and removed Tenpou’s glasses, tucking them into his lab coat pocket. He cupped his wet cheeks with both hands and leaned in closer. If there could be a next time and a next time, then he would make it rain again and again.
“Do as you will,” he said as he kissed him tenderly.
the shining star
Those finals hours were spent under a cloudless sky, the very same one that graced the heavens night after night with steadfast perfection. Still, there was something just a little different about the stars that night. They seemed to shine more brilliantly then. For Gojun, it was a strange and overly sentimental observation. He wondered whether he’d only thought such a thing because he already knew that this mission would be their last.
They say stars burn just a little brighter in the moments before dying.
---
‘Marshal ...’
Tenpou smiled and pressed that blade’s edge to Gojun’s throat as he demanded passage for himself and the others. It was a desperate move, but one so heartbreakingly hopeful in retrospect.
“I trust you weren’t too alarmed, Commander,” Tenpou said to him later, apologetically. “Everything just happened so fast.” They sat in Tenpou’s cluttered office, the gravity of their situation overshadowed just slightly by the bust of ‘Colonel Sanders’ that watched over them with an infuriatingly jovial grin. It was their first moment alone since the ordeal had begun. Kenren was off reinforcing doors down the hall, while Konzen Douji and his charge had retreated into a back room to quietly contemplate what was to come.
“Hn,” Gojun answered, his frown only softening a little. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you undid these bindings.”
“But you look good like that,” Tenpou said with a grin. Gojun glared, this time with a touch of incredulity. How could Tenpou even make such a joke at a time like this? But if he thought about it, he made merry because it was a time like this ... what else could one do but laugh in the face of destruction? Tenpou was stronger than people assumed.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this? Perhaps ... it is not too late.”
Tenpou looked back at him sadly but with a determined gaze that Gojun knew only too well. There was no turning back.
“It has always been too late for me, Gojun. I think you’ve known that.”
Gojun did not answer but only sighed quietly.
“I am sorry, though ... for bringing you into this.”
“Then surely there must be something I can do. You cannot expect me to sit back and watch you and the others attempt such a foolhardy escape. It will never be successful.”
The line in Tenpou’s jaw tightened.
“Perhaps not, but it is worth a try.”
A try? The war was lost already. The battle was for show, offering a false sense of promise that could only end in one way. Tenpou was a brilliant tactician. Surely he understood the odds as Gojun did. He could not expect for Gojun to stand aside as if it did not matter to him.
“What will you have me do?”
“Nothing,” Tenpou answered, fixing his eyes bravely on that furrowing crease on Gojun’s brow. “You have done enough already.”
“I refuse accept that.”
“Think of your brothers. Your wives, your children.”
“I never expected to hear such words from you,” Gojun said with a touch of bitterness.
Tenpou frowned. Gojun knew that had been an unfair thing to say. He also knew that Tenpou was right. It pained him to realize that their ways diverged from this moment onward, following two paths that led in opposite directions. For Tenpou, he had his own family to think of: Konzen, Kenren, Goku. There was no space for anyone else – not now, when his fate was bound to theirs. Gojun could only watch from outside as each of them met with their ends, albeit ends of their own choosing.
“Forgive me, I – that is not what I wanted to say.” What Gojun wanted to say was something else, but even now, when their time together would soon draw to a close, he could not find the words to express it. He was never very good at it. Tenpou watched him silently before he rose from his chair and took a seat on the floor beside him. He withdrew a cigarette from a crumpled pack in his pocket and lit one, inhaling, exhaling. A lazy line of smoke rose between them.
“There is nothing to forgive,” Tenpou said. He did not ask him more. Maybe the words did not need to be spoken to be understood. They sat together for a long while just like that, side by side, until Tenpou’s cigarette was spent and added to a large pile of stubs in the gaping frog-mouth ashtray set precariously on a stack of books. At length he spoke again, almost wistfully:
“Perhaps I might visit the Western Sea when I have carried out my great escape to the World Below. I should very much like to see your home with my own eyes.”
Gojun leaned back against the wall. Their shoulders brushed together. He could smell the warm aroma of vanilla and nutmeg still hanging in the air from Tenpou’s cigarette. And he was surprised to also notice a hint of lavender and chamomile, drifting pleasantly from the marshal’s hair.
“Send me word when you have reached safe haven, and I will take you there,” he said. Gojun vowed then to keep this promise, in this life or the next.
Tenpou gave him an unguarded smile as he reached behind Gojun’s back to pull away at the ties that bound his wrists. The rope fell loose, their fingers entwined together, and for just one more night, Tenpou’s lips brushed against his skin, leaving a whisper of smoke there that lingered until dawn.
the dark side of the moon
It would be almost fifty years by the human calendar before Gojun saw him again. In that time, he relearned how to walk and how to focus his one-eyed vision to best advantage, because even after his crippling injuries from the fall, he was still the Commander of the Western Legions. The aftermath of that day of rebellion went just as one might have expected. Politics could be so predictable in cases such as these, when there was enough blame to go around and there were embarrassing scandals to cover-up. The Merciful Goddess stepped in to deal with the child that no one else would touch, though every one of them had been quick enough to pass judgment on him.
As for the others – their bodies were never recovered. Perhaps they had fulfilled their wish for escape in the end, if only in a purely physical manner. But their essences, their atman were still at the mercy of their karma, to cycle through one existence after another until their journeys were deemed complete. Who would determine when that time had come, he could not say.
The years passed for Gojun with numbing monotony and countless questions left unspoken, as he watched the World Below with sadness and wonder. Seasons came and went. The rebellion was all but forgotten in the realm of heaven. And then ... Gojun did not know how, but there came a day when he felt a sudden and undeniable compulsion to visit the Dimension Gate.
Perhaps it was fitting that he should return there once more, to pass the threshold that he’d stepped across time and again with his one-time marshal and oldest friend. Only this time, he stayed within the space between, that incorporeal place that was neither here nor there. Some say spirits wander in by accident on their way to their next existence.
It was dark and misty there, with a faint roar that swept around him as though he stood within the eye of a storm. He waited.
"Commander," a voice called to him from behind.
"I am your commanding officer no longer, as you well know," Gojun answered. But he was smiling as he turned to behold him. Tenpou’s face and manner seemed quite unchanged. He was dressed the same as when he had been still an immortal, from his wrinkled white lab coat down to his abominable bathroom slippers.
Tenpou chuckled. He reached into his coat pocket for his usual packet of smokes.
"Old habits," he said, lighting a cigarette.
“So I see.”
“I thought I might find you here. You always did have impeccable timing.”
“It certainly took you long enough,” Gojun answered with mock vexation. But the following question was spoken softer and much more earnestly: “Was it all that you thought it would be?”
Tenpou smoked silently for a few minutes.
“Yes ... and no.”
Gojun waited expectantly, but there was no further elaboration.
“... is that all the answer you have for me?”
“For you, no,” Tenpou said with a smile. There might have been a trace of sorrow there. Tenpou exhaled and pondered for a while before he continued. “They say that some atman possess the ability – or curse – of remembrance. They bring each existence forward after death. No cycle to begin anew, but one continuous circle to tread, over and over.”
Gojun’s brow furrowed deeply.
“You mean ... you ...?”
“Yes.”
Tenpou kept smiling around his cigarette, but Gojun was not fooled. He could see that subtle tension in Tenpou’s face and a darkness within his gaze that wasn’t there before. To carry on the burdens from one life to the next; it was unthinkable. Even if one could somehow live without regrets, there would always be suffering. Gojun had no words to speak, though perhaps his downcast eyes said plenty already.
“On the upside, I had all the knowledge I’d gained as ‘Tenpou’ already stored away in my mind. My instructors certainly met their match,” he said lightly. “It would’ve taken me quite a number of human lifetimes to reacquire all that diligent study.”
“Tenpou …”
The smile faltered only briefly on Tenpou’s face.
“I had memories of drinking sake under the cherry blossoms with the three of them. Sneaking off to the World Below for a quick jaunt in a valley of green. And when it rained, I would always think of you. So you see, it is not so bad.”
Gojun reached for Tenpou then and pulled him fast against himself. He held him close without a word for a while, but the moment would not last forever. The next cycle would call for him shortly, and they must wait another lifetime to meet again.
“I will see you soon,” Tenpou said beside his ear.
And then he was gone.
They met like this once every few decades, fleeting moments shared between the realms of life and death. Gojun always knew when he was coming. He had a nose for it, Tenpou would tease. Their time together in the Dimension Gate was always brief, but Tenpou regaled him with stories of his many lifetimes, from his tale of cloak and dagger intrigue as a "consulting detective" to the glorious battles at sea as a decorated naval captain. One time, he even served as the spy master of a great queen, though he only smiled mischievously when Gojun asked what kinds of trouble that position had invited. But through the colorful incarnations, one thing always remained constant – the remembering. It was not his imagination that Tenpou appeared just a shade paler each time he returned. If divine interference wouldn’t jeopardize the natural course of the cycles of Tenpou's existence, Gojun would have searched Heaven and Earth to find him and ease that pain.
He knew that in each life, Tenpou always sought out the family he had once had and lost, the beloved ones that were wandering in the cycles of karma just like him. As for the child – the location of Goku’s prison was a closely guarded secret, even amongst the gods. In truth, such knowledge would not have done much good. Even if Tenpou found him, the seals that kept the child caged would not break for many more years to come.
Life continued on in the heavens, and Gojun watched from his faraway post as his children grew up and wed, proud dragons who would one day rule the lands of the West in his place. His wives said little of his long absences from his crystal palace under the sea – perhaps as the centuries passed, it was easier to speak less of the sacrifices they had all made in the name of sustaining the royal lines. Their duties to one another had been fulfilled. What more was there to answer to?
It was not until after Tenpou’s seventh lifetime that Gojun sensed he would not be returning to the gate again. Though dragons had longevity of life, his own had been nearly cut short by the events all those years ago. His body had deteriorated over time and was finally nearing its end.
“I think I’ll be a teacher in my next life,” Tenpou was saying. He sat there on the misty ground beside Gojun with a lit cigarette in hand.
“I think you should quit smoking in your next life,” Gojun retorted. “I am sure it led to your untimely demise in more than one of your lifetimes.”
Tenpou chuckled with amusement. “Yes, you are probably right.” He smoked on, however, as though savoring the last cigarette he would have in quite some time. He continued rambling about plans for his future career, pondering which age group would be the most rewarding to teach and whether literature, philosophy, or science would be more his forte. Gojun had an odd vision in his head of Tenpou standing in front of a classroom full of awestruck teenagers who watched in horrified amazement while their teacher set a chemical compound ablaze.
“... I have heard," Tenpou suddenly said in a complete change of subject, "that it is possible to lift oneself out of the cycle of remembrance. To split one’s atman in two."
Gojun blinked and turned to him sharply. Where was this coming from? Tenpou had heard no such thing. He mentioned it casually, but Gojun knew that he must have researched this through and through, possibly for several generations. It did not bode very well.
“That sounds absurd. Why would you do such a thing to yourself? Who knows what repercussions that could bring? You might never be the same again.”
“Gojun ... I don’t want to be the same anymore,” he said after a pained interval.
Gojun was stuck silent. He thought he had known how hard the last several lifetimes had been for Tenpou, but clearly he had not understood the depths of his anguish at all. Tenpou carried with him a remembering and longing that could never be fulfilled while he lived, harboring questions that had no answers. For a bright and inquisitive mind like Tenpou’s, it was surely an unbearable fate. Gojun frowned.
“Then I will come with you, next time."
Tenpou looked at him with surprise. But he also understood, without any explanation: Gojun would soon pass from this life to enter samsara. There was no telling where he would end up, but maybe karma would smile upon them at last.
“Just don’t hold a blade to my throat when we meet again," Gojun said with a deceptively deadpan face.
“That was nearly five hundred years ago! Surely you do not hold that against me still. You know why it had to be done.” Tenpou laughed. There was a lightness to that sound that Gojun hadn’t heard in quite some time.
“Dragons have long memories.”
“I can see that.” Tenpou leaned in to press smiling lips to his, warmly. “But how will I know you, if I’ve finally broken free of my curse?”
“You might not,” Gojun said rather frankly. The thought that he would be forgotten gave him some pause, but Tenpou needed this. He could never move forward when he was fixed in time forever. Heaven still held fast upon him, but it was time for letting go. Gojun would probably forget him too, and yet he felt hopeful that their fates would twine together again somehow. “But I made a promise to you, once. I intend to keep it.”
Tenpou looked fondly at him.
“Then I will hold you to it.”
the light of dawn
He who was once known as Tenpou, Field Marshal for the First Brigade of the Western Legions, got his wish. On his eighth incarnation, he was born into the human realm as twin souls, two parts of a whole made to exist in separate vessels. The memories of ‘Tenpou’ could not follow them into this life, not when he had been ripped apart so recklessly. But the new beginning that he had so desired came at a staggering price. Though they entered the world together, their paths soon diverged, leaving each just a fraction of their true self. They wandered for many years in this way, like lost children in a sea of faceless strangers.
But yin and yang inevitably called each to each, and as fate would have it, they were reunited for a cherished moment in time. Some would call it an abomination, sacrilege, a crime against nature. In truth, it was simply inevitable, for there were few things more profound than the soul’s desire for completion.
And yet, the whole was not meant to be pieced together so haphazardly. Maybe they understood the fragile nature of their bond, but lived in willful ignorance until their days together came to an abrupt and brutal end.
‘Kill me. Oh someone, please kill me now ...’
That partial soul cried out as his other half breathed her last, taken from him far before her time.
The rain that fell over him then was cool and soothing, but he knew it could never cleanse the rot from himself. The sound of it was deafening. Had he listened more carefully, however, maybe he would have heard a gentle whisper by his ear:
Not yet. You have much to experience, much to learn before you go.
He didn’t feel the presence of that divine Mercy, but perhaps it was watching over him as another reunion came to pass, quick on the heels of his wrenching loss.
He awoke in a place much too mundane to call hell, but one he would willingly share with him – the one with hair the color of blood. Little did he know how deep their connection ran, nor of the centuries he had spent looking for him through each of his lifetimes. And to the doorstep of that ordinary hell came calling the others, the ones who could deliver him from the darkness of his long solitude. He might never be ‘Tenpou’ again, but the soul has a strange way of evolving, expanding, becoming more than what it was in the beginning.
Wait for me, Kanan. Just a little while longer.
And he would wait also, in this life, because he had a strange feeling there was someone else he was supposed to meet, by a promise that was owed to him from eons past, a faraway shadow of a memory too precious to forget.
---
‘Shut up,’ she snapped. But she didn’t even bother to hide the pleased look on her face as she remarked, ‘It took those bastards long enough.’
‘Indeed.’ He didn’t say anything about the subtle nudges that the raggedy bunch had gotten from somewhere (someone?) above, but he knew how to keep a secret. Maybe that’s why his presence was so tolerated.
‘One more character missing from that merry band of hellions.’
‘Oh?’
‘Hn. There he is.’
He leaned over her shoulder to peer into the lotus pond.
‘He looks like he’s dead,’ he said bluntly.
‘Pfft! Don’t be an ass, Jiroshin. I didn’t wait five hundred years for nothing.’
‘Of course not.’
‘I’ll be back.’
‘Then I will see you later.’
---
He wasn’t really sure why he’d fled from there. It was the only life he had ever known. But the sliver of sky he could see from the window looked so blue and so beautiful he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to unfurl his wings and take flight into what lay beyond. And so one day, when the technician wasn’t looking, he sprang up and pushed through a gap in the open window and launched himself into the wide expanse above, tasting sunshine for the first time since he’d been born.
Oh, how terrified he was those first few days outside! He dipped and fluttered awkwardly in the beginning, unaccustomed to so much wind and space beneath his untested wings. But once he’d felt that unfettered sensation of freedom within his small frame, he knew he could never go back.
But he had far to go – so, so very far. He wasn’t even sure exactly where he was headed, but had a feeling he would know when his journey was done. And so he traveled on, past mountains and valleys, forest and desert, exhaustion pinching his every nerve. Onward he flew toward the rising sun, taking shelter only for short moments under darkness of night.
Then had come this day, when the sky opened up with a torrent of rain. The storm came upon him so suddenly he’d lost all his bearings as his waterlogged wings flapped hard against the gale. He’d slammed into sharp rocks somewhere along the way down, tearing a large gash into his wing. He eventually limped into a cave and pulled that wing around himself with a whimper.
How much farther did he have? It didn’t matter, if he had no means to make it there. He sniffed pathetically and lowered his head beneath his wing.
“You look like shit.”
A deep, sonorous voice spoke from the darkness. He lifted his head and looked around in surprise. If it was a threat, he had sensed nothing. The rain made it difficult to sniff out any intruders here.
“But you did come a long way for a little guy, I’ll grant you that.” There was a trace of amusement in the strange voice, and he wondered why the man (woman?) seemed to know so much about him. He lowered his wing and struggled to sit up to get a better look. The figure was crouched at the mouth of the cave and had a faint golden glow about it. The glow felt warm.
“Don’t tell me you’re giving up now. Doesn’t suit you to fuck around in a cave like a miserable creature. You remember, don’t you? At least somewhere inside, you can sense it. This is no way to end.”
He wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged or offended by this odd sort of person who knew so much. But the glowing figure was right – this was no way to end. And he knew he wasn’t quite where he needed to be. Not yet.
The rain outside had stopped. He hadn’t even noticed until now. He tucked his wing upon his narrow back and took a few steps forward.
“Good, that’s more like it. A little further. Your journey’s just beginning, King of Dragons.”
He thought he heard a soft chuckle, but as he stepped across the opening of the cave into the flickering sunlight beyond, there was no trace of the being who had been there just a moment ago. He squinted and stumbled a few more steps into the forest. It smelled like damp leaves and moss. A few birds twittered above, poking out their heads after the clouds had passed over and opened up to clear sky.
And then a crunch of footsteps sounded from the footpath behind him. He jerked his head up and floundered for a moment, unable to escape with his broken wing. The footsteps halted.
A face came closer as a man crouched down low. Eyes of deep green gazed warmly at him, the color of spring and summer.
“Hello, there. What happened to you?”
The dragon looked up at the man with inquisitive eyes. Somehow he knew not to be afraid. How could he be, when a strange sense of nostalgia filled him just then? He took a step closer, and then another.
“You’re injured. We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” The man reached out his hand. The dragon found himself stepping closer still until he climbed up onto the offered arm, clamping his claws securely upon this odd new perch.
The man smiled.
“Come, I will take you home.”
And so he did.