InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Zero ❯ Once Upon a Time ( Chapter 1 )

“Take my . . . feather . . . Will you . . . think about me . . . every now and . . . then . . .?”

Tightening his grip on the hilt of Tenseiga—he didn’t know when he’d taken hold of it—Sesshoumaru strode through the blackness, along the narrow and crumbling path.  On either side of the sometimes less than a foot-wide trail was fathomless void, and the place was silent—silent as the grave—so still that his footfalls resounded like claps of almighty thunder on the dull, dank dirt.

The echoes of Kagura’s last words rang in his ears, reverberated in his brain in a whisper, in a breath.

His fingers had been shaking when he’d reached out to take the feather that she’d managed to pull from her hair.  Only then did she smile, her expression taking on such a peace, such a sadness that shone through the somber joy . . . And the tightening in his chest—the foreign burning just behind his eyelids . . . He did not understand it, did he?

He couldn’t comprehend it; not when the darkest rage, the deepest frustration, and a strange sense of being lost seemed to crash down on him all at once as the light had faded from those magenta eyes—eyes so dark that they bordered upon crimson in that moment . . .

Emotion the likes of which he’d never felt before, and none of it made any sense.

He’d slain innumerable youkai, humans, beings over the centuries of his life.  If they were fool enough to step into his path, he had little issue with removing them the most expedient way possible.  But with every life that he’d ended, had he ever stopped, thought about it?  Had he ever cared?

No, he hadn’t, and, truthfully, the cumulative losses didn’t bother him, even now.  So, why?  Why Kagura?  Why did her death touch him?  Why did the sudden realization that she was lost to him . . . open an ache somewhere deep within him . . .?

‘But . . . Don’t you know why?  You’re here, after all.  You know—’

‘It is simple curiosity that brings me here; nothing more, nothing less.’

‘Simple curiosity?  Is that what you’re telling yourself?  You’ve come here, of all places.  You left Jaken and Rin to fend for themselves, and—’

‘I know what I’ve done,’ he interrupted coldly.  ‘Those two are fine.  Jaken knows the way home.’

The youkai-voice in his head heaved a heavy sigh, but it remained silent otherwise.

He’d never watched anyone die before—at least, not like that.  He’d seen his fair share of death, had seen the aftermath of bodies and blood and the unrelenting heartache on occasion.  But he hadn’t really bothered to witness it; not really.  Always before, he’d stood apart, had watched as people buried their dead, and he’d always held it all with a certain level of detachment.  He really hadn’t understood the tears, the overwhelming mourning, to which he’d silently borne witness.  He’d thought that humans were an ignorant lot, unable to grasp the absolutely pathetic way in which they existed.  Their lives were too short, too brief, too futile, and he supposed that he’d felt little aside from a generalized scorn for them, at best.

But he’d watched Kagura die—watched and felt the impotence that consumed him as though from the depths of the deepest chasm, unable to help her, unable to sway Tenseiga into compliance, no matter how much he willed it to be so.  Within the confines of his own mind, he’d come as close to begging as he’d ever had before, and yet, the sword remained dormant.

It was content to allow her to die, and the anger—the resentment—that swelled within him at that realization—it was almost . . .

And he’d buried her under the tallest wisteria, used his own hand to dig the grave.  As he’d stood there, looking down at her, her face still holding onto that sense of peace, despite the idea that she’d left her body behind—one last indignity, maybe, heaped upon a half-life, spent, tied to a monster.  Perhaps that was the reason why the rage boiled so thick, so hot, inside him.  Grinding his teeth together, he’d let his gaze fall to Tenseiga, but the very image of his legacy sword only served to thicken the outrage that he felt.  He’d started to lay Tenseiga in with her, but one wild thought had stopped him, had stilled his hand when he’d grasped the misbegotten sword.

He still needed it—for now—just for now . . .

The realm of the afterlife—the dominion of hell—Yomi no Kuni, the realm of the dead . . .

He could not save her, but he wasn’t ready to let her go, either . . .

‘Sesshoumaru . . .’

‘. . . I know.’

There was someone following him.  He could sense him, even if he could not see or smell him.  He chose to ignore him.

‘You won’t confront him?’

‘This Sesshoumaru cares not.  Whoever it is . . . Let him come.’

Once again, his youkai-voice fell silent.

It was . . . perplexing.  He didn’t sense any kind of animosity.  In fact, he sensed nothing at all, and that was strange enough.  Ordinarily, it would have irritated him enough to turn on the follower, to cut him down without a second thought.  At the moment, however . . . Well, he really couldn’t be bothered . . .

He’d wanted to kill Naraku himself.  The miserable vermin had meddled in Sesshoumaru’s affairs just a little too often.  When he’d spotted that ignorant half-brother of his, along with his friends, fighting the ghastly debacle that was Naraku, he had only stepped in to gain his own revenge, galled that it would have to come on the coattails of InuYasha and his human friends . . .

But Kagura . . .

He hadn’t really considered the idea that Kagura would throw herself into the fray, too.  Why had she done something as foolhardy as that?  Even if the vines had struck Sesshoumaru, he would have survived.  He was much stronger than the pitiful likes of her master, after all.  The idea that someone as wretched as Naraku could have ended his life?  ‘I think not.’

And yet, he could not get the expression on Kagura’s face out of his mind, either, that overwhelming sense of peace that had settled over her.  As those magnificent eyes of hers had taken in the tranquility of the garden, it had seemed as though the pain of her ravaged body didn’t touch her—or maybe . . . Maybe it couldn’t touch her.  That might be more accurate to say.  As though her mind might be able to block out the consuming and overwhelming pain . . . Was that even possible?

‘Or maybe . . . maybe it was simply being with you that comforted her, Sesshoumaru.  Have you considered that?’

‘That would be entirely self-serving, wouldn’t it?  It had nothing to do with me.’

If . . . If they hadn’t defeated Naraku, she would have lived.  It was something he tried not to think about, even though it was entirely true.  Kagura did not possess a heart.  Naraku had held onto it, kept it from her—kept her from being free.  Even if her body had been torn to shreds, she still might have survived it, had she not had possession of her heart.

He’d seen it for himself.  Months ago, when InuYasha had faced down Hakudoshi, he’d watched from afar as the hanyou had unleashed the kaze no kizu on the incarnation.  It had ripped the child’s body to bits and pieces, and yet, somehow, the pieces had been drawn back together later, and it made sense that, as long as his heart was held elsewhere, the body had no choice but to heal itself . . .

And killing Naraku?  It had also killed off all of those who were unwillingly bound to him, too—one way or another.  If Kagura’s heart hadn’t been restored in those crucial moments . . .

His frown deepened.  None of that mattered now.  Nothing could change the past.  All he could do was to follow this path, to find out if there was anything that he could possibly do . . . In truth, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been traveling.  Simple to think that it would lead him where he ultimately wanted to go.  The real question was, just what could he do once he got there . . .?

Blinking as the engulfing blackness lightened gradually, Sesshoumaru drew to a stop as something stirred in the murkiest shadows before him.  The path seemed to widen, and as he stood, watching, as the darkness brightened to a hazy dusk, he slowly shifted his gaze around at the ocean of eyes that were suddenly staring back at him, growing brighter a they drew nearer.  A hundred yards separated him from them, but he could feel the malevolence in their collective aura.

They had no bodies, were little more than misshapen, black blobs, and only their eyes separated them from mere tricks of light and shadow.  As they drew a little closer, he sensed it: the malice, the hostility, was directed at him—only at him.

‘The souls of the ones you’ve killed.’

Sesshoumaru stepped forward, unwilling to retreat.  If he had to make his way through them in order to get to the guardian of his world, then so be it.  “Come,” he spoke, just that one word.

The spirits rushed in on him.

“Tou-chan!  Tou-chan!  Will you play with me?”

Sesshoumaru opened his eyes, frowned at the stark whiteness surrounding him.  He could make out nothing, as far as where he was, what he was about.  He stood on a floorless ground without beginning or end.  ‘Where . . . am I?’

An insistent tug on his hand made him look down at the small child—a boy—a dog-youkai with raven hair and bright amber eyes, no more than three years old.  He smiled up at Sesshoumaru, those eyes clear, bright, the black of his hair, so stark against the fog that enveloped them, and the shape of his face . . .

“Who . . . are you . . .?” Sesshoumaru demanded, though not unkindly.

The boy laughed.  “Kaa-chan says I should leave you alone ‘cause you’re so busy, but you promised you’d play with me!”

“I . . . did . . .?”

Another round of childish laughter that was entirely familiar to him . . . “I’ll go hide, tou-chan!  Come find me!  Then will you tell me the stories?  Your hunt for Naraku with Yasha-oji-chan?”

And he carted around on his heel, grasping the waistband of his strange hakama—more like trousers, really, but of a strange kind of cloth that Sesshoumaru had never seen before.  Then, he was gone: disappearing in the thickness of the white mist . . .

Eyes flashing open wide, Sesshoumaru blinked as the blackness seemed to press in on him from all sides.  Pushing himself up, he stood slowly, furiously trying to brush off the void of unconsciousness that he’d just woken from.  The spirits had overwhelmed him—he’d allowed them to do it, even if he wasn’t sure, why.  Every one of those spirits had touched him, imparting him with a lifetime of their memories in an instant . . . Good things, bad things, terrible things, wonderful things . . . Every thought, every breath, and the consuming circle of light and dark that comprised a soul . . . The isolated moments that made up the crux of a life, ended too soon . . .

And every one of those spirits . . . They’d poured those memories into him in a blink of an eye, in a fraction of a moment . . .

He’d passed out, and then . . .

It was a dream, wasn’t it?  The black-haired child, the pervasive whiteness.  Somehow, though, there was something entirely too familiar about that child, even if Sesshoumaru had no idea, just why he’d think that.  He’d never seen him before, and he didn’t know who he was.  Still . . .

“It was a test.”

Blinking as his gaze shot to the side, he narrowed his eyes as a solitary figure suddenly lit up in the center of the platform, now empty and desolate—and void.  He could see nothing of the man’s face, his body.  Wrapped in a strange kind of cloak that covered him from head to toe, a deep hood that prevented Sesshoumaru from even seeing his eyes, he sat on a lump of dirt.  He bore no scent, no markers.  Was he a spirit?  A figment of his imagination?  “Who are you?” he demanded quietly, no less forcefully.

The being chuckled.  It wasn’t unkind, but there was a certain mocking to it, and it grated on Sesshoumaru’s nerves.  “Come with me.”

For the briefest of moments, Sesshoumaru considered, ignoring the order.  Following someone else’s dictates was never one of his strong suits.  Still . . .

But he said nothing as he trailed behind the unknown entity.

He sighed almost melodramatically.  “It won’t work, you know.  You can’t gain an audience with her unless you’re extended an invitation—and those from the land of the living are never extended that courtesy.”

“Her?”

“Izanami no Mikoto,” he replied.  “The ruler of this place.”

“Where are you taking me, then?”

“You came to see Kaze no Kagura, didn’t you?”

“Why would you take me there?”

“Would you rather blunder about here for days?  Years?  Time passes differently here than it does on earth.  Would it interest you to know that you’ve been wandering around here already for nearly two of your days?”  He stopped, turned as though to face Sesshoumaru, but his face was hidden within the darkest recesses of the hood.  “Tell me, why do you wish to see her?”

“She should not have died,” Sesshoumaru replied.  “That is reason enough.”

The hooded figure slowly nodded.  “I see.  You realize, don’t you?  You . . . You may not like what you find.”

“She doesn’t belong here,” Sesshoumaru murmured, resuming the path, ignoring the unknown guide.

“You might as well give up if she’s eaten the food of the dead,” he warned, hurrying forward to catch up with the Lord of the Western Lands.  “Once a soul has done that, they cannot be returned, no matter what.”

“And has she done that?”

The being sighed.  It escaped him like a gust of wind in the dank stillness, and there was no bravado in the sound this time.  “There’s no way to know without seeing her,” he admitted.  “This place . . . It does not intertwine.  Everyone is placed into their own, private versions of what they’ve wrought in life, so what you’ll find is as good a guess as mine.”

Gaze shifting slowly from side to side, struggling to find any kind of light—anything at all—in the vacuum-like darkness, Sesshoumaru kept walking.  “And why are you helping me?  Did someone send you?”

Again, that chuckle.  “Not at all.  Let’s just say I was . . . bored, and leave it at that.  You can call me Jester, by the by.”

“Jester?” he repeated.  “A fool for the entertainment of others?”

“Close enough,” he said.  He sounded rather amused.  “It seems . . . apropos, don’t you think?”  Sesshoumaru said nothing in response as the being suddenly veered to the right onto a path that appeared out of nowhere.  It was a short one, and he stopped at a closed metal door.  “Here we are, but . . . But are you sure you really want to see her?  Like I said, I cannot guarantee that you’ll like what you find here, and . . . and if it’s not what you wish to see, then there’s a good chance that you will suffer, maybe more so, than you did when she died the first time.”

“I will see her,” Sesshoumaru said, cracking his knuckles in his impatience to get on with it.

“Something you must know before I open the door,” Jester said, catching Sesshoumaru by the shoulder to hold him back, and the hand that he used, encased in a black glove, was solid.  “She cannot see you.  The dead cannot see the living.  Cannot see you, cannot hear you, will never realize that you’re even here, which is good, given that you cannot try to warn her against eating food she might be offered if she hasn’t already.”

“Why not?”

Jester shrugged.  The robes he wore whispered with the movement.  “Think of it as a game,” he replied.  “A really warped and twisted kind of game.  After all, Izanami no Mikoto has had a lot of free time on her hands.”

That said, he turned and held up a hand, emitting a shimmering, dim light that seemed to dissolve the door entirely.

He did not try to follow as Sesshoumaru stepped past him and through the doorway.  This room, like all the whole place, was empty, with just the dusty floor, and for a moment, Sesshoumaru didn’t sense, didn’t feel, anyone at all.

A weak hiss, a flicker of light that grew steadily brighter, even if still dulled by the pervasive darkness, floated past him.  Jester had tossed a small ball of flame that glowed in shades of somber blues that hung, suspended in the air, beside Sesshoumaru, and in that light, he finally spotted her.

The same, shapeless, blackened form, those magenta eyes that stared right through him.  She hovered near the far wall, but the eyes haunted him.  Such a vagueness, such a blankness, and he could feel it now, couldn’t he?  The unyielding sense of sadness, of a melancholy so deep, so harsh, that it . . . it hurt . . .

“Kagura . . .”

“She hasn’t eaten . . . yet,” Jester remarked, still lingering on the other side of the doorway.  “If she had, then she’d possess a more familiar form . . . Good . . . Good . . .”

“If she bears no form, but cannot hear or see me, then how was it that those souls did earlier?”

Jester shrugged.  “They didn’t hear you or see you.  You killed them all, didn’t you?  And their souls bear that in their absolute cores.  You cut their lives short, and somewhere, deep within them, they reacted to you—an instinct, if you will.  When your life is ended in such a senseless and abrupt manner, then you retain that hatred long after.  It will never be assuaged, and it will never be forgotten.  It’s why souls that are reincarnated are prone to instantly despise another upon first glance.  It’s why certain others are drawn inexorably toward one another in love.  It’s a bond, good or ill, that never goes away.”

“So . . . Those pitiful souls will bear their grudge against me forever.”

Jester nodded.  “That sounds about right.”

Sesshoumaru nodded once.  In truth, he didn’t care, but the answers that Jester gave were interesting . . . Turning his attention back to Kagura once more, he frowned.  “I’ll find a way to bring you back,” he said, unsure why the vision of her made him feel . . . “I vow this to you, Kagura.  I won’t leave you here.”

For the briefest of moments, Kagura’s eyes seemed to clear, seemed to stare right into his, before that vagueness resurfaced once more.

Jester sighed.  “Okay, you’ve seen her.  Now, it’s time you left.”

Wandering along the barren cliff, the wind off the water, blowing over him as he shifted his gaze without truly seeing, as he wondered, yet again, if he could have done something differently.  Holding Kagura’s feather between his fingers, he slowly rolled it as he stared off over the horizon.  The wind felt like little more than a mocking reminder, a hateful friend, carrying with it the scent of her, and if he listened close enough, he could discern the vague sound of her laughter . . .

But he could not reach her; not now . . .

Three days since he’d returned home.  Seven days since he’d helped to defeat Naraku.

He was no closer to finding a way to bring her back than he was when he’d left the afterworld.

In the end, Jester had accompanied him back to the gates that separated this world and the world of the living.  The gatekeepers—Gozu and Mezu—had allowed him to pass unscathed.  Tenseiga was useful in this, at least.

“It won’t work, you know.  You can’t gain an audience with her unless you’re extended an invitation—and those from the land of the living are never extended that courtesy.”

So, all he needed was to gain audience with Izanami no Mikoto . . . but how . . .?

Surely, there was someone, somewhere, who could accomplish such a thing.  Just because Jester maintained that no one had ever done so before didn’t mean that it couldn’t be done.  The trick would be, finding someone who might well have the ability to arrange it . . . Maybe someone like . . .

“Sesshoumaru-sama!”

He didn’t turn to face the imp as Jaken hurried toward him.  Tamping down a surge of irrational rage that he would be interrupted for any reason, he said nothing as he stowed the feather into his armor once more—under his breastplate—over his heart.

“Sesshoumaru-sama!  I have news!  They say he’s gone—InuYasha-sama . . . They say he followed that miko—that he can never return!”

That got his attention readily enough.  Turning his head, narrowing his gaze on the imp, Sesshoumaru glowered at him.  “Who says this?”

Jaken was still trying to catch his breath, huffing and puffing as he bent over, leaning heavily upon the Staff of Two Heads—Nintoujou.  “The . . . The taijiya and the houshi—and the kitsune.  They say he’s gone; that he can’t come back . . .”

Considering that, he was almost ready to dismiss the claims.  “And how would you have come by this information?”

Jaken grimaced, rubbing at a small lump on the side of his head—one that Sesshoumaru hadn’t noticed right away, probably because he hadn’t truly cared to notice.  “They’re here,” he replied.  “They wanted to speak with you.  I told them to go away, that you don’t have time for the likes of them, but that houshi—he’s got a short temper, milord!  He hit me with that staff of his!”

“Where are they?” Sesshoumaru demanded, pivoting on his heel and starting away before Jaken could reply.

“They are waiting at the castle, milord!” Jaken called after him, scrambling in vain to keep up.  “Wait for me, Sesshoumaru-sama!”

Sesshoumaru ignored him as he seemed to step off the ground, the floating end of his Mokomoko-sama curling around his feet, propelling him forward much faster than he could walk to cover the distance.

“InuYasha . . .” he murmured to himself, gaze clouding over as he pondered just what Jaken had said.  The baka was gone, was he?  He’d followed the human miko?  But . . .

A few minutes later, he stepped off the plush fur, following the sounds of Rin, the human child’s, laughter.  It was coming from the gardens behind the castle—her favorite place to play.  He could feel their auras, as well.

The young one was darting about, collecting flowers in her small hands that she brought over to present to the taijiya.  They were content to humor her, but even so, Sesshoumaru frowned as he approached.  “Rin, go inside,” he ordered.

She turned her little head up, smiling at him in that endearing way of hers.  She didn’t argue with him, and instead, bowed to their visitors before darting inside.

No one spoke right away.  As though they were all busy, trying to size one another up, they said nothing.

“What do you want?” Sesshoumaru finally demanded, rapidly tiring of the petty game that was playing out before him.

“We . . . Well . . .” the taijiya began a little slowly, almost hesitantly, as though she wasn’t entirely certain, where to start.  She shot the houshi a quick glance, even as a grim kind of determination surfaced on her features.  “We thought we should tell you about InuYasha . . . We thought that you should know . . .”

“That he followed that human miko?” Sesshoumaru countered.  “I am aware.”

Miroku stepped forward, as though he meant to insinuate himself between taijiya and Sesshoumaru—an entirely worthless gesture, really, but Sesshoumaru dismissed it.  “I mean, you’ll probably see him again one day . . . That is, if you live long enough.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Sesshoumaru eyed the houshi for a moment.  “Meaning?”

The two exchanged looks, as though they were trying to figure out how much they should say.  “Kagome-chan’s from the future,” Sango finally replied.  “Five hundred years in the future, to be exact.  The well that connected the times was closed.  We assume that she managed to purify the Shikon no Tama.  She must have wished Kikyou-sama back to life, because she was the one who was able to reopen the well for InuYasha to pass through.”

‘A well . . .?  The future . . .’

Somehow, that made sense, didn’t it?  After all, the miko had always seemed a little out of place, even amongst the humans.  He supposed it might account for a lot of it, all things considered.  But InuYasha followed her?  ‘Baka . . .’

“And why are you telling me this?” Sesshoumaru countered.  “You think that where that ignorant half-breed is or isn’t should be of any interest to This Sesshoumaru?”

“Actually, we were just in the area,” Miroku said quietly, his violet gaze blazing with an unvoiced irritation.  “We were asked to check an abandoned shrine not far from here.  We just thought, since we were nearby . . .”

Turning his back on the humans, Sesshoumaru shifted his gaze around the garden—the riot of flowers and the gentle flow of water in the nearby reflection pond.  Enclosed as the garden was by the looming walls of the castle on three sides, it created a kind of sanctuary, he supposed, and, over in the far, eastern corner: a beautiful little alcove that was enclosed by a riot of wisteria, and beneath the tallest wisteria that bloomed every summer there . . .

Sesshoumaru flicked away the thought as though it was of little consequence.  Not at all the truth, but . . . “Isn’t it dangerous for the two of you?  Traveling with a youkai child and a nekomata . . . One might think that you were inviting trouble.”

“We’d never leave either of them behind,” Sango remarked tightly, obviously taking offense at Sesshoumaru’s rather pointed question.

“And you . . . Do you care not to take the kitsune exams?” he continued, ignoring Sango’s statement entirely, as he flicked his gaze to the youngest of the group, Shippou.

“Exams?” Shippou echoed, shaking his head in confusion.

Sesshoumaru let that go.  After all, what did he care, really, whether or not the kitsune received the education that he should have been acquiring all along?

“Anyway, we thought that you might want to know,” Miroku stated.  “Regardless of how you feel about InuYasha, he’s still your half-brother, isn’t he?”

That only earned a slight narrowing of his gaze as the monk met his look without hesitation.  Something about the exchange bothered the human.  It did not matter to Sesshoumaru.

“We’ll be going now,” Miroku said, ending the rather stilted silence that had fallen.

They moved to leave.  Sesshoumaru didn’t attempt to stop them.  Slowly, though, his gaze shifted to the side, and he watched their retreat out of the corner of his eyes for a minute.  Venturing into his domain?  That took some fortitude, didn’t it?  Even so . . .

“Jaken,” Sesshoumaru called, knowing that the imp wasn’t far behind.

“Milord!” Jaken wheezed since he’d had to run the entire way back.

Sesshoumaru started walking away again, back the way he’d come.  “Escort them to the borderlands,” he commanded without stopping.  “Make sure no harm befalls them—or I’ll kill you.”