InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Lord of the West ❯ Raiiru ( Chapter 16 )

{+} {+} {+} LORD OF THE WEST {+} {+} {+}

 

{+} {+} Chapter 15: Raiiru{+} {+}

 

“You---you're telling me that you're the Dragon?” Inuyasha growled menacingly. “How the hell is that even POSSIBLE?”

 

Steam drifted past the ankles of the two standing on the rock shelf, and the cave walls continued to drip black blood.

 

A shadow passed over Sesshoumaru's face---a dark, bitter expression that was wholly his brother's. Inuyasha was simultaneously hopeful and unnerved. The look meant Sesshoumaru might still be inside Sesshoumaru . . . but on Sesshoumaru that look also meant Death.

 

“At one time,” the Dragon said, “the Daiyoukai---your father---bore the one weapon that could defeat me: the sword Su'unga, drawn from the tail of my ancestor Orochi by the war god Susanouo. The Daiyoukai used the sword to destroy my living body, and for that the spirit of the sword came to hate him. It had no choice but to obey its Inu Youkai wielder's strong will, yet it resurrected me in the form of a wraith---neither living nor dead---that I might exact my vengeance upon the Inu no Taishou.”

 

Inuyasha scowled.

 

`Shit . . . I guess even Otou-sama had trouble with the damn sword . . .' But he prudently kept his mouth shut, in case the thing wearing his brother's form accidentally revealed a weakness. As far as usable weaknesses were concerned, the vanquished sword Su'unga was definitely out.

 

Sesshoumaru's proud head turned to the side, gazing out over the lake of fire.

 

“The Daiyoukai could not kill me, for I was already dead. And the sword, possessed by the powerful spirit of the dragon Orochi, would not send my spirit to the underworld. Already tremendously weakened from fighting me, the Inu no Taishou was only able to seal me into the mountain, using my blood and his.” A pause, and a smile. “From your brother's memories, I see that he died a century later, after killing one of the last survivors of my kind. The battle itself didn't kill him, but fittingly enough he died at the hands of one of my human children. Setsuna Takemaru---that was his name.” The smile faded. “What a pity Setsuna failed to kill you.”

 

The white demon turned away from the magma, and took a step toward Inuyasha.

 

Inuyasha held his ground, lip curling to bare one fang. Despite his fierce stance, however, his mind was racing furiously. This creature wanted him dead; that much was obvious. And if his father hadn't been able to kill this `Raiiru' when he was in dragon form, then the hanyou had a pretty good idea that he wouldn't be able to, either. Weapon-less and wounded, he wasn't going to be much good.

 

`And then again,' he thought hopefully, `it isn't in dragon-form right now . . .'

 

Inuyasha wondered if it was even possible to kill the Dragon by killing Sesshoumaru's body. The beast had somehow possessed his brother, but there was no telling whether it would be destroyed with its mortal shell or simply find another vessel to inhabit . . . That and he felt killing his brother while Sesshoumaru wasn't himself wouldn't be as satisfying.

 

“What've you done with Sesshoumaru?” he demanded, jabbing an accusatory claw in the Dragon's direction. “Where is he now?”

 

The white demon's lips curved into a tight grin, baring the needle-points of his fangs. The effect was utterly creepy; the short hairs rose on the back of Inuyasha's neck.

 

“Inside me,” came the soft answer. “As I was once inside him. Sleeping, dormant since the time he invited me in by choosing to rule the Tatesei. Awakened, and freed at last when he chose to break the seal. All for power.” The Dragon laughed; a low, ugly sound coming from Sesshoumaru's throat.

 

`I don't have Tetsusaiga,' Inuyasha thought, wracking his brains. `He was never weak against anything but that . . .' A sudden thought came to him, sly and small, seeping through the cracks of his resolve. `But there is always the blood . . . Always my demon blood . . .'

 

He didn't have Tetsusaiga.

 

There would be nothing to hold him back. Almost as if in response to the impulse, Inuyasha's blood quickened.

 

Sesshoumaru's yellow eyes turned downward. He lifted his arms a little, causing the white sleeves to fall away from pale arms.

 

He lifted his arms.

 

He lifted his arms.

 

The shock of this almost completely distracted Inuyasha from plotting his own self-defense. Somehow, the Dragon had regenerated that which he'd cloven off years ago. That meant there was one more limb to contend with, and that Inuyasha was now officially twice as screwed.

 

`Just hurry up and kill him,' the voice urged in Inuyasha's head. `It's no good trying to save Sesshoumaru if you can't save yourself . . .' It was the same ruthless, logical voice that suggested the use of his demon blood despite the risk.

 

It sounded a whole lot like Sesshoumaru.

 

Inuyasha ignored the voice and charged.

 

The thing inside his brother moved.

 

Shadow came roiling out from Sesshoumaru's tall form, hot as smoke, only this held more substance. One pale arm lifted, the claws idly outstretched, and the shadow of the Dragon's massive claw rose out of the body it inhabited. Inuyasha's eyes widened at the sight of it, and mid-charge he swerved to avoid it. Where he brushed by it, he could feel the heat coming off it in waves. It grasped after Inuyasha's body as he passed it, billowing as it changed directions like a living storm-cloud.

 

Inuyasha realized that he was running toward a dead end: the fiery sea of magma ahead of him surrounded all sides except the way he'd come, forming some kind of archipelago of rock. To kill his own momentum he leaned low, dragging the claws of one hand into the ground and digging them into it so that he skidded in a rough half-circle, wheeling about to face the Dragon again. Rubble churned up from the friction of this maneuver stung his hand and feet, but he pushed himself upright, preparing to dodge the next attack. It came swiftly; it had been coming even as he ran. Now as he swerved smoky talons sang past his face, barely missing him because he had turned so quickly. One ear was suddenly scored with a searing pain, and the side of his face felt singed. He smelled burning hair.

 

The pain made him angry.

 

Yet he had no time to catch his breath; the smoke reeled around, shooting straight for him again. It was formless now; as Inuyasha darted forward to outrun it he wondered detachedly if that didn't mean the Dragon was displaying a little desperation. The smoke stretched outward from Sesshoumaru's body like a long third arm. Inuyasha made straight for Sesshoumaru, lip curling in anger. There was something incredibly infuriating about the way his brother's tall, pale form stood there, calm and unmarked. The white demon's gaze was placid as he watched the wraithlike substance of the Dragon's spirit pursuing his brother. It was almost as if once the smoke left his body, he became an empty shell with its host gone.

 

`Maybe,' Inuyasha wondered, `that's why the smoke doesn't leave him entirely?'

 

That the body was left a mindless shell was a theory soon disproved, however, as Inuyasha finally came within striking distance. Light lashed across him like a whip. The weapon crackled in his brother's hand. Inuyasha saw it coming and surged forward in time to keep from being hit in the face. Instead it caught him across the back, ripping a long weal through Fire-Rat Robe and flesh beneath. The blow sent him sprawling; he tucked into a roll to avoid hitting the jagged rock floor full tilt.

 

Shakily, Inuyasha picked himself up from the ground, wincing as the skin on his back stretched from the movement. The weal wasn't deep, but it was bleeding freely and it hurt like hell. Turning around to face Sesshoumaru again, he saw that his brother's sharp nails beginning to glow a poisoned green.

 

He knew what that meant.

 

`Shit,' he thought, cracking his knuckles as he assessed the situation. `I can't get close to him without being wounded. When he whips out the poisoned claws he really MEANS to kill me.'

 

But this wasn't Sesshoumaru. This was the Dragon. Inuyasha blinked repeatedly, trying to detour the sweat dripping down his forehead away from his eyes.

 

`Why is the Dragon using Sesshoumaru's power?' he wondered. `On second thought, why the hell is it using Sesshoumaru's body? Why would it give up its own to jump inside his?' But he couldn't think of anything to ask that might convince the Dragon to reveal its reasoning. It stood silently in Sesshoumaru's skin, waiting intently for him to make his move.

 

With a jolt, Inuyasha became aware of what he was steeling himself to do. He was automatically sinking into a stance of readiness, preparing to charge again despite the danger.

 

I See you dead.

 

For once, Inuyasha thought of fleeing. His last rush had taken him behind Sesshoumaru; he now stood between the Dragon and the exit to the chamber. If he went running down the tunnel and found the Tatesei, he might be able to take back his sword from Sango. He might be able to use the Bakuryuuha to break up the tunnel, to seal the Dragon into the mountain again . . .

 

He shook his head vehemently, furious with himself.

 

`Like that would work. Otou-sama wouldn't have sealed it in with his own blood if burying it under a mountain was enough. I'm just thinking of that to save my own skin, believing in the Seer's stupid doom ramblings.'

 

Dipping his claws into his own blood, Inuyasha snarled a challenge.

 

Then he moved.

 

And the air between them was filled with smoke and red blades.

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

Miroku laid his staff down quietly, scarcely daring to breathe, as if the knife was pressed against his own throat and not that of the woman he loved. It was a definitive standoff---he could see no way around surrender. If he used his cursed hand here, in such close quarters, everyone would be sucked in. There was nothing for his friends to grab hold of, and he wasn't about to sacrifice them to keep the Dragon sealed. If worst came to worst, he would wait for it to emerge from its rocky prison and draw it into the void then.

 

These desperate plans were running through his mind so rapidly that he almost missed Irusei's next words.

 

“You're too late, followers of the hanyou. The seal was already broken. Inuyasha-sama is dead.”

 

Somewhere behind him and to the right, Miroku heard Kagome gasp. There came the faint sound of clacking wood; she was shifting her bow.

 

“No, Lady Kagome,” Miroku told her, forcing his voice to remain calm and steady. “Listen to him speak. We must hear what has happened.”

 

Irusei's eyes lowered, almost as if he shared their sorrow at the news he'd just relayed. Held tightly against him, Sango stood frozen, eyeing Miroku's staff on the ground in dismay.

 

“It was necessary,” the Tatesei warrior continued. “Inuyasha-sama had to die. It was the price of breaking the seal. Soon the Dragon will emerge from the mountain, born anew. Now that it's chosen a human whose spirit will revive it . . .”

 

In surprise, Shippou started forward a little, only to find himself stopped by several spear-points aimed his way.

 

“`A human'?” he exclaimed. “You mean the Dragon's eaten someone?”

 

Briefly, Irusei shook his head. In the fiery gleam of his veins, his forehead shone with sweat.

 

“The Dragon spoke to me in a vision,” he explained. “It spoke of choosing one to give it new life. It spoke of choosing one human to be its voice among its people.” A pause, and a hint of bitterness. “I falsely believed I was the one chosen. But instead it has chosen my sister, the Seer.”

 

“What kind of sense does that make?” Shippou grumbled, shifting nervously on the gravelly floor.

 

Miroku ignored the Kitsune's remark, frowning. If he could get Irusei to talk more, he might reveal a weakness---if the Dragon had any.

 

“What will you do when this thing emerges?” he asked, deliberately using the word thing to goad the hanryu. “You think it won't destroy this country, as it did when first these lands were formed?”

 

Irusei lifted his chin. There was a feverish gleam in his eye.

 

“We shall see,” he replied cryptically. “There is only the promise that we, the Dragon's children, will endure. Whatever else is destroyed is worthless to us.”

 

“Th---there!” Kagome exclaimed suddenly. “What's that?”

 

She was staring not at Irusei but past him, toward the wall of rapidly darkening crystal at his back. Behind it, something was moving swiftly toward them. Behind the seal, a cloud was gathering, billowing like smoke, only this seemed alive and cognizant, for the instant it contorted into the semblance of a recognizable shape. The shadow of a claw spread across the crystal, stretching from floor to ceiling like the grasping hand of a giant.

 

Shippou uttered an involuntary whimper, retreating closer to the relative safety between Kirara's massive forelegs. The Tatesei warriors drew back as well, keeping their spears aimed at their four captives while their eyes were trained on the seal.

 

Only Irusei held his ground---and Sango, whom he refused to release. He turned slowly, black-stained eyes lowered, as if he already knew what was coming and awaited it in reverence. Swallowed in the shadow of the claw, the crystal began to melt.

 

Miroku watched in dismay as black rivulets cascaded down the seal. Then there came a sharp crack, and a long groan, as of ice breaking, and the wall that held the Dragon in collapsed in a sizzle of dark liquid.

 

There was no claw. There was no shadow.

 

Sesshoumaru stepped into the tunnel.

 

Miroku let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The sight of the white demon emerging when he'd expected something fouler was initially a relief. But then he recalled something very strange.

 

`Back then . . . back in the garden . . .why did Sesshoumaru refuse to agree that he would destroy the Dragon?' There had been no promises exchanged---Sesshoumaru had merely gone after the hanryu.

 

And now Inuyasha was dead, and his brother stood alive and unharmed, having emerged unscathed from the stronghold of his greatest enemy.

 

There was something very odd about the way the Inu Youkai was looking at the group gathered beyond the seal. His regard of the assembled humans, usually so icy and detached, was now intent and shrewdly assessing. Everyone present stared at him, afraid even to draw breath for fear of what he might do.

 

In the long stretch of heavy silence, drops of black water clinked pointedly on the cave floor.

 

In the end, it was Irusei who first found his tongue. He finally released his hold on Sango, shoving her away from him carelessly, as if she no longer mattered.

 

“My Lord,” he murmured, in a tone both reverent and troubled. “Why . . . have you done this?”

 

Miroku, who had been trying to gauge Sesshoumaru's intentions, now turned his attention toward the Tatesei warrior.

 

`Does he really think to regain the favor he's lost?' Miroku mused. `Does he call Sesshoumaru `Lord' now because Sesshoumaru has defeated the Dragon?'

 

The white demon's cold regard came to rest upon the young warrior, and slowly his hand lifted. Miroku immediately lost interest in what Irusei's motives were---Irusei was about to become dead. The monk cast a surreptitious glance down at his staff, which lay on the ground several feet in front of him. It was half-submerged in a puddle of the dark liquid from the melted seal, and a bit of energy crackled around the ring at its head, but nevertheless he decided to make a grab for it the instant the Tatesei warriors were distracted. He expected them to be distracted very soon; their leader was about to have his head sliced off. He would use the ensuing melee to take his comrades and escape.

 

He tried to catch Sango's eye, but she was regarding Sesshoumaru with a dazed kind of horror.

 

Sweat trickled down the bridge of Miroku's nose as he waited for the opportune moment.

 

Nothing happened.

 

There was no sound of human flesh tearing, and no outcry among the Tatesei.

 

Sesshoumaru's white hand lifted to rest gently on Irusei's cheek.

 

“Child,” the white demon said softly, “this is not the hour to doubt me.”

 

The hand lingered; a caress.

 

Irusei was trembling.

 

“Ew,” Shippou muttered, pulling a face. The Kitsune was keeping well within the bounds of Kirara's forepaws.

 

Kirara's fur was standing on end, and her orange eyes were wild. She looked as if she wanted to lunge for Sesshoumaru then and there, but was too unnerved to dare. Kagome was strangely silent, but Miroku could feel her presence at his back as she stepped closer to him. None of the Tatesei made any move to stop her.

 

“His kehai . . .” she whispered, but her voice trailed off.

 

“My Lord, why have you chosen . . . this?” Irusei whispered. “This form? Why not Suiton?”

 

Sesshoumaru's touch trailed down his jaw line and throat, the palm coming to rest over the place where the hanryu's clothing was torn and singed. Miroku realized with a start that it was the place where Irusei had been stabbed by the blade Tokijin, hours earlier. Now, with his hand resting against the young man's chest, Sesshoumaru's eyes were full of regret.

 

Something was definitely wrong . . .

 

“Yours was the first heart that chose mine,” the white demon murmured. “You have served me well.”

 

Irusei's feverish black eyes were downcast, and when he spoke it was with an undertone of bitterness.

 

“It was my desire to be chosen for your avatar. Why you've chosen the flesh of your greatest enemy's spawn is incomprehensible to me.”

 

By this point Miroku---in a state of great perplexity---felt compelled to interrupt.

 

“Lord Sesshoumaru! What has become of Inuyasha?”

 

Behind him, Miroku heard Kagome's breath catch in her throat, sharp as a sob. Down by his side, he held out one hand, signaling her to stay where she was. Rashness would only get her killed here, and Inuyasha---alive or dead---wouldn't want that.

 

Slowly, the Inu Youkai's pale face turned toward him---too slowly for it to have been a response to his name.

 

“Inuyasha-sama is dead,” he answered, with dispassionate calm. “And the white demon is gone. Only the Dragon remains.”

 

It was then that Inuyasha's comrades knew that he spoke the truth, and that this was not Sesshoumaru. Never would Inuyasha's brother have deigned to call him “lord.”

 

Miroku was a man slow to anger, but even so it took every ounce of his self-discipline not to reach for the prayer beads that reined in the curse in his right hand. The Dragon's sharp eye was upon him, and he dared not reveal his trump card until the moment was right.

 

`I have to get him out in the open before I use the Wind Tunnel . . .'

 

“You will want to take your comrades and go,” the Dragon addressed him. “For I intend to bring down the mountain behind me.”

 

Having said this, the Dragon strode past the monk, paying no heed at all to the way Kirara's fur bristled as his left arm brushed her shoulder.

 

His left arm . . .

 

`I wonder,' Miroku thought, staring at the arm. `I wonder . . . what this fell creature promised Sesshoumaru in exchange for this . . .'

 

Not that it mattered any more. The Tatesei were beginning to turn and file down the tunnel after their Dragon, who walked in silence.

 

An arrow went sizzling through the darkness after them.

 

Immediately, Miroku flew at Kagome, wrapping both arms around her and pinning both her arms and bow to her chest.

 

“No,” he hissed in her ear. “Kagome, no. Let them go.”

 

Several of the Tatesei warriors whirled swiftly about, thinking to form a protective barrier before their Dragon. Yet the thing in Sesshoumaru's body waved them aside, and retraced his steps through their midst. He stopped not four feet away from where Miroku held Kagome. She wasn't struggling, but Miroku could feel her slender body tensed to act the instant he let her go. He held her fast, eyeing the Dragon with great apprehension.

 

Yet it didn't seem angry. There was something like pity in its eyes---a look utterly alien to Sesshoumaru.

 

“The hanyou's death was necessary,” he told them. “It cannot be undone. But you I will not touch.”

 

Miroku glanced down in bemusement at the head of black hair pressed against him just below his chin. It wasn't him that the Dragon was addressing.

 

It was looking at Kagome.

 

“Why?” Kagome whispered. Her voice sounded strained, as if she were trying hard to keep from screaming. “Why do this? Why?” She seemed incapable of formulating any specific question.

 

“Survival, child,” the Dragon answered simply. “Survival---for myself and for them.” By them Miroku supposed he meant the Tatesei. “The white demon---the one whose flesh I wear now---did not have the foresight to choose wisely.” The Dragon lifted Sesshoumaru's hand, staring at the pale flesh of the palm as if it were some alien object and not its own. The edges of its sleeves were drenched with blood. “The Lord of the West believed in his foolishness that he knew the way to immortality. He believed that by eating my power he would proceed to mastery over the earth. He had no idea that I would gladly have traded the sum of my power for what he already possessed . . .”

 

The Dragon ran the tips of fingers lightly over the white skin of the forearm. Behind him, in the tunnel, the hanryu stood silent and watchful. There was fanatical adoration in their eyes; their god was speaking.

 

“It is the nature of demons to lust after the unattainable,” he continued.

 

Hearing the Dragon speak, Miroku found that he could no longer think of the Dragon as “it”. This was a rational being, with a mind not very unlike that of the person whose body it now inhabited.

 

Sesshoumaru's high-boned, aristocratic face lifted, and eyes that had once been untouchable as ice kindled now with something new entirely. To Miroku, it was like watching the unfolding of some alien future---a future unnaturally wrought. A metal flower unfolding, blossoming black blood and new order.

 

Kagome had gone utterly still against him; there was something hypnotic in the Dragon's words.

 

“To destroy the earth is to reshape it---that is how demons think,” the Dragon said softly. “But destruction begets only more destruction. The answer to forever cannot be found in a god's power.” The white hand clenched into a fist, which he lifted in front of him with sudden passion. “This is the answer,” he declared, in a voice that rang through the tunnel. “No jewel, no talisman---this! This mortal body, frail and small, this is what will endure the ages.”

 

A pause, and the eyes burned like twin lighthouse beams, seeing something distant on the tides of future.

 

“I have seen it,” the Dragon went on, in a hushed tone. “A world of metal and wheels, where the blood that once sealed me has made my children powerful. And it is a new kind of power---a peaceful power, in an era where the ability to deal death is no longer what determines success . . . A world of humans, with no place for demonkind.”

 

“You've seen this through the Seer,” Miroku found himself interrupting to say, against his better judgment. “But prophecies aren't set in stone. Nothing is set in stone, or none of this could be happening at all.” He paused, swallowing hard. “What you've seen may not come to pass.” There was something terrible about looking the Dragon in the eye that the monk had never known when facing down even the fiercest of demons. This was a creature whose kind had seen the dawn of time; it was like staring a god in the face. Yet Miroku forced himself to regard the tall, pale figure with outer calm, for this was a god he had no desire to serve.

 

The Dragon tilted his head to one side. His expression was thoughtful, with no sign of anger at Miroku's contradiction.

 

“It was indeed the Seer who woke me,” he agreed. “Yet the eyes through which I saw this future . . . were yours.”

 

He was looking at Kagome.

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

In the glow of torchlight, two small figures made their way through the long, echoing halls of the Inu Youkai palace. One muttered nervously to himself; the other remained silent. They weren't heading anywhere in particular; Jakken was pacing worriedly and Rin was following him as he paced.

 

“I don't like this,” he grumbled, rubbing at the side of his wizened head. “It's been too long. He should've returned by now.”

 

He stopped abruptly, spinning on his heel to pace in the opposite direction. Rin nearly bumped into him.

 

“He'll come back, Jakken-sama,” she assured him. “He said he would.”

 

Jakken fixed her with a brief, bulgy-eyed glare. There was snow in his cap from when he'd gone outside to look for signs of Sesshoumaru's return. It was melting now, and running down the sides of his face.

 

“He never said that.”

 

Rin blinked her wide, innocent eyes, laying a finger to the side of her mouth.

 

“Well, he always comes back, anyway,” she amended.

 

“Except for the day he decides he isn't coming back,” Jakken muttered darkly. One of the nearby torches sputtered, and he jumped in startlement.

 

Mercifully, the little girl kept silent for a bit, giving him ample time to ponder what he would do if the Tatesei decided to invade. Sesshoumaru had left them with instructions to flee to the caves on the side of the hill if misfortune befell them. Jakken wasn't keen on the demon lord's choice of sanctuaries. Those were the caves where, nearly a century ago, the Inu Youkai children had been sent to take refuge. The Wise---the Tatesei priests---had found them, of course.

 

When Jakken had visited the place years later, there hadn't been any bones or remains.

 

But he could still recall the claw marks on the walls.

 

As an imp and a demon, he had a certain immunity to the sight of death, but one's kinsmen were different . . . The deaths of the small ones were always different.

 

He remembered the look on Sesshoumaru's face as they passed through the place. He never wanted to see that look again.

 

But right now, he couldn't see any alternatives. If the Tatesei came, he would have to take Aun and lead Rin there. And if Sesshoumaru never returned. . .he would have to keep her alive long enough to see her safely to a human village, where she surely belonged. He would do this for his master's sake.

 

Rin seemed to read his mind.

 

“Don't worry---my lord is very strong.”

 

Once again, the slap of Jakken's feet against the stone floor came to a halt. He spun abruptly and resumed pacing in the other direction. Rin followed, flopping the long sleeves of the oversized haori she wore. It looked like one of Sesshoumaru's. Smelled like it, too.

 

“Nothing is strong enough to stop him if he wants to come back,” she chirped.

 

Jakken scowled, deciding that he was going outside for another look.

 

`There isn't any living thing that can stop him,' the imp thought grimly. `Except maybe himself . . .'

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

He swam through the wind currents as if the sky were water. Night had fallen over the lands below him. Where he passed, the night spread.

 

He was the night, falling dark over plain and mountain.

 

It was heady, this revelation. He could bring darkness, if he chose, or scour the earth with fire . . . if he chose. His body was hard and impenetrable, clad in scales sharp as silver mirrors, reflecting the fire in his eyes. He wove between the clouds of a building storm, forked tongue lolling between fangs serrated like scimitar blades.

 

Ahead of him, on a peak so high its base was wreathed in clouds, there rose a great castle, with spires reaching heavenward and gleaming in the light of the moon. It overshadowed a host of surrounding cities, where the frail, clever creatures that called themselves human stretched supplicants' arms up to greet him. Glad and fearful cries rose to meet him; their god was returning to his throne.

 

It was a dream he was lost in---a dream from which there was no emerging. The wondrous illusions of his own desires closed around him like a trap, and he sank ever deeper into dying sleep.

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

“What---what?” Miroku asked hoarsely, as if he could scarcely believe his ears.

 

Pressed into the circle of his arms, Kagome trembled. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. There was a strange intensity in the Dragon's eyes upon her, burning through Sesshoumaru's face. It was deep gratitude---or love. Not the love of a man for a woman, but that of a god for the one who has served him best. Sickened, Miroku's grip tightened on Kagome's shoulder.

 

“Don't listen to him,” he warned her.

 

The Dragon ignored him.

 

“You I won't touch,” he repeated, gazing intently at the girl before him, “for while I lay dreaming it was your mind that reached out to mine, across the span of ages.”

 

(She dreamed of a man raising a blade over his head. She saw the Shikon jewel tumble from her grasping fingers. She saw the jewel fall into a bowl of water. Ripples spread outward from the place where it fell.

She saw a hand close around the jewel.

She saw a great and luminous eye slowly begin to open, and was filled with nameless dread.)

 

“The eye,” Kagome whispered, the hair at the nape of her neck rising in horror. “The eye was yours . . .”

 

Her legs began to give way beneath her. Miroku's grip on her shoulders, now tight enough to bruise, was the only thing holding her upright.

 

“No, Lady Kagome,” the monk insisted, giving her a bit of a shake. “Don't listen. None of this is your fault!”

 

But he was wrong. Kagome knew he was wrong. She hadn't told him about the dream. She hadn't told anyone about the dream---hadn't even remembered the dream until now . . . She thought it had meant nothing. But it had meant everything. . .

 

“You wore the Jewel of Four Souls close to you as you slept,” the Dragon told her. “That talisman which was born of my strongest child, Midoriko . . . And across time my sleeping mind saw through your memory a world in which only humans thrived---a world which held no place for monsters. And I dreamed. . .oh how I dreamed. . .of what my children might achieve in such a world . . .”

 

Righteous anger surged through Miroku. His left hand ached to reach for the prayer beads restraining the curse in his right. Were it not for the sake of his friends, he would have.

 

“And how many innocent lives will it cost, this vision of yours?” he snapped. “Do you really plan on single-handedly putting an end to the age of demons? If such a thing is even possible. . .”

 

The Dragon's burning gaze lowered.

 

“Perhaps you recall . . . the power of the Wise?” he asked softly. “It is Mine. The end of demonkind is an inevitability.”

 

Behind him, there came a low rumbling from deep in Kirara's chest, and the sound of someone's foot scraping against stone. Miroku knew that Sango had moved to stand just behind him by the lightness of her tread. A warrior's tread.

 

There came a sharp hiss of steel, and briefly Miroku closed his eyes. She held the blade close to his neck, where one swing would take his head. She could do it, he knew. She was that strong. He could see the shadows on Sesshoumaru's white haori where the red light from the tunnel behind them had sketched Sango's blade behind his throat, as if she were striking him now. She could do it now, for her god, with no one to stop her.

 

He trusted her.

 

“Will you follow me, daughter?” the Dragon asked, turning toward her. “Or is your heart still bound to these comrades, and to the hanyou?”

 

Uttering a low cry, Sango flew at him, bearing her weapon down to strike.

 

Miroku's eyes opened. Kagome's breath caught in her throat.

 

The Dragon caught the blade inches from his chest.

 

“No!” Sango snarled, gritting her teeth and trying to pull the blade free.

 

The Dragon's face---Sesshoumaru's face---was unreadable. The sword she had tried to slay him with was none other than Tetsusaiga, which she had taken from Inuyasha.

 

“Futile,” the Dragon told her calmly. “This talisman, forged from the fang of the my greatest enemy, may kill demons, but it is useless against my kind. There is nothing left on this earth that can seal me into the mountain again, now that the Inutaisho is long dead.”

 

Sango's beautiful face was terrible to behold. Sweat clung to her brow, and the shadows of anger pooling in the hollows of her face were heightened by the blackness of the Dragon's stain in her eyes. She looked like a demon herself. Breathing hard, she attempted to twist the blade in the Dragon's grasp.

 

Blood black as ichor trickled down Sesshoumaru's pale wrist, from where Tetsusaiga's edge dug cruelly into his palm.

 

Kagome watched this as if it were a moment frozen in time. She had seen this sight before---the tall figure standing there, fist clenched around the blade. This---all of this---was so terribly, utterly familiar now . . .

 

“When he died, another young lord became the sixth king . . .”

 

“And this sixth king . . . who was this man?”

 

In its hand, the statue gripped a katana by the blade. The lines running down his hand and onto the blade, indicating blood, seemed eerily realistic.

 

“That is Raiiru, the White King . . .”

 

The Dragon Raiiru wrenched Tetsusaiga from Sango's grasp and flung it aside. It clattered against the stone wall and landed in a puddle of the blood congealing on the floor.

 

“Accept it,” he said to Inuyasha's comrades. “There is nothing to be done. Go now and live, or stay when the mountain falls.” His eyes flickered down to Kagome, who was staring straight ahead as if she saw nothing. Her eyes were glassy with tears. “Live, child,” he bade her. “You are human. This future is for you.”

 

And he turned and walked calmly from the place. Sesshoumaru's white hair trailed behind him, and his feet, bare from where Sesshoumaru's shoes had been sliced to ribbons, left a trail of bloody prints on the stone. The Tatesei warriors followed.

 

Inuyasha's comrades made no move to stop them. Kagome's head was bowed now, her clenched fists resting on top of her knees. She knelt on the warm stone; Miroku had finally let go of her. Hot tears dripped from beneath the veil of her black hair, splashing mutely in the blood on the floor.

 

Miroku swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth. His throat ached with the words he spoke next.

 

“We must go, as he said. Somehow he means for the mountain to erupt and destroy itself, and we'll die if we stay here.” He paused, closing his eyes briefly in sorrow. Then he bent over Kagome, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Sango and I will protect you. I promise . . .”

 

Shippou, who up until this point had been listening in silence, now burst into very noisy blubbering, clinging to Kirara's foreleg. The demon lowered her head, blinking her large, orange eyes toward Kagome and making no move to shake him off.

 

Kagome shrugged Miroku's hand off her shoulder, leaning forward over the puddle of ryunochi on the floor.

 

“Kagome-sama. . .” the monk repeated, this time more urgently. He thought she was going to collapse fully, no longer caring that she fell in the pool of dragon's blood. He thought to himself, `To endure this, so young. . . Can I blame her? Would I not do the same if Sango perished. . .?'

 

“Kagome-sama,” Sango whispered, moving to stand beside him.

 

The demon-slayer's voice, unlike Miroku's, was low with wonderment.

 

Kagome did not fall to the stone floor. Instead she reached both hands into the dark pool there, and withdrew the sword Tetsusaiga. Slowly, she rose to her feet, clutching it by the hilt, and Miroku stepped back from her. Ichor dripped from the blade, and from her hands, staining the edges of her sleeves, but she no longer seemed to care. The legs upon which she stood now were steady.

 

“He isn't dead,” she said quietly.

 

Shippou's sobbing began to fade. The Kitsune removed his face from Kirara's fur, blinking watery green eyes in Kagome's direction.

 

Miroku took a deep breath.

 

“Kagome-sama,” he said, “I know the sorrow you feel now, but . . .”

 

“He isn't dead.”

 

Kagome turned to face them, brandishing Tetsusaiga before her as if to ward off her grief. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks to drip off her chin, but her expression was hard and resolute.

 

“He's still here,” she insisted. “I can feel it . . . somewhere in the mountain.” She glanced down at the sword in her hand. “Tetsusaiga was forged from his fang. When I lifted it, I could feel its kehai still pulsing.”

 

Miroku stood there in silence, torn between taking her and fleeing and surrendering to the contagion of her hope. She seemed utterly certain of this.

 

“Kagome,” Sango said softly, “you reached for the sword before you knew this.”

 

Kagome walked past them, carrying Tetsusaiga cradled against her even though it. They watched her warily, for clearly she intended to do something rash. Her young, elfin face wore a look that declared her heart unswerving. She was heading for the tunnel, from which the Dragon had emerged through the broken seal.

 

She stopped, just before crossing the place where the seal had once been. But she didn't look back.

 

“I knew before I picked up the sword,” she agreed solemnly. “Because if he were really gone, my strength would be gone, too.”

 

Beside Miroku, Sango drew in a deep, shaky breath. Then she strode forward, laid a hand on Kirara's massive shoulder, and abruptly swung herself up onto the demon's back. She let out the breath sharply, securing her Hiraikoutsu across her back. Kirara was already beginning to move beneath her.

 

“Come on,” Sango said, offering Kagome her hand. “I'll go with you.”

 

As Kagome clasped her arm and climbed up astride Kirara in front of her, Sango craned her neck to address Miroku.

 

“Hoshi-sama,” she called.

 

Even through the black stain of the Dragon's blood, Miroku could see the apology in her eyes, and the determination. The part of him that loved her selfishly wanted to call her back, to keep her from risking her life again. But he knew she couldn't live with herself knowing that she hadn't tried to make right what she'd helped to make wrong. He smiled at her, a little bitterly, but without falter.

 

“You'll go with her,” he agreed.

 

Sango turned away, and Kirara burst into a run. Miroku stood there motionless, watching somberly as the two women riding the demon vanished into the red haze of the tunnel.

 

Then he sighed, and bent to scoop up the silent, wide-eyed Shippou up in his arms.

 

“You-you're not going with them?” the Kitsune asked, in a quavering voice, peering up at the monk's solemn face.

 

“No,” Miroku answered quietly.

 

He retrieved his staff from the cave floor, and then bore staff and Kitsune down the tunnel in the opposite direction. Together they headed into darkness at a run.

 

“Listen to me, Shippou,” Miroku said after a time.

 

Shippou pressed himself tight against the monk's robes, already with an inkling of what Miroku was going to ask of him.

 

“When we reach the end of the tunnel---when we're finally free of the mountain---I want you to flee. Transform into something light and fly over the snow, to Sesshoumaru's palace. You'll be safe there, I think. He told the child who travels with him something about a cave . . . But what matters is that you get as far away from me as you can.”

 

“M-Miroku?” Shippou whispered, digging his claws into Miroku's purple sash. He couldn't see the monk's face in the darkness.

 

“I am going to open the Wind Tunnel,” Miroku said softly. “To kill the Dragon . . .”

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

To Kagome it seemed the tunnel went on interminably. Kirara ran lightly down a way lined with jagged crystal, strewn with sharp, broken bits. Smell of sulfur; stink of blood; press of heat. It was like riding through a dream.

 

She clutched Tetsusaiga tightly against her breast, because it was firm and real and the only link she had to Inuyasha.

 

After a time, Sango lifted an arm beside Kagome's ear.

 

“There!” she cried. “A woman!”

 

Kagome squinted through the red haze and saw what it was the demon-slayer was pointing to.

 

The Seer lay prone amid the broken shards.

 

Kirara slowed to a halt, and Sango slid off her back, hurrying to the woman's side. There were streaks of blood across the spikes of crystal around her, and a thin line of blood ran from her mouth. However, the veins in her face still glowed a fiery red, and as Sango lifted her gently her eyes opened.

 

“Can you stand?” the demon-slayer asked gently.

 

Kagome hung back a little, horrified to see the woman in such a state yet wary because her eyes held the Dragon's black taint.

 

Those black eyes rolled upward toward her, and one pale hand lifted.

 

“There,” the Seer whispered, pointing toward something down the tunnel that only she could see. “He's . . . there. Find . . . him . . . free . . .” Then her head lolled back into Sango's lap, and she went still.

 

“Unconscious,” Sango announced, checking her pulse and glancing up at Kagome. “Can it be . . . she meant . . . ?”

 

Kagome was already running.

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

At the end of the tunnel, the Dragon and his followers emerged into a world blurred white with snow. The Tatesei filed past their god, while Raiiru turned back to face the mountain that had once been his prison.

 

The hanyou's comrades had not emerged.

 

“Very well,” he said softly. “They will be buried there. Such is the fate of all who choose not to follow me.”

 

In the air around him, the maelstrom winds parted to form a calm eye. His eyes burned wide with the fires of the ancients, and at his sides his white hands clenched into fists.

 

From the mountain, there came a mighty groan.

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

In the warm haze of the tunnel, plastered against a wall behind a mass of crystal, she found him. His eyes stared sightless out at her from behind a prison of glass, and his lip was curled in a grimace.

 

She laid her small hand on the crystal, her mouth forming his name.

 

But she didn't weep; there was no time for weeping. There would be time for tears later, if she failed.

 

Clasping the sword's hilt between her fists, she stabbed at the crystal in a fury, thinking to shatter it with his fang.

 

It held fast, and the sword clattered useless from her hands. In a fury, she swept it up again, intending to beat at this barrier until it broke, or she broke.

 

“Kagome.” Sango had come to stand behind her.

 

Kagome flung the sword aside, panting.

 

“It's useless,” Sango told her quietly. “He can't be breathing under that. And you can't cut it with your bare hands . . .”

 

From the quiver strapped across her back, Kagome drew forth an arrow. Sango fell silent, holding her breath in hope as Kagome's arm rose, and the arrow stabbed.

 

Light seared through the crystal's facets, and then a web of cracks began to spread.

 

From the mountain all around them, there came a mighty groan.

 

{END OF CHAPTER 15}