InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Collected Works ❯ A Desperate Choice ( Chapter 57 )

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

Title: A Desperate Choice
Author: LuxKen27
Genre: Darkfic
Universe: Canon (post manga)
Rating: Y
Warnings: (minor) character death
Word Count: 2800
Summary: As Kagome reaches the end of her rope, an unexpected force reaches out to draw her back from the edge.

Entry for: ebony_silks [Sess/Kag] Week #89, “Nightshade” prompt (1st Place)

Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media.

“Time to be Your 21” lyrics © 2004 Damhnait Doyle/Marc Jordan/Rob Wells

Kagome’s footsteps were silent as she picked her way down the forest path. The sun had only just sunk below the horizon, bringing the first hints of dusk to the tiny village – and beyond. She kept her eyes lowered, studying the path with a somewhat absent, distracted gaze – as if she was watching herself from a distance.

She would never be able to forgive herself.

The whispers had already begun, even before this fateful day dawned. Her heart was heavy in her chest as memories flooded her mind, unbidden and unwelcome – her shaky hands as she had laid patient after patient flat on their mats – the tearful, disbelieving eyes of spouses and children when she announced she had not been able to save their loved ones. She was the Shikon miko – a healer, kami damn it all – so why was she also such a failure?

At first, Inuyasha had tried to soothe away her fears and doubts…and at first, that had been enough. His love for her – and hers for him – had overshadowed the complications that came with attempting to live a life five hundred years before she was ready. She was so thrilled to finally be with him after so many years apart, that nothing seemed impossible. She’d thrown herself into her training with Kaede, determined to live up to her potential – and her infamy – as the priestess strong enough to bring down Naraku.

But when Kaede had died, not even halfway into her training, everything turned into a complete disaster. Suddenly Kagome was thrust to the forefront of village life, their miko, their healer, their savior, their protector. She had only haphazard working knowledge and limited experience in dealing with the problems presented to her on a daily basis. To make things even worse, Inuyasha was often away on extermination trips with Sango and Miroku, sometimes gone for weeks at a time.

Too late, she realized how much she was living a lie. With her husband constantly away, her friends busy with their own families, and the villagers grateful for her help (in whatever form it took), there was no one there to give her the truth or keep her grounded, as Kaede had. She thought everything was perfectly normal – until the deaths started.

It was normal enough, at first: a tragic miscarriage for one poor woman; an illness caught too late for a hapless child; a farming injury gone horribly wrong for an unfortunate man. They knew she was doing her best, trying her hardest…they understood she mourned alongside them. But it didn’t stop their bitterness, their regret, or their thirst for vengeance.

More and more, the villagers turned away from her in their time of need, instead seeking out Miroku for spiritual guidance, or going to the next village over for medical help. The famed Shikon miko was nothing but a sham, a shell of the girl who had once defeated the most powerful youkai on earth. Some blamed her marriage to a hanyou for her loss of power; others whispered that she’d been in hell for those missing years when she’d been trapped on the other side of time. Slowly but surely, she was isolated from her community, treated with grudging respect for her position, but never sought out in times of need. She was seen as a last resort, at best, only called when it was already too late.

As if she was a scapegoat, someone to blame when death reared its inevitable, ugly head.

Things at home didn’t fare much better. Inuyasha became more and more preoccupied with his work, with the youkai that raged and battled for turf all around them. He was vigilant about protecting the village, and his friends, but he had withdrawn from her when he realized she couldn’t conceive and carry his child to term.

It was like living with a comfortable stranger – familiar, yet irritating; companionable, yet desolate. Maybe he still loved her – he said he did, after all – but he didn’t hold her anymore, or soothe her worries, or calm her doubts.

Losing first the villagers’ trust, then her husband’s, made her question herself at the very core of her being.

But she had a chance to redeem herself, to staunch the flow of blood and sickness and death. It was near the end of the harvest. Inuyasha, Miroku, and Sango had been called away, hot on the trail of an upstart youkai threat. Kagome had been tending to her small kitchen garden when the call came.

“Miko,” came a gruff voice from behind, startling her, “I seek your aid.”

She turned to see an unfamiliar face, a man who lived on the edge of the village and made his living hunting and trapping in the forest. His mouth was set in a grim line as he stared down at her, his eyes hard and unreadable.

He knows…

“It’s my wife,” he grunted, reaching down to grab her arm and haul her to her feet. “She’s dying, and she needs your care.”

Kagome swallowed convulsively, wiping her hands on her hakama. “I’ll get my things,” she said quietly, bustling into her hut.

She returned a moment later with a small bag, and nodded for him to lead the way. Her heart was pounding in her ears as they half-walked, half-ran to the man’s tiny hut on the other side of the village. As they crossed through the doorway, the stench of blood and sweat met her nose, so strong it caused her stomach to turn over.

“Please,” the man said, grabbing Kagome’s arm and pulling her into the next room, “tend to her.”

A woman – presumably his wife – lay on a pallet in the corner, groaning and writhing under a thin, discolored blanket. Kagome gulped as she drew closer, her eyes widening and her nose wrinkling as she recognized the dark stains as blood. The woman sensed her approach, turning her head and reaching out with one shaking arm.

“Please,” she whispered, “save my baby.”

Kagome nodded, sinking down next to the woman and brushing her hair from her forehead. “I’ll do everything I can,” she promised, and was rewarded with a fearful, watery smile. As she lowered the blanket, the woman’s hand gripped her wrist.

“Miko,” she murmured, squeezing tight. “I trust you.”

Kagome nodded again, a slight shudder shaking her frame at the unvarnished truth of the words. Here was her chance to right the ship, to help this woman live and, in the same moment, maybe come alive again herself. She continued her ministrations, examining the woman as best she could. It seemed she was bleeding interminably, far too much for the birthing of a baby. Kagome moved her hands over the woman’s abdomen, only to be met with screams of agony and bucking of hips. She glanced back to the doorway, where the husband stood, watching carefully, and bit her lip.

She’s going to die, she thought wildly, panic overtaking her for a single, solitary moment. She’s going to die and there’s nothing I can do.

Kagome withdrew from the woman, pulling her bag forward and rummaging through it. Maybe she was only miscarrying – she was far too thin to be carrying a full-term baby, and the blood loss suggested something other than childbirth was the cause of her anguish. Kagome’s hands shook as she searched for the right medicinal herb, her breath coming far too short in her chest, even for her own comfort.

“Here,” she finally choked out, pulling out a small bundle of dark green leaves. “Eat these, and it will help the pain.”

“You promise?” the woman asked fearfully, tears streaking down her cheeks. “And it won’t hurt the baby?”

Kagome didn’t have the heart to tell her. “I’m sure,” she said, trying to sound assuring, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears.

The woman nodded, taking the handful of leaves and stuffing them into her mouth, chewing methodically before swallowing. She coughed, gagging as the bitterness swept down her throat, reaching for the cup of water Kagome had stood to draw as she ate. She lay back, breathing heavily, her body calming, her tears slowing. Kagome wiped the woman’s forehead with a wet cloth, arranging her yukata to ease the heat of the fever spreading across her skin. It was only as she was dabbing at the woman’s neck that she realized something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Unfortunately, it was at the same moment that her husband realized something was amiss.

“What did you do to her?” he raged, crossing the room in two strides and pushing Kagome back. He cradled his wife’s body in his arms, her breath heavy and raspy and slow – far too slow. She struggled to gain enough air, reaching up and latching onto her husband’s shoulders, the blood still trickling from her lower body.

And then an eerie silence fell over the hut.

“You murderer!” the husband fumed, whirling around, his wife still clasped close to his chest. “I wanted you to help her live, not help her die!”

“I’m sorry,” Kagome whispered, clambering to her feet, hugging her arms around her waist. “I didn’t meant for this – ”

“What did you give her, what did you make her eat?” he demanded, laying his wife down before hauling himself up.

“It-it-it was only to help with the pain,” Kagome said, pulling another batch of the leaves from her bag and showing them to him.

His face turned positively murderous. “That’s nightshade, you stupid bitch!” he roared, slapping her hand away. “You poisoned her!”

Oh, no, she thought, stumbling backwards as he launched himself towards her in his anger and grief. She turned on her heel and ran, only the fear of her own life ending at that moment keeping her upright and moving. She fled the man’s hut, crying tearful apologies the whole way. She sped across the quiet village, past her own hut, and threw herself on the ground next to Kaede’s grave.

“What have I done?” she moaned, digging her hands into the dirt as her tears soaked the earth. “Can I ever forgive myself?”

And so, here she was, carefully making her way into the forest as dusk fell. She was headed for a very specific place, a place she could find blind-folded, one that held the key to what little was left of her life.

She stopped abruptly, staring down at the little outcropping of plants, and slowly sank to her knees, eyeing them carefully. The dying sunlight cast an eerie shadow across the purplish plant, its dark berries somehow managing to look tempting and forbidden all at the same time. She bit her lip as she contemplated this course of action, sorrow filling her gut as she realized she had no other choice.

No doubt, the rest of the village had heard about her deadly mistake, and shared the man’s anger over the senseless death.

No doubt, word was already on its way to her husband and their friends, that she had made such a costly error and would be justifiably punished for it.

No doubt, there was no one left who would stand in her defense, who still believed the Shikon miko could create miracles and do no harm.

She was only doing what they would have done to her – but instead of swords and arrows and lashes, she was choosing a quieter route, befitting of her own failures as a healer, a miko, a woman.

Carefully she reached out, picking ten of the ripe, juicy berries from the plant.

“So, this is how the infamous Shikon miko chooses to die,” intoned a voice, startling Kagome and causing her to drop her bounty. She glanced up sharply, inclining her head to the left, nearly shocked out of her skin when she realized who was addressing her.

Sesshoumaru stood there, couched in the shadows of the trees, his face partially hidden by the mokomoko, but his amber eyes were glowing as he gazed at her.

She turned back to the plants. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked softly, picking more berries and putting them in a careful little pile.

“Long enough,” he replied, moving towards her at a languid pace. His boot came to rest next to her pile, the pointed toe too close for her comfort.

To her ultimate surprise, he lowered himself to the ground next to her, studying her face intently. Her heart wrenched in her chest under his impassive study, and she found her hands curling into fists.

“What do you want?” she demanded with a strangled cry, wishing he would direct his scrutiny elsewhere.

“I’ve always wanted to know what compelled a human to take their own life,” he mused in response.

She gasped, tears flooding her eyes as she looked at him, unable to formulate a reply.

“Does their face look any more serene when they make the decision themselves, rather than when they are dangling from the end of my claws?” he continued. “Do they find comfort and peace at the end, or is that wild, selfish desperation still there?”

“Well?” she choked out after a moment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “What do you think?”

He cocked his head thoughtfully, his eyes moving from her face to her hand, where she held a handful of belladonna berries. He waited, as if wishing to see her next move, as if he was oblivious to her question. After a long, tense moment, she turned away, squeezing her eyes shut and bringing her hand to her mouth.

“I think,” he finally murmured, “that you are not ready to die just yet.”

She exhaled sharply, her tears flowing faster down her cheeks as her fist closed, crushing the fruit she held. She slowly opened her eyes, watching the juice flow down the length of her arm, staining her kimono blood red along the way.

“Can you give me a reason to live?” she sobbed. “Because I’m all out right about now.”

“I’ve seen the way they treat you,” he acknowledged. “They fear you, and loathe you, and doubt your intentions.”

She nodded silently, pressing her kimono against her arm to wipe up the remnants of the berries. Kinda like you, she thought.

“I know Inuyasha has turned away from you as well,” he continued. His lips turned up in some semblance of a grim smile as she reacted to this revelation, and he answered her silent question: “You no longer wear his scent.”

“So what can I do?” she asked aloud, toying with the still-intact berries on the ground. “I want to feel needed. I need to feel needed – useful” – her heart skipped a beat – “important to someone.”

He stood then, his movements as silent and graceful as ever. She followed suit, heart pounding and muscles shaking, as if she would collapse under her own weight.

“The next time I visit Rin, I intend to take her away from the village,” Sesshoumaru announced in a rather bland voice, as if he hadn’t just emerged from a torrentially emotional moment. “She is of an age to be married, and it is time to find her a suitable husband.”

Kagome just nodded, dazed, wondering where this abrupt turn in conversation had come from.

She inhaled sharply when she felt his hand under her chin, lifting her face so that her eyes might meet his. “If you can hang on that long, miko, I’ll consider taking you away from there as well,” he murmured.

She nodded again, a fresh wave of tears rolling down her cheeks as a tiny seed of hope took root beneath her sorrow. His expression didn’t change in response to hers; he merely let her go and turned on his heel, moving back into the darkness of the forest just as quietly as he had come.

She found her breath a few seconds later, unable to forget the sensation of his eyes burning into hers as the promise passed between them. Mentally, she counted back the days from his last visit to the village; though rare, there was something of a pattern to them, generally once every few moon cycles.

Two moon cycles had passed since then, and the next was due to start in three days.

Three days, she told herself, looking out in the direction from whence he had disappeared. I only need to survive three more days.

She took a deep breath and turned back towards the village, placing one trembling foot in front of the other.