InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Fire in Ice ❯ Chapter THree ( Chapter 3 )

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

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc., of Inuyasha or Yu Yu Hakusho. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.
FIRE IN ICE

A/N: Well, this has taken longer than I expected. I’ve written this scene over three times, and am still not entirely satisfied, but decided the hell with it and to post as is, as it ties in better with the next chapter. Which is coming soon. Promise. Since cliffies suck. ;oP

Chapter Three

“Kirara?”

At the sound of her hoarse whisper, the little youkai jumped onto the blankets piled atop the slayer with a loud “Mew!” of greeting. Nuzzling her cheek with a rumble loud for her relative size, the nekomata purred and preened, her twin tails curling protectively around Sango’s cheek as a small black paw gently touched her chin in reassurance.

“Where...?” The brown eyes flickered uncertainly over the room, which was unfamiliar. Not only in the typical sense---since waking up in strange surroundings was more typical than not now that she had joined Inuyasha and the others. But it was oddly disorienting, for overlying the smells of old wood and dust were abnormal ones. Like an overpowering pine with a strangely sharp, soapy smell, as well as the absence of others, so familiar to any hut. Char and smoke from a spent fire, leather and must, all the faint odors there existed in even the meanest inns and shanties they had taken refuge in.

“You’re awake.”

Sango blinked up at the strange man hovering over her. Red hair, green eyes---too green, too red. No human, at least none but a mainlander, sported hair and eyes like that. And the faint sense of his aura, it was off, for there was a hint of---

“You’re a demon.” She stiffened in surprise, but he only raised his brows, as if amused by her quick grasp of his true nature. Her brown eyes hardened even as she pushed a protesting Kirara off of her to stagger shakily to her feet, both hands reaching reflexively for blades that were not there. Her armor and weapons were gone, exchanged for a simple sleeping yukata.

She didn’t need her weapons, though, to be able to defend herself. Settling into a deceptively careless stance, Sango demanded, “Who are you? Where am I and what have you done with my companions?”

“Hn.”

Her eyes cut to the right, rounding slightly at the strong jyaki surrounding the short, dark figure casually sitting on the window ledge. That was no half-demon, but a full youkai. Eyes as bloody as Kirara’s regarded her with faint disdain, as if he found her demands annoying.

“That doesn’t answer the question, demon,” she snapped, ignoring the way Kirara  meowed for her attention, her suspicious gaze now caught by the full stare of the youkai’s smoldering eyes.

“Maybe it would help if we all introduced ourselves,” the other man diplomatically intervened. He bowed slightly. “You may call me Kurama, and that is Hiei. If I understand correctly, the little fire-cat is named Kirara?”

Sitting back on her haunches, Kirara mewed. Distractedly glancing down at her friend, who impatiently nudged her, Sango sighed. “Yes. That’s Kirara, and it seems she trusts you.” She frowned, still reluctant to go on the little neko’s assessment, although Kirara was rarely wrong. “I’m Sango,” she grudgingly offered, and folded her arms, still suspicious. “Where are we?”

“Lady Genkai’s temple,” the redhead explained.

“I've never heard of her,” Sango said flatly, but that was nothing new. Not in their travels over the last six weeks.

“Do you remember what happened?” the redhead---Kurama---asked delicately, and Sango frowned.

“Of course I---” Her frown grew as hazy memories resurfaced. Kagome’s voice, crying out frantically, “Sango! Watch out!” as the giant white snake reared up out of nowhere in front of her. She heard Inuyasha curse as the first snake---a fire serpent as the other was an ice youkai---distracted him. She remembered tightening her hand on Hiraikotsu, bringing it up to throw at the ice snake as Kirara snarled defiance. And then---nothing. Just cold, bone-chilling cold, and darkness, smothering darkness…

*What…happened?* The confusion must have been written all over her face, for the red-haired man’s gaze turned pitying, and he tried to lay a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. Sango automatically shied away, but Kirara distracted her by lightly pricking her ankle with her claws.

“Kirara?” she asked, and the cat sprang into her arms, nuzzling and purring furiously, as if trying to reassure her. Brow knitting, Sango looked up at the two demons. “I…don’t understand. What’s happened? Where is everyone?”

“Ah…” The two exchanged heavy glances, and Sango frowned.

“There’s something you aren’t telling me,” she said sharply. “What is it?”


“We found you frozen. In ice.”

Kurama’s gentle assertion was met with resistance.     

“Impossible.” Except, by her face, it wasn’t. Funny how easy it was to read this ningen, even without using his Jagan. Every muscle was tensed, as if for battle, but she didn’t know with what, or who. Most likely, it was herself, as doubt warred with what she knew to be true.

“Denying the truth won’t make it go away,” Hiei couldn’t resist snapping. Why he even bothered was not something he wanted to delve into right now. He hardly cared what most weak humans thought.

Except---she wasn’t weak. That was clear in the way she checked herself, not only physically, but mentally, for her only reaction was to pale significantly, her eyes darkening. “How…long?”

By her peculiar expression, she suspected the truth, but maybe not the length of time that’d actually passed. Certainly their clothing must be strange to her, as must her surroundings, although this room was kept in traditional simplicity, as was much of the temple.

“Ah…may I ask you a question, first?” Ever polite, Kurama was being extremely careful with this girl, uncertain of how she might react.

Her sharp nod indicated he might, and the fox said, “When were you born? What year?”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and shrugged, pretending to a nonchalance she clearly didn’t feel. “I’m not entirely sure. My village---we didn’t keep records like that. I know my naming day was about sixteen, maybe seventeen, summers ago…”

Her voice trailed off, her brown eyes searching the fox’s intently. “Why?”

“Well…”

“Tell me,” she ordered, steel in her soft voice. She braced herself, as Kurama exchanged significant looks with Hiei.

“We suspect that you and the fire-neko were frozen for quite some time in that block of ice,” Kurama said, trying to be as gentle as he could. “Maybe even centuries.”

She went white, her hands trembling violently in reaction until she ruthlessly repressed it by knitting her fingers tightly together so that each knuckle stood out in sharp relief. The fire cat meowed unhappily, circling in and out of her legs in a continual figure-eight. The girl ignored her, still struggling to contain the turmoil within.

Hiei was not above exploiting any means to their advantage. While Kurama had asked him not to reveal what they already knew from the fire-cat’s memories---desiring to compare what the girl told them, and whether she gave enough truth for them to trust her---he had no problem with seeking what he could from her own thoughts. Opening the Jagan, he ruthlessly used it to bare her mind to him.

*Naraku,* he read, as sharp as a sword thrust straight to the heart. A heart that was beating a wild staccato inside her chest, adrenaline kicking in even as she obstinately suppressed the instinct to react to the very emotions rioting within her. Dread, hate, disbelief---all warred within her, almost bringing her to her knees with the violence of their occurrence. She fought them back, bottling them up behind a blind refusal to give in to them.

He admired her control, even as he despised her need for it. Anger he knew, and trusted, and used as ruthlessly as any emotion, even hate. But she suppressed it, finding weakness in what she could actually turn to her advantage.  

This Naraku---who, or what that was, Hiei didn’t know. Although he suspected. Only one creature might engender such all-consuming hate and loathing, and that was the baboon-cloaked half-demon from the little cat’s memories. And he knew she hated him with every fiber of her being. That there was more than just personal vendetta there, that there were disturbing depths of emotion that she had suppressed and ignored even as she tried to do now, fighting her self even as they watched, expressionless.

“Why should I trust you?” she demanded angrily, seeking like most humans to keep to the blind lie of their safe world. That she would, Hiei disdained.


A valid question, Kurama mused. But one they could put to her as well.

“I know this must be difficult for you, Miss Sango,” he began, not without compassion, “but please understand that this situation is as difficult for us to accept as you. Although not entirely unheard of, it’s rare for a human to survive such an ordeal.”

Her dark eyes measured him, clearly weighing his motives and what little she knew. He was suddenly glad they had had the foresight to remove any obvious weapons from the room.

Crossing her arms, she demanded, “How did you find me? Us?”

“It’s rather a long story,” Kurama hedged, looking at Hiei, who remained enigmatic as always. Although the fire demon feigned indifference, Kurama could tell by the drawn tension across his wide shoulders that he was watching everything with singular interest.

“It seems time is all I have right now,” she said bitterly, than added, gaze narrowed, “if what you say is true.”

The little fire cat made a rude noise.    

“I agree, ” a querulous voice suddenly intruded, and a short, elderly figure stepped inside the room to rake them all with a dour frown. The girl started, as Kirara went and greeted the old priestess with obvious relief.

“Miko-sama,” the girl---Sango, or so she called herself---said faintly, and Genkai raised a wry brow.

“Ha. So you can sense spiritual energy,” the old psychic said. “Better than the dimwit, actually, for all his raw potential.”

Kurama coughed as Genkai’s look darkened, as if she found her pupil’s lack irritating as hell. “Er, Lady Genkai---”

“Hmph.” Unfazed, the priestess went and stood before the girl, who was barely a head taller than her. “Well, I can see these two have already fucked up the intros. What’s your name, girl?”

The girl hesitated, and then nudged by her cat, said, “Sango, miko-sama.”

“None of that miko-sama crap. I’m not much into tradition. It’s just plain old Genkai---”
“Old is right,” Yusuke prodded, suddenly deciding to join the party. Propping himself against the door jam, he smirked as he gave the girl the once-over. “Well, hello there.”

“This,” Genkai introduced sourly, “is the dimwit.”

“Hey!” Yusuke scowled. “Is that any way to introduce your star pupil?”

“See what I mean?” the elderly woman concluded dryly.


She must be dreaming. She had to be, to find herself in such a crazy nightmare. It was just too fantastic to be true.

But then, it was too fantastic for it not to be.

And Sango had the sinking sensation, deep down, that that really meant it was. True, that is. All too true. For dreams couldn’t duplicate the aches and pains she felt, in muscles gone unused for so long. Or the pins and needles that prickled along her spine, making her “other” sense all but scream with the sensation of raw power exuding from these strange people. The miko---she was just as strong as Kagome. And that boy---the one, all too human, with black hair and brown eyes---he was even stronger. Ridiculously stronger.

But if what they claimed was true---that she had been frozen for centuries---that thought was just as unbearable. And if her darkest suspicions proved true, then maybe even five hundred years had passed. But if that were true, than all those she had known, all that she had known, was gone. Completely gone.

And while that was nothing new---her whole family, village, even life, had already been ripped from her, so that only vengeance remained---even that might now lie beyond her grasp.

*Naraku,* her heart whispered, hoarse in the realization that even he might be beyond her reach. It was her hate that had sustained her these past six weeks, keeping the haunting despair at bay. The shades of her slaughtered village, of her father and brother and all those who had died at the hands of that foul monster---what peace might they have, with vengeance left unsatisfied, and honor left empty? Sango felt suddenly sick as the enormity of her situation pressed in on her.

But these people, dressed in such strange clothing---it wasn’t as strange as it should have been. Sango recognized those shoes the red-haired half-demon---a fox, if she read his aura right---wore. “Loafers,” Kagome called them. And that plain white shirt the boy had on---Kagome had worn one like it to bed when her preferred pajamas were dirty. Even his socks---unlike the split-toed tabi sock, were squared off, like the young miko’s. And all that added up to one thing---that she must be sometime in the future, perhaps even in Kagome’s era.

Sango shook her head. No, it couldn’t be true. She knew all about Kagome’s traveling through time---she had seen the evidence, with her own eyes. Not long after they had defeated the water god and Miroku‘s wind tunnel had been wounded, Kagome had gone home to “load up on supplies” and catch up on some missed schoolwork, whatever that meant. They had spent three days in Lady Kaede’s village, waiting for the girl’s return, until Inuyasha had gone after her, impatient with the delay.

According to Shippou---the little kitsune had been rather garrulous, glad of an interested audience---only Inuyasha or Kagome could travel through the Bone-Eater’s Well. Kagome herself had confirmed it; even showing Sango a few of the “miracles of modern technology” as she called them. Though many seemed to be a better way of making everyday items more useful or appealing. Like the bright wrapping Shippou eagerly tore through to get to the sweets inside. Or those pellets the miko called “aspirin” that did amazing things for headaches and cramps, or the perfumed unguents she used to wash her hair. Or the amazing bedroll Kagome produced, calling it a sleeping bag.

Few knew Kagome’s secret. And even if they had, why would they go to all the trouble of creating such an elaborate hoax, when there were much simpler ways to deceive her? And there were certain details that even Naraku, master of deception that he was, could not duplicate.

Like zippers.

It was suddenly too much. Too much to take in, and too much for Sango’s tired brain to process. She was wary of making snap judgments---just look where that had gotten her only six weeks before, attacking Inuyasha for the massacre of her village with scant evidence save for the overheard murmurs of Lord Kagewaki’s “advisor” Naraku.

She could accept, at least, that there was not much she could do right now but to tentatively take their word. Although she couldn’t trust them---she didn’t know enough of who they were, or what they intended. Until she had a chance to learn more, she would just have to---

Sango recoiled at the sudden flare of power inside the room, and nearly fell back on her ass as her legs, muscles screaming with stiffened tension, gave out from under her. Kirara reowled, flames engulfing her enlarging form, but it was another who abruptly caught her against him.

Incredible warmth washed over her, and Sango stiffened, mortified by her own weakness. Turning her head, she was caught in the crimson eyes staring down at her. White hair etched a star pattern against hair as black as sin, a white headband encircling his forehead. He was near her height, if made a little taller by his gravity-defying hair, which cast a candle flame’s silhouette around him. His expression showed acute distaste, but his hands momentarily tightened around her upper arms even as the kitsune stepped forward in concern.

“Are you all right?“ he asked, even as the dark-haired boy smirked.

“Nice catch, three eyes.”

“Hn.” The demon swiftly released her even as Sango drew sharply away, his touch---any touch---unwelcome. Kirara head-butted her, her withers now coming to Sango’s waist in her larger form. Curling a hand inside the creamy fur, Sango steadied herself against the nekomata, her heart still pounding. For some reason, the warmth of where his hands rested lingered even after he drew back across the room.

“Good going, Botan. Freak the girl out even more, why don’t ya?”

“Oh, bother! I didn’t intend to---” came the chagrinned reply in an oddly crisp accent.

“You never do.” The dark-haired boy crossed his arms, staring at the strange girl who had just appeared amidst them. Dressed in a pretty pink kimono, her light blue hair caught in a high ponytail, she rounded on him, oar raised in her hands.

“Really, Yusuke, it’s not like I meant to scare the poor thing---”

Sango suddenly needed Kirara’s support. Her breath came short as she whispered in dawning fear, “You’re a ferry-girl!”

“Why, of course I’m a f---” The girl blinked, abruptly straightening. “You recognize me?”

“How the hell do you know that?” the boy demanded even as all eyes turned on the taijiya in sudden suspicion.

“Because I’ve seen her kind before,” Sango snapped, angry at the trembling of her body upon sight of the wide-eyed girl. Dark memories rose, tinged in blood, the echo of pain racing down her back in a harsh cadence of remembered betrayal even as she forcibly pushed them back, almost choking on the nausea of freshly plowed earth.

“Just who are you?” the boy demanded, his brown eyes suddenly fixing her with an intensity he hadn’t before.


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