Andre sees things in his dreams and his heart yearns for more, but he doesn’t know it yet. Bent on gathering data for his doctoral thesis on Japanese folklore, Andre finds more than he ever hoped for. When an informant suggests that Abe no Seimei, an Onmyoji, or yin yang magician of the Heian Period, is still alive as myth claims, Andre is intrigued. Legend claims that Seimei was the son of a magical fox, and that he cannot die. Andre is not so gullible as to believe such nonsense, but he checks it out anyway. When he meets the man who calls himself Seimei, the very foundation of his belief system crumbles under his power. His world changed forever, Andre finds that he cannot be satisfied until he knows it all. He must know Seimei, and he gets what he wants, but the cost of it was not what he expected.
Andre fell to his knees and drank deeply of the crystalline waters. The sound of the waterfall filled his ears with its thundering and a spray of water misted his overheated body. He thought he had never tasted anything so good before. After a while, his body ceased to tremble and he looked up. Directly under the torrent of water, stood a man with his back toward him. He seemed unaware of Andre’s presence, so loud was the waterfall.
Andre immediately looked away from the naked form, but that was only his first reaction. He stared now and saw that the man appeared to be well muscled and young. His tight buttocks led to strong legs, only half of which he could see, as the man was standing in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Sparkling water cascaded off of his head making him look like a Buddha with his effulgence. The man stood under the water as if in deep meditation in the performance of the traditional Japanese misogi ritual of purification. Andre was riveted.
Andre stood and took a step, then thought better of it. The man was oblivious to his presence. It seemed unwise to disturb him, but this wasn’t the only reason for Andre’s paralysis. He wondered what the man’s face looked like. His skin shone with health. His hair was very long—so long, that Andre at first had taken him to be a woman, but even from behind, the man’s muscles removed Andre’s doubts.
As if suddenly aware that someone was staring, the man whirled and faced him. Although he was standing at some distance, Andre could see the man’s face first register surprise, then it became clouded with anger. The face was still lovely beyond anything he had ever seen before. The man’s eyes were large and expressive. His eyebrows were sharply defined bows. Although his features were almost chiseled, his full lips and delicate lines gave him a look that could only be described as beautiful. Beautiful in the elegant and exotic ways the features of some of the ancient Japanese aristocratic women were portrayed in court art. Andre stood with his mouth slightly ajar and his body frozen into inaction by the spectacle of such an attractive person. The man turned slowly and Andre lost sight of him as he made his way behind a copse of trees.
Snapping out of his reverie, Andre began to walk toward the spot where the man had retreated, silently practicing what he would say. The man was obviously angry, but perhaps he could explain.
In an instant, Andre felt it and turned suddenly. Although it had just been a moment, the man stood behind him, fully dressed in archaic traditional garb. He wore a long white kimono over which he had draped a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the crest of the ancient Abe clan. Andre had seen such a piece in a Kyoto museum not long ago. He wore the tall cap of the practitioners of Onmyodo yin yang magic. The man’s beautiful eyes narrowed by rage and his face looked like that of Fudo Myo-o, the Wrathful Buddha. Andre stared, unable to speak, but he was deeply embarrassed that instead of staying silent, his mouth worked as he tried to speak coherently while only cackling and squawking like a frightened chicken.
“Go away,” the man boomed. “Go away and never come back. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”