InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Peace Treaty ❯ Tenseiga ( Chapter 52 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: piratequeen0405 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.24.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.3K | Visits: 1.0K | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.24.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.3K | Visits: 1.0K | Status: Work In Progress
Sesshoumaru hurried to the quarters of his sister and brother-in-law, tormented by something Kintaro said after the funeral of his mate and their son. ‘Tell the gravedigger not to put away his shovel.’ He thought at first it was the grief, the emptiness talking, not a real intent to self-harm. But as the day wore on, his need to see his foster brother safe outweighed Kintaro’s stated desire to be left alone. As he neared, a weak odor of metal spread through the air and grew denser, liquid and heavy. Sesshoumaru ran, dreading what he knew he would find.
Kintaro, his best friend and the mate of his beloved sister, lay crumpled on red-soaked tatami mats with his sword hilt jutting out from his ribs. Sesshoumaru crossed the room in a flash and pulled Tenseiga from his belt, anxious for a sign. ‘The sword will show you the way,’ the revered swordsmith had told him those many years ago, when he had come of age and received it. He had unsheathed Tenseiga for the first time only days before, when they had found his sister and her infant, butchered and cold; they stayed dead though, no matter how he willed Tenseiga to restore them. Now…now it must work, he told himself. A Youkai dead only a few minutes; a Youkai he could not bear to lose.
But he felt nothing. No light or sound or sensation. No sign that he would be able to keep even a single one he loved from becoming entrapped in the long, deadly web of War and hate. Kintaro was as much a victim of the murderous Ningen as Sumiko and the pup, and he, Sesshoumaru—in possession of a sword that was meant to heal, to make the dead whole—could do nothing. Too late to prevent death, too late to erase it.
If only you hadn’t left his side.
If only you had come sooner.
The accusations tumbled in his mind, adding to the torture of his loss. He was unable to save him. Them. Too late and gripping a useless sword. Tenseiga. Instead of restoring life, it only gave him a brief, false wish of hope that, once he realized the dead would stay dead, only tasted like ash on his tongue.
XXXXX
The infirmary wing housed several private rooms, mainly meant for use by the nobility or Youkai whose injuries necessitated shelter away from the main area. Sesshoumaru strode the length of the corridor and noted the near-absence of guards and few remaining servants. Another reason to thank Gina—she thought enough of his need for privacy to arrange empty halls when he would be passing through. As he walked by his father’s room, the sounds of his mother’s sobs were quietly audible. His habit, these past weeks, was to go directly to that room, but he went instead to the one next to it. The one he knew where Kagome lay.
The door creaked as he slid it open, a mournful sound that punctuated his grief. Gina and the miko were at Kagome’s bedside, shielding her from his sight, but he could smell the sickly sweet stench of mortality in the room. It overpowered the incense and candles that had been placed around the bed, and it hit him like a physical blow. Decades spent on the battlefield taught him there were two different odors of impending death. One was sharp and quick and snuffed after the heart stopped. The other was merciless—it lasted and lingered as the suffering continued, loaded with pain and regret. It was an odor that prompted soldiers to make quick work with their short swords to hasten the end of their comrades. This room was thick with slow death.
Gina stood and went to him. If she noticed the additional sword at his belt, she said nothing. “Is she in pain?” Sesshoumaru asked.
“I don’t think so.” Gina sighed and her shoulders slumped. “We’ve given her poppy essence, but there is no way to determine the effect it has.” As much as she would have liked to soften the truth, she couldn’t lie to him. “Her organs have started shutting down. She hasn’t miscarried…probably because the pregnancy is so new or because it is half Youkai and more resilient, but it could happen at any time. I don’t know how much feeling or awareness she has. I like to think she is, at least, not in a great deal of pain.” Gina searched his face, finding grief and uncharacteristic fear. “Sessh…I’m so very sorry. Taka and I did everything we could, but the infection had spread too far, too quickly. Nothing you did caused this.”
His response was a short disagreeing shake of his head.
“I know I can’t prevent you from blaming yourself, but for now can you wait and focus on best spending the remaining time with her? Talk to her. Tell her you love her.”
“Did she ever wake?” Sesshoumaru hated that her conscious last thought was he was about to execute her. “Were you ever able to tell her I didn’t…” He trailed off, not able to articulate his sad, worthless defense.
“No, cousin,” Gina said. “I’m sorry. But maybe she can hear you.” Gina doubted very much that at this point Kagome was still capable of understanding anything, though she believed that Sesshoumaru talking to her would be beneficial nonetheless. He was not likely to confide in anyone and if he could open up to his unconscious mate, perhaps his burden would lighten. She was worried about the toll this death would take on him, a profound hurt on top of years of many significant losses.
Taka crossed Kagome’s hands over her chest, rose to her feet, and joined the two Taiyoukai. “I’ve finished the miko end-of-life rites. You can be alone with her now.” She was too tired to be angry, and the pain in Sesshoumaru’s eyes only made her pity him. She had spent the past hours frustrated, then horrified as Kagome’s condition worsened. The source of the infection prevented amputation, leaving her and Gina to desperately try every herb combination, every treatment they knew until it became apparent that all their efforts were futile. Now she only wanted to cry and sleep.
Gina gave Sesshoumaru what she hoped was a comforting squeeze of his arm. “We’ll be in my quarters, if you need me.”
Sesshoumaru waited for the door to close before approaching the low bed. He steeled himself for the worst, but when he saw her, his soul tore apart. Kagome had been bathed—her hair was clean and combed, dirt and blood washed off her skin. She was dressed in a white robe and reclined against a small pile of bolsters and pillows. She looked beautiful, deep in sleep, a light flush on her cheeks brightening her pale, clear face. Upon nearing however, he realized that it was all wrong. There was nothing peaceful about her.
Her breathing was fast and labored, lacking the slow, easy sighs of a sleeping person or the thoughtless respiration of someone awake. Each breath was an ordeal, a battle to be won, and she could only take shallow, quick gasps of air in the face of death. He sank down next to the bed and saw that her hands and chest were mottled and prickled red, as if her blood had sprayed from the inside, staining her flesh, but not rising to the surface. Her right hand, lying over the left, was bandaged and splinted.
The shame of that bandaged hand was overwhelming. She had been down, exhausted, and no longer a threat, but he crushed her hand, cruelly, as she had reached for his father’s sword. “Kagome, what have I done to you?” He picked her hand up and felt the delicate bones beneath the cloth wrappings. Even through the cotton barrier, heat from her fever radiated. Her pulse raced but was so weak he could barely feel it. If he hadn’t believed Gina when she told him Kagome was going to die, he would have no choice but to accept it now. Guilt pressed down and weighed more than sin. The time for shame, however, was later…now was only for her. He laid her palm against his cheek, and the sleeve of her robe slide down. The amber and lapis bracelet he gave her on Longest Night glinted in the moonlight. Grateful for the tiny, solid sign that she hadn’t turned her heart from him, he pulled their braided-hair bracelet, the one she had made and given to him, from his haori where he had kept it against his skin. He slipped it over her hand to rest next to the stone one. The beautiful, resonant symbols of their union now were wrapped in tragedy.
Sesshoumaru picked Kagome up, cradling her, surprised again at the unnatural, dangerous heat of her body. Afraid that something he did would hasten her death or increase her pain, he handled her carefully. His Youki was still strong in her, brimming with vitality that seemed to mock her frail state. If only it was enough to heal her, to keep her alive. He knew Gina wanted him to talk to her, but all the words that came to mind were woefully inadequate. “Kagome,” he whispered into her hair after minutes of silence. “I didn’t know. I grew up thinking I was perfect. I didn’t know I could be fooled.” Once he started, the words flowed like a river, unhurried but unstoppable. “I wanted so much for you to be proved innocent, but my pride would not allow me to admit that believing false evidence was actually a possibility. Okuri was a step ahead of me, playing all of us the whole time.” Okuri had Akeno use Kagome’s naïve, young maid to plant the incriminating letters. Sesshoumaru thought of Kagome’s insistence on being included in the hunt, something that she said Okuri told her was only for males. He did not doubt that Okuri arranged for the Boar Youkai to break up the hunting party, volunteering to remain behind while his father separated with Kagome. He killed Akeno before Sesshoumaru could question him, an act that ensured Akeno’s martyr status remained untouched. He most likely arranged for the Boar Youkai to attack Kagome on her journey home. He caused chaos and misery in the House of the West and nearly succeeded in ending a fledgling peace. “You were the one who ruined his plan. We, with over a century of experience in his plotting, did not suspect him, even as he was directly in our sight. It was you, a Ningen, who saved us Youkai.” Sesshoumaru smoothed the dark hair on her fiery brow, a gesture he had done so many times it was a reflex—offering her comfort and taking the same from her. “We owe you so much.”
He waited for some reaction, the smallest sign of acknowledgment that she heard him. When he talked to his father, the elder Youkai often tightened his grip on his son’s hand, sometimes even grimacing or twitching his face. His mother reported the same. Though General Inutaisho never woke, Sesshoumaru was certain that on an unknown level, his father understood. If not the words, then at least that his family was with him. Sesshoumaru watched Kagome’s face and held her uninjured hand, but she only strained to take each breath, her face a mask, beautiful but blank.
“I looked for you,” he said, his voice cracking with urgency. He still nurtured hopes for a sign of her awareness. “I wanted to be wrong. Every night, I dreamed of you. Good dreams, of how we were happy.” Sesshoumaru closed his eyes and pulled her body closer. “We were happy together.” Not his dreams he described, but their life together. It was true, yet he found no comfort, only a melancholy that he wondered if he would ever survive. He had seen loss. Countless comrades on the battlefield—they were his responsibility as their commander, but they were soldiers and fell with honor. The deaths of his sister, her mate, and their pup hurt in a way he thought impossible and he cursed his impotence is the face of their deaths. This though…this death was laid plainly at his feet. Gina said it was not because of anything he’d done. She was wrong. There had been a war inside him—a war of instincts. Loyalty to the West and protection of his mate. He made his choice and this, Kagome dying in his arms, was the result. If only he had waited and had speak, the truth would have come out. She would be alive and perhaps too angry at first to welcome him with open arms, but they would have fixed it. They would have been happy again. They would be excited about their child. But he struck, blinded by belief that she had come to kill his helpless father. He let his rage overcome his reason. “Kagome…I’m sorry.”
For hours he held her, bargaining with the gods that he would stay there as long as they could keep her alive. He ignored his cramping limbs and hunger and tiredness, praying she would continue to breathe, that her heart would continue its weak push and pull. As the sky through the eastern windows began to show the fuzzy first signs of light, her labored breathing began to shudder. And then, with no other warning, her chest ceased to rise. Her heart stopped its frantic beating. His Youki was extinguished, sudden and complete, like a candle blown out by a hurricane.
Sesshoumaru shifted her body and his hand shook as he grasped Tenseiga’s hilt. He recalled her words the night before the tournament when he confided in her about Kintaro’s death. Perhaps the sword didn’t save him because he didn’t want to live without his mate and child. The miko said Kagome wanted to return before she realized she was pregnant. Tenseiga’s workings were still a mystery; he had owned the sword for decades and had utterly neglecting learning about it, willfully prevented by foolish prejudices about what it meant to be a warrior. He prayed Tenseiga had more faith in him than he in it, that the sword was not done with him. “Do you still wish to live, Kagome?”
As if in answer, the sword pulsed in his hand. Not a mere shake or thump—this was alive and rife with message. He held his breath and pulled the sword, letting the dull blade sing as it came free and breathed air. It was then that he saw them, denizens of the Hell, only recognized because of remembered poems and tales recited when he was young. There were four, small and thieving, ugly and unwelcome. They pulled at the side of Kagome’s body until her visible soul was dragged out. They were taking her away. Sesshoumaru was afraid for a brief moment that he may hurt Kagome, but Tenseiga pulsed again, showing him the course was correct and strengthening his resolve. With a cleansing exhalation, he swung at them. Deprived of their bounty, they shrieked in anger and evaporated like mist in the face of a hot morning sun. The shade of Kagome faded, absorbed back into her corporeal form.
Suddenly she gasped as if she had been underwater and had finally come up for air. She breathed again but not the futile gasps of a dying woman. She breathed deeply, then settled into a normal rhythm. Her heart beat again—slow, steady, and strong. He sheathed Tenseiga and gathered her close, giving thanks to the gods. She was whole and she was with him. The immediate burning of her fever began to calm; she continued to breathe. Sesshoumaru reverently touched the sword hilt again, acknowledging the debt, his gratitude. Then he realized his Youki, the part of him in her that made her his mate, was gone. It died with her but had not returned to her body with her human soul.
What did it mean and why did it happen? Was she still his? He laid his fingers on his mark, the even welts at the base of her neck, but it meant nothing without his Youki in her veins. It didn’t matter, he decided, not for now. Kagome was alive.
He gently laid her back against the pillows, then went to the hall to call for Gina.
XXXXX
Warmth on her nose caused Kagome to wake. It tickled, but she didn’t immediately open her eyes or scratch the irritation. She had been dreaming of her father, a dream so vivid she was hesitant to disturb the heavy indolence that made her limbs languid. She blinked slowly, letting the light in and her dreams filter out. She wandered in and out of sleep-state for several minutes, unable to commit to one or the other. I feel like I’m waking up from a poppy daze, she thought in her lucid moments. Full consciousness came gradually, focusing her eyes. She realized she was in one of the private rooms near the main part of the infirmary. Sunlight streamed through the windows and a small brazier smoldered in the corner. In the opposite corner, Gina and Seiobo were dozing on a pile of blankets. Her gaze finished traveling around the room to settle on Taka, also asleep and seated on the floor with her arms and head resting on the low bed in which she lie. Kagome reached and laid her hand on Taka’s forearm.
Taka slowly lifted her head, a mixture of disbelief and joy on her face. “Kagome?” The hours spent keeping vigil at Kagome’s bedside were torture for her. She listened numb and confused while Gina hurriedly explained the nature of Sesshoumaru’s sword, and when she saw Kagome, breathing normally and rapid pulse slowing and growing stronger, she was too afraid to hope. As the sun rose, Kagome’s fever broke and the red rash on her skin faded; all the damage done had been reversed. Taka, even with her experience using her miko powers to spur healing, had never seen anything like it…but dared not believe her friend had defied death until she saw her awake.
Kagome sighed and managed a weak grin. “I’m alive?” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “The last thing I remember…my mate was about to have my head.”
Taka poured a glass of water and held it for Kagome to drink. “Lady Seiobo stopped him.”
Kagome laid back and closed her eyes in relief. “You found Gina then. Thank the gods. What about the War?” she asked quickly, half-sitting up in alarm. “Did the papers get delivered?”
Taka gently guided her back down. “Yes, the other houses of Youkai have already ordered their troops to stand down.”
Kagome nodded, more calm than before but still full of questions. “We had a week…we were supposed to tell Miyamoto—”
“I’ll send a message before noon today,” Taka said, grateful the message would report the success of their mission and not have to announce Kagome’s death.
“And kayaku?”
“The Youkai have it.”
Kagome settled back, satisfied. “We did it,” she whispered. The peace would continue.
“You did,” Taka said. Her voice was dangerously close to cracking. Kagome really was alive and well, and she wanted to cry with happiness. “You returned, the peace is back. Kurono and Akagawa and their Youkai ally have been exposed.”
The quiet conversation roused Gina and Seiobo from their shallow, expectant sleep. They rushed over, trying to stay calm and not let their emotions get the better of them; they knew Kagome needed rest after all she had suffered. “Kagome,” Gina said, taking the other side of the bed. She smoothed her hand over Kagome’s brow, checking that her fever had stayed down. “It’s good to have you back with us.”
Seiobo sat at the foot of the bed. “Darling, we were so worried. I can’t begin to tell you how thankful I am to see you here alive.”
Kagome hated being fussed over, but she shared their sentiments. “It’s good to be back,” she said. “So, the evidence against me—”
“Disproven,” Seiobo said, shaking her head. “Taka testified on your behalf. No one believes you had anything to do with the massacre.”
“The General?”
“He’s alive,” Gina said, “but that head injury…he still hasn’t woken.”
Kagome’s eyes grew teary; that explained to a large degree why they thought she had tried to kill him and why Sesshoumaru thought she had come to harm him, calling him helpless. “I’d been so afraid that he thought I had betrayed him and told you I was responsible.”
“Kagome, we’ll tell you more after you’ve had a chance to rest and regain your strength,” Gina said.
“I’d rather hear it now,” Kagome said, trying to stretch her limbs. The effort only made her notice how stiff and sore she was. “Good gods, I feel like trash. How long was I out?”
“A day,” Taka said. She looked askance at Gina, wondering at what point they should provide Kagome with the details of the past twenty-four hours. An imperceptible shrug of the shoulders was the only reply. “How is the pain in your side?”
“Manageable,” Kagome lied. It was more important to have her wits sharp and present than float oblivious on a poppy cloud. Her hand strayed down to her belly where she discovered a mass of bandages covering her hip. A smile crept across her lips; she knew she was still pregnant—she had a vague, inexplicable sensation, more noticeable than ever, that there was another being within. It brought as much comfort as knowing that peace was assured, at least for the foreseeable future. In the back of her mind, the subject of her brother’s diary lurked, and she was afraid of how the Youkai would react when she told them the truth. For now though, she decided, she would remain focused on the happy things. The peace would continue; the Youkai and Ningen together could fight against kayaku; Okuri had been thwarted; her name had been cleared; she could begin to rebuild trust. A blush spread across her cheeks when she thought about telling Sesshoumaru that he would be a father…but first she needed to give him a fair measure of grief for trying to kill her without hearing her out. “I’ve a bone to pick with your son,” she told Seiobo in a mock-angry voice.
It was then that the truth hit her. There were a few clues—the absence of her mate, the pitying expressions on the faces looking at her—that, had the circumstance been different, she would have noticed immediately. Thundering at her, like a storm, was the realization that Sesshoumaru’s Youki no longer coursed through her blood. It was all wrong. “Where’s Sesshoumaru,” she gasped. “What happened to me?”
Converting /tmp/phpBj2y9h to /dev/stdout
Kintaro, his best friend and the mate of his beloved sister, lay crumpled on red-soaked tatami mats with his sword hilt jutting out from his ribs. Sesshoumaru crossed the room in a flash and pulled Tenseiga from his belt, anxious for a sign. ‘The sword will show you the way,’ the revered swordsmith had told him those many years ago, when he had come of age and received it. He had unsheathed Tenseiga for the first time only days before, when they had found his sister and her infant, butchered and cold; they stayed dead though, no matter how he willed Tenseiga to restore them. Now…now it must work, he told himself. A Youkai dead only a few minutes; a Youkai he could not bear to lose.
But he felt nothing. No light or sound or sensation. No sign that he would be able to keep even a single one he loved from becoming entrapped in the long, deadly web of War and hate. Kintaro was as much a victim of the murderous Ningen as Sumiko and the pup, and he, Sesshoumaru—in possession of a sword that was meant to heal, to make the dead whole—could do nothing. Too late to prevent death, too late to erase it.
If only you hadn’t left his side.
If only you had come sooner.
The accusations tumbled in his mind, adding to the torture of his loss. He was unable to save him. Them. Too late and gripping a useless sword. Tenseiga. Instead of restoring life, it only gave him a brief, false wish of hope that, once he realized the dead would stay dead, only tasted like ash on his tongue.
XXXXX
The infirmary wing housed several private rooms, mainly meant for use by the nobility or Youkai whose injuries necessitated shelter away from the main area. Sesshoumaru strode the length of the corridor and noted the near-absence of guards and few remaining servants. Another reason to thank Gina—she thought enough of his need for privacy to arrange empty halls when he would be passing through. As he walked by his father’s room, the sounds of his mother’s sobs were quietly audible. His habit, these past weeks, was to go directly to that room, but he went instead to the one next to it. The one he knew where Kagome lay.
The door creaked as he slid it open, a mournful sound that punctuated his grief. Gina and the miko were at Kagome’s bedside, shielding her from his sight, but he could smell the sickly sweet stench of mortality in the room. It overpowered the incense and candles that had been placed around the bed, and it hit him like a physical blow. Decades spent on the battlefield taught him there were two different odors of impending death. One was sharp and quick and snuffed after the heart stopped. The other was merciless—it lasted and lingered as the suffering continued, loaded with pain and regret. It was an odor that prompted soldiers to make quick work with their short swords to hasten the end of their comrades. This room was thick with slow death.
Gina stood and went to him. If she noticed the additional sword at his belt, she said nothing. “Is she in pain?” Sesshoumaru asked.
“I don’t think so.” Gina sighed and her shoulders slumped. “We’ve given her poppy essence, but there is no way to determine the effect it has.” As much as she would have liked to soften the truth, she couldn’t lie to him. “Her organs have started shutting down. She hasn’t miscarried…probably because the pregnancy is so new or because it is half Youkai and more resilient, but it could happen at any time. I don’t know how much feeling or awareness she has. I like to think she is, at least, not in a great deal of pain.” Gina searched his face, finding grief and uncharacteristic fear. “Sessh…I’m so very sorry. Taka and I did everything we could, but the infection had spread too far, too quickly. Nothing you did caused this.”
His response was a short disagreeing shake of his head.
“I know I can’t prevent you from blaming yourself, but for now can you wait and focus on best spending the remaining time with her? Talk to her. Tell her you love her.”
“Did she ever wake?” Sesshoumaru hated that her conscious last thought was he was about to execute her. “Were you ever able to tell her I didn’t…” He trailed off, not able to articulate his sad, worthless defense.
“No, cousin,” Gina said. “I’m sorry. But maybe she can hear you.” Gina doubted very much that at this point Kagome was still capable of understanding anything, though she believed that Sesshoumaru talking to her would be beneficial nonetheless. He was not likely to confide in anyone and if he could open up to his unconscious mate, perhaps his burden would lighten. She was worried about the toll this death would take on him, a profound hurt on top of years of many significant losses.
Taka crossed Kagome’s hands over her chest, rose to her feet, and joined the two Taiyoukai. “I’ve finished the miko end-of-life rites. You can be alone with her now.” She was too tired to be angry, and the pain in Sesshoumaru’s eyes only made her pity him. She had spent the past hours frustrated, then horrified as Kagome’s condition worsened. The source of the infection prevented amputation, leaving her and Gina to desperately try every herb combination, every treatment they knew until it became apparent that all their efforts were futile. Now she only wanted to cry and sleep.
Gina gave Sesshoumaru what she hoped was a comforting squeeze of his arm. “We’ll be in my quarters, if you need me.”
Sesshoumaru waited for the door to close before approaching the low bed. He steeled himself for the worst, but when he saw her, his soul tore apart. Kagome had been bathed—her hair was clean and combed, dirt and blood washed off her skin. She was dressed in a white robe and reclined against a small pile of bolsters and pillows. She looked beautiful, deep in sleep, a light flush on her cheeks brightening her pale, clear face. Upon nearing however, he realized that it was all wrong. There was nothing peaceful about her.
Her breathing was fast and labored, lacking the slow, easy sighs of a sleeping person or the thoughtless respiration of someone awake. Each breath was an ordeal, a battle to be won, and she could only take shallow, quick gasps of air in the face of death. He sank down next to the bed and saw that her hands and chest were mottled and prickled red, as if her blood had sprayed from the inside, staining her flesh, but not rising to the surface. Her right hand, lying over the left, was bandaged and splinted.
The shame of that bandaged hand was overwhelming. She had been down, exhausted, and no longer a threat, but he crushed her hand, cruelly, as she had reached for his father’s sword. “Kagome, what have I done to you?” He picked her hand up and felt the delicate bones beneath the cloth wrappings. Even through the cotton barrier, heat from her fever radiated. Her pulse raced but was so weak he could barely feel it. If he hadn’t believed Gina when she told him Kagome was going to die, he would have no choice but to accept it now. Guilt pressed down and weighed more than sin. The time for shame, however, was later…now was only for her. He laid her palm against his cheek, and the sleeve of her robe slide down. The amber and lapis bracelet he gave her on Longest Night glinted in the moonlight. Grateful for the tiny, solid sign that she hadn’t turned her heart from him, he pulled their braided-hair bracelet, the one she had made and given to him, from his haori where he had kept it against his skin. He slipped it over her hand to rest next to the stone one. The beautiful, resonant symbols of their union now were wrapped in tragedy.
Sesshoumaru picked Kagome up, cradling her, surprised again at the unnatural, dangerous heat of her body. Afraid that something he did would hasten her death or increase her pain, he handled her carefully. His Youki was still strong in her, brimming with vitality that seemed to mock her frail state. If only it was enough to heal her, to keep her alive. He knew Gina wanted him to talk to her, but all the words that came to mind were woefully inadequate. “Kagome,” he whispered into her hair after minutes of silence. “I didn’t know. I grew up thinking I was perfect. I didn’t know I could be fooled.” Once he started, the words flowed like a river, unhurried but unstoppable. “I wanted so much for you to be proved innocent, but my pride would not allow me to admit that believing false evidence was actually a possibility. Okuri was a step ahead of me, playing all of us the whole time.” Okuri had Akeno use Kagome’s naïve, young maid to plant the incriminating letters. Sesshoumaru thought of Kagome’s insistence on being included in the hunt, something that she said Okuri told her was only for males. He did not doubt that Okuri arranged for the Boar Youkai to break up the hunting party, volunteering to remain behind while his father separated with Kagome. He killed Akeno before Sesshoumaru could question him, an act that ensured Akeno’s martyr status remained untouched. He most likely arranged for the Boar Youkai to attack Kagome on her journey home. He caused chaos and misery in the House of the West and nearly succeeded in ending a fledgling peace. “You were the one who ruined his plan. We, with over a century of experience in his plotting, did not suspect him, even as he was directly in our sight. It was you, a Ningen, who saved us Youkai.” Sesshoumaru smoothed the dark hair on her fiery brow, a gesture he had done so many times it was a reflex—offering her comfort and taking the same from her. “We owe you so much.”
He waited for some reaction, the smallest sign of acknowledgment that she heard him. When he talked to his father, the elder Youkai often tightened his grip on his son’s hand, sometimes even grimacing or twitching his face. His mother reported the same. Though General Inutaisho never woke, Sesshoumaru was certain that on an unknown level, his father understood. If not the words, then at least that his family was with him. Sesshoumaru watched Kagome’s face and held her uninjured hand, but she only strained to take each breath, her face a mask, beautiful but blank.
“I looked for you,” he said, his voice cracking with urgency. He still nurtured hopes for a sign of her awareness. “I wanted to be wrong. Every night, I dreamed of you. Good dreams, of how we were happy.” Sesshoumaru closed his eyes and pulled her body closer. “We were happy together.” Not his dreams he described, but their life together. It was true, yet he found no comfort, only a melancholy that he wondered if he would ever survive. He had seen loss. Countless comrades on the battlefield—they were his responsibility as their commander, but they were soldiers and fell with honor. The deaths of his sister, her mate, and their pup hurt in a way he thought impossible and he cursed his impotence is the face of their deaths. This though…this death was laid plainly at his feet. Gina said it was not because of anything he’d done. She was wrong. There had been a war inside him—a war of instincts. Loyalty to the West and protection of his mate. He made his choice and this, Kagome dying in his arms, was the result. If only he had waited and had speak, the truth would have come out. She would be alive and perhaps too angry at first to welcome him with open arms, but they would have fixed it. They would have been happy again. They would be excited about their child. But he struck, blinded by belief that she had come to kill his helpless father. He let his rage overcome his reason. “Kagome…I’m sorry.”
For hours he held her, bargaining with the gods that he would stay there as long as they could keep her alive. He ignored his cramping limbs and hunger and tiredness, praying she would continue to breathe, that her heart would continue its weak push and pull. As the sky through the eastern windows began to show the fuzzy first signs of light, her labored breathing began to shudder. And then, with no other warning, her chest ceased to rise. Her heart stopped its frantic beating. His Youki was extinguished, sudden and complete, like a candle blown out by a hurricane.
Sesshoumaru shifted her body and his hand shook as he grasped Tenseiga’s hilt. He recalled her words the night before the tournament when he confided in her about Kintaro’s death. Perhaps the sword didn’t save him because he didn’t want to live without his mate and child. The miko said Kagome wanted to return before she realized she was pregnant. Tenseiga’s workings were still a mystery; he had owned the sword for decades and had utterly neglecting learning about it, willfully prevented by foolish prejudices about what it meant to be a warrior. He prayed Tenseiga had more faith in him than he in it, that the sword was not done with him. “Do you still wish to live, Kagome?”
As if in answer, the sword pulsed in his hand. Not a mere shake or thump—this was alive and rife with message. He held his breath and pulled the sword, letting the dull blade sing as it came free and breathed air. It was then that he saw them, denizens of the Hell, only recognized because of remembered poems and tales recited when he was young. There were four, small and thieving, ugly and unwelcome. They pulled at the side of Kagome’s body until her visible soul was dragged out. They were taking her away. Sesshoumaru was afraid for a brief moment that he may hurt Kagome, but Tenseiga pulsed again, showing him the course was correct and strengthening his resolve. With a cleansing exhalation, he swung at them. Deprived of their bounty, they shrieked in anger and evaporated like mist in the face of a hot morning sun. The shade of Kagome faded, absorbed back into her corporeal form.
Suddenly she gasped as if she had been underwater and had finally come up for air. She breathed again but not the futile gasps of a dying woman. She breathed deeply, then settled into a normal rhythm. Her heart beat again—slow, steady, and strong. He sheathed Tenseiga and gathered her close, giving thanks to the gods. She was whole and she was with him. The immediate burning of her fever began to calm; she continued to breathe. Sesshoumaru reverently touched the sword hilt again, acknowledging the debt, his gratitude. Then he realized his Youki, the part of him in her that made her his mate, was gone. It died with her but had not returned to her body with her human soul.
What did it mean and why did it happen? Was she still his? He laid his fingers on his mark, the even welts at the base of her neck, but it meant nothing without his Youki in her veins. It didn’t matter, he decided, not for now. Kagome was alive.
He gently laid her back against the pillows, then went to the hall to call for Gina.
XXXXX
Warmth on her nose caused Kagome to wake. It tickled, but she didn’t immediately open her eyes or scratch the irritation. She had been dreaming of her father, a dream so vivid she was hesitant to disturb the heavy indolence that made her limbs languid. She blinked slowly, letting the light in and her dreams filter out. She wandered in and out of sleep-state for several minutes, unable to commit to one or the other. I feel like I’m waking up from a poppy daze, she thought in her lucid moments. Full consciousness came gradually, focusing her eyes. She realized she was in one of the private rooms near the main part of the infirmary. Sunlight streamed through the windows and a small brazier smoldered in the corner. In the opposite corner, Gina and Seiobo were dozing on a pile of blankets. Her gaze finished traveling around the room to settle on Taka, also asleep and seated on the floor with her arms and head resting on the low bed in which she lie. Kagome reached and laid her hand on Taka’s forearm.
Taka slowly lifted her head, a mixture of disbelief and joy on her face. “Kagome?” The hours spent keeping vigil at Kagome’s bedside were torture for her. She listened numb and confused while Gina hurriedly explained the nature of Sesshoumaru’s sword, and when she saw Kagome, breathing normally and rapid pulse slowing and growing stronger, she was too afraid to hope. As the sun rose, Kagome’s fever broke and the red rash on her skin faded; all the damage done had been reversed. Taka, even with her experience using her miko powers to spur healing, had never seen anything like it…but dared not believe her friend had defied death until she saw her awake.
Kagome sighed and managed a weak grin. “I’m alive?” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “The last thing I remember…my mate was about to have my head.”
Taka poured a glass of water and held it for Kagome to drink. “Lady Seiobo stopped him.”
Kagome laid back and closed her eyes in relief. “You found Gina then. Thank the gods. What about the War?” she asked quickly, half-sitting up in alarm. “Did the papers get delivered?”
Taka gently guided her back down. “Yes, the other houses of Youkai have already ordered their troops to stand down.”
Kagome nodded, more calm than before but still full of questions. “We had a week…we were supposed to tell Miyamoto—”
“I’ll send a message before noon today,” Taka said, grateful the message would report the success of their mission and not have to announce Kagome’s death.
“And kayaku?”
“The Youkai have it.”
Kagome settled back, satisfied. “We did it,” she whispered. The peace would continue.
“You did,” Taka said. Her voice was dangerously close to cracking. Kagome really was alive and well, and she wanted to cry with happiness. “You returned, the peace is back. Kurono and Akagawa and their Youkai ally have been exposed.”
The quiet conversation roused Gina and Seiobo from their shallow, expectant sleep. They rushed over, trying to stay calm and not let their emotions get the better of them; they knew Kagome needed rest after all she had suffered. “Kagome,” Gina said, taking the other side of the bed. She smoothed her hand over Kagome’s brow, checking that her fever had stayed down. “It’s good to have you back with us.”
Seiobo sat at the foot of the bed. “Darling, we were so worried. I can’t begin to tell you how thankful I am to see you here alive.”
Kagome hated being fussed over, but she shared their sentiments. “It’s good to be back,” she said. “So, the evidence against me—”
“Disproven,” Seiobo said, shaking her head. “Taka testified on your behalf. No one believes you had anything to do with the massacre.”
“The General?”
“He’s alive,” Gina said, “but that head injury…he still hasn’t woken.”
Kagome’s eyes grew teary; that explained to a large degree why they thought she had tried to kill him and why Sesshoumaru thought she had come to harm him, calling him helpless. “I’d been so afraid that he thought I had betrayed him and told you I was responsible.”
“Kagome, we’ll tell you more after you’ve had a chance to rest and regain your strength,” Gina said.
“I’d rather hear it now,” Kagome said, trying to stretch her limbs. The effort only made her notice how stiff and sore she was. “Good gods, I feel like trash. How long was I out?”
“A day,” Taka said. She looked askance at Gina, wondering at what point they should provide Kagome with the details of the past twenty-four hours. An imperceptible shrug of the shoulders was the only reply. “How is the pain in your side?”
“Manageable,” Kagome lied. It was more important to have her wits sharp and present than float oblivious on a poppy cloud. Her hand strayed down to her belly where she discovered a mass of bandages covering her hip. A smile crept across her lips; she knew she was still pregnant—she had a vague, inexplicable sensation, more noticeable than ever, that there was another being within. It brought as much comfort as knowing that peace was assured, at least for the foreseeable future. In the back of her mind, the subject of her brother’s diary lurked, and she was afraid of how the Youkai would react when she told them the truth. For now though, she decided, she would remain focused on the happy things. The peace would continue; the Youkai and Ningen together could fight against kayaku; Okuri had been thwarted; her name had been cleared; she could begin to rebuild trust. A blush spread across her cheeks when she thought about telling Sesshoumaru that he would be a father…but first she needed to give him a fair measure of grief for trying to kill her without hearing her out. “I’ve a bone to pick with your son,” she told Seiobo in a mock-angry voice.
It was then that the truth hit her. There were a few clues—the absence of her mate, the pitying expressions on the faces looking at her—that, had the circumstance been different, she would have noticed immediately. Thundering at her, like a storm, was the realization that Sesshoumaru’s Youki no longer coursed through her blood. It was all wrong. “Where’s Sesshoumaru,” she gasped. “What happened to me?”
Converting /tmp/phpBj2y9h to /dev/stdout