~^~Against The Dying of the Light~^~
-Book Five: Faded Memories-

"Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble, as they seek to climb."		~H.W. Longfellow

	*Miaka.* The mists surrounded the brave soul who proceeded, shielding his
eyes and his face from the stinging clouds, which whipped past his face. Winds
began to blow, forcing him back, as if to warn him not to go any further.
Onward he trudged, denying all feelings of failure and replaced them with
determination.
	His hair, blew in the wind as his left arm covered his face, his sleeved
flapping in
the wind; his right arm held the locket around his neck, as if his life
depended on it; clutching onto it hoping that it would bring his salvation.

*			*			*			* 
	"Angel! What the fuck are ya trying to do? Kill the poor bastard before he
even reaches us?" Orion yelled at his companion who now appeared from the
mists. The guardian was frustrated, and his fangs showed. 
	"Ano. Have you forgotten already? He's already dead, no da! This is part of
the test of endurance...Ack!"
	Angel was cut short as Orion grabbed him by the collar of his robe. "Aho! So
what if he's dead! Can't ya give him a fuckin' break already!"
	Angel, being a 'messenger' and also the wiser of the two, sighed and bonked
Orion over the head with his staff, which he conjured out of thin air. Angel
sighed and explained the endurance test once again to Orion, who was rubbing
his head and uttering curse words to match every word that Angel was saying. 
	The messenger sighed, his brow ruffled and his raised his left eyebrow. He
was a messenger, and not a warrior or guardian of a soul. There were six of
them assigned to each soul; six parts that is. The first part, was the
guardian and gatekeeper of one's soul, Orion; the messenger who delivered news
far and wide was next, being him, Angel; next was the soul's warrior,
otherwise known as the fighting spirit and the will of an individual; fourth
was the healer, the one to replenish the warrior's soul; fifth was the wise-
man of the soul, otherwise referred to as the conscience; last was the leader
and lover, the most powerful and righteous spirit of the divisions of one's
soul. The leader possessed more qualities than all the divisions combined; it
was a way of making oneself complete.
	To invoke that leader and lover, meant to bring eternal life and happiness.
Only a few out the the masses were able to do so. Some who completed that task
became guardians, messengers, warriors, healers, consciences, and leaders of
one's soul; each choosing their own path. Or one may pass through the gates of
Heaven, never looking back on earth and their past lives; unlike the parts of
an individual's soul, who often drifted from Limbo to Heaven and back.
	Angel sighed, his blue hair ruffled as he scratched his head. *Ten-thousand
years and he still has the mind-set of an eleven year old.* 

*			*			*			*
	The cold wind froze the gentleman who was now uttering a few words of prayer.
He cold feel the wind, so cold, so death-like that it was burning his skin;
scorching, so hot and painful. He almost couldn't move now, on his knees, the
cold becoming unbearing. He had never met weather like this in his lifetime.
His clothes, a navy blue cloak over a sheer sky-blue shirt and khakis pants,
not providing enough warmth. He had no shoes on, and was now wearing his cloak
on his front, as he attempted to shield himself from the battering winds and
water. The water surprisingly did not freeze at this temperature, but instead
stung him. They weren't water, but knives which cut through his skin, or at
least it felt like it. He didn't care what it was, but just proceeded onwards.
	He swore he saw an image appear before him, a girl with brown hair draped
over her face, her arms wrapped around her chest, as if she were a captive of
her own doing. She was suspended in mid-air, floating, beckoning him onward.
He could almost make out a voice, a repititious chant: "Save me...save
me...save me..." It was emanating from the girl, who also gave off a deep red
light, which Tamahome could feel, brought warmth. He struggled onward, and
removed himself from his kneeling position, despite how painful it was walking
on frozen feet. 
	He couldn't feel his body, his heart slowing down to a faint, steady drum. He
was dying, he could sense it. But his mind and heart brought him onward, the
pain being so overwhelming, that it was almost impossible to take it out of
one's frame of mind. Yet, he succeeded in doing so, concentrating his mind on
the red light, attempting to feel its warmth, gaining strength by it. He
pushed himself onward, physically, spiritually and mentally, not only for
Miaka, but for himself. He wondered about his life, what he was doing in this
world. He had so many questions he wanted answered, and he seeked to fill that
seemingly vast eternal void of emptiness. His mind was blank, and he struggled
wanting to remember everything. All he seemed to recollect was fragments; a
country awaiting for him, and a bride-to-be; friends, family and comrades
cheereing him on; the fine schools teaching him manners and ettiquete. All
those memories up to the a certain point remained intact. But when he came
across a girl, a brown-haired, hazel-eyed young lady, Miaka, the reel of
memories seemed to have been erased, and no matter how he fast-forwarded the
reel of memories and struggled to make out another image, the only thing that
welcomed him was a blank screen.
	*I must go on.* Tamahome thought as he brought his foot forward for another
step, and another and another, each more painful and closer-to-death than it
was before. He soon found that he could no longer bring himself to carry his
own body, that he collapsed, awaiting the bitter, rock-hard, icicle carperted
floor. 
	Instead of hitting his grave, he continued falling, collapsing softly on a
white floor covered in white mists. Warmth emanated from the mists reviving
him, as he shivered, and he felt blankets and other items being placed on top
of him. A voice coming from all-around ordered him to get up.
	"Tamahome, get up. You must get up." 
	*A female voice?* Tamahome awoke from his temporary daze and strained his
ears. He could not move his body yet, nontheless lift his heavy eyelids to
look at the owner of the soft hand which lifted up his head by his chin.
*Miaka.* He thought warmly, and smiled. He soon found himself embracing the
stranger who lifted him up and placed him in his protective arms.
	"Ano, Tamahome. Are you alright?"
	There it was that voice again. *Miaka's, can it possibly be her's?* Tamahome
wasted no time and pulled his head closer to Miaka's chest, snuggling in.
*Strange,* he thought, as he lifted his free hand to place it across Miaka's
chest, feeling the surface. *Flat?*
	"Aho! What the fuck are ya feeling me for!"
	Tamahome suddenly felt himself being dropped, and this time he hit the floor,
pretty hard and enough to bring him to his senses. He was now rested, and he
darted up finding himself next to a red-head who was baring his fangs and
buttoning up his shirt.
	"Orion?" Tamahome, rubbed his eyes with his palms and shook his head. "I
could have sworn that the voice was.."
	"Miaka's, no da?"
	"Right, Miaka's?" Tamahome, realizing that the responce did not come from
Orion, who was still busy fixing his hair and his shirt, spun around and came
face-to-face with another individual.
	"Ano. Sorry to scare you, no da. But you did think that the voice was
Miaka's, ne, no da?" Angel approached Tamahome, who backed away and soon
bumped into Orion.
	"Oi! Watch where the hell ya going?" Orion responded gruffly and snapped his
fingers, ordering strange, little, girls to pick up the mess of blankets and
cloaks, which once covered Tamahome.
	"Gomen ne, Tamahome. It is rude to talk when you haven't introduced yourself,
no da." Angel, extended his hand, as Tamahome had once did with Orion.
"Watashi wa, Angel, no da."
	Tamahome, scared at first; considering the strange surroundings and the
little girls who were giggling and chanting "Clean clean, fix fix" while
cleaning up; hesistated, but eventually shook Angel's hand.
	"Angel no da? That's your real name?"
	"No, no da. Angel is my name, no da. It means 'messenger' in Spanish, no da."
	"Oh." Tamahome looked quizically at the stranger, who was tall, covered in
robes, and he noticed the series of necklaces and a long staff with an ornate
decoration at the end. He had a real 'funky' hairdo, his bangs were all spiked
at the top, and he had a long ponytail and the back of his head, which was
shaved. 
	"See. Even I think he's freaky, even though I've been with him for 10,000
years."
Orion whispered into Tamahome's ear, and he stiffled a laugh.
	Angel sighed and got right to business, but first bonking Orion on the head
with his staff, who was still cracking jokes about his hairdo and the way he
spoke.
	"Ano, Tamahome. Gomen ne for Orion, but we have much to talk about." Angel
brought his hands together, leaving the staff standing magically in the air.
At his will, Angel caused the surrounding clouds to shake and tremble with
such force that an unseen door cracked open, exposing a blinding red light.
Angel beckoned for Tamahome to follow. Due to the blinding light, Tamahome
cringed and shielded his eyes, attempting to follow the couple. Orion, seeing
that Tamahome was wasting time, grabbed him by his shirt sleeve and dragged
him towards the enormous gateway, which continued to open.

-Book Six: Crusades-

"Be strong!
It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,
How hard the battle goes, the day how long;
Faint not-fight on! Tomorrow comes the song."		~M.D. Babcock

	The light was so brilliant and blinding that Tamahome was completely
hypnotized by it, not able to control his body, once again relying on Orion to
carry him through the massive gates.
	As soon as they passed through the white doors, everything changed so
suddenly. The air became much lighter and easier to breathe, the scent of
ambrosia and nectar hung around, and the red light dimmed and eventually
became centered on a vast door, which was almost one hundred times larger than
the door they previously passed through. Tamahome could now see, the gateway
ahead of him, guarded by six ivory statues, of which he could not make out.
Heavy mists no longer surrounded them, and were now isolated on what could be
conceived as walls, which held millions of golden frames, that extended to
infinity and reached a red light and the huge gateway. The sight was
absolutely breathtaking , and Tamahome's attention was now turned to the
walls, which came to life with the mists swirling around. 
	"Enchanting isn't it, no da?" Angel stopped and faced Tamahome who was
squinting and getting used to the brightness of the hallway.
	Orion inhaled deeply. "Fuck ya! This almost feels like home!" He grinned at
Tamahome, showing his fangs.
	Tamahome could now stand on his own, looking around, surveying his
surroudings. A mere mortal in all this splendor, he almost felt like
prostating himself to Orion and Angel, who were now staring at him wondering
what to say next.
	"Ano. This is the Hallway of Souls, no da." Angel turned away and pointed to
each of the frames. "Each of these frames holds a soul and as you can see,
there are an endless number of them, no da. You have one too, Tamahome."
	Orion turned to Angel and whispered something out of reach of Tamahome, who
went to look at a frame. "Well, let's not waste anymore time and get started,
no da."
With another quick movement of his hands, he summoned one of the frames. Soon
enough a golden frame levitated and flew towards the threesome.
	"Eyah! Get offa me Tamahome!" Orion shrieked as Tamahome sought shelter
behind the red-head, who began prying him off. "It's nothing, just a freakin'
frame that tells you about your life!" Orion flung the reluctant Tamahome
towards the frame.
	Angel sighed and began talking despite the frequent curse uttered from
Orion's mouth. He began explaining how the frame, when beckoned can tell of
anyone's life, and how this particular frame told the tale of Tamahome. Angel
was stopped by Tamahome, who looked at him, questioning how they were able to
look at his entire life if he was still living it.
	"The only way you'd be able to look at my life is if I'm dead. But I'm still
living, how is that?"
	Both Angel and Orion sighed. Orion glanced at his companion, telling him that
he would explain this one to Tamahome. Orion's tone of voice changed from
being playful and aggressive, to that of a soft and sympathetic one as he
explained to Tamahome the recent past events.
	"Tamahome, you are dead. You died through your own hands."
	Those words struck him like stone, as Tamahome's eyes opened and he gasped,
not believing those quick few short words, which had so much impact on him.
*I'm dead?* He thought over and over, letting those words sink in. Orion, with
the same movements of the hand as Angel, beckoned the frame to come nearer.
	"This will explain everything." Orion sighed and sympathized with Tamahome,
knowing that this will be hard on him. The frame approached Tamahome and
images began to form, shifting shape forming people and scenery. The first
scene was a mansion, with attendants buzzing around, busy and each with their
own agenda. Soon, Tamahome found himself actually inside the images he was
watching. Although he cold hear every conversation and see any event that was
taking place, they were unaware of his presence. Tamahome had made his way up
the front stairway of the majestic house. He had been there many times before,
and he could not remember why; maybe it was to visit someone or he had been
here to teach a class. He could not recollect anything, but he found that he
was approaching a lone room, of which the door was shut. He politely began to
knock on the door and chuckled to himself, remembering that he could not be
seen, nor heard. As he attempted to reach the door handle, his hand
immediately went through, and he appeared on the other side of the door. 
	*What just happened?* Tamahome turned around to find himself facing the
inside of the door. Voices disrupted his thinking and he again turned to see a
old doctor and another young man hung over a canopy bed, in which there lain a
familiar girl. The voices were familiar and he approached to find that the
young man was indeed him, a former-self clutching the hand of a frail girl who
was sleeping in the bed. He watched himself and his reaction when the doctor
announced that there was no way to save his love.
	"Gomen nasai, Master Tamahome. But there is nothing we can do to save her.
She has already chosen the path of death. There is nothing in our power that
can bring her back."
	Tamahome now hovered over the three, peering over the lad's shoulder to see
the girl, whose brown-hair, once neat and flowing, was in disarray, her skin
once glowing, now pale and with a sickly green tint to it. The other Tamahome
said nothing either, silently muttering a prayer while brushing a strand of
hair from his lover's face.
	"Miaka?" The other Tamahome said as he kissed her hand slightly, causing her
to stir. "Don't worry, you'll pull through. It's only a bad cold." The young
man lifted his eyes towards the doctor for reassurance. "Right, doctor?" The
old man saw what he was doing, and kindly responded. "See, Miaka? You'll be
able to go out and run and play again. And I promised that we will go and
visit the bride-shop tomorrow to pick out your gown." He paused to once again
kiss her hand, and place his hand over her cheek.
	"Tamahome." Miaka began to open her eyes, and weakily smiled. The visiting
Tamahome began to realize that she was indeed afflicted by the Black Death. He
began to weep, tears slowly trickling down his face, and he did not bother to
wipe it off. He noticed too that the other Tamahome was crying as well, trying
his best not to let his fiancee know of his sadness. He saw how unselfish they
were to each other as Miaka told Tamahome how she imagined her gown would be. 
	"It will be a brilliant white, so radiant that even the sun will be jealous."
Miaka smiled and coughed. She was so weak, that even talking required a lot of
energy from her. "Tamahome, you will have to wear that black suit, even though
I know you hate it a lot."
	Both Tamahome(s) wept furiously now. The invisible one began to recollect
what happened. He began to hear himself again, telling Miaka that he would
have to get a  tailor to fix the suit, since he ripped it because it was too
tight. He had made Miaka laugh, and she closed her eyes once more. The
memories flooding back were painful and so dreadful; Tamahome refused to bear
anymore, and he did not wish to see Miaka die once more. He quickly shut his
eyes, but he could not block the sound; the last breath taken by Miaka, her
pain and her last words: "Tamahome, I promise that we'll go shopping tomorrow.
Go to sleep my love. Ashiteru, Tamahome." Tamahome could hear himself cry and
let out such a wail that his head ached and his heart shattered. Tears flowed
down his face, his hands clutching his head, sobbing, quivering under the
pain. Never had he faced such pain. Miaka was not dead, not yet, but she was
in such pain that it could be worse than death. She was in an eternal sleep,
never to wake up. She was comatose, as the doctors had explained and she was
sure to die in a few days.
	Soon everything faded into a blur and he found himself again in a cold
desolate room. This part came back to him and he attempted to stop himself
from filling the bathtub, grabbing the dagger and performing his own death. He
reached out to grab the other Tamahome, only to find his hands passing through
both the bathtub and the other man. He could then hear his words in his head:
"Forever...Miaka." He then heard the odd sound of metal cutting flesh, as he
clutched his wrists from pain. Blood dripped through his hand, as the other
Tamahome sulked down into the bathtub, holding Miaka's necklace, the very one
in which he wore now. 
	Tamahome's spirit gasped as he realized what he had done. He reached for his
body to enter it once again, but was soon pulled back at such a speed that
everything became obscure once more, wails came through images which flickered
before him, and the blood faded from his wrists as he soon found himself
whisked back to the Hallway of Souls. He fell to his knees crying, no longer
sobbing, furiously. Orion was there to help him up, as Angel began comforting
him through words.
	"Tamahome? Please, pull yourself together, no da." Angel stepped towards the
couple.
	"How the fuck is he supposed to continue on, now that you showed him THAT!"
Orion growled, already bent down, placing his arms around the quivering shell
of a man.
	"Ano. It wasn't MY idea, no da!" Angel countered. "Besides, it would be
improper to let him go onward without him knowing what the he's doing it for!"
	"Awww, shit! Don't go through all that righteous crap with me! It was still
fucking wrong!"
	"But it has to be that way, otherwise, the quest will never be done
wholeheartedly, no da!"
	"Fuck no! That was still damn cruel!"
	The two continued to argue, as Tamahome spoke. Softly at first, but he
assured himself that he would do it. "Quest? For what? Is there any way that I
can save myself and the one I love? Please, there must be a way. I'll do
anything. Anything, anything you say, whatever the torture, put me through it.
If it's for Miaka, anything please." He spoke, those words so strong and full
of meaning, that it shut up his two
spiritual guides, who stood there gaping at the man.
	"Tamahome?" Both of them said, surprised to find him having recovered so
quickly.
	"Ano, Angel. This is where your part comes in." Orion stepped away, but not
physically, still there by Tamahome, cradling him.
	"Arigatou, Orion." Angel told Tamahome to face him and told him of the tasks
which he must perform. "It will not be easy, no da. I am afraid that I cannot
tell you of the tasks. But you will have to pass three of them, two you
already passed. The first testing your will, with Leila. The second testing
your endurance, with the ice-storm. The rest of the four tests I will not be
able to tell you of, no da."
	Orion growled and insisted that Angel give him an explanation. Angel sighed
and continued onward. "Each test that a person goes through is designed
especially for them, since it was made that us guides will not help you cheat
in any way possible. Each test is designed according to the individiual's own
fears, and weaknesses." Angel paused, emphasizing the next part. "Along each
journey, you will encounter each of your spiritual guides. There are six of
them, me and Orion are only two of them. Unfortunately, you cannot have all
your guides with you at once. Orion shall always remain with you, since he is
your guardian, at it is the rule of the sky that he remain with you, even in
death. The other four you shall find along your journeys, you must gather them
in order to go back your body. The quest is hard, may I remind you. The other
four, Orion and I will and cannot reveal their names to you only that the four
you shall find are your warrior, your conscience, your healer, and your leader
or lover. Once they are finally gathered and you have sought them, they each
will give you a special item, to help you further on your quest. Mind you,
that we guides cannot interfere with your happenings, but just advise and warn
you. Time is of the essence, Tamahome. You and Miaka are linked, not only
through the heart, soul, and mind, but also through your health, no da. If and
when she should die, your quest will end, and you will lose all chance of
saving her and yourself. There is no turning back once you decide to do this.
Hurry and seek the conscience first, for he holds the knowledge you need to
find the rest of your guides." Angel turned to Orion, who easily picked up
Tamahome in his arms. "Be careful, Tamahome, the tests are difficult and are
made so that no regular mortal should pass. Good luck, no da."
	Orion rose in the air, with Tamahome in his arms. There was no time to waste.
If Miaka were to perish, so would Tamahome, and the results would not only
bring failure and their deaths, but also the eternal separation between Miaka
and Tamahome. The mists once captured into the wall soon broke free and
surrounded the couple, who hovered in the air. "Good luck, no da!" A voice
came from under them, as the mists and sudden winds carried them off, away
from the Hallway of Souls.

***Author's Note: The rest of the story is still being written. It is
contained in the third email. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I did not wish
for the story to be split in the middle of Book Seven***