InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Lingering Ghosts ❯ Suffer the Child ( Chapter 3 )

Ack, I didn't realize it had been so long since I'd updated… sorry, everyone! Essays and statistics problems have been taking up most of my time lately, but I'll be able to update more frequently next month after my AP exams are over.

 

Anyway, thank you so much for your comments and suggestions! You've all been very encouraging. I'm pressed for time right now, so I'm afraid I can't respond to everyone individually, but I really do appreciate all the wonderful feedback I've received so far.

 

.-.-.-.

 

 

Chapter 3 - Suffer the Child

 

.-.

 

The grounds of the Furugawa castle were not large, but they were lush and well tended, and it was in the gardens of these grounds where Yasuo could most often be found in the weeks he spent recovering from Naraku's attack. Chiyo frequently accompanied him, showing him the most peaceful and secluded areas.

 

Yasuo enjoyed the young girl's company. She certainly was not particularly wise or mature for one her age; sometimes, she was quite the opposite. But he found her vivacity and good humor to be a welcome change from the quiet temple life he had grown accustomed to. Being around the lively eleven-year-old almost made him forget his heavy burden. At least, until Chiyo herself would draw his attention back to it.

 

Ever since seeing his reaction to her touching his glove and rosary, Chiyo had developed a great interest in it. She had made a game out of trying to guess what the purpose of that mysterious gauntlet was.

 

“Is it to hide the fact that the skin underneath it is green?”

 

“No.”

 

They currently sat in a small meadow sprinkled with wildflowers. The meadow was shielded from civilization by a line of tall maples that stood between it and the castle. Opposite the trees there ran a large stream, its crystal waters sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. Autumn was still young, and the maple leaves were starting to be peppered with promises of the radiant sunset colors that would soon spread throughout the forests.

 

Chiyo lay sprawled on the ground, her outline disrupting the gentle sway of the tall grass in the breeze. Yasuo sat several paces away, his back against a tree, twirling in his fingers a yellow leaf that had fallen long before most of its brothers would.

 

“You have an ugly scar underneath it?”

 

“Not exactly.” Yasuo did consider it an ugly scar, but he did not like to think of it as being his own. Even after so many years of carrying it, he still could only think of it as belonging to his father.

 

“You have a really pretty scar underneath it?”

 

He snorted in response.

 

“Come on,” she moaned, lifting one bare foot and wriggling her toes to watch the sunlight filter between them. “I've guessed everything. Just tell me what it's for!”

 

“Nonsense. If you had truly guessed everything, you would have hit it by now, wouldn't you?”

 

Dropping her foot, she mumbled dryly, “I'd be a smart aleck too, if I spent my whole life locked up in a temple, reading.” She lifted her other foot. “Is it a fashion statement?”

 

“Don't you think that would be rather tacky?”

 

“Don't ask me, you're the one wearing it. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it's meant to cover something. I just have to figure out what that something is. Is it… yellow?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is it white?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is it black?”

 

She was met with silence. Craning her neck to look back at him, she spoke triumphantly, “Am I right? I'm right, aren't I?” But her feeling of accomplishment fell away at the sight of him, gazing at something far away, pondering something she wasn't sure she wanted to understand.

 

“Black,” he muttered distantly, “black as a starless night.” Seeing her baffled look out of the corner of his eye, he continued in a clearer voice, “That's how my father described it to me, not long before he died.”

 

Chiyo sat up, oblivious to the twigs and flowers entwined in her tousled hair. Even at her naïve age, even in her carefree mind, she seemed to realize the gravity of what he was about to tell her.

 

Somehow, the sight of her young face drawn in such solemnity made him feel bitter and amazed all at once.

 

.-.

 

They were making good time - riding on Kirara for most of the journey, Miroku and Sango were already halfway to their destination after only two days of travel. Now the sun was setting, and they walked at a leisurely pace down an old forest road, the neko youkai dozing on her mistress' shoulder. Sango periodically glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye while Miroku pretended not to notice. He knew that whenever he did meet her gaze in such moments, she was likely to turn red and quickly look away, and right now he did not want to make her uncomfortable. He was content to walk in silence on this lonely, peaceful path with her at his side.

 

Sango, apparently, had other ideas. “The leaves will all be gone soon,” she commented softly, looking up at the thinning forest canopy. The remaining leaves cast a hue that reflected the glow of the western skies. Winter was wasting no time this year, and though they were no great distance away from Kaede's village, the air was noticeably colder here.

 

Miroku merely nodded in response to her statement, and silence fell over them once again. He barely heard her give a faint sigh of what might have been frustration mixed with a little bit of sadness. Smiling, he let out a sigh of his own and reached out to take her hand.

 

She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed her hand and allowed him to twine their fingers together. He stole a glance at her just in time to see a small smile lighting her face.

 

.-.

 

They made camp in a small clearing several paces away from the road. Kirara had changed to her larger form for the night; she knew as well as Miroku and Sango did that most youkai would not be deterred by the sight of her, but also that they could stave off any minor annoyances, for there were few human bandits willing to approach potential victims who were being guarded by a large, saber-toothed cat.

 

Kirara had finished her supper of fish and was stretched out by the campfire, sleeping, Miroku sitting opposite her. Sango had decided to wash up a bit in the river nearby and was currently hidden behind a wall of trees.

 

And so Miroku sat with his back to the river, carrying on an internal debate with himself.

 

On the one hand, he was her husband. That fact should grant him certain privileges that he had thus far made little effort to pursue, and part of him was moving past being antsy and into frustrated. On the other hand, he had worked too hard for too long to earn Sango's trust, and he was not about to force an issue that she was unprepared to confront.

 

Still… I'm sure an “accidental” glimpse would not be so deplorable, would it?

 

The debate was brought to a halt when Sango emerged from the trees fully clothed, and Miroku gave an inward sigh. She sat down within arm's reach of him, the firelight dancing upon her pretty face, flickering in her brown eyes, enhancing the glow that Miroku had always seen around her. He smiled to himself.

 

This is just as satisfying.

 

Sango caught his gaze, and her eyebrows lifted perplexedly. “What?”

 

His smile widened. “Do you mind me looking?” he asked playfully.

 

Sighing, she replied, “It's not like I could ever stop you before.” But she did not sound upset, so Miroku made no attempt to divert his gaze.

 

After a few minutes of fidgeting, Sango finally scooted towards him ever so slightly. Miroku, recognizing the offer, closed the distance between them and pulled her into a strong embrace, burying his face in her neck.

 

It had become a routine for nights when they were alone: He would wrap his arms around her, nuzzling her first, then kissing her gently. When she seemed more comfortable, he would deepen the kisses and allow his hands to wander. These moments ended when Sango became too eager for her own liking. There was always a hint of regret when Miroku tasted her skin these nights, knowing that he was allowed precious little time to do so. Yet he also found sweetness there as she gradually let his lips dwell longer, his hands travel farther.

 

Now he heard her gasp against his mouth as his fingers slid over her hips. He stilled briefly, waiting to see if she would pull away. He was surprised when she slowly pressed herself closer to him, timidly bringing a hand up to bury in his hair.

 

Their tentative exploration of each other continued until at last Miroku began to run his hand along the collar of her kimono. So lost was he, so enveloped in her that he made the mistake of letting instinct take over. He pushed the fabric away to reach the soft skin beneath, and she broke away with a gasp.

 

“Wait,” she whispered breathlessly. Miroku mentally kicked himself.

 

He rested his head on her shoulder, taking several deep breaths in attempt to regain his composure - he could hear and feel Sango doing the same. She nervously took his hand in hers.

 

“I'm sorry.” Had they not been so close, Miroku doubted he would've heard her. “I know I… I know it shouldn't be like this, I just-”

 

“I understand,” he said softly, squeezing her hand. “It's all right to be afraid.”

 

“I'm not!” she protested.

 

Miroku lifted his head and stared hard into her eyes, leaning close so that their noses touched. His voice was low and steady when he replied, “You are afraid. I know you aren't used to that - you aren't afraid of battle, you aren't afraid of your enemies, you aren't even afraid of death.” He brought his hand up to lightly press against her heart. “But this - this scares you. Being in love, loosing control - that scares you.”

 

Sango gazed at him for a moment with wide, vulnerable eyes before a slight scowl overtook her. Miroku could tell that she was desperately searching for a flaw in his statement. But she soon gave up, blowing out a tired breath. She lowered her head and mumbled, “I hate how you can read me like that when I can't do the same to you.”

 

Miroku grinned, pulling her into a loose hug. “I'm sure you could if you tried.”

 

She relaxed against him and responded dryly, “Maybe, but I don't think I'm ready to go delving into your head.”

 

It took him a minute to realize that she held his hand again and was gently stroking the smooth skin where his Kazaana had once been. He wondered if he would ever get used to feeling something brush against his right palm. The experience was exhilarating and sobering all at once.

 

The souls of his father and grandfather were at peace, and Miroku was comforted by the thought. Yet he could not help but feel a sense of regret over their fates, especially that of his father. Though he'd had no inkling of it at the time, he knew now that his father must have been extremely bitter about the curse. He knew now, because he'd come to sometimes feel the same thing.

 

Unlike his son, Yasuo had made no effort to mask his feelings about being cursed with a cheerful, laid-back façade. Growing up, it had always made Miroku sad to watch his father sink further into his perpetual melancholy. Yasuo had by no means given up the fight with Naraku; but in his later years, he spent more time studying, learning all he could about youkai and ways to fight them, and rarely would he go out and actively hunt his enemy. He did not share his knowledge of youkai with his son, at least not directly - he passed it on to Mushin, who later used it to educate Miroku. It had been Yasuo's wish that, while he was still alive, his child only be told what he absolutely needed to know, not so that he was unprepared, but so that he might have some hopes of a normal childhood. Yasuo had known that Miroku would have to grow up very quickly, and so he wanted the boy to enjoy his innocence for as long as possible.

 

Despite that, Miroku did not come close to having a normal childhood. Normal sons believed their fathers to be invincible, and Miroku had understood all too well his father's mortality.

 

He squeezed Sango's hand suddenly, pressing his face into her hair, breathing in her earthy scent. It would not do for me to linger on the past and neglect what I have now.

 

Though he could not ignore the irony of that statement, as he was journeying into the depths of a past that was not even his own.

 

.-.

 

Miroku and Sango came to the Furugawa estate after two more days of travel. They passed without incident through the first of two walls encompassing the area - it seemed that the soldiers guarding the gate had been told to keep a lookout for a young monk, and at his approached they opened the gate without a word. From there, the couple came to a small, quiet village at the base of the low hill upon which the castle sat. Most of the villagers took notice of Miroku, staring long and hard at him, but he and Sango could hear few words spoken as they passed. The silence they encountered on their path to the castle was eerie - the village had a tense, solemn air to it.

 

The air of a people who are uncertain about the future, I suppose, Sango thought to herself.

 

Climbing the stone staircase that led up to the second wall, the one encircling the castle complex, Sango was able to survey the surrounding area better. The grounds looked like they could have been very beautiful, but with the lack of upkeep it was difficult to tell. She suspected that the residents were all too preoccupied with their lord's impending death to think much about a few gardens.

 

They waited longer at the second gate, watching the soldiers atop the wall converse briefly before one shouted down, “Are you the son of Yasuo?”

 

“I am,” replied Miroku, inclining his head.

 

Again, the soldiers talked among themselves for a moment, and then another one turned to speak to someone on the other side of the wall. About a minute later he turned back and yelled at the men guarding the great doors - “Open the gate!”

 

The castle itself looked quite old, average-sized but with proud elegance in its structure. Dried-up leaves from a large oak that stood beside the castle danced across the yard in little whirlwinds, scraping lightly against the stone pathway that led up to the entrance. Sango followed the path of one leaf as it drifted lazily towards the front steps, where a woman stood watching them.

 

Sango's eyes widened at the sight of this noble woman who now stared at Miroku with a melancholy smile. Whispers of grey, the same shade as her eyes, dotted the woman's neatly combed hair. Her elaborate robes had a pattern of somber blues, intensifying the aura of sadness that seemed to hang over her.

 

When the couple reached the front steps and bowed, the woman returned the gesture. Her smile widened slightly, and she spoke to Miroku in a low, smooth voice. “Welcome, my nephew. I am very glad you've come.” The woman - who Sango assumed to be Furugawa Takara, the aunt who had written to Miroku - tilted her head as if appraising the young houshi. “I must admit, your appearance surprises me. I had expected you to look more like Yasuo-dono…” Takara's voice became wispy and dream-like. “I did not think you would look so much like your mother.”

 

.-.

 

Watching this exchange from the shadows of the hallway behind the front entrance, Kumiko scowled at her mother's statement.

 

Always that stupid fixation with `Chiyo-chan'… first she tells me that I look like that girl, now she's telling him the same thing!

 

“She's lying to one of us,” muttered Kumiko sourly. We can't both look like Chiyo. There's no way I have anything in common with that houshi.

 

“He has arrived, then?”

 

Kumiko gave a start, whirling around to find her handmaid, Noriko, approaching her. The middle-aged woman had a rather disturbing talent for appearing out of the shadows without making a sound.

 

Kumiko sighed heavily, blowing a wayward strand of hair away from her face. “You really need to stop sneaking up on people like that.” Turning back to the entrance, she once again peered out from behind the door. “And yes, he's arrived.”

 

Noriko stepped up to her, but did not try to see what was going on outside. Instead, she asked, “And what is your first impression, Kumiko-sama?”

 

She made a noise of disdain that her mother would have deemed unladylike. “I can't say I'm impressed. Of course, I didn't expect to be.” She frowned, staring hard at the girl who stood next to the monk. “Who's that woman he brought with him? Is that his wife or his servant?”

 

Noriko gave a soft, faintly sardonic smile. “A houshi is not known for his exceeding wealth or stature, so it is doubtful that he would have a servant.”

 

Kumiko's frown deepened, until at last she gave a derisive snort and whispered harshly, “She's quite plain, isn't she? Though she's only a houshi's wife, so what can you expect?” But she continued to gaze at the woman, her brows furrowed.

 

“I did not know My Lady had such a disliking for men of the cloth.”

 

Kumiko wrinkled her nose, returning her gaze to the smiling young monk. “Only when they decide to interfere with affairs that don't concern them.” Only when they come here looking to replace my brothers.

 

.-.

 

So he looks like his mother? Raising her eyebrows, Sango glanced at Miroku to see what his reaction to this statement would be; but his face remained passive as he continued to meet Takara's thoughtful gaze.

 

The silence stretched on, and just as Sango's restlessness was threatening to overtake her, Takara blinked and straightened slowly. “But where are my manners? I am neglecting your companion.” She turned her soft smile to the younger woman and waited expectantly.

 

“Ah, forgive me,” said Miroku as he took Sango's hand. “This is Sango, my wife and a very skilled youkai taijiya.” Sango bowed again, trying to recall the advice her father had once given her on dealing with nobles. When she'd straightened, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye - looking past Takara, she saw a young girl standing at the edge of the doorway.

 

Takara cocked an eyebrow at this, then turned around to follow Sango's gaze. “Ah yes - Kumiko, I do hope you aren't trying to hide from our guests.” Returning her gaze to Miroku, she continued, “I apologize. My daughter is not fond of meeting new people.” Once again, Takara looked back at the girl, smiling encouragingly. “Won't you come out, Kumiko?”

 

.-.

 

Great. Ratted out.

 

Kumiko distinctly heard her handmaid chuckling softly at her expense. She glowered at her mother.

 

“Well, Kumiko-sama?” prompted Noriko. “I'm afraid you can't stand here forever.”

 

Kumiko wanted nothing more than to march off in the opposite direction - that, or to walk right up to the houshi and tell him exactly what was on her mind. Both would make her look extremely crass, and she had long been taught that she must present an air of dignity to all others outside the family. Now she was torn between being tactful and admitting that this houshi was a part of her family.

 

So she walked outside, head bowed and mouth closed tight.

 

.-.-.-.

 

.-.-.

 

A/N: I debated with myself over the issue of how far Miroku and Sango have progressed in their relationship, so I hope their interactions in this chapter came off all right (many thanks to Aino, KellyChan, and Katrina5 for their input on the matter).

 

And Lady-Sango77 brought up something that I should probably address - I know some people might find it strange that Sango is still calling him “Houshi-sama” even after they're married, and I'm thinking of having it discussed in a later chapter; personally, I feel it could go either way. On the one hand, calling him that seems like more of a habit with Sango than anything else, and the affection is still there no matter what name she uses. On the other hand, it could be connected with acceptance issues in their relationship… ah, who knows? She might be calling him “Miroku” by the end of the story, but I haven't decided yet. We'll see.

 

Whoops, I've rambled. Anyway, thanks for reading! Feedback would be grand.