InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ You Are My Shelter ❯ Watcher ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

By: Pariah

AN: Warning: thar be strong language in this chapter (because Inuyasha has a potty mouth when he's grumpy).

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That stupid, fucking, shit-eating bastard.

Inuyasha swiped his claws clean through the trunk of a nearby tree, not feeling nearly enough satisfaction at the crashing sounds it made as it fell. His fingers tensed, curled around the impulse to rip into something, anything.

With a furious snarl, he sliced through an even larger tree, still unsatisfied with the destruction it caused as it collapsed into several surrounding trees. Not enough, not nearly enough to vent the raw frustration blistering in his gut.

A month. An entire godsdamned month he'd been here, babysitting. A month of lurking outside this stupid backwater village, a month of watching and hearing and smelling these human yokels, a month of chasing off pathetic yokai not even worth the effort of drawing his sword... a month of being completely and totally useless. A month since he'd saved that miko bitch.

This. Was. All. Her. Fault.

Down fell another tree.

Disgusted—not even a scrawny, weak-ass yokai around to tear apart, he thought with a growl—Inuyasha ran further into the forest, wanting to get as far away from the human village as he could without blatantly disobeying orders.

Feh. Who gives a fuck about orders? Let the bastard get pissy. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't decide who was more to blame: the miko bitch, or The Asshole.

It had taken him three days to reach Sesshomaru's stronghold, and it was nearing sundown when he finally arrived. Built on a promontory jutting out from a mountain spur, the castle commanded wide views from an extremely defensible position. It was an imposing sight, both up close and from a distance. Stone walls surrounded it on all sides, the castle's keep towering up from the back of a large courtyard. The keep was three stories tall, an intricate structure of stone and wood soaring up in a series of carved gables and peaked roofs. Connected to the keep on its right and left sides were two-storey wings, where most of the castle's business took place. The keep itself was Sesshomaru's domain, and he did not make a habit of allowing others to trespass on his privacy.

So, naturally, Inuyasha took great pleasure in barging into the keep uninvited whenever he possibly could. And tonight—after three tedious days of travelling to bring back a report on an assignment he hadn't wanted in the first place—he took even greater pleasure in it than usual. Ignoring the warnings of the guards posted at the entrance, he burst through the enormous, metal-plated wooden doors and followed The Asshole's scent into the depths of the keep. The scent led him straight to Sesshomaru's stateroom.

The sight that met him might once have surprised him.

Sesshomaru—daimyo, first born son of the Inu no Taisho, Demon Lord of the largest territory in Honshu, leader of armies, merciless in victory and feared in defeat—was kneeling before a small human girl, examining individual pink chrysanthemums that she held up for his inspection. His face was impassive as ever, the stoic bastard; but Inuyasha noted something odd—the slightest absence of tension, maybe—around the eyes. The girl's mouth was stretched in a delighted smile as she held up each flower.

"—and Jaken-sama called them 'weeds,' and said no one would notice them, but I knew they would be pretty decorations for the castle, so—"

The girl paused and turned her attention to Inuyasha as he entered the room. "Inuyasha-sama!" She seemed as delighted by his appearance as she had been by her flowers, her brown eyes warm. She was dressed informally in a bright yellow and orange kimono; most of her dark hair lay loose around her shoulders, except for a small portion gathered into a ponytail at the side of her head. She had clearly spent most of her day playing, away from the stuffy formalities of castle business.

Sesshomaru didn't even glance at him, voice and expression as flat as a mountain lake. "What have I told you about entering my quarters without permission, half-breed?"

Inuyasha snorted and folded his arms, stance shifting into the casual slouch he knew Sesshomaru hated. "Nice to see you too, asshole." He nodded briefly at the girl. "Rin. You still babysitting the toad?"

Rin's smile widened. "I keep Jaken-sama very busy! Today I took him flower picking in the meadows down the hill." Rin paused for a moment, then lowered her voice in a mild sulk. "He says that I couldn't be more bothersome if I put effort into it. "

Inuyasha swore he saw a miniscule twitch at the corner of Sesshomaru's mouth as the Demon Lord rose to his full height. He lifted his arm and snapped his fingers once.

Out in the hall, they heard the patter of hurrying feet and a wheezing voice cry, "Coming, my Lord! Coming!" A squat green imp—shorter than the human girl, with a narrow face, bulbous yellow eyes, and long beak-like mouth—came jogging into the room. He was wearing the robes and regalia of a court vassal, and his demeanor oozed self-importance. He stopped before Sesshomaru and bowed deeply. "What do you require of me, Lord?" Shooting a narrow-eyed, sideways glance at Inuyasha, he continued, "Shall I remove this half-breed nuisance?"

Inuyasha sneered. "I'd like to see you try, toad." He flexed his fingers, claws glinting in the lamplight of the room.

Jaken whirled to face the hanyou. "Do not underestimate me, vermin! Why, with my staff of—"

"Jaken."

The imp immediately stilled at the sound of the Demon Lord's voice. "M-my Lord?"

"Take Rin to her chambers. See that she eats."

Jaken hesitated for a split second, still eyeing Inuyasha with pronounced distaste.

"I will not repeat myself."

If the chill in Sesshomaru's voice hadn't sent Jaken scurrying with a yelped "Yes, milord," the narrowed golden eyes and arched silver eyebrow would have.

"Come Rin!" Jaken said with imperious tone, "Collect your weeds and I shall escort you on your way. Lord Sesshomaru has more important things to do than look at your smelly plants. Why, a lowly human like you is lucky—"

Rin, gathering together her chrysanthemums, shared a brief glance with Inuyasha and rolled her eyes. He couldn't suppress his soft snort of amusement, and she grinned in response. "Will you come see me before you leave, Inuyasha-sama?"

Inuyasha frowned, though he couldn't quite mask the note of affection in his tone when he said, "We'll see, kid."

Rin pouted. "But I didn't get to see you at all last time you were here!"

"—are you listening to me? Rin!"

With another little eye-roll, Rin turned to Jaken. "Yes, yes, let us go, Jaken-sama."

The imp huffed and led the human girl out of the room, treating Inuyasha to another dirty look as he passed. At the door, Rin gave a jaunty little wave before disappearing down the hall. Slowly, the sounds of the imp's shrill lecturing receded, and then there was silence.

Turning his back on Inuyasha, Sesshomaru approached a massive wooden table situated in a wide alcove at the far end of the room. Set in the wall above the table was a window covered in ornate latticework; twin oil lamps burned on either side of this window, casting a flickering light on the maps and scrolls littering the table's surface. Sesshomaru examined the largest of the maps, the claw of his forefinger skimming lightly over its surface. Another moment of silence, and then, "What did you discover?"

The Asshole's voice—monotone, inscrutable, but always laced with intolerable authority—grated in Inuyasha's ears. But it was the question itself that irritated him most. His hands clenched against his biceps. Frustration edged with disappointment gnawed in his stomach and he tried to keep it from showing in his voice. "Not a damn thing."

A tense pause.

"Nothing?"

Scowling—and absolutely not stalling—Inuyasha looked away from the Demon Lord and scanned the room around him. The place reeked of The Asshole's scent, indicating just how much time Sesshomaru spent here. The stateroom was large and sparsely, though opulently, furnished: a few lacquered tables, embroidered sitting cushions, a sizeable zelkova-wood tansu, and two intricately painted vases placed on either side of the alcove in which Sesshomaru stood. The vases were filled with rolled scrolls, most of them maps (or maps-in-progress)of their territories. Oil lamps intermittently lined the walls and filled the room with soft orange light, which reflected off the highly-polished wood floors.

Inuyasha hated this room, always had, and being in it again—hell, being anywhere near this gods-forsaken castle—set him on edge. His voice was low and rough when he repeated, "No, nothing. At least nothing we didn't already know."

Inuyasha heard Sesshomaru shift, and he glanced back at him. The Demon Lord had turned just enough to eye his half-brother.

"Explain to me," Sesshomaru began, scarcely-contained impatience underpinning each word, "how you could have so utterly failed."

Inuyasha's scowl darkened. He straightened from his negligent slouch and uncrossed his arms, hands fisting at his sides. "I didn't fail anything. Didn't you hear me? There's nothing there—nothing but what we already expected, just a bunch of weak yokai prowling where they got no business being."

"And that, whelp, was precisely your task: to discover why. Surely you did not think it a mere coincidence that yokai are infringing upon Musashi? Now, and with such frequency?" Sesshomaru's eyebrows lowered in a deep frown. "I did not think you that much a fool."

A growl ripped from Inuyasha's throat. "Of course I didn't! I'm not stupid, you bastard! But I'm telling you, Musashi's a dead end. I fucking scoured the whole province—there were no signs of Naraku. Not even a whiff of him. No yokai or humans carried a trace of his scent or admitted to any contact with him. There were no trails anywhere I looked—and I looked everywhere. If he's somehow orchestrating these invasions, he's not doing it from Musashi. I'm wasting my time there."

Sesshomaru's lip curled. "I will decide where your worthless time is best spent. And there is no question of 'if'. Naraku is behind this. And I will find out why." He pinned Inuyasha with a baleful look. "More precisely, you will find out why, as I originally ordered."

Inuyasha's teeth clenched almost painfully. "How do you expect me to find something that isn't there?" His eyes glinted. "Or are you telling me I can leave Musashi and search through Kai and Shinano if I need to?"

"You know the answer to that, half-breed."

"Then don't expect different results, asshole."

Sesshomaru fully faced the hanyou and took a deliberate step forward. "You will not leave the borders of Musashi without my express orders." The words were clipped, and spoken so low that his voice was a near-hiss. Sesshomaru was on the verge of discomposure, and Inuyasha would have laughed if he weren't so pissed. "You will return immediately and you will not fail again."

Spine stiffening, Inuyasha stepped closer to Sesshomaru and bared a fang. "You need to pull your head out of your ass and clean the shit out of your ears. How many times do I have to tell you? All I'm going to find in Musashi is what I've already found: halfwit yokai marauders with less than a brain between them." A memory—fleeting but vivid—flashed through his mind: frowning grey eyes, long dark hair, a strange and arresting scent . His upper lip curled in a sneer, and without thinking he added, "That and a useless miko."

Sesshomaru's eyes narrowed. "A what?"

Damn. He'd spoken the words almost as soon as he'd thought them. Irritated by the slip, Inuyasha turned his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. "Nothing important. I came across a miko around that human village to the southwest, near the forest. Nothing but a pain in the ass."

"I had not heard of a miko in that region. Why was it not reported?"

A careless shrug. "Last I checked there weren't any." It had been a couple decades since he last made the rounds, checking in on Musashi's human governors and village leaders (but damned if he'd tell The Asshole that). One of them would have reported something as significant as a miko moving into a local village, if only for the bragging rights that came with a miko's spiritual power. Though come to think of it, most of the village leaders who'd known him were probably dead by now. Meaning he'd have to check in on their successors soon, make an appearance, reestablish authority. Make sure they remembered who really governed. Damn. Humans are too short-lived.

Sesshomaru stared at his half-brother, features settling into a mask of derision. "Tch. You find a miko near your forest, of whom you had no prior knowledge, and you claim to have found 'nothing important'? Fool."

"Hey! It's—"

"Only an imbecile could think that insignificant information."

The words were a flippant taunt, but the tone was something else altogether: a reprimand, a reproof. The tone more than the words made Inuyasha's entire body tense with anger. He raised his left hand and flexed his fingers, claws poised menacingly; his right hand came to rest on the shabby hilt of a sword sheathed in a black scabbard at his side. "Want to say that a little closer, asshole?"

"Explain yourself." Sesshomaru's voice was sharp as a knifepoint. "What of this miko?"

Inuyasha's hand tightened around his sword hilt, anger licking at his insides like fire, the tendons in his neck straining with the effort to control himself. Fifty years, and he still couldn't stomach The Asshole's orders. The gods forbid it take another fifty before their task was complete. He briefly considered leaving—simply telling The Asshole where he could shove his orders before walking right out—but tempting as the option was, and momentarily satisfying as it would definitely be, it would only prolong the inevitable. Sooner or later he'd just have to come back. For now, he and Sesshomaru were stuck with each other.

The old man had made sure of that.

Growling low, Inuyasha made a conscious effort to relax his muscles, though his hand still convulsively gripped his sword. "Ain't much to tell. She interrupted me on a hunt. The yokai I was tracking must've picked up on her scent, because it attacked almost as soon as she showed up. The bitch would've been ripped apart if I hadn't stepped in."

An arm braced against his chest. A blinding, heavy light smothering him, bleaching out all sensation, forcing up panic like bile.

Inuyasha paused, unsure of just how much to divulge. At the time, the whole encounter had seemed—and in some ways still did seem—merely irritating, a bothersome yet trifling interruption in his day. Even the bitch's show of power hadn't phased him much after the initial shockwave of it, the passing adrenaline it had triggered. Mikos weren't exactly abundant, but they weren't exactly rare either. Why waste thought and energy on a backwater miko?

But if that's all it really was, why did he feel so reluctant to talk about it? To report the odd flash of power he'd seen from the girl? Something in him—something visceral, inchoate, impossible to pin down—clamored at him to keep his mouth shut. Especially in front of The Asshole. And especially when The Asshole was acting like this. With each passing moment, his reluctance grew stronger. And Inuyasha had never been one to ignore his instincts.

But he would catch all kinds of shit later if Sesshomaru found out he'd withheld any information.

Then again, it might be worth it, just to piss the bastard off. He'd spent the past fifty years jumping on The Asshole's say-so, and he'd never felt more fed up with it.

"And?" The knife-edge of Sesshomaru's voice cut through his thoughts.

To hell with it. He'd trust his instincts ten times over before he trusted The Asshole. "And nothing. I saved her ass, took out the yokai, and sent her back to her village. After that I left the area to report here."

"And you noticed nothing abnormal about this woman? She held no trace of Naraku's scent, no sign of his yoki?"

"Don't you think if she had, I would've said as much already? Or for that matter, killed her on the spot?"

A pronounced scoff. "You do not seem capable of thinking or acting tactically." Yet again, Sesshomaru's words did not match his tone. The sharp edge in his voice was lessening, replaced with something cautious, considering. His tone was distant and preoccupied when he continued, "And you detected nothing else in the area?"

"For the last time, no."

"You were thorough?"

"Yes."

"You are certain?"

His irritated growl was answer enough, as far as he was concerned.

Sesshomaru was turning his back to the hanyou before the sound had even finished, his gaze appearing to settle on the window. The Demon Lord's attention was obviously more inward than outward, the complete stillness of his body speaking to the remoteness of his thoughts. Somewhat startled by his palpable withdrawal from the conversation, Inuyasha watched him carefully.

"A miko," the Demon Lord reiterated quietly. "Hn. It could be..." He paused. Seemed almost to hesitate. "This woman. You said you found her in southwest Musashi. Near your forest."

Tired of repeating himself, Inuyasha merely nodded at the Demon Lord's back. Sesshomaru seemed to accept the silence as confirmation, because he continued, "And it is in that region that our border has been most compromised."

Inuyasha felt his right ear twitch involuntarily. Something about The Asshole was... off. He should have sounded angry about the attempts on their territory; instead he sounded thoughtful, calculating, almost...

Inuyasha couldn't be positive, but The Asshole sounded almost pleased. The impatience and irritation of only moments before had melted away, replaced with that cool calculation. Underpinning the calculation, something shrewd.

"Since there is no evidence," Sesshomaru said, "to suggest that the miko is a servant or associate of Naraku's, we may safely assume she is not, for the time being. If that is the case—"

Sesshomaru turned to face Inuyasha, and Inuyasha knew for sure: The Asshole was pleased. Cautiously pleased, maybe, but still pleased, if the smug set of his mouth was anything to go by. But what the hell did he have to be pleased about?

It was that faint smugness, and the way he now regarded Inuyasha—like a pawn on a fucking shogi board—that told the hanyou he was missing something. Despite the omission of information—despite not having the whole picture—The Asshole was still piecing something together, something that pleased him. And he had no clue what it could be.

Inuyasha had never had any patience for being left in the dark.

Frowning, Inuyasha barked, "All right, out with it. Where the hell are you going with this? You think this miko has something to do with our yokai problem?"

"Nothing so sinister. But she may prove to be of use."

An echo rang through Inuyasha's mind, swift as quicksilver. You're pretty rude for someone who owes me his life. I'm the only reason you're still walking around with your head.

His ear twitched again, more violently this time. "Keh! You're out of your mind. That bitch was weak. She was almost taken out by a bug. She'd be about as useful as a broken ankle."

"Leave the tactical decisions to your superiors, little brother. The wench may be useful for more than combat. Victory in war is not achieved by wasting what may be of use."

Inuyasha couldn't help the embittered sneer that twisted his expression. "That's your fucking polestar for everything, isn't it? What's of use."

Sesshomaru looked almost amused. "It is the only guide. The only true measure of value."

Silence descended. They stood facing one another, each considering the other. Finally, the Demon Lord spoke, indisputable authority in his tone. "You will return to Musashi. You will keep a watch on this miko. Take note of everything—her movements, those with whom she associates, any use of her miko powers. You will have eyes on her at all times, and you will report back to me when summoned."

Every muscle in Inuyasha's body seemed to stiffen simultaneously. "You can't be serious."

"I assure you, I am."

"No way. Send one of your lackeys. Fuck, send the toad man to do it, what else is he good for?"

"I am sending you."

"And why the fuck should I go?"

"Because I gave you an order."

"Not good enough."

Sesshomaru raised his hand—a sickening green emanated from his claws. "Good enough for the likes of you, cur."

Inuyasha shifted his stance to better expose the sword at his side. "I don't think so. Why does that miko matter? I told you, she didn't bear Naraku's scent—"

Sesshomaru moved. Inuyasha barely managed to dodge in time, a jet of venomous acid shooting past his shoulder. He leapt a few yards to the side and drew his sword, pointing it at the Demon Lord. A pool of green liquid bubbled where he'd stood seconds before, burning through the hardwood floor.

A warning, a taunt.

Sesshomaru's arm was still extended from his venom strike. "Do not question my orders, half-breed. All you need know is that I wish for the miko to be watched."

The sword—untransformed, Inuyasha noted with a silent curse—almost shook in his hands, he was so furious, his control over his rage fast slipping. "What's the fucking point?! You're intentionally misdirecting me, sending me on useless errands when I could be hunting Naraku! By rights I should be in Kai, tracking the bastard down. We both know I'd be more effective there than the fuckers you've got—"

"Rights? You dare speak of rights?" Another swift movement, another stream of acid arcing through the air. Inuyasha dodged again, snarling loudly. "Apart from that laughable scrap of metal in your hand, Musashi is your only right." A smile—spiteful and bitter, nothing like a smile—twisted the Demon Lord's mouth. "Father made sure of it. Musashi is your inheritance, little brother. Now you may rot in it."

"I fucking knew it! You don't care about bringing Naraku down, you only care about punishing me. You can't stand that Father left—"

"Silence." Suddenly, a whip formed in the air around Sesshomaru, crackling with the power of his yoki and poised to strike. "Do not presume to know my reasons for anything." With a twitch of his wrist, he snapped the whip towards Inuyasha. Its tip curled and cracked inches from his face before recoiling back. Inuyasha didn't even flinch; his snarling only grew louder.

"You said it yourself, mongrel: I care only for that which is useful. You are most useful to me in Musashi, and as of now you are most useful watching that miko."

"But why?! What does she have to do with Naraku? What possible use could she—"

"I will not repeat myself." Another crack of the whip.

Had his sword transformed when it was drawn, Inuyasha would have cleaved Sesshomaru's skull in two. His hands gripped the sword hilt, willing it to change shape, to transform into its deadly counterpart. He could feel the churning of his yokai blood, the fraying of his tenuous control. He stepped forward, raised his sword.

Sesshomaru twitched the end of his whip.

A tense, expectant silence.

Then another snarl, a rasping "Keh!" and the snick of a sword hilt meeting its sheath.

"Fuck this. Find someone else to take your shit. I'm done." Inuyasha walked to the door, spine rigid and head upright.

He was almost through it, almost out, when Sesshomaru's voice rang after him. "If you leave, do not imagine I will allow you to interfere with my search for Naraku. If I catch wind of you hunting him, I will personally end you."

Inuyasha stopped, but didn't turn. "Go ahead and try it. I'll slice you open and feed your entrails to the buzzards with both hands."

"We both know how empty that threat is, little brother."

Inuyasha went through the door and took a few steps down the hall when The Asshole's voice sounded again. "You know Father's dying wish. You may choose not to honor it, but I will not allow you to work against it. Leave now, but you forfeit Musashi and revenge against Naraku if you do."

Inuyasha stopped. After a moment, his head bowed, his bangs shadowing his face. His fingers fisted so tightly that his claws punctured the skin of his palms. Blood dribbled between his clenched fingers.

"Fine." More snarl than word, more animal than human, his voice was low and raw with emotion. "I'll watch the miko."

Those few words were all he could manage. With a mumbled curse, he moved, ran out of the castle with all the speed he could muster.

It wasn't fast enough to escape Sesshomaru's parting words.

"Good. Then you may yet be of use."

Scowling, and suppressing the urge to slice into another particularly tall tree just for the sake of watching it fall, Inuyasha instead leapt into its foliage and settled on a branch, one leg curled beneath him, the other dangling in the air. He folded his arms in the voluminous sleeves of his suikan, and scowled at the forest around him.

So here he was, like a godsdamned moron. For nearly a month now he'd been skulking around the forest, always keeping within visual distance of the village.

In other circumstances, he might have been fine with this assignment. Might have even enjoyed it. He liked this forest, had liked it since he'd first stepped into it after inheriting Musashi. Its dense trees and ancient, solemn stillness calmed his mind and soothed the urgency of his thoughts. He made an effort to come here when he could—when Naraku's trail went stale, or when The Asshole was too busy to throw around orders. More and more these days, coming to his forest felt like the only time he could breathe freely.

But under these circumstances? When His Most Imperious Asshole of the Western Lands was treating him like a personal errand boy? When he'd been told he wasn't allowed to leave the forest, or for that matter travel outside hearing and smelling distance of the human village? Now he wanted to tear every single tree up by its roots. Now the forest rankled him, mocked him. He felt confined. Hobbled.

And if that weren't bad enough, the entire fucking point of his confinement was turning out to be a bust: he'd barely even seen the miko bitch. In the month he'd been here, waiting, it had taken three weeks before she even left the village walls, and that was only for a few minutes while she and an old hag collected water from the river.

Oh yeah, this was going great. A month of observation and he'd seen her walk in a straight line and carry a water jug. She was going to be real useful against Naraku: she could sprinkle the bastard.

More than once he'd seriously considered leaving Musashi altogether—screw The Asshole and his ultimatums, screw the wench who'd put him in this position, screw the old man's expectations—and had even gone so far as to leave the borders of the forest. But something always stopped him, always brought him back to that stupid little village. An insistent tug on his conscience, the nagging whisper (more gut instinct than coherent thought) that maybe, despite appearances, the miko could be useful, that maybe The Asshole was onto something.

Except the damn bitch wouldn't leave the village walls. How the fuck could he justify staying here and—his scowl grew darker—following orders when he had nothing to show for it? This was getting him no closer to finding Naraku, and every day that bastard lived was like another day of swallowing burning coals.

He had to do something.

Initially, he'd thought maybe she didn't leave the village because she feared another demon attack. So he'd deliberately cleared the forest of yokai—or most of it, anyway—in the hopes that once the villagers noticed their conspicuous absence, maybe the wench would finally venture out. But she never appeared, and Inuyasha was hard put not to simply stomp into the village and drag her out by her hair.

Sure, if he climbed some of the taller trees on the village perimeter, he could see over the walls and occasionally catch glimpses of her; but those glimpses didn't offer anything valuable. When she left her hut—which was rare, especially in the first few weeks—she didn't seem to do anything worth observing. She washed laundry, brought in firewood, sorted herbal plants outside the hut she seemed to share with that old hag. Mostly she was alone. He'd never seen her exchange more than a quick word with any of the villagers. She really only talked to the old woman.

Even as he cursed the utter worthlessness of these details, that inner part of him—the one that kept him from abandoning the forest entirely—wouldn't let go of the miko's apparent isolation. It would come to mind randomly, prick at the edges of his thoughts. It was suspicious, that kind of isolation. Strange for a human, especially one who lived in a relatively small village. He'd bet his life that everyone in that village knew everyone else from birth until death. Why would a young woman—and a miko, at that—be so removed from her neighbors? Was the bitch just shy?

I'm the only reason you're still walking around with your head.

He snorted. Highly fucking unlikely.

The fact was, he wasn't getting anywhere. An entire damn month had passed, and he'd only picked up a few insignificant scraps of information. He needed something more substantial, and soon.

Otherwise he might just shred the whole forest and be done with it.

_______________

Then one day, when his thoughts were preoccupied—wandering inexorably in the past—she appeared. Just walked right out of the village, the old woman following behind.

He almost fell off the branch he'd been lying on.

Of course she'd finally come out when he was more distracted than he'd been in weeks. Lucky he'd been staring in the direction of the village out of habit, or he might have missed her entirely.

He was perched in a tall tree near the village gate, whose branches overshadowed the path leading towards the river and the fields. The miko and the old woman started down this path, both silent. Inuyasha sat up and leaned forward, gathering his feet beneath him in a ready crouch. He leapt from his tree and into its neighbor, following the two women as they travelled the village path.

That's when he noticed something he'd missed in his distraction: they were each carrying a bow and a quiver full of arrows. He'd never seen them carry weapons before, inside or outside of the village. They otherwise appeared normal, each dressed in vaguely shabby work kimonos—the miko's green and white, the hag's brown and red—and each had their hair pulled back in long braids. If it weren't for the bow and arrows, he'd think they were off to work in the fields.

Misgiving bloomed in his mind, a faint uneasiness that only increased when the old woman placed a hand on the miko's arm and guided her off the path. They wove, apparently aimlessly, between the trees. He followed behind them, bounding silently through the forest canopy.

They didn't go far—maybe a hundred yards away from the path. They stopped when they reached a clearing: a wide grassy circle of open space between the trees. Inuyasha was familiar with it, had run through it once or twice before on his rounds through the forest. It wasn't far from the river—he could hear and smell running water in the distance.

The old woman turned to the miko. “I have explained the proper grip and stance for the bow, but explanation and practice are two very different things. The only true way to learn is to practice.”

She gestured her wrinkled hand towards a tree that stood about fifty feet away from them. “Aim for the trunk and shoot.”

The expression on the miko's face was dubious at best. “Kaede,” she said quietly, and the sound of her voice sent an unexpected—and unwelcome—shiver through Inuyasha's ears. He flattened them against his head and scowled. “Are you sure about this? I don't see how this will help me.”

“People with spiritual powers often utilize external objects as conduits to harness and control that power. Monks, for example, use sutras and charms to accomplish this. Mikos often use weapons such as a bow and arrow.” The old hag paused, eying the young woman before her. “Doing so may aid you as well.” Her voice turned slightly dry. “And since I lack a monk's sutras, we will use the bow.”

“But none of the other techniques I've learned have really helped. Why should this?”

Inuyasha's misgiving wormed even further into his brain. Was she really still learning controlling techniques? That didn't make any sense: mikos received training in their childhood, as soon as they were old enough to work. She should have been well versed in controlling techniques by now. And besides, wasn't this the same bitch who had blasted a yokai with a single hand, right in front of him?

The wrinkled hag's voice interrupted his thoughts. “I do not know if it will. It may provide the focus you need, and again it may not. At the very least, it will give you another method of defending yourself against attack. That in itself—simply having another means of self-defense—may be enough to help subdue your power.”

Subdue? What the fuck?

These bitches were speaking in tongues, he was sure of it. None of this made any sense.

“Now,” creaked that old voice, “aim your bow and shoot.”

The young woman stared at her elder for a moment longer, uncertainty written plainly across her face. Then she sighed, slid her bow off her shoulder, pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back, and began to take aim.

“Your stance is too wide,” barked the old woman, “bring your feet closer together. Imagine the length of your arrow between them—that is as wide as your stance should be.”

The miko adjusted her footing, and the old woman nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Now, relax your grip a little. Too much pressure and your accuracy will suffer. You need only grip the bow enough to hold it steady.”

The young woman sighed again, and seemed to work on relaxing her grip. She held the bow in her left hand, its wood settled in the crook between her extended thumb and forefinger, her remaining three fingers wrapped firmly around the wood. With her right hand, she placed her arrow between left thumb and forefinger until they held the arrow in place against the bow. Then her right hand moved back to grip the bowstring and the arrow's fletching.

Grip now secure, she raised the bow until the arrow was parallel with her cheek. She pulled bowstring and arrow back slowly, the trembling in her arms noticeable even from where Inuyasha watched.

“Straighten your elbow, child. Use your thumb to guide the arrow.”

The miko nodded and drew a deep breath. Then she fired.

The arrow arced high up in the air and far, far to the right of her target. It fell to the ground yards away from the tree trunk she'd been aiming at.

That wasn't the only thing that had gone flying: when the bowstring released, its recoil jerked the bow out of the miko's hands and it went sailing to the ground with a clatter.

For the second time that day, Inuyasha nearly fell out of his tree.

This cannot be the same bitch.

He probably should have been irritated that Sesshomaru's hunch was looking more and more like a waste of time. Instead, he felt an undeniable twinge of smug satisfaction. Owe you my life, huh? Tell it to that tree.

He couldn't quite stop the wide grin that stretched his mouth, revealing his fangs. He felt a strange, fluttering lightness in his stomach, spreading up through his chest, and it took him a moment to place the feeling: amusement. Genuine amusement.

This forest really was driving him crazy.

Still, he doubted if even The Asshole could've witnessed that without cracking a grin. The miko's shot was laughable enough, but the absolute consternation on her face—the bright, furious blush that painted her cheeks, the dismayed flash of grey eyes—was enough to widen his grin.

The old hag seemed to be in the same predicament. Poorly-concealed amusement laced her voice when she said, “Try again.”

This time the miko's sigh was loud and decidedly aggravated—almost more growl than exhale. She leaned down and picked up her bow.

Just as she was setting another arrow, a high childish voice cried out in the distance, “Kaede-sama! Kaede-sama!”

Inuyasha's ears twitched at the sound, but he didn't stop watching the two women in the clearing. He raised his chin and sniffed at the air—it was definitely a child, a young boy, and judging by the sound of his footfalls, he was moving haltingly down the forest path behind them.

“Kaede-sama! Where are you, Kaede-sama? Mama needs you!”

Both women started at the sound of the child's voice. The old one frowned deeply, her tone cautious when she said, “That sounds like Kawaguchi-san's eldest child, does it not?”

The miko nodded, curiosity and concern apparent in her expression as she stared in the direction of the forest path. Inuyasha noticed her grip tighten on the bow she held, and a moment later her scent shifted, took on notes of anxiety.

“Kaede,” she said, “you don't think… Kawaguchi-san's baby…?”

The old woman's frown deepened, and there was definite worry in the set of her mouth. She started walking rapidly towards the path. “Stay here. Keep practicing.”

“Wait!” The miko started following after her. “I'll come too! I can help!”

“No Kagome.” The words were spoken with gentle authority. The old lady stopped long enough to glance back over her shoulder. “You must stay. Continue practicing until I return.” When the young woman opened her mouth to argue, the hag cut her off short. “I do not believe Kawaguchi-san will be… receptive to your help. Especially if it is an emergency. It is best that I go alone.”

That had the miko at a loss. Her mouth snapped shut. Her gaze skittered off to the side and her shoulders slumped just slightly. Finally, she nodded.

Apparently that's all the old woman had been waiting for, because she immediately continued walking. “Stay put. Do not leave this spot. And for the love of heaven, do not—”

“I know, Kaede.”

Inuyasha's eyebrows shot up at the sharp tone.

She seemed to notice its sharpness, too, because she repeated more softly, “I know. I'll be fine. Go.”

The old woman uttered a quick “hmm” of acknowledgment and then was gone, disappearing between the trees.

Silence filled the clearing. Inuyasha's ears flicked back to follow the progress of the old woman. He heard the shuffle of her feet receding into the forest; after another minute or two, he heard that high-pitched child's voice, followed by the old hag's. He couldn't pick up all their words—just bits and pieces like "the baby" and "stop coughing"—but he heard the retreating, indistinct murmur of their speech as they both hurried back towards the village.

Gradually, Inuyasha's attention drifted back to the miko still in the clearing. She had returned to practicing, aiming at the same tree she'd earlier failed to hit. Raising her bow to the level of her face, she drew back the string, inhaled slowly, and—

Her arrow travelled about ten feet before flopping to the ground.

At least this time she'd managed to hold onto her bow.

Despite himself, Inuyasha grinned again as the miko huffed, another blush sweeping across her face.

Shaking her head and grumbling under her breath—he distinctly heard the words “I'd prefer the sutra”—she retrieved the arrow from the ground, set it against her bow, and resumed her stance.

“You know,” she said loudly, eyes still fixed on her target, feet correcting her stance, “it's rude to stare.”

Inuyasha went very, very still. His grin disappeared.

No. No way. She can't possibly—

She fired the arrow. This time it arced low to the ground and bounced off it once, twice, before rolling for a few feet and bumping against a rock.

She'd turned to face his tree before the arrow's first bounce off the ground. Bow still clutched in her left hand, face still flushed, she scowled up into the tree's foliage and waited.

She wasn't looking directly at him—her gaze was off to the left of where he crouched in the shadows of the leaves—but it was beyond obvious that she knew he was there. She obviously couldn't see him, so… had she heard him? Had he been too loud? Given away his position? Or…

… or maybe she could sense his yoki? Trepidation crawled up his spine at the thought. Not many humans or demons, even those with strong spiritual power, could sense yoki—demonic aura—like that. The auras of lower-level yokai, sure, but not his or The Asshole's. Strong yokai knew how to mask their demonic aura, and doing so became automatic, second nature, as thoughtless an act as blinking or breathing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to consciously try to mask his yoki.

It took a lot of spiritual or demonic power to sense yoki of that level.

His stomach muscles clenched unpleasantly. This bitch was a walking contradiction—one minute weaker than a novice, the next minute demonstrating powers that far exceeded those of an average, or even above-average, miko.

And apparently the wench had grown impatient at his lack of response. She huffed in irritation and propped her hands on her hips. “I know you're there.”

Silence.

“Are you seriously just going to ignore me?”

He snorted—fuck yes he was. Was she stupid?

At his continued silence, her scowl deepened and she stomped closer to his tree. “I mean it!” she hissed, “come down here right now! You owe me an explanation!”

Was she seriously singing that tune again? He growled, not caring a whit if she heard it. Hadn't she gotten the point the last time she'd claimed that he owed her? He owed nothing to anyone, ever, and he especially didn't owe her. He thought he'd made that pretty clear the first time they'd met. And he distinctly remembered warning her not to mess with him again. Clearly the bitch was stupid—extremely stupid.

Her eyes scanned the branches of the tree, seeking him out. When he still offered no response, she stomped her foot and raised her voice to a near-shout, “If you don't come down here this instant, I'll—I'll—!”

His eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared beneath his bangs. Just what did she think she could do to him? Talk at him until he dropped dead from exhaustion?

When she yet again received no answer, something flashed through her bright grey eyes, drawing his attention. They glittered like ice, those eyes, and yet sparked like hot embers.

Suddenly she was reaching for one of the arrows at her back. She set it against her bow and took aim up at the branches of the tree.

“I'm warning you right now,” she ground out, “come down before I make you.”

He stayed still, eyes watching hers. His legs tensed, his bare toes digging into the bark of the tree, ready to leap.

More snapping flames flickered in those grey eyes, and then she fired.

The arrow shot up much too high, ricocheted off a branch near the top of the canopy, and went speeding in the opposite direction, disappearing between the trees on the other side of the clearing.

Complete and utter silence ensued.

Her arm was still raised, the bowstring still vibrating.

Neither of them moved.

And then he laughed.

A loud, bursting guffaw erupted from his throat before he could stop it, followed by a less loud but no less explosive one... and then he was laughing so much that he had to brace his hand against the tree branch to keep himself steady.

All the while she stared up into the tree, stunned silent.

The look on her face only fueled his amusement—it was equal parts embarrassed, furious, and shocked. She lowered the bow to her side, her grip going limp.

She'll be useful, all right. She'll strike fear in the hearts of anyone standing a little to the left of her target.

Eventually, his laughter ebbed to breathless chuckles, and then he was grinning, immensely pleased by the well-deserved humbling he'd just witnessed.

In fact, speaking of what was owed, he thought the wench was due for a little more humbling. She already knew he was there, so why the fuck not?

“You talk big," he called down to her, "but you sure can't back it up."

She still seemed speechless, but at the sound of his voice an angry frown tugged at her brows.

"So," he continued nonchalantly, "my options are come down, get shrieked at, or have an arrow shot away from me? Yeah, you're real terrifying. Maybe if I'd been standing behind you I'd be worried.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That—”

“Next time you should try aiming in the opposite direction of the enemy—then you might actually hit something.”

“You—!”

“Better yet, leave the archery to someone who can manage to navigate a straight line.”

She growled, or at least what passed for a growl for a human. “You're one to talk. So I'm not an archer—at least I'm not a coward who threatens those weaker than me."

Her arrow may have missed, but that hit him squarely in the chest.

Even as outrage burned through his brain, something disquietingly like shame came along with it, forcing him to look away from her. He remembered with a twinge of discomfort their first encounter: his loss of temper and subsequent physical aggression with her. He hadn't intended to seriously hurt her—he'd simply wanted to shut her up, scare her away from him—but then, he'd never intended to speak with her in the first place. The moment she'd first opened her mouth and told him "no," he'd lost all control over that situation.

Scowling, he wrestled the shame down for the moment, refused to allow her to sense it in him. He looked back at her and snorted, "Feh! That's because there ain't anyone weaker than you. Except maybe a blind, sickly, brain-addled newborn, but even then—"

Her face had flushed an even brighter red, and she half-screamed at him, "Come down here and say that to my face!"

"Hmmm," he drawled, "I don't think so."

"Coward!"

"Hey! Listen bi—"

"You're a coward and a stalker!"

He paused, taken aback. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She still couldn't see him, hidden as he was in the foliage, but their "conversation" had given her a rough idea of his position. She glared in his general direction, eyes still roving for any visual sign of him. “I know you've been following me. I know you've been out here in the forest, near the village. You have been for weeks, and I want to know why!”

Dammit. She could sense his yoki.

Her eyes practically crackled, her dark bangs framing a face that showed a mixture of anger and confusion.

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

He wondered briefly if their last encounter had made her frightened of him, if it was fear motivating this confrontation—but he didn't hear fear in her voice, nor did he smell it in her scent. He just smelled the spicy tang of anger. And scent never lied.

Again, his mouth opened before he gave it permission. “That's none of your business, wench.”

“None of my...” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course it's my business! It's me you've been following, isn't it?”

“Keh! You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh really? Are you telling me that I just imagined your presence outside the village? That I just imagined you trailing behind me every time I—”

Alarmed, and thoroughly irritated by her perception, he cut her off, “You listen about as well as you use a bow. Who said I was here for you?”

That seemed to do the trick. She had opened her mouth to deliver another comeback, but at his words, she faltered. "I... you mean... you mean you're not?"

"Me, here for you? Please. You're a vain bitch, aren't you?"

She didn't react to his bait as he expected she would. Instead she hesitated, the anger in her scent thinning. "Then... then what are you here for?"

He snorted loudly. "Like I said, none of your business."

"But—"

How many times and in how many different ways did he have to say "none of your business" before it finally stuck? He let out an exasperated growl. "Look bitch. This is my forest, understand? It's been my forest since long before you were born, and it will be long after you're dead. What makes you think I owe you an explanation for anything I do in it?"

Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a surprised little "o." Unwittingly, he took note of its shape—then he jerked his head to the side, irritated with his wandering attention.

There was a moment of silence. And then she spoke again, a quiet whisper, more to herself than to him.

"So it was you, from the stories."

That brought his attention back. "What?"

She was looking away now, gaze carefully averted. His eyes lingered on her profile for a moment, the long rope of her braid falling down her back.

He opened his mouth—about to ask her just what in the hell she was babbling about now— when he heard faintly in the distance the creaking of old joints and a shuffling gait. His nose picked up the scent of leathery skin and medicinal herbs.

"You'd better get back to practicing. Your keeper is on her way."

The young woman glanced back in his direction, startled. Something strange—embarrassment?—flashed across her face. It was followed by an equally strange shift in her scent. His nose twitched, zeroing in on the smell of her. He noticed dimly what he'd noticed the first time he'd met her: the warm undertone to her scent, the unique musk it carried, the earthy, floral notes... completely unlike any scent he'd ever smelled.

Why the fuck did she smell like that, anyway?

The woman opened her mouth to speak. He cut her off.

"Try to hit something this time, will you?"

He left before she could respond, leaping through the trees towards the river. He knew she'd sense his departure. He also knew he shouldn't be letting her out of his sight right now, not when she was finally out in the open and he had the chance to gather real information. He knew The Asshole would skin him alive if he ever found out Inuyasha had intentionally shirked his orders.

He really didn't give a fuck about any of that, though. He'd had quite enough for one day: there was more than enough information to digest, and he didn't want any more until he'd had time to think. Right now his thoughts were tangled and uncertain.

Well, all except for one: The Asshole might have actually been onto something.

The wench could be useful.

_______________

::lies facedown on the floor::

This chapter was SO HARD to write—especially that scene between Inuyasha and Sesshomaru. I rewrote that three times. All told, this chapter took me over a month to finish (why am I so slooooooow, augh.)

Anyway, for those who may have been confused: Musashi, Kai, and Shinano were all states/provinces in feudal Japan, each ruled by their own daimyo (lords). In this story, though, Sesshomaru and Inuyasha rule all three of them as part of their territory, and the human lords are subordinate to them. I tried to make that as clear as possible in the story, but let me know if it was still confusing and I'll try to tweak it.

Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!