InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ 30 Shards of Jaken ❯ Echoes in the Cavern ( Chapter 6 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Theme: Whispers

Genres: Horror/Angst

Warnings: Blood, gore, character deaths, violence, language, gruesome images

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,444

Echoes in the Cavern

For as long as Jaken could remember, they had always been there, echoing deeply in the caverns of his mind.

The whispers. Voices like death, cold as the bleakest winter.

Failure . . . failure . . . failure . . .

Taunting him. Teasing him. Agonizing him. Cutting him deeper than any blade ever could.

He can't remember exactly what caused the whispers to take up residence in his mind. He recalls brief flashes, shadows of old arguments from his childhood. His father's black silhouette towering over him, screaming something unintelligible while his mother tries to hold him back. Jaken knows he's displeased his father in some way. He knows he didn't meet his expectations. He knows he's failed him somehow. But all he can see is this dark figure, this terrific demon reaching toward him with feverish eyes . . . .

Failure . . . failure . . . failure . . .

The whispers were softer then, less harmful. More like paper cuts than anything else.

They didn't grow sharper until his adolescence. He was awkward then, scrawny, a weakling, a “late bloomer” as his mother liked to call him.

Back then he could remember the incident clearly; he would play it over and over again in his mind, unwillingly, a captive audience to the torture of his humiliation. But he'd worked hard over time to shred the memory, to block it out as best as he could, to erase the painful details. He can only see a hazy cloud now. A beautiful demon . . . the object of his affection for many years . . . working up the courage to speak to her . . . rehearsing what he would say for hours . . . stuttering and stumbling in his sheer boyish infatuation . . . cruel laughter like breaking glass . . . the malicious sound of her voice as her snakelike tongue spit insults at him . . . .

The feeling of a knife stabbing him in the heart. The whispers grew louder then.

Failure . . . failure . . . failure . . .

A lifetime later, Jaken had almost drowned out the whispers—almost forgotten them, even. He was with Sesshomaru, and it was the happiest he'd ever been. Sesshomaru was this godlike figure, powerful and intimidating, yet full of grace and magnanimity. For the first time in his life, Jaken felt true acceptance.

Wholeheartedly he resolved never to let Sesshomaru down. He only thought of pleasing him, of honoring him with loyal and perfect service. Of course, things didn't always work out the way Jaken planned them. And so, when Jaken failed his master, not only did he fear Sesshomaru's retribution, he also feared he deserved it.

Jaken always waited for it to happen—that one inevitable instance of inexcusable failure that would ruin his life—that would part him from Sesshomaru forever. But it never seemed to come. Even when Jaken couldn't keep Rin from being kidnapped by Kagura—a mishap he thought sure to engage Sesshomaru's wrath—Sesshomaru still accepted him. He neither cut Jaken down, nor scarred him with irrevocable words. And not only did he keep Jaken around, he seemed to want to keep Jaken around.

Rin, too, didn't appear mad at Jaken after the incident was over. That girl was full of too much compassion to ever say a cruel word to her Master Jaken.

It was more than he could ever hope for. He was lucky—so lucky—to have them by his side, people who would never cause those cursed whispers, which so cruelly proclaimed his inadequacies, to haunt his ears again.

At least, that's what he thought then.

Looking at Sesshomaru and Rin now, Jaken gripped his arm tightly to hold the panic at bay. Digging his claws into his skin, he winced, but gritting his teeth, he dug deeper—anything to keep his focus away from the sight before him, away from the thoughts that were clouding his mind.

“Oh!” He'd dug too deep. Gobs of blood began to trickle down his arm from a nasty gash. The pain brought him momentary relief, but soon he saw their faces again, and knew it was over.

Rin was looking at him with sad eyes.

“Why did you let it happen, Master Jaken? Don't you care about me?”

“I—I didn't mean to—I couldn't help it—I tried, Rin! I really did! You have to believe me!”

Sesshomaru was laughing callously now. He'd never looked or sounded so angry, so cold, his eyes fixated on Jaken like stone.

“You tried, did you, you pathetic worm? Of course you tried. You always try. You're useless.”

“No, Lord Sesshomaru!” Jaken groveled at his feet. “Please don't say that! Please forgive me! Please forgive me!”

And Jaken broke into sobs there on the cavern's floor at his lord's feet, unmindful of his tears desecrating Sesshomaru's robes.

Failure . . .

Jaken looked up. The whisper seemed to have come from Rin.

Failure . . .

There it was again. Jaken stumbled up and turned around. This time, the word appeared to have come from Sesshomaru's direction.

Failure . . .

The whisper was louder now, more resonant. Rin and Sesshomaru were ganging up on him, chanting it together, each utterance inflicting a new wound on his amphibian hide, tinted gray in the darkness.

Failure!

“Uh!” A gash appeared on Jaken's cheek. Blood oozed down his neck.

Failure!

“Gah!” Jaken fell to his knees, bent over from a searing wound gaping on his back.

Failure!

“Ohh . . .” He clutched at his gut, his fingers useless to hold back the barrage of blood now seeping through them.

Failure! . . . Failure! . . . Failure!

“No . . . no . . . “ Jaken's entire body was practically covered in blood now. It seeped into his eyes, obscuring his view. It clogged his nostrils, and he gagged, tasting its coppery bittersweetness as it traveled down his throat and caressed his tongue.

He lurched, and he could feel himself vomiting now. He spit and spit, gasping for breath, his whole body quivering as though with fever on the ground, his mind replaying that evening's events anew.

“No . . . no . . .”

He'd let it happen again. He let Rin get kidnapped by one of Naraku's underlings. This time by one so pathetically simple, they hadn't even bothered learning its name.

He could have stopped it then and there. If he had only been faster, more alert, he could have saved Rin then and prevented it from happening. But he'd been careless. He'd been scared. He'd become too dependent on Sesshomaru. Sesshomaru will be able to take care of this, he'd thought. This will be no problem for him.

And so, when Sesshomaru returned, immediately asking where Rin was, and Jaken explained, he thought that everything would be all right. Why shouldn't it? Lord Sesshomaru was incredibly fearsome after all. He could handle that small-fry demon in a jiffy.

In fact, when Jaken told Sesshomaru what happened, he seemed bored almost. Lazy even. Like he had everything under control and soon they would be on their way again, Rin happily shredding their eardrums with her ceaseless chatter.

Little did Jaken know that when they discovered the cavern, the demon's lair . . .

That when Sesshomaru smelled blood and they went running . . .

That when they saw Rin's eyes flashing in the darkness and Jaken called out her name . . .

That Rin would be staring up at them, a grotesque grimace frozen on her face . . . her head lying half a meter away from her body, the nameless lackey demon standing before her with a smug look of satisfaction.

Sesshomaru went to work right away. His appearance did not betray him, but he must have been boiling with rage, for Jaken had never seen him act so carelessly before.

In one swift motion, Sesshomaru had drawn Tokijin, and leaping quickly forward, he slashed through the demon with hardly a glance, and just as swiftly, he drew Tenseiga and made for Rin, his sword arm raised high above him ready for the regenerative blow.

In his haste—in his madness—Sesshomaru did not notice the girl lurking in the shadows of the cavern, the only demon that gave off no youki. In her bone-white hands she held a mirror, and through it Naraku viewed the entire scene from afar . . .

But not so far that he couldn't transport himself there . . .

With a fwoom and a flash, Naraku appeared as Sesshomaru hung in mid-air, leaping towards Rin. His eyes jolted as he recognized the scent behind him. In a more reasonable state, he might have dodged it in time, but before he could act, Naraku thrust his tentacles outwards and sent them tearing through Sesshomaru's chest and then plunged them away in various directions, leaving Sesshomaru's body in shreds.

Tenseiga fell to the floor with a vicious clatter that echoed ceaselessly in the cavern, as Jaken stood rooted to his spot, disbelieving.

Naraku reached out one disgusting hand, and picked up Tenseiga. “So, this is Sesshomaru's fabled sword.” He laughed, examining it greedily in his grasp. “I think I shall be taking this as a trophy.”

“NO!”

Naraku looked down, and regarded the pathetic toad demon standing before him with a smirk. “Oh, it's you. Are you still here?”

“That's—that's Lord Sesshomaru's sword! Give it here!”

Desperately Jaken clung to one last hope. If only he could get his hands on Tenseiga, he would be able to bring Sesshomaru and Rin back.

“Now why ever,” Naraku's smile began to widen, “Should I do that?”

Quickly Jaken hatched his scheme. “It's—it's a useless sword! Try it out, and see! It cuts nothing! It's of no value to you. In fact, its weakness would be demeaning to your power!”

“Heh . . .” Naraku chuckled wryly. “Do not lie to me, foolish demon. I know this sword's secret. It is Tenseiga, sword of the Heavens. It holds the key to life.”

Jaken's heart sunk. Dammit. He knows.

Naraku stepped slowly toward a pile of Sesshomaru's remains. He held Tenseiga aloft with glinting eyes, considering.

“How easy it would be . . . with but one stroke I could end your suffering . . . I could bring back your friends . . . and you wouldn't be alone.”

The idea seemed to amuse him. Jaken froze. Would Naraku . . . could Naraku bring them back to life? The notion momentarily ensnared Jaken, but soon he came to his senses.

“Hah! One such as you cannot wield Tenseiga! Only one with a caring heart can utilize its powers.”

Jaken raised his Staff of Two-Heads threateningly. “Now hand it o-over! Or else!”

Naraku lifted a lazy eye, and with a quick dart and a sickening snap, Jaken saw his staff lying in twain on the floor.

“Fool. Do you doubt my power? Do you really think that such a simple rule could thwart me? Who's to say that in my new form, I couldn't tap into this sword, overwhelm it, and use it at whim for my own purposes?”

Sweat dripped down Jaken's temples. Was Naraku lying? Merely toying with his hopes? Or was it true? Could Naraku actually wield Tenseiga, and bring his family back to life?

Naraku swung the sword about theatrically in the air over the ragged pieces that were once Sesshomaru. “With but one stroke . . . I could bring him back . . .”

Jaken tensed, watching Naraku's movements, waiting for the blow. Maybe he can do it. Maybe he can do it! Please let it be!

“I could do it . . .”

Naraku raised Tenseiga over his head, ready to strike. This was the moment of truth.

“ . . . But I'm not going to.”

And with a callous grin, Naraku lowered Tenseiga, and picking its sheath up off the floor, made to leave.

“NO!” Jaken ran after him hysterically. “Wait! At least—oof!” He tripped and fell to the ground, his face scraping painfully against jagged rocks.

Naraku glanced idly at him.

Jaken coughed frantically, as though having some sort of attack. His body wracked with spasms—whether by some silent spell of Naraku's or his own fevered grief, he did not know. “At least—at least have the decency to kill me too.”

The smirk on Naraku's face vanished. “You . . .? Why should I waste my time on you? You're inconsequential.”

And Naraku left then, deaf to Jaken's cries and pleas and shrieks of anguish.

Jaken was alone. Alone with the mutilated remains of the only family he'd ever known. The corpses seemed aware of him somehow, peering up at him with lifeless eyes. Mocking him. Mocking his failure.

The whispers returned.

“No . . . no . . .”

Jaken lay on the floor now, drenched in his own blood, covered in ugly welts, moaning miserably.

“ . . . Rin . . .”

Failure . . .

“ . . . Lord Sesshomaru . . .”

Failure . . .

“No . . . no . . .

Failure . . . failure . . . failure . . .

“NOOOO!”

He sobbed in agony, blood pulsating thickly from his many wounds, staring transfixed at his fallen friends, growing more and more delirious as his vision began fading.

Failure . . . failure . . . failure . . .

How long he lay there, helpless on the ground, motionless as a corpse, his mind ravaged by the incessant chanting of the whispers, he did not know. He hardly noticed when he felt a pair of hands picking him up . . . carrying him away . . . dumping him into the earth . . . various appendages being thrown in after him . . .

“Wait . . .” he tried to cry. “You're making a mistake . . .” Why was his voice so soundless?

“I'm not dead!”

There was a thud as something round and heavy was dropped in on top of him. It landed on his chest, staring up at him innocently.

“Me either, Master Jaken.”

And as the dirt began to pile up around him, and all became dark and quiet, with his last thought Jaken wondered if he was really being buried alive alongside his dead friends, or if it was just the fevered nightmare of a man succumbed to madness.