InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Bloodlust: Purity ❯ The Black Chains of Blood ( Chapter 21 )

Chapter 21

The Black Chains of Blood

 

South of the mountains, spring had begun long before. Here, the clouds opened grey, toothless mouths, and spilled out whiteness over the pines and needled ground. The trees reached up, tall and quickly coated, their spiky branches thrust out like stuttering arms. Entering this altitude of coldness, where the sprouts and shoots of green faded to a hint of color beneath the swelling ice, Kystra stepped forward, always forward.

She was waiting, even while she moved. The dreams of the night just past had woken her expectations. Someone was coming who would give her the help she needed, someone who sought loneliness…just as she did.

For long sets of moments, it was difficult to remember why she had come on this long journey. She would remember that she was a child, her flesh untested, her thoughts faint and full of assumptions. Other times, she was certain, absolutely certain of why she trod this frozen path into the north.

The end of all things was coming, and this was the only way she could live. Perhaps, after enough time had passed, she would melt into the snow.

 

Time. Yes, time.

 

It was time that had changed for her, inside her head. She did not understand how it was possible. She could remember the future, as if it were something that had already happened, but how? And why only sometimes?

Frustrated, she shook her head, stopped her wandering feet and crouched, pressing her hands against her eyes, rubbing them. At the beginning of all this, there had been less clarity, and a voice that comforted her with warm promises and affection. That she could think from one thought to the next, and recognize the changes was an improvement - but she missed that voice. The memories of blue delirium which remained to her were growing fainter by the day, but she remembered the sound of that voice, and the hope that she might teach him her name.

 

He called me…beautiful girl.

 

She longed for comfort, and it was nowhere to be found. Her strangeness was bright and vivid to the responsive world; where she stepped, even scents and sounds sought hiding places.

 

~=~

 

Shippou woke from a dark dream, of a cloud that fell from a sky lashed by lightning to be pierced by an inhuman scream. From an open window, a cold wind blew spring scents toward his nostrils, and he heard sleeping silence around him and nothing more. The scream was the sound of his dream, the sound of a cloud falling, silver and bright, to dark ground stained with laughter.

He pushed the hair back off his forehead, and stood up. The room was full of solid, unfamiliar shapes, but the scents were reassuring. When he had still been a kit, Miroku and Sango had been a part of home. Like a worn blanket, he felt the old comforts still his unease, and he sorted scents slowly. Even the scent of Murasaki was reassuring, though it was not part of his memory, something in her innately calming, insubstantial, always faint…

Her scent was fainter than usual, and now that he paid close attention he could not distinguish her breathing among the sleepers. Moving slowly, as though he still dreamed, he tied his hakama and slid open the screen. In the entrance-room he stopped, and peeked through the narrow gap in the screens. Kinawai had not moved from his place by the wall, his eyes an intent glitter on Rin's rustling shape.

Firelight flickered over her face, and showed the even motion of her chest, the steadiness of her breathing now. Despite her strange, bubbling friendliness, Teza was skilled. She had gone to sleep on a mat in front of the fire, leaving packets of herbs stacked in a basket by Rin's side. In the morning, would Kinawai brew it for her, and see that Rin swallowed even the most bitter broth?

In fire-shadowed darkness beyond the door, he grinned, and continued on his way. The door was close by, leading out into Miroku's small garden. The grass beyond the threshold glinted like green steel, flaring under the touch of starlight. The moon was young and thin, but there was still enough light for him to pick out Murasaki's pale shape in the near distance, laying under the endless stretch of sky.

She was facing away from the house, and he approached almost silently, making the night noises, the natural sounds. When he was behind her, he knelt and touched her shoulder, smiled at her surprise and sat back on his heels.

“Are you hiding from us out here, Murasaki? Are we so cruel, that you are afraid to sleep in your bed?”

She turned away, and did not answer, but Shippou had learned persistence from Miroku.

“It can't be true, Murasaki!”

He spoke jokingly, trying to raise a smile on her face, to turn her eyes back in his direction. He wanted to know the real secrets that kept her awake, the troubles that brought her out into the long night, and the cold - but how could he ask? She was not family, and with honesty he could not even call her friend. Kouga had found her, endlessly sleeping Kouga, and she did not speak of herself, except her name.

 

I know nothing. Why does she touch me, make me question, make me want to know answers that have nothing to do with me?

 

She did not smile ,but she did turn back to him, and spoke quite seriously.

“No, it is not true. I have come out to the night because you are kind - not because you are cruel.”

Uncertain of any answer he could give that would not sound foolish, Shippou sat beside her in silence until the silence was comfortable. There was nothing to say; there was no need that anything be said. They watched the stars, each one a glittering point, and traced the rim of the slender crescent moon with delicate eyes and poised thoughts.

After a long time, or maybe only a little, Murasaki raised her head and stared across at him. He was held by her eyes, the strange luminescence and the startling glimmer of her pupils.

“Would you like another tale, Shippou?”

Her voice was rough in its softness, close to the tones of a whisper, but thicker.

“Now?”
She only nodded, and Shippou lay back flat and pillowed his head on his folded arms.

“Well, what story then?”

Murasaki clasped her hands around her knees, and rocked slowly. She gave him no title, no prelude, no introduction. Like a cold stream, her voice ran down into his ears, both chilling and waking.

 

“In ancient days, the dreams of gods and demons still walked on the living earth. The soil itself was like a great and ever-changing flesh, moving as the desires of the kami changed and moved. All things that live have their origins in the shifting womb of the earth, and the sprits that move them are the breaths of the gods.

Those were the days of power, power of men, and swords, and the beating of strong hearts. Demons battled with creatures whose strange forms you would not know for flesh, beasts of light and shadow, beasts who slumber in darkness. At the edges of the earth, in the deep seas and across the broad skies, wars raged over matters great and small. Clans and nations lived and died at the touch of a thought, or in a fog of feeling.

 

“Into these charged powers and mighty changes, some in the Heavenly Kingdom sought to send gifts and idols, to awake the sleeping brilliance in the human soul. Among all those gifts, the greatest were the Mirrors, and among those gifted Mirrors, the most powerful were the Mirrors of Dessa. Reflections hold great powers over the minds of men; reflections are the essence by which men define themselves.”

 

Like the first time, Shippou saw her story even as he heard it, great swoops of color and shape that delivered some truth beyond the boundaries of her words.

~=~

The distance between Totosai's forge and the den that had once been Kouga's seemed lengthened under Sesshomaru's feet. He had held Kagome by the arm, pulling her along after him, and then by the hand, and now, as they drew closer to their destination he let her go. Silent, intent, she ran alongside him.

Her features were compressed by discomforting feelings and the thin weariness of her tapped veins. The line of her mouth and the grief-trimmed corner of her glance reflected the feeling Sesshomaru would not speak of, though he too was consumed by the thought.

 

If Akira were my enemy, I would know how to bring this news to him. It would be a triumph, a taunt. To reveal the death of his hearts closest companions, drag it over him as though it had a serrated edge. That would be the way But how not to do it? Does she know what I do not know?

 

He ran on in dogged silence, holding his own counsel. He would not ask Kagome. They entered a long and narrow stretch of wood, and the sound of leaves caressed them, the sound of falling water guiding them forward. Quite suddenly they could see the sheltered falls, and the dim opening of the den behind it. The rise of the rocky hill that held the cave-opening was a black line against the bruise of the velvet sky, and before they could step past the water Akira's voice came down to them from above.

“Sesshomaru-sama! I did not know you planned a visit here - my apologies!”

Sesshomaru stepped backward just enough that he could see Akira's dark shape, a smudge on the line of the hill.

“I bring news of Mori, Akira. It would be best if you came with me.

Sesshomaru leapt up, and his eyes more than his words cautioned Kagome to remain on the ground. Akira was drawn away, up further along the ridge of the hilltop and then down the curve of the other side. After a moment, Kagome could no longer hear their speech, but flickers of hollow thought touched on the inner awareness.

Screamingly, without a breath of warning, there was a howl, a biting sound, and Kagome hung her head, feeling the memory of her enforced empathy, the thought - if it had been her children…

Long minutes passed, and she waited through the cutting silence that flowed quickly up the hill and across the silvered water.

 

“Sesshomaru-sama, what news brings me this honor?”

Akira did not take a single step without feeling disturbed. The wide eyes of the Lady Miko had held a promise of horrors, but the shaking of Sesshomaru's head - that was far worse to see.

“There is no honor, Akira. I come bearing tidings of death.”

“Death, lord? Who is that has died?”

He took a deep breath, preparing himself Many of his kin had chosen to make Mori their home, and there were none among them he would not miss. Sesshomaru paused only for the moment of that breath. Waiting would not ease his words.

“There is only dust and the scent of death in Mori, Akira. Do you understand? Only death. No one was left alive.”

Akira found himself sinking, as though underwater, and then realized that it was only his knees, his legs that would no longer support him.

“No one…is alive? Not one?”

Silently, Sesshomaru shook his head.

“My sons and daughters - they are all dead How could this be? Who - “

“We do not know. Dust and death I said, Akira. There is rumor of a miko, a miko who actively seeks the deaths of demons, a miko who is more than just a guardian.”

To Akira's eyes everything now was darkness.

“A miko. What miko - what is her name? Her!”

It took him less than a moment to flee in Kagome's direction, in a blur faster than the running water. His hands were tight, not threatening but achingly desperate. Suddenly in front of him, Sesshomaru subdued a flush of irrational anger and fixed Akira with a glare that stalled his feet.

“My mate does not consort with miko. Turn your grief to anger, Akira, but turn it in the right direction, also.”

The anger, the moment of danger he had felt in the aim of Akira's footsteps, was not burned out in his eyes, but he did not need to say anymore. Already, Akira was beginning to focus the black pain, drawing it out like poison, forcing it back through his veins like a drug. He would use it to tighten every muscle into an instrument of vengeance.

“What would you have me do, Sesshomaru-sama?”

“Go to your son, and do not forget that he lives. You must tell Histaru the fate of his brothers and sisters - you must teach him how to fight on the edge of rage.”

Sesshomaru smiled, and Akira felt that smile in his spine, a premonition of blood and wrath. For the first time in a long while, his blood gorged on silence and the promise of battle.

“With your leave, then, I will return to your fortress and retrieve him.”

Sesshomaru turned toward the west, probing at an unusual sensation and fixing its identity almost at once.

“Be careful, Akira. Something is moving, the power that sleeps in the land, and I did not call it. If Kystra has strayed, then it is no longer safe. Histaru will be elsewhere.”

Almost reverent, Akira nodded.

“Histaru told me what sleeps in the foundations of stone, and how you keep it captive.”
Again, that smile.

“Yes. Captive power, but it is free, now.”

Swift, even footsteps took him back to Kagome's side, and Akira followed more slowly. He watched them from the corner of his eye, the gentle touching, the reassuring sounds. Truly, his lord was gentle with no one as he was with his mate! As though he sensed the gaze, Sesshomaru turned and showed a face like steel.

“Go now, Akira.”

Kagome watched as Akira crossed the water, and disappeared among the trees, a small figure running into the south.

“His grief is great burden, mate.”

Sesshomaru's eyes too watched the fading speck.

“Vengeance will help him. Come - there is a strange scent in the air, and it is calling me to a place you know well.”

She raised eyes touched with surprise, and followed him again as he turned away from the den.

“The village, Sesshomaru? What could be - “

Kagome paused, mouth open, and raised a hand to her forehead.

“All this time, I wished there was a miko for me to ask, and I thought of no one, except for Eldest, and she had told me all she will tell. I had forgotten Teza!”

She smiled a very little smile.

“You are right, mate. It is time to pay Miroku and Sango a visit.”

He raised an eyebrow, more than a little confused.

“And what do they have to do with this?”

She only shrugged.

“Nothing, really, but Teza visits with them, and Teza is miko. If a rumor is moving about a miko who seeks death for demons, she will know about it - but I have to warn you, she is a little…strange.”

 

~=~

 

Between the tall peaks of the north mountains, deep green valleys stood untouched by the frozen air that assaulted the heights. Between one such valley and the next, by secret paths long untouched by any feet, Eldest made her way from the comfort of her dreaming wood to a rocky slope as far to the east as she could travel without crossing water. The air was encumbered by secrets; she had not tasted air with that quality in many more years than could elsewhere be remembered.

The subtle tracks of another power's passage made themselves clear to her, and she followed them now, instead of the obscure, drawing sense that had begun her on this journey. Was she finding the one she had sent herself out to find, or was it too late for such beginnings?

She passed through days and nights without paying attention. The path she followed was wandering. At first it seemed to have traveled at great speed, a consciousness flung out full of fear, but now there was a lessening, a slowing, and she thought that perhaps she drew close.

 

But close to whom? Close to what future, what aspect of possibility?

 

She understood better than any other that she and all her kind stood at the edge of a precipice, beneath which was an infinite fall into the long darkness, unaware and without salvation. For herself, she would not mind so much, but for the sake of those who cared, she would do what she could.

A short night gave way to a sputtering dawn, and amidst the trees of the last mountain she found a someone to give pause to all her thoughts and plans.

“You, child? What is it that you are doing here?”

The deep blue of her eyes reached out for Eldest like a flaming brand. She had seen a color like that once before - to see it again almost broke her. Within it there was a flicker of identity that did not really belong, a more mature awareness and a saturation of memories that moved beyond the thoughts that were Kystra's own.

“I came…for loneliness? When I remember, I think that someone is coming who can help me. Is it you?”

Kystra shook her head even as she was asking the questions, looked down at her fingers. Her hands were still small, the flesh rounded with child softness. It brought back a specific memory - the feeling of being out of place, as though in flesh too young.

“I think I remember myself older, Eldest. I remember…being alone.”

Piercing, as though she spoke with knowledge that she could not have, her eyes ground into Eldest's eyes. A black flicker there betrayed Eldest's concern, and nothing else.

“You are not alone, Kystra - you are alone here because you choose to be. Something is wrong in your thoughts, something changed in your time. It will be your mother's worry, not mine, but you must be careful!”

“Eldest, I am always careful. Will you tell me about my mother?”

As did not often happen, Eldest was startled.

“Your mother, child? What is it that you want to know?”

“Where is she from?”

Silence struck out between them and deepened. The early morning sky stayed thick with red.