InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Once Upon an Inuyoukai ❯ Acerbitas ( Chapter 5 )

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

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Chapter V: Acerbitas

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He had never known such fury, or felt so useless. When he had torn that door open after a frantic search of the castle and seen his lackey hunched over the bruised, helpless form of one of his three remaining allies, the woman who had risked her life to save his country, he'd nearly lost his temper. That was something demons never did. Especially taiyoukai. When taiyoukai lost their tempers, palaces fell to ruin and entire races died. It wasn't that he felt anything for her in particular- it was that she was on his side, she was his subordinate, and someone who was also supposed to be his subordinate dared to touch her without his permission.

Rape disgusted him. It was base, barbarian, and utterly honourless. And rape visited on someone whom he valued by someone he didn't exacerbated it, multiplying his fury tenfold under he thought the castle would explode from his raging youki alone.

He looked down at her, sprawled on his bed, still wearing the tattered, bloody kimono. The servants would still be cleaning up the remains of the ferret. He cursed himself for his stupidity, bitterly and at length. What was I thinking? No one in the castle is a friend to her. I should have predicted this. Sending her out into the hallway alone and unprotected! Idiot! Thrice-cursed son of a maggot! How could I be so foolish?

"Unnnnnggghh," she moaned. His gaze snapped to her. She rolled onto her stomach, then yelped and clutched her midriff with a heartbreaking expression on her face. Apparently, the ferret hadn't been gentle. Rapists rarely were. Tears rolled from her eyes, disappearing into the tangled jumble of her hair. He came to a realization: we can't stay here. Until I know who the traitor is, I'm not safe, and certainly neither is she. We'll have to leave straight away.

"Not again..." she whispered, the pain in her voice making his temples throb. She sounded so desolate. So alone. Inutaisho was not made of stone. Though a demon, he was possessed of a fully functional heart. He just... usually reserved the feelings in it for demons, regarding humans as below notice. But this one was rather difficult to ignore.

"Can you stand?" he asked, meaning it to be gruff and businesslike. He was most put out when his voice came out soft and considerate instead. She blinked at him, then nodded uncertainly. Her hand flew up to cradle her purple eye and cheek. She was lucky not to be concussed, he thought. He held out a hand, and she stared at it for a moment before taking it and letting him pull her to her feet.

For a wild, teeteering moment, she balanced on trembling legs, before they gave out and she crumpled to the ground at his feet with a thud. He heaved a long-suffering sigh and bent down.

A moment later she found herself slung over a hard, broad shoulder. "I will see to finding you some clothing. We need to leave. Neither of us are safe here." She groaned her understanding, and he suddenly realized he'd thrown her right onto her sensitive middle on his hard, ridged armor. Mentally he kicked himself and swung her down to carry her bridal-style instead. She sighed in relief. "And some medicine."

From somewhere, she found a tired smile.

Not a few eyebrows raised higher than they should have respectfully gone as the Lord of the Western Lands stalked down the main thoroughfare of his compound with the limp/bloodstained/tattered/bedraggled human woman dangling from his arms. Murmurs followed him like ripples in a stream as he ploughed through the traffic on his way to the medical compound. He could almost hear the rumours starting like weeds after rain.

Then, he did hear them starting. "What is milord doing with that human? Is she not human? And look at her clothing! You think they are lovers? How scandalous!" He steeled himself, growling under his breath. The hall stretched endlessly before him. The muscles in his shoulders were knotting faster than he'd thought possible. The murmurs grew to a roar. It suddenly became too much, and he whirled to face the chattering mob behind him, face thunderous and quelling.

"She is an ally," he hissed. "Who has been grievously assaulted by one of you. He is dead now. Remember it. She is not to be disrespected." He left in the air the unspoken assumption that it was she who had done the killing. If his lackeys believed her to have such power, more the better. They might feel more inclined to leave her be, at least until he could get her out of there. The hall was quiet, but he knew it was only until he was out of earshot.

The doctor, a female cat demon, looked utterly shocked when he marched in with the now unconscious woman. "What... who?"

"An ally," he promptly replied. "Heal her. She needs to be fit enough for a journey as soon as possible." The doctor gaped. His eyes narrowed. "Today would be nice," he prompted with false mildness. The doctor started, then scurried to begin her examination, brows furrowed.

"This is ugly," she proclaimed a moment later in a hushed voice, prodding a long bruise across her stomach muscles. "She is most likely bruised internally as well. What.... oh." She discovered the damage from the assault and the question died on her tongue. "Who... never mind. There's nothing I can do about this except put some balm on it to speed healing. It's likely to be very painful for her to walk for a good while yet. I'm sorry, my lord." He growled in renewed fury. He wished he hadn't killed the ferret so fast- a little torture right about now would have done much for Inutaisho's mood.

"Woman," he said to the still form on the bed. She groaned and half-consciously clenched a fist.

"Izayoi," she corrected automatically. He made a negating gesture with his hand, brushing her weak protest aside.

"We need to leave. How long before you can walk, do you think?" With a great effort, she pulled herself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. The balm was taking effect, he could see it in the easing of her posture. She paused a moment, eyes closed as if in meditation. Then she pushed herself up to her feet. She was wobbly, but standing, nonetheless.

"Whenever you're ready, my lord," she rasped. "I'll try and keep up." Grudging admiration seeped through the steadily widening cracks in his heart.

"Idiot," he growled. "You can hardly stand. Lie down, I'll set a guard and be back in a while." Terror erupted in her eyes and she bit back a cry.

"Yes, my lord," she said, though he could see in her eyes how much she wanted to beg him not to leave her alone with his vassals. The admiration strengthened. He paused, fighting with himself. In the end, it wasn't really a battle at all- leaving her alone with a guard he didn't trust was more foolish than he could stand to be right now.

"On second thought... do you think you can walk?" She nodded vehemently and tottered to his side. "Good. Let us go."

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On returning to his apartments, he summoned Jaken. The little toad was there in an instant, bobbing ingratiatingly. "What may I do for you, my lord?"

"I am leaving," he said curtly. "Inform the necessary people only, then pack your bags. You will be coming with us." The toad's eyes bulged.

"Yes, my lord. Immediately, my lord. Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Very good, sir." He bowed nearly to the floor, then bolted.

"Inutaisho-sama..." He'd almost forgotten she was there.

"Yes?"

"Do you... perhaps... have a spare haori and hakama I can borrow? These require quite a lot of repair and are full of blood...." If he kicked himself mentally anymore, he mused, he'd have a bruise on his brain.

"You cannot wear mine, you would drown in them," he said. "I may have something for you, though. Wait here."

He steeled himself. The door on the far end of his room stared at him reproachfully. It was a plain door, unadorned, unremarkable. But it terrified him, one of the only three things in the entire world that did. Beyond that door lay his past, and everything beautiful or painful in his life. Almost every memory for the last two and a half millenia lay behind that door, quietly gathering dust. There were so many bright things behind there, bright things he could never touch again, that would never touch him again.

The woman needed clothing.

He closed his eyes, hardened his heart, and went through the door into the room he hadn't entered in several hundred years. It was spotless- apparently the housekeepers hadn't imposed on themselves the same restriction he had on himself. The light and lack of dust conflicted with how he expected it to look. There should be mothballs, it should be dark and weeping shadows from every corner.

The smell was driving him mad, that old familiar scent of vanilla and tiger lilies. Seven hundred years and it was still there, still caressing him with unfulfillable promises.

Helpless to stop himself, he looked around at the remnants of his happiness. The great bed, piled with creamy satin, that she had almost never slept in. Unchanged, the sheets must be new for they showed little sign of ivory age. Memory and pain. Invariably, she'd stay perhaps five minutes in it, until the servants left, before racing through the shoji to crawl in with him. He shuddered with longing, recalling the warmth of her cheek on his chest and the gentle possessiveness of her slender arm draped across him. And then a darker memory, staining those glowing sheets.He tore his gaze away and continued his journey of pain.

The vanity, surface covered in neatly arranged pots of cosmetics and creams. How she'd loved decorating herself for his pleasure!

The great paintings she'd made in her free time, wild explosions of colorful landscape and flowing images.

Her samisen, leaning against a wall near the sitting area. Ethereal strains of haunting music sighed around the room, his memory bringing her talent back to life.

Everything the same, just as he'd asked. Everything except the only thing that was truly important.

He wandered over and picked up an ivory comb from the vanity. It felt cold in his hands, cold as her hands when they'd finally let him in to see her. Smooth as her marble skin. He put it down as though it hurt him, as in a way it did.

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She paused in the middle of her song, fingers digging into the strings. The blood drained from her face, and her eyes snapped up to him. "Taisho..." she whispered, and in a blink he was by her side, one hand around her shoulders and one on her grossly, beautifully swollen belly. It roiled beneath his touch, violent and immediate.

"Beloved, what is it?"

She moaned, head lolling onto her shoulders. "It is time... find the midwife," she whispered weakly.

His eyes widened, and he shouted instinctually for a servant.

"Hold on, love, it will only be a minute," he breathed, cradling her on the floor in his arms.

She cried out, belly spasming visibly. Her body went rigid and she shook with the force of the contraction. A servant rushed up and he relayed his urgent command. The servant nodded and sprinted for the healer's rooms.

In his arms, his beloved wife screamed, eyes straining out of her head, veins rising on her forehead. He watched her agony, helpless to do anything but help her breathe and hold her strong. She shook in the aftermath, leaning her silvercream head on his shoulder. "He is trying to kill me," she whispered, clutching her belly with clawed fingers. "I feel him, tearing me apart inside. This is not right. This cannot be right." He curled himself protectively around her.

"Hush, love. It will turn out fine, please do not worry yourself. I will not let anything happen to you." He rocked her and massaged her twisting stomach. "Never."

The midwife arrived in a bustle of cheap wool and rosy cheeks, and immediately began issuing orders. "Get her onto the bed. Somebody heat up some water. My lord, it is best if you leave now." He stared at her, uncomprehending. She scowled. "Go on, this is women's business. Please wait outside."

He stood and deposited her on the bed, then glared at the midwife. "If anything happens to her, I will take you apart," he snarled coldly. She glared back, unimpressed.

"Nothing I haven't heard before. Now will you please get out and let me do my job?"

He turned to his lovely, beloved wife and grasped her hand. "I'll be right outside if you need me, my love," he murmured, and kissed her damp forehead. She nodded weakly and smiled, just for him. His heart flipped over. Two and a half thousand years and she could still make him feel like the young demon who had carried her into their wedding chamber laughing and overflowing with adoration for the shining creature he half disbelieved was really his to keep. He kissed her trembling lips and walked calmly out, masking all signs of the terror he felt.

He managed to remain in the hall, listening to her agonized howls, for almost an hour before it became more than he could stand. Informing the servant, he fled to his garden and watched the sun sink towards the horizon, spreading molten flames over his domicile. It took two hours for the sun to reach the mountains, and he watched it until he was half-blind.

The great blazing orb paused for a moment on the crags, as though bidding the world farewell for another night, before sinking ponderously, majestically, into darkness. There was only a brilliant palette of colours splashed on the cloud's underside to indicate where it had gone.

It was then that the servant came racing out of the compound to his side, eyes wide and bugged out with terror. "My lord, come quickly!"

He got no further than that- Inutaisho took one look at his face and threw himself towards the open shoji. Behind him, the sunglow faded, and finally surrendered to the darkness.

She only had the strength to flop her head over to the side and look at him, utter exhaustion written on her every feature. There was blood, so much blood! All over the beautiful pearlescent sheets, all over her beautiful transluscent skin. He fell on the bedside, seizing her hand and willing her to hold on. But even he could see that it was too late. She'd only held on this long so that she could see him again before the end.

"Sesshoumaru," she whispered, and at first he thought it was merely her weakness making her stumble over her words. But something in her voice made him sit up and listen.

"What?" She grimaced, fighting with everything she was to live long enough to impart that one word, that all important word.

"Sesshoumaru... " she breathed, her last breath- "his name is Sesshoumaru."

And then, like the brilliant sun of his life, she set and left him in darkness, with the little star she'd named with her dying breath. He leaned his head onto her now-flat belly and wept.

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He would rather have endured hours of torture than these short minutes steeped in memory. His throat was tight and his chest seemed to be trying to turn in on itself, cracking and breaking. Gasping, he fled the monstrous shadow of the bed she'd died in for the relative safety of the closet.

The closet was darker, but did not feel much more comfortable. She'd loved clothes, and there were hundreds of kimonos of every shade and pattern carefully hung all around him like silken memories. All carefully preserved, or replaced when they became moth-eaten. He fingered a red-and-gold lily-patterned one that she'd loved especially, and fought back tears. "I miss you," he whispered to the ghosts, hoping hers was among them. "Wait for me, my beloved." The silence sighed.

Far in the back, he found a couple simple outfits for travelling, serviceable black hakama and deep green haori. He gathered them up and fled the room before the tears gained a victory. The shoji slapped shut with more force than he'd intended, and he winced. He hoped he would never, ever have to go through it again.

"Here," he said, handing the clothing to the woman who wasn't her, who wasn't his, who wasn't the one he wanted more than life. "These should fit." She stared at them, then at him, eyes wide. She knows, he thought, and the pain was suddenly new again, a live thing tearing his heart to ribbons in his chest. He turned away and stared impassively out the great windows.

"These are..."

Do not say it! Please, do not say it!

"...beautiful."

He breathed a sigh of relief and banished the image of a rosy-cheeked, wild-haired demoness who no longer occupied the room on the other side of the door he never went through. My love, forgive me. He turned his back as Izayoi donned the clean clothes thankfully.

"We'll stop at the nearest hot spring so you can wash the rest of the blood off. Are you ready?"

"Yes." She sounded so subdued and downtrodden. He almost wished she'd yell at him for something. It was disheartening, seeing his only real ally look as though they'd already lost the war.

"You still have the talisman." She looked at him reproachfully.

"It would be pretty hard to lose it."

"Stranger things have occurred. Where is Jaken?"

"Here, my lord!" chirrupped the toad, startling both of them. "Those who needed to be informed of your departure have been, my bags are packed, supplies have been gathered and are packed on the lady's dragon demon. Is there anything else?" Inutaisho almost smiled. Almost. But not really. This toad was a rare discovery indeed.

"Very good, Jaken. No, thank you. Let us go."

The toad and seer filed out ahead of him. He paused and looked back at the pale rice-paper shoji that separated him from the river of memory behind it. Goodbye, my love, he thought, feeling his heart crack and shatter. I will be along in time. Wait for me.

It was his imagination, he knew, but he thought he caught a flash of silver hair and mischievous golden eyes. She would wait.

For him, death could not come soon enough.

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< br> God, I almost cried writing this. Can you imagine being married to the same person for two and a half thousand years, then losing them? The pain, the pain! I'd have enough trouble with forty years. I hope you felt it too.