InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Cobalt Skies and Too Blue Eyes ❯ Chapter Three: Toji ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: YoukaiFate 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 12.01.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.8K | Visits: 516 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 12.01.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.8K | Visits: 516 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, etc. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
COBALT SKIES AND TOO-BLUE EYES
Summary: A dream haunts Sango in the eyes of her newborn son. As the veils between this world and the next are drawn back on the night of seasonal equinox, she must consider that the ghost of the father might come seeking both her and her son… (“after Naraku” canon cont., SangoXBankotsu, some InuyashaXKagome)
WORDS
Toji - winter solstice, celebrated December 22nd on the Gregorian calendar
A/N: Winter is actually rather dry in most of Japan. I am using artistic license, and the fact that Sango’s home is in the mountains to drop a blizzard on her head. Thus goes hopping the evil plot bunnies of maniacal fanime writers…
WARNING! ADULT SITUATIONS AND ISSUES, NO ONE UNDER 17, PLEASE!
CHAPTER THREE (TOJI)
Sango shivered uncontrollably. The harsh winter night was piercingly cold. Her ragged breaths came out of her in short bursts of cloudy condensation as she squinted against the glaring brightness of the snowy landscape, which was lit to a ghostly brilliance by the fat, full moon that hung overhead among the cold, harshly glittering lights of a hundred, distant stars. The thin crust of the upper snow was not strong enough to hold her weight and with each new step she took, she floundered up to her thighs in the wet muck underneath. Her legs had long since lost any sensation, the numbing cold creeping up the damp fabric of her undergarments as she slogged one heavy step at a time to the distant promise of the wood pile.
She had been stupid to pile the cut timber under the scant protection of the store-house’s porch. It had seemed convenient at the time---the trek hardly far from her own doorstep---but she had never expected weather like this to bog her down. Usually the snow that fell on the mountainous valley of her home was light, a foot at most, and never covering the ground for more than a few days at a time before it melted away, leaving the browned grass behind to grace the dull, winter-deadened earth once more.
Exhaustion shadowed her eyes. The sudden blizzard had come two days ago, and it looked as if clouds were gathering once more on the far horizon, their ominous shadow against the sharply glittering night sky making her shiver within her damp clothing. She sighed, grateful at least that Mikomi now slept, Kirara curled protectively around him. He had been taken sick with a high fever the past two days as the unnatural storm had howled around their tiny cot. Sango had exhausted herself in trying to bathe the fever away with soaking cloths, keeping him warm and soothing him in turns as he fretted and cried, coughs wracking his little body. She remembered each pain-filled hour as she kept steady vigilance over him, each cry as he fought off the fevers that had left her flushed and tired even as he had finally succumbed to the needed sleep of true healing.
She had been startled to hear the howling winds abate just as Mikomi had finally dropped off to sleep like one dead, the fevers finally leaving him to recover his weakened strength on his own. Sango had felt comfortable for the first time in leaving him to Kirara’s guarding. Eyeing the dwindling pile of firewood, their only source of heat, she had grimly wrapped herself in as many layers as she could before venturing out to gather more from the generous pile Inuyasha had cut and stashed for her on the store-house’s porch.
She had made the trek back and forth at least five times already, her arms like leaden weights as she carried two logs at a time back with her. She needed more, much more, if that storm on the horizon was any indication, and so she kept slogging, though her arms trembled, and now she carried only a single log at a time, the heavy weight dragging at her lagging steps. She coughed slightly, briefly leaning against the porch steps to rest. Her throat felt raw, and her eyes too dry and sore. She felt flushed, and numbingly cold, and she worried suddenly if she might not have caught the fevers that had plagued her poor son.
There was no help for it. She might fix herself some strengthening tea once she had completed her current task. Once she had secured the necessary tinder, she could remove the icy clothing from her skin and build up the fire so that she could warm up her hands and feet, which she could no longer feel. A chill wind blew, sweeping through the damp layers and making her shudder with the icy breath of it. She coughed again, and slogged on.
She had, at least, cut a floundering path through the snow, but her steps grew more wearied as she continued back and forth, back and forth. She couldn’t believe how utterly tired she was, how strange her thoughts. She must be imagining things, for she felt as if ghostly aspirations had risen up all around her, their ghostly fingers reaching for her faint spark of life and warmth with the chilling touch of a lonely, hungering death…
Something plucked at her sleeve, and Sango yelled, flailing like a drunk, as she whirled to face them. But no one was there, and she was actually glad that her throat had been too raw to really put any volume to her shout of surprise. It had come out as more of a croak, and she felt stupid and foolish. This was the night of winter equinox, when the veils dividing the worlds pulled back their barriers and the long departed walked the lonely night. She had never quite dismissed the fireside tales of ghostly demons who hovered on the icy wind’s breath of midwinter’s night, ever-seeking the warmth of the living to soothe their frozen, tormented souls…
*Simple tales to scare children into good behavior…watch out or the snow demon will get you! Take care, lest the lost souls of the hungry dead take you in the night…* She thought to herself, slogging on. If she wanted to sit by that warm fireside, spinning tales and reminiscing over old legends, she needed to haul in more firewood. She peered up at the stars, and shivered as she noticed how quickly the clouds had encroached across the glittering night sky. The wind moaned in the distance, and she huddled into the sparse protection of her snow-soaked clothing as the chilling breath of it found its way to her. Something plucked again at her sleeve. It could have been the wind, which now howled mournfully around her, but it could have been something more. Blinking her dry eyes and squinting against the snow’s glare, Sango spun about to confront it---to once again find nothing there.
*Damn it!*
The anger she felt at her own foolishness actually warmed her, though it made her cough again, this time in a harsh, wracking spasm that shook her to the core. Fear nipped at the back of her mind, though she tried to dismiss it as so much nonsense. She was only tired. She needed to rest…
The wind pulled at her sodden garments, and she abruptly fell, bowled over by something that had felt uncannily like a push against her shoulders. She fell face-first into the snow, and sputtered in outrage at her stupid clumsiness. She floundered, trying to gain her feet, as the chilling wind rose up around her in eerie triumph, the sounds of a thousand lost souls screaming on its icy breath.
:Warmth…life…we crave life…warmth…join us, woman…become one with us…know despair and fear and cold and ice and death and loss…pain…life lost…we crave life…your life…your warmth…join us…:
Sango cried out on the chilling assault on her mind, sobbing aloud as she felt icy fingers plucking at her frozen skin, felt the damp clothing pressing down on her with the weight of a hundred lost souls, all hungry for her life and warmth and blood. She tried to struggle up from the snow but could not rise, for their weight bore down on her, their silent glee at her continuing struggles whispering across her mind in heady despair.
:Lost we are…join us…cold and despair and death and pain…life lost…the cold, the chilling, icy cold…join us…:
She knew real terror then, as her face was pressed into the snow by their growing weight. These demons and hungering, lost souls she had not believed in---but now knew in ice-held horror were real, oh so very much real---they desired her death. They wanted to take the warmth from her, hungry as they were for it, leeching it away from her until she became as one of them, forever lost to the icy breath of the howling wind…
*No! Mikomi! Kirara---help me!*
She could not cry out, her breath now came shallow as they ground her into the freezing snow, pressing harder upon her, triumph in their icy breath as her frantic struggles weakened and the ice-laden wind stabbed at her lungs with a thousand knives, and she knew she could not draw breath again, that she would die, that she would die…
*No! Gods, please, anyone, help me!*
She cried in despair, and the rising wind of the encroaching storm-clouds closed over her, its freezing breath dropping fat flakes of ice and snow to muffle her soft sobs as the lost souls that rode the icy wind of death crowded round her, hungry, and ever hungering. They would claim her for their own, the ghosts of the night. She was so tired, so very tired, and oh so very cold…
She could see them, the ghostly aspirations who crowded around her mistress, who had all but disappeared beneath a thickening blanket of falling snow. The wind whipped whirling flurries into her vision, ruffling her thick fur as she snarled out her defiance of the ghostly claws that would suck Sango’s soul into their own numbers, leeching away her warmth and greedily savoring it as the life dimmed within her.
Kirara rushed among them, her eyes bloody, the flames flickering along her paws as her tails lashed and she bared her fangs. She snapped at them, her heavy paws swatting right and left, deadly claws extended to the fullest.
She could do them no damage, though, for they were not of this world, but the next. They laughed and screeched, and allowed her paws to pass through them, the cold numbing her paws at even so brief a contact. She hovered over her mistress, desperately trying to find a way to beat them off Sango’s chilling body. Despair made her scream and yowl, demanding aid from any who were near, though she knew not just what might answer.
Though answer he did…
The silver fire in his hand flashed once, twice, dissipating the ghosts too stupid to flee in terror as he struck out at them with all his might. The tattoo emblazoned on his forehead gleamed with its own silver fire, the lavender stain a darker shadow as his brilliant blue eyes spat contempt for the feeble, weak souls that still crowded around the fallen woman, their dull awareness too slow to comprehend their peril.
He made quick work of them, the shadowy halberd in his hand spinning back and forth until the last of them finally fled in terror on the icy wind. Their shrieks of loss and despair added a mournful note to the swirling winds of the rising storm as the mountainous valley was claimed in flurry-filled turmoil, the blizzard finally descending with howling vengeance.
He allowed the fire of his shadow-sword to fade, and knelt beside the limp form of the fallen woman in the deepening snow, and knew not what else he could do for her. He was as ghostly and insubstantial as those others he had just fought off, and could not lift her in his arms to carry her back to the safety and warmth of her hut. He snarled at his helplessness, for the woman would surely die if she kept lying here in the falling snow, the icy chill slowly draining the life from her flesh…
*Damn you, I returned and for nothing! For nothing!*
The crossed blades of the tattoo on his forehead blazed, and he grit his teeth as the helpless fury washed over him anew. He yelled to the haunting voice that had taunted him before, that it was not yet his time. Would they take away hers?
*Damn you! Save her! Damn you all to hell and beyond…*
Kirara refused to see her mistress taken as well, and by so wretched a source. Sango deserved happiness, deserved comfort, deserved litter and mate and all that was good of hearth and den. Rising her voice to the heavens, Kirara called forth that debt owed her by the gods, demanded payment as none of hers ever had.
The cross marked in black slashes on her forehead burned with a holy light, a light of deepest night, of deepest darkness, but lit with the twinkling gleam of a thousand stars. She felt her, the priestess. Midoriko.
Kirara made her demand simple---save her, save Sango, she cared not how.
It was the gods who determined just how to turn that demand to their own purpose, and thus chose what vessel to use, as he stood so conveniently near, and as he, too, was in need---just of a different kind. They ripped the living energies of the worlds to bend them to their own use, and parted the veils for one last time for him. Drawing life out of the earth, they funneled it to the ghostly aspiration of the mercenary who stood oblivious, angry and baffled as the light suddenly flared around him, surrounding him in lines of gleaming white fire that slowly encircled him, the crossed tattoo of his forehead burning intensely with its own black light.
:It is time…:
The voice boomed around the three who stood in the snow, the youkai, the woman, and the man, and yet none but the youkai heard or understood its words. Kirara bowed her head in gratitude and deep reverence until the ancient miko who had once created the Shikon no Tama in her very heart withdrew, the stars in her black eyes twinkling as a smile crossed her beautiful face.
:As you will it, little one…:
And then she was gone.
Bankotsu yelped, gingerly jumping from one bare foot to the other.
One moment, he was standing on top of the snow, his feet making no impression against it. The winds that howled and flung icy flurries on their breath stirred not so much as a wrinkle in his hakama or a tangle of inky black hair on his head, for he was not truly a part of the physical world, but a mere ghost within it. He thought he heard the neko howling out in despair, and there was a flash of light so brilliant it made him squint. There was a sudden, sharp stab of pain in the middle of his forehead, right between his eyes---a pain as sharp as when he had had that damn symbol tattooed upon his skin in a drunken dare on a lazy night long ago---and then he found himself jerking as a strange sound throbbed in his ears. Once, twice, again and again, until he realized in shock that it was his heart, beating for the first time in his chest, and then he was taking in a deep breath of icy air---air that he could now feel, as the wind tugged on the long end of his braid and flattened the draping folds of his white haori and hakama against his armor and legs.
He abruptly felt himself sinking, thigh-deep in the snow, and he wiggled his toes in wonder, his feet bare to the arch, as he had been dressed in his armor in death as he had been in life.
And damn if it wasn’t cold as all fucking hell right now.
The neko blinked at him, the glow in her crimson eyes fading somewhat. She wrinkled her lips at him, motioning toward the woman still half-buried in the snow. Bankotsu scratched the back of his head, and looked sour. He didn’t like a damn youkai reminding him to do his damn duty. He had just suddenly found himself as solid and real and living as he had never ever expected he would again---that damn cat could give him a damn break and let him catch his bearings for one damn minute!
Except he didn’t have a damn minute, for if he felt as if he were quickly turning into one long icicle, than that girl had to be feeling worse, much worse. Kneeling (and holy shit, was that cold!), he dug underneath the still form, grabbing at whatever sodden cloth he could, and hauled her up with him as he lurched back to his feet. Staggering through the snow, trying to squint past the furiously whirling storm, he was heartily glad that giant neko knew which way to go, and had such a convenient pair of glowing eyeballs, for they led him across the seemingly unending snow until the hut lurched up out of the whirling white oblivion like a big, dark rock.
“Fuck!” He stubbed his toe against the porch steps, and almost dropped the bundle held close in his arms. His toes had begun to numb---that was one damn way to bring them back to throbbing life. He lurched up the steps, the neko leaping ahead with far more grace to push open the sturdy, wooden door.
The hut was an oasis of heat and warmth from the howling night. Bankotsu soaked in the warmth as he stumbled across the tidy space to drop the woman on her sleeping pallet, which lay on one side of the raised dais that divided the hut in two. Wiping the soppy bangs off his forehead with an impatient hand, he knelt down beside the wet bundle and grimly started stripping off her clothes.
It seemed as if she had managed to wrap herself up with every damn article of clothing she owned. Peeling off one kimono after another, he cursed fluently as he fought frozen knots and wet wool. She had even managed to wrap her hands and arms in thick mitts that squished as he removed them. The warmth in the hut had increased, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the neko dragging another thick log to the fire, which snapped and popped as it caught on the damp wood before sullenly accepting it.
“Thanks,” he muttered, finally giving up on the stupid knots and pulling a knife from his calf, sliced right through them. He cut and pulled with abandon, worried now because the woman looked blue around the lips, and far too pale, her breath too shallow with a raspy quality to it. She needed to get warm, and fast. She wasn’t out of danger yet.
He peeled the last layer of sodden clothing from her, letting it fall to the wood floor just past the dais with a splat, as he had the others. Taking one limp, white hand in his, he gently rubbed the circulation back into her chilled flesh, and looked around for where the woman might have stashed some extra blankets.
The neko came to his aid. Transforming to her smaller size, she batted at a row of cabinets tucked under a bench built into the other side of the wall. Neat, that. Bankotsu left the naked woman on the pallet to slide back the various doors and drag out whatever he thought he might need. Everything had been arranged inside the cabinets in neat, orderly rows, but he wreaked havoc among them, discarding this and that to pull out something else he could use. He paused a moment to glance over at the small, strange wooden pen where his son lay, but the kid was sound asleep, even snoring lightly.
Bankotsu grinned. He could sleep through most anything, too. It was proof enough the little mite was his son. But he didn’t have time to stare down at him now, much as he would like to. The woman was shivering, her teeth chattering. Grabbing the bundle of blankets, he hurried back to the pallet.
She was light, easy to lift. He wrapped blanket after blanket around her, even tucking her feet into the bottom of the cocoon once he had rubbed the circulation back through them. Her breathing had evened out, though he still didn’t like that rattling sound that kept coming out of her lungs. Her lips had lost that bluish tinge, though she was still too pale. He should wake her up, maybe, and force-feed her something hot.
He suddenly shivered himself, and realized that his own garments were soaked to the skin. It would do no good if he were to catch sick as well. With a heavy sigh, he started unbuckling straps and removing the heavy weight from off him. He was careful with his armor, it was rather expensive to replace. He took less care with his haori and hakama, though he hung them up on a convenient peg to dry. Stripped to the skin, and knowing there was no one to really see or care if he was naked or not, he sauntered over to the merrily burning hearth. Opening the three covered pots that had been left to one side of the fire, he thought that it might have been the woman’s dinner, prepared earlier and only needing to be reheated.
Good. He wasn’t that great at putting together a meal, though he could rough it, and had, many a time. Setting the rice to boil, he added the other two---a strange, rice-milk mixture, and some unfamiliar kind of soupy stew---to the convenient tripod arrangement above the central hearth. The fire’s warmth felt good on his bare skin, and he basked for a moment in the heat before rummaging in the cabinets for another pot and the packets of tea and medicine he was most familiar with. Dumping them in with a generous hand, he set the tea to steep in the water he had boiled for the purpose. It would probably taste horrible, all mixed together like that, but it would work.
There was a slight cough from across the room. He was there, beside her pallet, in an instant. Thick lashes fluttered on her pale cheeks, and brown eyes, dazed and unfocused, blinked up at him. Her whisper was hoarse. “Mikomi…”
Mikomi? It must be the boy. He wasn’t sure he liked that name.
“He’s fine.” His own voice was rough and hoarse.
“Tired…” She sighed, coughing again.
“Sleep,” he ordered, and closing her eyes, she did.
Now that he had a few minutes, while he waited for dinner to cook, he went looking for something he might be able to wear. There was nothing but women’s clothing cached in the back of the cabinets, yukata and kimono of summer weight and fabric. Ignoring them, he finally rigged a towel around his hips like a loose loincloth, pulling a blanket across his shoulders. The neko watched him with unblinking eyes by the fire as she dried her own fur, having thoroughly washed every inch of disgusting ice from her coat.
“Gah?”
Bankotsu turned to look behind him with surprise. A pair of blue eyes stared at him underneath rumpled wisps of fine black hair.
Father and son stood regarding each other for a long moment before the boy decided to bang his fist on the side of his pen and grin, babbling, “Ghahahaga.”
A black brow rose, and Bankotsu shrugged. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, kid.”
“Gha!” His son’s voice was imperious in his demand.
“You hungry?” Bankotsu sauntered over to kneel down beside the pen. He reached out a tentative hand, uncertain if the boy would cry if he were to touch him. He had never really been around kids all that much. He felt something stir within him, something that made his throat thicken and his eyes itch.
Calloused fingers hesitantly cupped the silky head, and Mikomi grinned at him, flashing a couple of teeth, and banged his fist against the arm above him. Bankotsu grinned back down at the boy, and touched the fist with a finger. The boy grabbed on with surprising strength, and gha-gah-gha’ed with delight.
*Gods, he can sure drool.*
And what the hell was that smell?
Bankotsu made a face, thinking he was about to find out.
Mikomi smiled.
He glared at the youkai, who had helped him out before by batting at the right pot and dragging out clean swaddling cloths when he couldn’t find them. She did everything with a haughty air that made him what to yank on those lazily flagging twin tails, though he wouldn’t have survived five minutes with the kid without that stupid neko’s help.
The cat sighed, as if dealing with dumb males was more than she should ever have to put up with. Tails lashing, she hopped up on the dais and stalked over to the taijiya. Sitting down on her haunches and staring at him with her red eyes, she mewed.
Bankotsu frowned, and stared down at his son, who hiccupped, his blue eyes shining with tears of frustration. His little kimono was covered in milky stains, and a piece of rice was stuck to the fat chin.
Damn.
Whipping the filthy kimono off the boy, he picked him up, tucking him under his arm like a sack of rice, and hauled him across the room to sit beside the sleeping woman. Mikomi gave a happy wail of recognition, his arms waving and his legs kicking furiously, as if he would swim through the air to his mother’s side. The little mouth was pursed, sucking air like he would----Bankotsu froze.
Damn.
How the hell was he gonna do this? The kid wanted to eat, but the woman was all but passed out, and wrapped head to toe in every blanket he could find. Mikomi was crying now, rising wails of frustration for having dinner so close and yet so far. Bankotsu reached out a hand to shake the taijiya’s shoulder, but she only sighed, nestling deeper into her warm cocoon.
Mikomi hollered right in his ear---a cry loud enough to wake the dead.
Damn the kid had good lungs.
The woman stirred, her eyes blinking open as she heard her son’s cry, and murmured, “Mikomi…”
“He’s hungry.” Bankotsu said, a bit grudgingly that he couldn’t help his son without disturbing her.
She struggled weakly, trying to pull her hands up out of the tightly wrapped pile of blankets. Mikomi kept wailing as Bankotsu propped him sideways on one hip and used his other hand to roll the woman this way and that, tugging and pulling until she could sit up. She swayed like a drunk, the shadows under her eyes speaking eloquently of her exhaustion.
“C’mere.” Bankotsu all but hauled her up against his other side as Mikomi screeched, the tears fairly flying. His left leg kept smacking the mercenary in the side, and his fists waved furiously.
“He’s hungry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She recognized the cry of her child, and how frustrated he was. She reached for him across Bankotsu’s lap, her hands shaking.
“You’re weak. Let’s do this right,” Bankotsu said roughly. He man-handled the woman and her pile of blankets onto his lap, swinging Mikomi out of the way. She stiffened for a moment, blinking up at him with confusion.
“Who…?”
“Does it matter? I’m trying to help,” he growled as Mikomi screeched again.
“Mikomi…” Her eyes focused on her son, who waved frantically at her.
Rolling his eyes, he turned her so that the back of her was held solidly against his chest. She remained stiff for as long as she could, before her weakness betrayed her and she slumped against him. Her arms reached for her son, and Bankotsu plopped the impatient little monster down in her lap.
Mikomi sniffled, his face red. He snuggled against his mother, his fingers curling against the concealing blankets. The woman bent her head over her son, and shoved ineffectually at the blanket that covered her breasts. Bankotsu reached around and helpfully gave it a yank. She flushed in acute embarrassment as Mikomi grabbed hold and settled to it with a happy cry.
Quickly covering breast and babe with a draping fold of her blanket, she sighed, her eyes closing as she leaned back against him. The neko came to knead the trailing end of one blanket, her eyes warm coals against her creamy fur. Bankotsu stared down at the top of the woman’s black head, seeing strands of brown among the mussed tangles, and felt an odd sensation in his chest. He tightened his arms around the pair of them, his eyes glancing down at the slight curve of her breast and the round, silky head that peeped around the concealing folds of the draping blanket.
They needed him.
The thought was startling. It was…humbling.
Damn.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged half-heartedly, and Mikomi protested as the movement caused his dinner to bobble away from his grip. With a grunt, he latched back on, and the woman sighed wearily.
“He’ll be done soon,” she whispered, her fingers lightly combing the silky black head.
He said nothing, content just to be there, and a long silence descended between them as the fire cackled beyond and the baby made a rhythmic suckling noise, the neko’s soft purr a rumbling compliment. The woman drowsily laid her head against his shoulder, too exhausted not to trust him. She would worry about it later…
She slept lightly in his arms, and Mikomi was big enough to find her other breast on his own. Grunting, the boy settled to his task, and Bankotsu did not cover him up as she had done, content to watch. He leaned his chin lightly on the top of her bent head, and smiled.
Yes, he had returned, and he thought that perhaps he might have returned for good…
COBALT SKIES AND TOO-BLUE EYES
Summary: A dream haunts Sango in the eyes of her newborn son. As the veils between this world and the next are drawn back on the night of seasonal equinox, she must consider that the ghost of the father might come seeking both her and her son… (“after Naraku” canon cont., SangoXBankotsu, some InuyashaXKagome)
WORDS
Toji - winter solstice, celebrated December 22nd on the Gregorian calendar
A/N: Winter is actually rather dry in most of Japan. I am using artistic license, and the fact that Sango’s home is in the mountains to drop a blizzard on her head. Thus goes hopping the evil plot bunnies of maniacal fanime writers…
WARNING! ADULT SITUATIONS AND ISSUES, NO ONE UNDER 17, PLEASE!
CHAPTER THREE (TOJI)
Sango shivered uncontrollably. The harsh winter night was piercingly cold. Her ragged breaths came out of her in short bursts of cloudy condensation as she squinted against the glaring brightness of the snowy landscape, which was lit to a ghostly brilliance by the fat, full moon that hung overhead among the cold, harshly glittering lights of a hundred, distant stars. The thin crust of the upper snow was not strong enough to hold her weight and with each new step she took, she floundered up to her thighs in the wet muck underneath. Her legs had long since lost any sensation, the numbing cold creeping up the damp fabric of her undergarments as she slogged one heavy step at a time to the distant promise of the wood pile.
She had been stupid to pile the cut timber under the scant protection of the store-house’s porch. It had seemed convenient at the time---the trek hardly far from her own doorstep---but she had never expected weather like this to bog her down. Usually the snow that fell on the mountainous valley of her home was light, a foot at most, and never covering the ground for more than a few days at a time before it melted away, leaving the browned grass behind to grace the dull, winter-deadened earth once more.
Exhaustion shadowed her eyes. The sudden blizzard had come two days ago, and it looked as if clouds were gathering once more on the far horizon, their ominous shadow against the sharply glittering night sky making her shiver within her damp clothing. She sighed, grateful at least that Mikomi now slept, Kirara curled protectively around him. He had been taken sick with a high fever the past two days as the unnatural storm had howled around their tiny cot. Sango had exhausted herself in trying to bathe the fever away with soaking cloths, keeping him warm and soothing him in turns as he fretted and cried, coughs wracking his little body. She remembered each pain-filled hour as she kept steady vigilance over him, each cry as he fought off the fevers that had left her flushed and tired even as he had finally succumbed to the needed sleep of true healing.
She had been startled to hear the howling winds abate just as Mikomi had finally dropped off to sleep like one dead, the fevers finally leaving him to recover his weakened strength on his own. Sango had felt comfortable for the first time in leaving him to Kirara’s guarding. Eyeing the dwindling pile of firewood, their only source of heat, she had grimly wrapped herself in as many layers as she could before venturing out to gather more from the generous pile Inuyasha had cut and stashed for her on the store-house’s porch.
She had made the trek back and forth at least five times already, her arms like leaden weights as she carried two logs at a time back with her. She needed more, much more, if that storm on the horizon was any indication, and so she kept slogging, though her arms trembled, and now she carried only a single log at a time, the heavy weight dragging at her lagging steps. She coughed slightly, briefly leaning against the porch steps to rest. Her throat felt raw, and her eyes too dry and sore. She felt flushed, and numbingly cold, and she worried suddenly if she might not have caught the fevers that had plagued her poor son.
There was no help for it. She might fix herself some strengthening tea once she had completed her current task. Once she had secured the necessary tinder, she could remove the icy clothing from her skin and build up the fire so that she could warm up her hands and feet, which she could no longer feel. A chill wind blew, sweeping through the damp layers and making her shudder with the icy breath of it. She coughed again, and slogged on.
She had, at least, cut a floundering path through the snow, but her steps grew more wearied as she continued back and forth, back and forth. She couldn’t believe how utterly tired she was, how strange her thoughts. She must be imagining things, for she felt as if ghostly aspirations had risen up all around her, their ghostly fingers reaching for her faint spark of life and warmth with the chilling touch of a lonely, hungering death…
Something plucked at her sleeve, and Sango yelled, flailing like a drunk, as she whirled to face them. But no one was there, and she was actually glad that her throat had been too raw to really put any volume to her shout of surprise. It had come out as more of a croak, and she felt stupid and foolish. This was the night of winter equinox, when the veils dividing the worlds pulled back their barriers and the long departed walked the lonely night. She had never quite dismissed the fireside tales of ghostly demons who hovered on the icy wind’s breath of midwinter’s night, ever-seeking the warmth of the living to soothe their frozen, tormented souls…
*Simple tales to scare children into good behavior…watch out or the snow demon will get you! Take care, lest the lost souls of the hungry dead take you in the night…* She thought to herself, slogging on. If she wanted to sit by that warm fireside, spinning tales and reminiscing over old legends, she needed to haul in more firewood. She peered up at the stars, and shivered as she noticed how quickly the clouds had encroached across the glittering night sky. The wind moaned in the distance, and she huddled into the sparse protection of her snow-soaked clothing as the chilling breath of it found its way to her. Something plucked again at her sleeve. It could have been the wind, which now howled mournfully around her, but it could have been something more. Blinking her dry eyes and squinting against the snow’s glare, Sango spun about to confront it---to once again find nothing there.
*Damn it!*
The anger she felt at her own foolishness actually warmed her, though it made her cough again, this time in a harsh, wracking spasm that shook her to the core. Fear nipped at the back of her mind, though she tried to dismiss it as so much nonsense. She was only tired. She needed to rest…
The wind pulled at her sodden garments, and she abruptly fell, bowled over by something that had felt uncannily like a push against her shoulders. She fell face-first into the snow, and sputtered in outrage at her stupid clumsiness. She floundered, trying to gain her feet, as the chilling wind rose up around her in eerie triumph, the sounds of a thousand lost souls screaming on its icy breath.
:Warmth…life…we crave life…warmth…join us, woman…become one with us…know despair and fear and cold and ice and death and loss…pain…life lost…we crave life…your life…your warmth…join us…:
Sango cried out on the chilling assault on her mind, sobbing aloud as she felt icy fingers plucking at her frozen skin, felt the damp clothing pressing down on her with the weight of a hundred lost souls, all hungry for her life and warmth and blood. She tried to struggle up from the snow but could not rise, for their weight bore down on her, their silent glee at her continuing struggles whispering across her mind in heady despair.
:Lost we are…join us…cold and despair and death and pain…life lost…the cold, the chilling, icy cold…join us…:
She knew real terror then, as her face was pressed into the snow by their growing weight. These demons and hungering, lost souls she had not believed in---but now knew in ice-held horror were real, oh so very much real---they desired her death. They wanted to take the warmth from her, hungry as they were for it, leeching it away from her until she became as one of them, forever lost to the icy breath of the howling wind…
*No! Mikomi! Kirara---help me!*
She could not cry out, her breath now came shallow as they ground her into the freezing snow, pressing harder upon her, triumph in their icy breath as her frantic struggles weakened and the ice-laden wind stabbed at her lungs with a thousand knives, and she knew she could not draw breath again, that she would die, that she would die…
*No! Gods, please, anyone, help me!*
She cried in despair, and the rising wind of the encroaching storm-clouds closed over her, its freezing breath dropping fat flakes of ice and snow to muffle her soft sobs as the lost souls that rode the icy wind of death crowded round her, hungry, and ever hungering. They would claim her for their own, the ghosts of the night. She was so tired, so very tired, and oh so very cold…
ooOOooOOooOOoo
Kirara’s head came up, her eyes glowing. Sniffing the air, she suddenly yowled her growing alarm. Leaping down from the sleeping child’s bed, she flared into her larger form even as she shouldered the thick, wooden door open with brute strength alone.She could see them, the ghostly aspirations who crowded around her mistress, who had all but disappeared beneath a thickening blanket of falling snow. The wind whipped whirling flurries into her vision, ruffling her thick fur as she snarled out her defiance of the ghostly claws that would suck Sango’s soul into their own numbers, leeching away her warmth and greedily savoring it as the life dimmed within her.
Kirara rushed among them, her eyes bloody, the flames flickering along her paws as her tails lashed and she bared her fangs. She snapped at them, her heavy paws swatting right and left, deadly claws extended to the fullest.
She could do them no damage, though, for they were not of this world, but the next. They laughed and screeched, and allowed her paws to pass through them, the cold numbing her paws at even so brief a contact. She hovered over her mistress, desperately trying to find a way to beat them off Sango’s chilling body. Despair made her scream and yowl, demanding aid from any who were near, though she knew not just what might answer.
Though answer he did…
ooOOooOOooOOoo
He crossed the veils with a will and a fury unseen since that last battle with Inuyasha. His giant sword, a shadowy brilliance of ghostly fire born of his own anger, blazed across the misty barrier of the worlds. The silver blaze of wrath-filled light made the ghostly aspirations who surrounded the taijiya with avid, ever-craving hunger shrink back away in real fear, for he could harm them, where the spitting neko could not.The silver fire in his hand flashed once, twice, dissipating the ghosts too stupid to flee in terror as he struck out at them with all his might. The tattoo emblazoned on his forehead gleamed with its own silver fire, the lavender stain a darker shadow as his brilliant blue eyes spat contempt for the feeble, weak souls that still crowded around the fallen woman, their dull awareness too slow to comprehend their peril.
He made quick work of them, the shadowy halberd in his hand spinning back and forth until the last of them finally fled in terror on the icy wind. Their shrieks of loss and despair added a mournful note to the swirling winds of the rising storm as the mountainous valley was claimed in flurry-filled turmoil, the blizzard finally descending with howling vengeance.
He allowed the fire of his shadow-sword to fade, and knelt beside the limp form of the fallen woman in the deepening snow, and knew not what else he could do for her. He was as ghostly and insubstantial as those others he had just fought off, and could not lift her in his arms to carry her back to the safety and warmth of her hut. He snarled at his helplessness, for the woman would surely die if she kept lying here in the falling snow, the icy chill slowly draining the life from her flesh…
*Damn you, I returned and for nothing! For nothing!*
The crossed blades of the tattoo on his forehead blazed, and he grit his teeth as the helpless fury washed over him anew. He yelled to the haunting voice that had taunted him before, that it was not yet his time. Would they take away hers?
*Damn you! Save her! Damn you all to hell and beyond…*
ooOOooOOooOOoo
The neko’s ululating cry rose above the howling winds of the snow-ridden storm. Her eyes shone like twin jewels, their light burning warmer than the embers of hearth fire, brighter than spilt heart’s blood, gleaming and shining as she called on debts owed to her and hers. For her line had helped the ancient priestess, Midoriko, for untold centuries, without demanding recompense, proud to serve, one and all. They had been sacrificed, and they had suffered, but they had given freely. Now Midoriko was gone, the Sacred Jewel they had once guarded pulled from this earth, swallowed up in the same void that had taken the dark oni, her mistress’s mate, and her mistress’s brother.Kirara refused to see her mistress taken as well, and by so wretched a source. Sango deserved happiness, deserved comfort, deserved litter and mate and all that was good of hearth and den. Rising her voice to the heavens, Kirara called forth that debt owed her by the gods, demanded payment as none of hers ever had.
The cross marked in black slashes on her forehead burned with a holy light, a light of deepest night, of deepest darkness, but lit with the twinkling gleam of a thousand stars. She felt her, the priestess. Midoriko.
Kirara made her demand simple---save her, save Sango, she cared not how.
It was the gods who determined just how to turn that demand to their own purpose, and thus chose what vessel to use, as he stood so conveniently near, and as he, too, was in need---just of a different kind. They ripped the living energies of the worlds to bend them to their own use, and parted the veils for one last time for him. Drawing life out of the earth, they funneled it to the ghostly aspiration of the mercenary who stood oblivious, angry and baffled as the light suddenly flared around him, surrounding him in lines of gleaming white fire that slowly encircled him, the crossed tattoo of his forehead burning intensely with its own black light.
:It is time…:
The voice boomed around the three who stood in the snow, the youkai, the woman, and the man, and yet none but the youkai heard or understood its words. Kirara bowed her head in gratitude and deep reverence until the ancient miko who had once created the Shikon no Tama in her very heart withdrew, the stars in her black eyes twinkling as a smile crossed her beautiful face.
:As you will it, little one…:
And then she was gone.
ooOOooOOooOOoo
“Shit, that’s cold!”Bankotsu yelped, gingerly jumping from one bare foot to the other.
One moment, he was standing on top of the snow, his feet making no impression against it. The winds that howled and flung icy flurries on their breath stirred not so much as a wrinkle in his hakama or a tangle of inky black hair on his head, for he was not truly a part of the physical world, but a mere ghost within it. He thought he heard the neko howling out in despair, and there was a flash of light so brilliant it made him squint. There was a sudden, sharp stab of pain in the middle of his forehead, right between his eyes---a pain as sharp as when he had had that damn symbol tattooed upon his skin in a drunken dare on a lazy night long ago---and then he found himself jerking as a strange sound throbbed in his ears. Once, twice, again and again, until he realized in shock that it was his heart, beating for the first time in his chest, and then he was taking in a deep breath of icy air---air that he could now feel, as the wind tugged on the long end of his braid and flattened the draping folds of his white haori and hakama against his armor and legs.
He abruptly felt himself sinking, thigh-deep in the snow, and he wiggled his toes in wonder, his feet bare to the arch, as he had been dressed in his armor in death as he had been in life.
And damn if it wasn’t cold as all fucking hell right now.
The neko blinked at him, the glow in her crimson eyes fading somewhat. She wrinkled her lips at him, motioning toward the woman still half-buried in the snow. Bankotsu scratched the back of his head, and looked sour. He didn’t like a damn youkai reminding him to do his damn duty. He had just suddenly found himself as solid and real and living as he had never ever expected he would again---that damn cat could give him a damn break and let him catch his bearings for one damn minute!
Except he didn’t have a damn minute, for if he felt as if he were quickly turning into one long icicle, than that girl had to be feeling worse, much worse. Kneeling (and holy shit, was that cold!), he dug underneath the still form, grabbing at whatever sodden cloth he could, and hauled her up with him as he lurched back to his feet. Staggering through the snow, trying to squint past the furiously whirling storm, he was heartily glad that giant neko knew which way to go, and had such a convenient pair of glowing eyeballs, for they led him across the seemingly unending snow until the hut lurched up out of the whirling white oblivion like a big, dark rock.
“Fuck!” He stubbed his toe against the porch steps, and almost dropped the bundle held close in his arms. His toes had begun to numb---that was one damn way to bring them back to throbbing life. He lurched up the steps, the neko leaping ahead with far more grace to push open the sturdy, wooden door.
The hut was an oasis of heat and warmth from the howling night. Bankotsu soaked in the warmth as he stumbled across the tidy space to drop the woman on her sleeping pallet, which lay on one side of the raised dais that divided the hut in two. Wiping the soppy bangs off his forehead with an impatient hand, he knelt down beside the wet bundle and grimly started stripping off her clothes.
It seemed as if she had managed to wrap herself up with every damn article of clothing she owned. Peeling off one kimono after another, he cursed fluently as he fought frozen knots and wet wool. She had even managed to wrap her hands and arms in thick mitts that squished as he removed them. The warmth in the hut had increased, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the neko dragging another thick log to the fire, which snapped and popped as it caught on the damp wood before sullenly accepting it.
“Thanks,” he muttered, finally giving up on the stupid knots and pulling a knife from his calf, sliced right through them. He cut and pulled with abandon, worried now because the woman looked blue around the lips, and far too pale, her breath too shallow with a raspy quality to it. She needed to get warm, and fast. She wasn’t out of danger yet.
He peeled the last layer of sodden clothing from her, letting it fall to the wood floor just past the dais with a splat, as he had the others. Taking one limp, white hand in his, he gently rubbed the circulation back into her chilled flesh, and looked around for where the woman might have stashed some extra blankets.
The neko came to his aid. Transforming to her smaller size, she batted at a row of cabinets tucked under a bench built into the other side of the wall. Neat, that. Bankotsu left the naked woman on the pallet to slide back the various doors and drag out whatever he thought he might need. Everything had been arranged inside the cabinets in neat, orderly rows, but he wreaked havoc among them, discarding this and that to pull out something else he could use. He paused a moment to glance over at the small, strange wooden pen where his son lay, but the kid was sound asleep, even snoring lightly.
Bankotsu grinned. He could sleep through most anything, too. It was proof enough the little mite was his son. But he didn’t have time to stare down at him now, much as he would like to. The woman was shivering, her teeth chattering. Grabbing the bundle of blankets, he hurried back to the pallet.
She was light, easy to lift. He wrapped blanket after blanket around her, even tucking her feet into the bottom of the cocoon once he had rubbed the circulation back through them. Her breathing had evened out, though he still didn’t like that rattling sound that kept coming out of her lungs. Her lips had lost that bluish tinge, though she was still too pale. He should wake her up, maybe, and force-feed her something hot.
He suddenly shivered himself, and realized that his own garments were soaked to the skin. It would do no good if he were to catch sick as well. With a heavy sigh, he started unbuckling straps and removing the heavy weight from off him. He was careful with his armor, it was rather expensive to replace. He took less care with his haori and hakama, though he hung them up on a convenient peg to dry. Stripped to the skin, and knowing there was no one to really see or care if he was naked or not, he sauntered over to the merrily burning hearth. Opening the three covered pots that had been left to one side of the fire, he thought that it might have been the woman’s dinner, prepared earlier and only needing to be reheated.
Good. He wasn’t that great at putting together a meal, though he could rough it, and had, many a time. Setting the rice to boil, he added the other two---a strange, rice-milk mixture, and some unfamiliar kind of soupy stew---to the convenient tripod arrangement above the central hearth. The fire’s warmth felt good on his bare skin, and he basked for a moment in the heat before rummaging in the cabinets for another pot and the packets of tea and medicine he was most familiar with. Dumping them in with a generous hand, he set the tea to steep in the water he had boiled for the purpose. It would probably taste horrible, all mixed together like that, but it would work.
There was a slight cough from across the room. He was there, beside her pallet, in an instant. Thick lashes fluttered on her pale cheeks, and brown eyes, dazed and unfocused, blinked up at him. Her whisper was hoarse. “Mikomi…”
Mikomi? It must be the boy. He wasn’t sure he liked that name.
“He’s fine.” His own voice was rough and hoarse.
“Tired…” She sighed, coughing again.
“Sleep,” he ordered, and closing her eyes, she did.
Now that he had a few minutes, while he waited for dinner to cook, he went looking for something he might be able to wear. There was nothing but women’s clothing cached in the back of the cabinets, yukata and kimono of summer weight and fabric. Ignoring them, he finally rigged a towel around his hips like a loose loincloth, pulling a blanket across his shoulders. The neko watched him with unblinking eyes by the fire as she dried her own fur, having thoroughly washed every inch of disgusting ice from her coat.
“Gah?”
Bankotsu turned to look behind him with surprise. A pair of blue eyes stared at him underneath rumpled wisps of fine black hair.
Father and son stood regarding each other for a long moment before the boy decided to bang his fist on the side of his pen and grin, babbling, “Ghahahaga.”
A black brow rose, and Bankotsu shrugged. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, kid.”
“Gha!” His son’s voice was imperious in his demand.
“You hungry?” Bankotsu sauntered over to kneel down beside the pen. He reached out a tentative hand, uncertain if the boy would cry if he were to touch him. He had never really been around kids all that much. He felt something stir within him, something that made his throat thicken and his eyes itch.
Calloused fingers hesitantly cupped the silky head, and Mikomi grinned at him, flashing a couple of teeth, and banged his fist against the arm above him. Bankotsu grinned back down at the boy, and touched the fist with a finger. The boy grabbed on with surprising strength, and gha-gah-gha’ed with delight.
*Gods, he can sure drool.*
And what the hell was that smell?
Bankotsu made a face, thinking he was about to find out.
Mikomi smiled.
ooOOooOOooOOoo
Mikomi spat up more than he ate, and he didn’t seem to like the rice-milk mixture all that much. He kept fretting, and reaching out his arms for something that wasn‘t there. Bankotsu was quickly getting impatient with the stubborn kid, though it wasn’t the boy’s fault he didn’t know what to do with him.He glared at the youkai, who had helped him out before by batting at the right pot and dragging out clean swaddling cloths when he couldn’t find them. She did everything with a haughty air that made him what to yank on those lazily flagging twin tails, though he wouldn’t have survived five minutes with the kid without that stupid neko’s help.
The cat sighed, as if dealing with dumb males was more than she should ever have to put up with. Tails lashing, she hopped up on the dais and stalked over to the taijiya. Sitting down on her haunches and staring at him with her red eyes, she mewed.
Bankotsu frowned, and stared down at his son, who hiccupped, his blue eyes shining with tears of frustration. His little kimono was covered in milky stains, and a piece of rice was stuck to the fat chin.
Damn.
Whipping the filthy kimono off the boy, he picked him up, tucking him under his arm like a sack of rice, and hauled him across the room to sit beside the sleeping woman. Mikomi gave a happy wail of recognition, his arms waving and his legs kicking furiously, as if he would swim through the air to his mother’s side. The little mouth was pursed, sucking air like he would----Bankotsu froze.
Damn.
How the hell was he gonna do this? The kid wanted to eat, but the woman was all but passed out, and wrapped head to toe in every blanket he could find. Mikomi was crying now, rising wails of frustration for having dinner so close and yet so far. Bankotsu reached out a hand to shake the taijiya’s shoulder, but she only sighed, nestling deeper into her warm cocoon.
Mikomi hollered right in his ear---a cry loud enough to wake the dead.
Damn the kid had good lungs.
The woman stirred, her eyes blinking open as she heard her son’s cry, and murmured, “Mikomi…”
“He’s hungry.” Bankotsu said, a bit grudgingly that he couldn’t help his son without disturbing her.
She struggled weakly, trying to pull her hands up out of the tightly wrapped pile of blankets. Mikomi kept wailing as Bankotsu propped him sideways on one hip and used his other hand to roll the woman this way and that, tugging and pulling until she could sit up. She swayed like a drunk, the shadows under her eyes speaking eloquently of her exhaustion.
“C’mere.” Bankotsu all but hauled her up against his other side as Mikomi screeched, the tears fairly flying. His left leg kept smacking the mercenary in the side, and his fists waved furiously.
“He’s hungry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She recognized the cry of her child, and how frustrated he was. She reached for him across Bankotsu’s lap, her hands shaking.
“You’re weak. Let’s do this right,” Bankotsu said roughly. He man-handled the woman and her pile of blankets onto his lap, swinging Mikomi out of the way. She stiffened for a moment, blinking up at him with confusion.
“Who…?”
“Does it matter? I’m trying to help,” he growled as Mikomi screeched again.
“Mikomi…” Her eyes focused on her son, who waved frantically at her.
Rolling his eyes, he turned her so that the back of her was held solidly against his chest. She remained stiff for as long as she could, before her weakness betrayed her and she slumped against him. Her arms reached for her son, and Bankotsu plopped the impatient little monster down in her lap.
Mikomi sniffled, his face red. He snuggled against his mother, his fingers curling against the concealing blankets. The woman bent her head over her son, and shoved ineffectually at the blanket that covered her breasts. Bankotsu reached around and helpfully gave it a yank. She flushed in acute embarrassment as Mikomi grabbed hold and settled to it with a happy cry.
Quickly covering breast and babe with a draping fold of her blanket, she sighed, her eyes closing as she leaned back against him. The neko came to knead the trailing end of one blanket, her eyes warm coals against her creamy fur. Bankotsu stared down at the top of the woman’s black head, seeing strands of brown among the mussed tangles, and felt an odd sensation in his chest. He tightened his arms around the pair of them, his eyes glancing down at the slight curve of her breast and the round, silky head that peeped around the concealing folds of the draping blanket.
They needed him.
The thought was startling. It was…humbling.
Damn.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged half-heartedly, and Mikomi protested as the movement caused his dinner to bobble away from his grip. With a grunt, he latched back on, and the woman sighed wearily.
“He’ll be done soon,” she whispered, her fingers lightly combing the silky black head.
He said nothing, content just to be there, and a long silence descended between them as the fire cackled beyond and the baby made a rhythmic suckling noise, the neko’s soft purr a rumbling compliment. The woman drowsily laid her head against his shoulder, too exhausted not to trust him. She would worry about it later…
She slept lightly in his arms, and Mikomi was big enough to find her other breast on his own. Grunting, the boy settled to his task, and Bankotsu did not cover him up as she had done, content to watch. He leaned his chin lightly on the top of her bent head, and smiled.
Yes, he had returned, and he thought that perhaps he might have returned for good…