Interlude: Lord Jashin's Bargain
The figure threw three dice.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Hazō threw three dice.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The figure threw three dice.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Hazō couldn't read the dice. Every face was a skull, but only one was a skull Hazō recognised, and that was because it was human.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Hazō didn't know how long they'd been playing. He didn't know the rules. He didn't know if he was winning or losing.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
He suspected he was losing, and he already knew the figure never played games without stakes.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
In the dim, sourceless red light, Hazō couldn't see the figure's face. He couldn't see the figure's body. In fact, he couldn't see the figure rolling dice at all, except that he could.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Hazō couldn't speak. The figure didn't speak either.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Hazō rolled three human skulls.
Did that mean he'd won or–
"Hazō, is that you?!"
Hazō sprang out of his chair. He knew that voice.
"Akane!"
Akane stumbled out of the primordial darkness, into the narrow circle of red light illuminating the game.
She looked terrible. Her uniform was filthy and torn, with the left sleeve missing. Her beautiful brown hair was matted. Her eyes were open slightly wider than was healthy.
But it was her.
"Hazō, I–"
Akane cut off. Her shoulders slumped.
"No, never mind," she said emotionlessly. "You're probably just another hallucination. Go away now. I have to keep moving."
"No, Akane!" Hazō exclaimed. "It's me, it's really me!"
Akane gave him a complex look, made of so many layers of hope, wariness, and despair that it nearly broke his heart.
Then, after a few seconds of stillness, she ran up to him and grabbed him so tight it hurt.
"You're really here?" she whispered. "You're here to rescue me?"
A sharp blade of guilt and pity stabbed through Hazō.
"Not yet. I'm sorry. On my side, this is just a dream. But I'm working on it, I promise. I'm almost there."
Akane pulled back to give him a desperate look.
"Please hurry, Hazō. Please. I woke up somewhere with no light, and I can't get out, and I can't tell what's real anymore, and I think there might be something stalking me,
and I keep forgetting things. Hazō, please, you need to get me out of here. I don't want to forget you too."
"I'm almost there," Hazō repeated. "I swear. Just hold on a little longer. Akane, I love–"
There was no Akane.
"No!" Hazō shouted. "No, bring her back!"
Hazō was back in the chair. He couldn't get up.
Silently, the figure unrolled a scroll across the table. It wasn't parchment, but something pale and leathery that Hazō didn't recognise.
No, that was a lie. Hazō knew exactly what the map was made of.
The figure stabbed a dagger through the map. Reflected in one side of its vicious, jagged blade, Hazō recognised the O'Uzu forests. In the other, a great body of what he already knew wasn't water.
With its other hand, if it even had hands, the figure flipped a coin through the air. As Hazō watched, hypnotised by its movement, it came down on its edge on a point on the other end of the map. It didn't stop spinning, somehow horizontally now. Skull. Blank. Skull. Blank. Skull. Blank.
Hazō couldn't read the map. The symbols were alien, and shifted when he looked at them for too long. The topography was nonsense, impossible for any real landscape–just like the sea of flesh-melting acid was. The scale was either unmarked or illegible to him, but he could already tell that it would be a long way to go, easily as long as from O'Uzu to the Fire Country, if not longer.
He tried to look closer, to memorise it as best he could.
A blinding headache tore through his brain, as if the very flesh of it was being disassembled by some merciless, relentless force. Hazō would have screamed, but he still couldn't make any sound.
When it finally passed, an eternity later, and Hazō could see again, there was a gem floating in front of him, a magnificent, elaborately-cut colourless oval the size of two fists put together.
Slowly, the gem floated away until it hung over the table, next to the map. Looking at it more carefully, Hazō could see that it was covered with hairline cracks–so many cracks that he didn't understand how it hadn't yet fallen apart. They pierced through every part of it, dancing across every facet, in places intertwining in what looked almost like numbers and symbols.
He watched, and the cracks shifted. They ran through different places, created different symbols. The sliver of space visible through the gem was somehow different too.
Oh. It wasn't a gem. It was a lens.
It was
his lens. It was his forbidden knowledge brought back from the Out, plucked from the depths of his soul and placed between him and the figure… as a bargaining piece.
Finally, Hazō understood. The figure wanted his Out lore, or perhaps it simply wanted him not to have it. But for some reason, it couldn't just take it. Instead, in exchange, it was offering him the map–knowledge of Akane's exact location and the lands in between, making for the swiftest, easiest possible rescue.
Hazō looked between the lens and the map. He needed that lens. It was the missing piece that allowed him to compete with, even surpass, the world's greatest sealmasters despite a gap in experience that even genius couldn't yet bridge. Without it, he would always be a step behind, always a level below what he was truly capable of.
The map was huge. How long would it take to cross those lands without knowing the obstacles that lay in any rescue party's way? Some might even be lethal to the unprepared, like the sea of acid. Besides, without the map, would they even know which way to head from the rift?
Hazō had earned his insight. He'd paid a great price for it. It was an inextricable part of who he was now, and he already knew that if he gave it away of his own free will, he would never be able to get it back.
He was in a race against time. The longer he took to find Akane (and Jiraiya), the greater the risk that Akatsuki managed to rescue Pain–and as soon as they did, they'd either close the rift forever or at least use his power to secure it beyond opposition. All of it would be for nothing if, by the time he got to her, they could no longer come back.
Without the lens, his research would slow down drastically. He'd take longer to create the Akatsuki-killing weapons without which they were all helpless, and if he took too long, Akatsuki would win by default. The same went for the other victory pathway, his own rift research.
Akane was suffering. Her time in the afterlife was costing her not only her memories but her sanity, and what if the afterlife
did have predators that hunted the deceased? How much would his insight be worth if, by the time it got him to Akane, there was nothing left of her?
But what would Hazō be without it? Could he go back to being an ordinary blind mortal, scrabbling in the dirt and looking up at the stars that were now forever out of reach? No amount of research would give him back the fundamental knowledge of
how things were, behind the lies and distortions of the Paint.
But Akane was suffering.
Hazō couldn't decide.
Clack. Clack. Clack, went Hazō's free will.
"I accept your bargain," Hazō said, hating himself for it almost as intensely as he'd have hated himself for refusing. "Give me what I need to save her."
Hazō's knowledge, Hazō's insight, Hazō's very self drained away. It was like dying. It was worse than dying, because he was still alive to feel it. He was being hollowed out, leaving a feeble shell that would never forget what it had been like to be a complete human being.
Hazō was brilliant but ordinary. He would never be anything else again.
-o-
Hazō woke up in a cold sweat.
That was just a dream, wasn't it? It had to be a dream. He couldn't, wouldn't, really just have traded…
No, it had to be a dream. Kagome-sensei had even warned him, when taking the astrology readings for the infusion earlier today, that tonight was going to be one of those nights when those with sensitive psyches always had nightmares. Yes, in the morning he'd check with Kei, and she'd tell him she dreamt of Captain Zabuza slaughtering them all, and everything would be back to normal.
Hazō tried to go back to sleep. He lay in the bedroll and waited, trying to calm his mind, trying to steady his breathing.
No. He couldn't wait. He had to know.
Hazō grabbed an explosive tag from his bedside armaments pouch. He stared at it desperately in the faint moonlight. He immersed himself in every line the way he had back when he was an apprentice and any tiny mistake would have got him killed.
He couldn't see–
He saw. He remembered. The third lateral curve corresponded to the fourteenth of the hundred-and-eight pure harmonics that governed the manifestation of force. That wasn't something Kagome-sensei had taught him back in the day. It was True Lore, incomprehensible to those who had never peeked behind the veil of reality, and he could still perceive it.
It was just a dream.
Hazō tried to go back to sleep. It was just a dream. Just the whim of the kami and the stars, mixed with the many stresses piled up on top of him on a daily basis. He should never have taken it seriously.
Unless, of course, Lord Jashin was just being fair, and waiting to complete the trade until Hazō proved he could make it to the afterlife to begin with. What if, the moment Hazō's feet stepped onto those alien shores, he forever lost his right to call himself a disciple of the beyond?
For the first time, Hazō found the possibility of victory terrifying.
-o-
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