InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Happiness is Beyond the Sky ❯ Happiness is Beyond the Sky ( Chapter 1 )

Happiness is Beyond the Sky

 

I've been dreaming
Of the things I learned
About a boy who's bleeding
Celebrate to elevate
The joy is not the same without the pain

 

-- Something to Talk About, Badly Drawn Boy

 

---

 

Naraku always wins, and Sango always loses.

 

The scale tips.

 

---

 

One night he confesses to her. “We have so many losses. How are we to ever regain so many? How can we ever win against such a force?”

 

“We must,” she replies. “We must.”

 

---

 

Shippou sits in Kagome's lap as she combs through his hair with her hands, pulling it over his ears and patting his head gently.

 

“For safety, Shippou-chan,” she says, smiling.

 

Inuyasha is pacing around them in circles, kicking around a conical straw hat, grumbling only loud enough for them to hear the sound. The others are by the road, having merely the appearance of patience.

 

“You'll get that dirty,” Kagome tells him.

 

---

 

Kagome is dressed in a dark, plain yukata, and bartering with a street vendor for tofu. She is gesturing largely with her hands, shaking her head, pointing at the merchandise.

 

They are all standing to the side, waiting, all but Miroku appearing uneasy and awkward. Shippou hides in the folds of his long robes. Sango holds Hiraikotsu close, staring blankly.

 

---

 

The room is dark and lacks light, and Inuyasha's ears are flicking about at every sound of the city outside, his eyes wide. His tofu sits before him untouched.

 

“I will go looking tomorrow,” Miroku says quietly.

 

Sango looks up. “I will go with you.”

 

---

 

The man is old beyond the average expectations of the century, and they both strain to hear the meaning in the words that blow through the spaces in his teeth. His eyes are lines in his wizened face; they can scarcely distinguish them from the wrinkles that have obscured his features almost completely.

 

“Eh? No…no…that way.” His gnarly finger wavers in the air, pointing down the street. “Young boy down there…very quiet. Works with Nabe-san - makes pottery, yes, yes? Down that way…that way…” His voice fades like a dying wind.

 

The question curls on Sango's lips, waiting to fall.

 

“Thank you.” Miroku bows to the man, and drops a coin onto his palm. He walks up the street, and Sango follows, her heart pulsing in her forehead.

 

They are surrounded by vendors and the tantalizing scents of their goods, and their mouths are soon moist, their tongues already tasting the food. A throng of people pushes past and around Sango, and she gropes forward in a sudden instant of panic, her hand grabbing a fistful of Miroku's sleeve. The people pass, and he looks back at her, one eyebrow raised. She blushes and lets go, turning away from the awkwardness of the moment, embarrassed.

 

In the corner of her eye, he smiles.

 

They continue forward, but Sango faces sideways, her hand held out just far enough to feel the brush of his robes. She scans the faces in the milling crowds, masses of shifting tones, waves in the ocean. A man could lose himself in them, let alone a boy.

 

The potter is hovering just above middle age, reluctant to descend. His hair holds no grey, but is thin and wispy like a cloud, floating on the air.

 

“Can I help you?” is the way he greets Miroku. “Are you looking for something in particular? A bowl, or a vase, perhaps?”

 

“No, no thank you, just looking,” Miroku replies. He bends over to study a vase on display, pretending to be interested. Sango hangs back, watching the potter with shadowed eyes, wondering.

 

When first she sees him, her eyelids lift and expose the white above the iris. She grabs the front of her yukata, feeling the heavy rhythm beneath her fist. Miroku is still looking at the pottery, nothing in his state of expression betraying any thought or feeling. Sango envies him.

 

“Bring this to the back, Kohaku, it has a crack,” she hears the man say, and her pulse is caught in her mouth. Her fingers twitch, yearning to reach out, touch him, talk to him. A light weight on her elbow startles her, and she is ashamed that she did not even notice Miroku walk up to her.

 

“We will come back tomorrow, thank you.”

 

He leads Sango away, one hand softly holding her by the elbow.

 

---

 

At night, she confides in him. “I am afraid.”

 

It is sudden, and surprises him enough to turn his head around and face her. It is not her words themselves that astonish him, but the fact that they have been spoken. Miroku stares at her, half curious and half worried. He reaches out a hand.

 

Slowly, as if unsure, she moves forward, and places her hand in his. He can feel the calluses on her palm, and his thumb moves slowly over them, pulling her hand towards his chest, clasping it in both of his.

 

“It will be fine,” he assures.

 

There is a deep blush on her cheeks, and it makes him smile.

 

---

 

The boy is talking with Miroku, showing him the bowls he has faked an interest in, while the monk discreetly interviews him, prodding him as if each question were a stick, nudging him here and there, trying to sift through his memory.

 

Sango stands in the crowd, trying just to breathe.

 

---

 

“Nothing,” is what Miroku reports to them when they are gathered around for supper.

 

“Nothing?” repeats Kagome.

 

Inuyasha growls. “He just said that! I can't believe we came all this way -”

 

“Shut up!” Shippou squeaks in Sango's defense, before he is gnawing on the hanyou's ear, his young voice high above the other two as they begin to argue; Kagome scolding, Inuyasha retorting.

 

Miroku sighs and hits Inuyasha in the head with his staff, eliciting another string of insults that bring them right back to the beginning, where they start all over again, their words winding around and around in a circle, never going anywhere.

 

Sango is not even pretending to listen, stroking Kirara's head absently.

 

---

 

Inuyasha is delayed by Kagome for a day, so Sango walks out to the potter's shop by herself in the morning. While there, she stands in the shade of the shops for an hour, watching her brother as he assists the older man with each customer, doing errands and fetching the pottery. Three times she sees him smile, and once she hears him laugh.

 

When she sees the potter go back into the shop and leave Kohaku alone with the displayed wares, she ventures forth, nervously fingering the folds of her yukata.

 

“Hello,” she says to him. He looks up at her and blinks once, before he bows and smiles politely.

 

“How may I help you, miss?”

 

Sango is not sure how to answer such a question, and opens her mouth out of instinct, trying to force noncommittal words around the lump in her throat.

 

“I'm just looking, thank you,” she says, and shortly after walks away.

 

---

 

The day dawns grey and overcast, a perfect match for Inuyasha's sour mood. As they make their way down the road out of the city, the sky cracks open and it begins to rain.

 

“Shit!” Inuyasha curses at the front, still angry that he was made to wear shoes in the city. His grumblings accompany them throughout the day, worsening along with the weather.

 

---

 

Sango is wet through to her skin, and huddling next to their meager fire, watching the tiny flames struggle to climb into the air.

 

Inuyasha sits above her in a tree, his musings finally silent; the others are asleep from exhaustion.

 

She starts when Miroku rises from his blankets, her hand going to her waist. He motions for her to keep quiet, smiling reassuringly. “I just need to relieve myself. …There's no need to look so suspicious, Inuyasha.”

 

Sango watches him leave the camp, her hand still on Kirara's back, feeling the rise and fall as the youkai breathes. She frowns in confusion when Kirara jumps up in her lap, tails bushed out and ears alert, every muscle strained.

 

“Kirara…?” Sango says in worry, but Inuyasha's yelling causes her to jump, knocking the demon from her lap.

 

“What the fuck?!”

 

“Inuyasha! What is -?”

 

A sudden rush of wind throws her into the fire pit, and she hears Kagome and Shippou screaming, though she does not realize that her own voice is among them until she feels the burn of the embers on her face. Sango shrieks, and rolls instantly away, branches, pine needles and air rushing past her, swirling sound in her ears.

 

It ends in quite a short span of time, and as if in a trance, Sango holds a hand to her cheek, feeling the hot, blistery skin. She hisses at the contact, air through her teeth, the pain sharp and stinging.

 

“Inuyasha…?” Kagome's voice cuts through the quiet like a broken chord.

 

“Oi…everyone alright?” He stumbles out of the darkness, kneeling beside Kagome, grasping her elbow softly. “Oi!” he yells, “are we all here?”

 

“I'm here,” Sango answers weakly, Kirara mewing somewhere beside her. Shippou's voice pipes up from the trees at her back.

 

“Kagomeeeee…”

 

“Shippou-chan?” Kagome scrambles to her feet and runs in the direction of his voice, tripping only once. Inuyasha shouts in alarm and dashes after her.

 

Sango gently touches the burning skin on her face, the tips of her fingers cool and feather light. She winces instantly, and pulls away. Slowly, she sits up, bringing her knees to her chest, resting her right hand on them as her left begins to tremble, hovering over the reddened flesh. There is a faint smell of burnt hair.

 

---

 

The sun is only beginning to brighten the sky when they follow Kirara and Inuyasha through the forest. The landscape around them has been physically altered, the large trees uprooted, the smaller ones laying scattered about like kindling.

 

The deep depression in the ground is surrounded by earth and fallen trees, a deer's corpse laying sprawled at its edge.

 

Kagome and Shippou begin crying upon the sight of it, and Inuyasha adamantly tells them to be quiet, his voice cracking.

 

Sango stops only a few feet away, kneeling beside the impression left by a giant tree, digging her fingers into the dark, cool soil. There is no sign of the great tree that would have bathed her in its shadow.

 

---

 

The air lies heavy and still, full of the moisture left behind by yesterday's rain.

 

Sango is holding a damp cloth to her face, Kagome's water bottle beside her. The left side of her face is still burning, the burn covering the skin right below her eye, all the way down to her jaw and just singeing her hairline. The short lock of hair that would have dangled over her left ear has been cut off, the ends burnt.

 

When she glances at Kagome as she sits down beside her, she notices her red, swollen eyes and nose. Her pretty face looks almost ruined, the red tear streaks vaguely reminding her of her own ugly scars. She bows her head in shame.

 

“Sango-chan,” Kagome says softly. Her hand reaches out to rest on Sango's shoulder. “How is your cheek?”

 

“It is fine, thank you, Kagome-chan.” Sango smiles politely.

 

“Just keep the cloth on it. Make sure that…it is wet and cold.”

 

“I will.”

 

“…So you are fine, then?”

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

Kagome smiles, an oxymoron on her face. Sango does not watch her walk away.

 

---

 

They skin the deer and cook it for supper, storing the rest for later.

 

Kagome sits away from them, obstinately refusing to eat anything, the tears silent on her face.

 

---

 

At night, Sango walks out into the woods alone, leaving the others in their fitful sleep. She can feel Inuyasha's eyes on her back like the burn on her cheek. Around her, the trees seem to loom closer, like aging men, failing with time.

 

In the dark, she stumbles into the crater, falling on her side as she makes her way down. The floor of the concave is smooth and hard, littered with pebbles and twigs that poke through the fabric of her clothes, the solid earth an unforgiving bed.

 

Lying there, Sango lifts her sweaty hands and runs them down the sides of her body, her hands slightly trembling as they feel its contour, from her ribcage to the curve of her thighs. There she takes in a shaky breath in, moving the palms of her hands over to the fleshy tissue of her buttocks. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clenches her hands, digging her nails into the skin.

 

Sango begins to cry, at first very quietly, but as she moves her hand to the dip between her legs, they grow and swell within her chest, like the rolling of the sea.

 

When she concentrates very hard, she can almost feel his warmth.

 

---

 

They return to the city, silent and grave. The herbalist they find there gives Sango an ointment which she puts on at night, rubbing it into the burned skin carefully. She has bought a scarf which she ties around her head during the daytime, as if she were a leper.

 

Kagome sits by her for an hour, talking endlessly about useless things, like special creams and make-up, most of which flows over Sango like water over a stone. She does not mind it though, and quietly enjoys the company, letting the sound of Kagome's voice lead her into sleep.

 

---

 

Venturing out into the marketplace with her in the morning is Kagome, determined not to leave her alone, pulling her every which way, always talking and gesturing, making noise, as if to block out the sound of their thoughts.

 

It does not really work, but it helps to pass the time, which has become more difficult for Sango, despite her own experiences, which should have helped her, though they only seem to make it worse. Sango has come to despise the past tense.

 

---

 

She is able to locate the shop quite easily, practically drawn to it by force.

 

He is the same, of course, and realizing this, Sango runs back to the inn, her breath coming in shallow gasps when she slides the shoji shut behind her. When she sees the reaction on Inuyasha's face, she begins to laugh.

 

“What's so damn funny? Is there someone trying to kill you or not?!”

 

Sango only shakes her head, her body quaking with laughter.

 

---

 

It is not unusual for Sango to dream, and often she wakes up long before dawn, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. Other times she will awake and feel sticky between her thighs, and have to wash.

 

During these times, she is so sure that she can hear his deep voice in the next room.

 

---

 

It is at first random, then habit, and later an obsession.

 

She feels almost acquainted with him now, having petty conversations with him every time she comes by. At first, he appears unnerved by her constant appearances, but soon grows relaxed in her presence, eager to chat whenever she comes by. It is never serious, but she longs for the trivial exchange each day, yearns for it.

 

Inuyasha no longer has a fixed bed at night. Kagome stays up beside Sango whenever he is gone, worrying herself with her words, her one-sided conversations keeping Sango awake late into the night.

 

Every now and again, Sango will speak, clasp her friend's hand and urge her back to bed, which is right across from Sango. Most times, when she is settled on the futon on the other side of the room, she begins to talk again, only it is in whispers.

 

---

 

“I need to go home,” she says one day, and Inuyasha, being present this afternoon, stands up immediately and begins to yell, trying to illustrate with his crass speech and reasoning why she should not.

 

Come morning, he sets out for Kaede's village with Kagome and Shippou, leaving Sango by herself with only Kirara for company.

 

---

 

She's not sure why, but she convinces him to come back to the inn with her, where she makes him tea and listens to him talk. There are countless gaps in his tales, but he assumes she does not notice, so she withholds from commenting on it.

 

“Come back tomorrow,” she says at the door, and the next day, and the next, and the day after that.

 

---

 

“Hold me,” she tells him on the fourth day, taking his small arms and pulling them around her waist. Laying on the futon with him, she pulls him close and breathes in the scent of his hair.

 

She lets him pull off her scarf, and his curious fingers trace the waxy scar left behind.

 

Perhaps it is the gentleness of his touch, or the familiarity of his voice, his way of speaking, that evokes the acute sensation in her stomach. But in truth she knows it isn't; that it is not the feel of his lips she longs for, not the sound of his voice, not his body beneath her.

 

She is so desperate to revive the past that she forgets, and even as he struggles against her and whimpers, she has no perception of it.

 

Kohaku's eyes are wide with fear and confusion as he hastens backwards, huddling into the corner, clutching his clothes to his chest. She watches from the futon, clenching her fists in the covers, trembling beneath them.

 

“Aneue,” he whispers quietly, and then vomits.

 

---

 

Naraku is laughing when he finds them, a terrible expression upon his face. It reminds Sango of a rabid animal, a diseased and dying creature gone mad. It can't be too far off, she thinks.

 

He hauls her from the bath, throwing her naked form on the floor, bruising it with the impact.

 

She is clutching a scrub brush, her skin red and raw.

 

“I want to die,” she says, and wakes from the nightmare. She is sick for the rest of the night.

 

---

 

Sango wears her scarf at night as well as during the day now. She no longer goes to the potter shop every day; instead, she sits in her room and waits, tracing all the scars on her skin.

 

Kirara waits with her, and sleeps on her sword at night.

 

---

 

When Kagome comes back and sees her, she does not cry, but as she tucks Sango into bed, a tear falls onto her cheek, and rolls over her scar.

 

---

 

Noon balances the heat of the sun directly over her head as she descends into the hollow, bathed in warm sunlight.

 

The earth, too, is hot, the dirt sticking to her sweaty palms when she rests them on the ground. It appears different in this light; but after all, it has been some time. Already there are signs of life around her, shoots of grass springing up everywhere.

 

Sango lowers herself slowly, placing her hands behind her head and squinting her eyes against the sun; its rays are reflected by the unsheathed blade in her lap.

 

After a time, the butterflies in her stomach die, and she can grasp the hilt without trembling. But the blade wavers above her abdomen, her arm not as steady as she thought. She holds it there for what seems like an eternity, until she releases a deep breath and closes her eyes.

 

“Houshi-sama,” she whispers, and throws the knife away from herself, the blade sinking deep into the embankment.

 

Sango crawls out of the depression on weak limbs, and at the top, she collapses. She lies there for an indefinite period of time, but the rustle of leaves causes her to lift her head, peering into the late afternoon shadows among the trees.

 

A fawn emerges into the clearing and picks its way daintily among the fallen trees, nibbling on the foliage that has begun to grow again. It walks closer and closer to her, and she dares not breathe. When it is only a few arm lengths away, its head snaps up and stares at her, tail erect.

 

For a brief instant the fawn is still, before it turns tail and flees back into the forest.