InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Zero ❯ Meetings ( Chapter 5 )

Striding through the gates of Yomi no Kuni past the stone guardians that protected the entrance to the underworld, Sesshoumaru did not stop as he followed the same path that he’d taken during his last visit.  He moved with purpose, having come straight here from the cave on Kiriyama with the heart tucked safely in his armor.

Myouga had returned with him, although the flea-youkai had opted, not to accompany him into Yomi.  It hadn’t mattered to Sesshoumaru at all.  Given that the aged flea was InuYasha’s retainer and not Sesshoumaru’s, there really wasn’t any reason that he needed to come along, anyway.

“Others have come here, have stood before me, trying to convince me that they wished for the stone for such an altruistic purpose, and when I probed their minds, it was to find that they lied.  Always after power, always searching for a way to squeeze out just one more day of walking in the light.  You . . . You are the first who wishes to have the heart, solely for someone else’s sake, but it’s strange.  You, who holds little in the way of compassion for others, though you are learning . . . You, who would rather fight than to question yourself—or to answer those questions, even unto yourself . . . You, who possesses the potential but not the desire to achieve great things, terrible things . . . or nothing . . . I grant you the Heart of Kiriyama, Sesshoumaru.”

Those words . . . They had repeated in the confines of his mind since they had been uttered in that cavern.  The raw and naked truths that had been spoken . . . The mist had, indeed, searched the recesses of Sesshoumaru’s memories to verify if what he said was truth or not.

‘Except that one person’s truth is often another’s lies.  It is simple perception.  Your comprehension depends solely upon the angle with which you see it.’

There was a very definite veracity in that.

‘Just as you feel that Kagura did not deserve to die, don’t you think that there are others—souls housed here, even, that would disagree with that?’

There was truth in that, too.  Kagura had cut down countless youkai in the things she’d done upon Naraku’s orders—cut them down, only to reanimate them to do her bidding . . . Cut them down and spared not even a second thought about it.

‘If that is one’s measure of worthiness or not, then perhaps I should have been banished here long, long ago.’

“You, who possesses the potential but not the desire to achieve great things, terrible things . . . or nothing . . .”

What did that mean?

Brushing aside his musings as though they were of little consequence to him, he narrowed his eyes, focusing on the path before him instead.  There’d be time later to mull over those words, to try to make sense out of the half-riddles that the guardian had spoken.

To his surprise, however, he came to a platform with a large door standing in the center—nothing else around it, just the door, perhaps where the angry souls had attacked him on his prior visit, but the door was not here at that time.  Stopping an arm’s length away, he frowned.  There was no other path, and even the one that had brought him this far seemed to have vanished behind him.

“These are Izanami-sama’s chambers.  Will you go inside?”

“Jester,” he said when the whispery being appeared beside the door.  “So, she knows I’ve returned.”

Jester chuckled that airy laugh.  “There is nothing that happens within these gates that she does not have knowledge of.  So, you were successful in retrieving the Heart of Kiriyama, I take it.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“I suppose there wasn’t.”

The door opened of its own accord, and Sesshoumaru did not hesitate as he stepped forward, stepped through it, only to blink at the sight that greeted him.  A large courtyard with a perfect nighttime sky, dotted with a vast array of stars.  Lush grass on either side of the dirt path that spread out and around the looming castle—ancient in structure—in the distance . . . Yet, as perfect as it was, it was only a replica.  There were no sounds, there was no wind, no smells, nothing . . .

The overall feel of it was surreal, almost horrifying in its exsanguinous splendor, but Jester seemed not to notice Sesshoumaru’s distaste as he glided past him, beckoning for him to follow.

“Her hell is this: the world that she left behind.”

“How is this hell?” Sesshoumaru asked.

Jester seemed to shrug.  “She’s reproduced Yahiro-dono here, complete with Ame no Mihashira . . . It is her heaven—and her hell.  Heaven because she longed for her old home; hell because, as beautiful as it is, it is but a faint shadow of what she knew in life.”

“The Pillar of Heaven . . .” Sesshoumaru mused, more to himself than to Jester.

“Everything here is culled from her memories, but it is eternal night, and it is most definitely dead.”

Sesshoumaru digested that for a moment.  The ghastly beauty of Izanami’s hell made a poetic kind of sense, if he were wont to think of it in such a way.  The pragmatism that he tended to live by needled at him, but he reasoned that it made sense, what Jester had said . . . “Know you why she desires the Heart of Kiriyama?”

Jester grunted.  “In this place where one feels nothing, where one has been robbed of most of one’s senses, does it surprise you that she would wish to possess something that reminds her of the world above in a more concrete sense?”

Put that way, then it did make sense.  The mist, the fog, captured in the fluid stone . . . Yes, he supposed he could understand that . . . “Tell me why you are accompanying me. I had no issue in finding her chambers.”

Jester sighed.  “Gozu alerted me to your return.”  He paused for a long moment.  “It is my task to accept the dead and to put them into their chambers.”

“I am not one of the dead,” Sesshoumaru pointed out.

“True, however, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a living being.  Surely you can understand my curiosity.”

Sesshoumaru didn’t respond to that, and they fell silent as they approached the imposing structure that was Izanami’s domain.

Sesshoumaru knelt in seiza on the tatami mat to the right of the dais where the shoji screen separated him from the goddess herself.  Flickering candlelight cast shadows against the screen, allowing him a glimpse of her form, even if he could not look upon her directly.  On both sides of the dais were incense burners with tendrils of smoke, rising lazily from them, but there was no odor.  Paper lanterns chased away the duskiness cast by the cold and dead moon outside the opened screens.

Jester sat in seiza across from Sesshoumaru, but he remained silent, and even in the light, he had no real form, no distinctive shape, other than the copious robe that hid all of him.

“Sesshoumaru . . . am I to understand that you were successful in retrieving the Heart of Kiriyama?”

Her voice was rich, fuller than any others he’d heard in this place.  She sounded young, her voice soft, almost lyrical.  Yet, there was something else belying her words—something calculated, maybe even too calm . . . “I did,” he replied.

“And you will gift it to me?”

“I want Kagura’s soul in exchange.  I want her restored to life.”

Izanami clucked her tongue, uttered a soft chuckle that sounded a little more condescending than humored.  “That is hardly a proper way to ask for a favor, Sesshoumaru,” she chided.

He didn’t back down.  “I was not aware that I was requesting a favor.  It was my understanding that we were to discuss an exchange—a barter, if you will.”

“A barter?  No, the retrieving of the Heart of Kiriyama was merely a token from you—a show of appreciation, you might say.”

Sesshoumaru gave a barely perceptible shrug.  “And yet, the heart remains within my possession—for now.  I accomplished what you asked of me.  I simply want Kagura to be restored.  That’s all I came here for.”

She seemed to consider his words for a long minute.  Then, she sighed.  “Leave us, Jester,” she commanded.

The hooded figure offered Sesshoumaru a low bow before backing out of the room, leaving Sesshoumaru alone with the queen of Yomi no Kuni.

She didn’t speak again for several minutes.  The silence was enough to grate on his nerves.  There was no rustle of clothing, none of the living sounds that he’d taken for granted, and even the steady throb of his own heartbeat was veiled in this place.  He hadn’t realized, just how reassuring that was . . . “Tell me . . . The heart . . . Was it difficult to obtain?”

“It was difficult to find,” he allowed.

She uttered a soft noise—not quite a sigh, but not quite a sound.  He might have likened it to more of an exhalation, but she didn’t breathe, did she?  “I will see it.”

“Show yourself first.”

He didn’t think that she was going to comply.  After all, she’d gone out of her way to hide herself from his view the entire time, hadn’t she?  A few moments later, however, the shoji slipped to the side, revealing Izanami.

He didn’t know what he thought he’d see.  Maybe he expected to see another form, much like Jester’s, a being clad in an indistinct black robe, shapeless and shiftless.  Izanami, however, was solid enough, clad in layer upon layer of fine silken kimonos, all of them in rich blacks that still seemed somehow faded, replete with ornate embroidery in golden thread, embellished with gems and pearls.  She also wore a black lace veil that seemed to be comprised of a number of layers, as well, bearing no flesh at all, and when she held out a hand to receive the heart, he noticed that she was wearing black gloves, as well.

He dug the heart out of his armor and stood to give it to her.  As it touched her hand, she gasped, holding it up, seeming to watch it as the mist inside it swirled and undulated in a lazy and almost mesmerizing kind of way.  “It’s the Heart of Kiriyama . . . The true heart . . . At long last . . .”

“Do we have a deal?”

She stared at the orb for another minute before setting it on the tatami before her.  “First, you will tell me why.  Why is it that you would go through this to retrieve her soul?  Is she your mate?  Your lover?”

“She shouldn’t have died.”

Something about his answer irritated her, and that irritation came through in her tone.  “And yet, you didn’t use Tenseiga to save her?  Or is it that you . . . could not . . .?”

“Kagura was an incarnation created by another.  He held her heart to gain her compliance.”

“Ah . . . So, when her creator died, so did she, rendering your Tenseiga ineffective.  What kind of black magic was used in her creation?”

Sesshoumaru shook his head.  “That, I know not.  Naraku had a nasty habit of absorbing bodies that did not belong to him, after all.”

“Naraku . . .” She seemed thoughtful for a moment.  “He is not here.”

“What do you mean?  What kind of trickery do you speak of?” he demanded sharply.  “He was dispatched.  One such as he—"

She held up a hand, as though to placate him.  “There was a strange influx of youkai and a human recently . . . Perhaps, if he was what you say he was, those souls separated upon death—each their own.”

“He merged his body with the others but he could not merge their souls,” Sesshoumaru mused.

“Oh, perhaps he suppressed them within himself, but souls remain, even if they are trapped within another.”

‘That makes perfect sense, you know.  Never stopped to consider that before, but . . . And that means that Naraku truly is dead.’

“Anyway, this woman—Kaze no Kagura . . . You will tell me why you seek to have her restored—and you must understand, this . . . This is not something that is allowed—never has been allowed.  It’s unnatural.  It could easily upset the delicate balance that exists between the earthen plane and this one.  Do you fully comprehend, just what you are asking of me?”

Narrowing his eyes, Sesshoumaru did not drop his gaze from the veil that covered her face.  “I care not about that balance, Izanami.  That balance was already upset when she was taken.  It was not her destiny to die that day.”

Izanami sighed, and when she spoke again, she sounded mildly irritated, as though she disliked having to explain what he should have easily understood, at least, in her opinion.  “Every single soul, alive and dead, affects the flow of time, of order.  Whether you want to believe it or not, it was her destiny to die that day.  Things like this do not happen arbitrarily.  There is reason; there is direction, and even if it weren’t so, have you considered that her death was a boon to you?  Your feelings for her will die eventually—whatever they are.  That she died when she did will enable you to hold her in your mind, stopping your emotions forever where she will remain, suspending her in the golden thrall of your memories.  Why not allow her to endure that way?”

“Do not misunderstand me,” he countered quietly, no less forcefully.  “This Sesshoumaru is not as capricious as that.”

She uttered a terse laugh—a wholly deprecating kind of sound, full of bitterness, of condescension.  “Is that so?  Then, tell me why.  Tell me why you want her back.”

“She was not the one who should have died that day,” Sesshoumaru maintained.  “She protected me.  That . . . That is reason enough.”

“I say it is not,” Izanami rebuffed him.  “Now, why?”

Grinding his teeth together, he narrowed his eyes, his anger growing with every passing moment.  Still, she demanded reasons and refused to accept that which he’d already told her?  “I owe her that much,” he growled, unable to repress the rising surge of emotion that spiraled, deep within him.

“You owe her?” Izanami mocked him.  “Those answers are convenient,” she replied.  “Rehearsed and convenient.  Perhaps it is your truth, perhaps it is simply the easiest reason that you could give.  Now, I will ask again: why do you want her back—and if you lie this time—if you seek to hide the truth from me—I will know.  Understand that you, Sesshoumaru, exist here upon my whim.  Do not be so arrogant as to think that your Tenseiga affords you special treatment here.  Yomi is my domain, and whether you walk from the gates of this place or not lies entirely within my discretion.”

Sparing a moment, fighting back the desire to lash out at her, the thinnest thread of reason held him in check.  Had he come this far, just to be turned away?  But the answer to her question . . . “I don’t . . . I don’t know!” he growled, feeling the rise in his pulse, the tell-tale singe of the blood in his veins as crimson bled into his vision.  He held on, fought the rise of his youkai.

“Then try harder,” she shot back, rising to her feet so quickly that he didn’t rightfully discern the movement, her rage a nearly palpable thing.  “You dare to enter Yomi, to stir the souls of the unrelenting dead, to demand audience with me, only to mock me with your flip responses and arrogant belief that, just because you want something, it should be so?  Begone with you, you fool, and when next we meet, I assure you, you will never walk through the gates back into the living world, ever again.”

The anger that surged through him was hard to keep in check.  Being challenged was simply not something he could tolerate, and yet, he had no real choice, did he?  Indulging himself in a moment to brush off the goddess’ curt words, Sesshoumaru focused instead upon the answers she demanded.  Except . . .

‘Put away your pride, Sesshoumaru . . . As much as you hate that she challenges you, she is right.  She holds the power here; not you—you, who pride yourself upon possessing might that surpasses all others.’

‘This . . . This is not about pride.  Does she believe that I would do this on a whim?’

‘It doesn’t matter, what she believes, you know.  All she wants is truth—and if you give her that, maybe . . . maybe . . .’

‘But . . . what is the truth?’

‘It’s simple.  It’s what you believe.  Make up your mind.  Will you walk away now, tell yourself that you tried while knowing that you held your arrogance in far higher regard than you held the life of another?  Or will you do what you came here to do and nurse your wounded pride later?’

His . . . pride . . .?  And that was the problem, wasn’t it?  He’d built his entire existence around the quest to be the strongest, the most powerful, but here . . . The field had been leveled, and standing behind the impassive nature that he’d striven to attain . . . His youkai-voice was right.  It would avail him nothing here . . . “I cannot answer you as to why I want her back,” he finally said, unable to curb the hint of hostility in his tone.  “I can only say that I am . . . compelled . . . to make it so.”

“You . . . do not love her?  Yet, you would go this far for her?”

“I am youkai, Izanami.  That thing that you call love . . . That is a human invention—a pathetic attempt to veil the overwhelming weakness of their transient existences with a nobler and unnaturally altruistic façade.  I am not so foolish as that.  Kagura . . . She still speaks to me, if only in the confines of my own thoughts and in the whispers of my dreams.”

“Dreams are for the living, Sesshoumaru.  You might well dream, but she cannot.  That is her fate.”

“I say it is not,” he countered mildly.  “She commanded the wind, but she could not be one with it—a short life, bound to a master whose entire existence was tainted by those human emotions that he could not rid himself of . . . She was used and forgotten, and still, in the end, she smiled.  That . . . That cannot be her fate.”

It seemed to him that Izanami took her time in answering.  She sat back down, remained perfectly still, and even though he could not see her face, he knew that she was staring at him.  He had no idea, just what she saw, but in the timeless void, his moments ticked away, as loudly as a hammer against iron in his mind.  It all came down to this, did it not?  Everything he sought to accomplish . . .

Finally, she spoke, and when she did, her voice took on a softer cadence, almost as though she’d reached some kind of understanding, though he did not know what kind of understanding that could be . . . “I have read your mind, Sesshoumaru, from the moment you entered Yomi.  I have heard your thoughts, your conversations with your youkai-voice, but I can see deeper than that.  I can see your heart—your soul—that even you cannot comprehend, and I tell you this: I require four things, and you will bring them to me.  To acquire them will be more difficult than searching for the Heart of Kiriyama.  However, if you bring me these things, I will return the soul of your wind sorceress—if she has not eaten food of Yomi when you return.  If she is given back to you, then know this: the moment you succumb to the faithless disdain that comes after, I will claim her back again.  After all, to exist here is far better than to spend a lifetime in a world with the one that you cannot forget.”

Sesshoumaru’s frown turned thoughtful, but he nodded once.  “And what are these things you require?”

She laughed softly.  “From the north, you will bring me the Essence of Joy.  From the south, the Blackened Tears.  From the east, the Fire of Wrath.  From the west, the Balm of Peace.”

Slowly, he shook his head.  These things she asked for . . . Just what the hell were they?  “I have never heard of these things,” he admitted, his rage igniting once more as the feeling that she was playing him for a fool nearly sent him over the proverbial edge.  “What kind of trickery is this?”

“It is no trick, I assure you.  These things are real, and to prove my good will—after all, I do want these things—I’ll even provide you with a guide.  He might not know exactly where to find these items, but he is familiar enough with them to help you figure out where to look.”

“A guide?  And who would that be?”

She nodded and chuckled, apparently amused by Sesshoumaru’s show of irritation.  “Jester. Come.”

A moment later, the robe-clad figure appeared again as she held out a hand, palm-up.  Above her hand, two blackened jewels solidified.  “Take these, Jester, and give one to Sesshoumaru.  They will allow you to walk in the light, so long as you have one in your possession—and as long as Sesshoumaru holds onto his, you two will be bound.”

Jester slowly shook his head, hesitated before taking the stone she offered.  “You . . . would send me out of Yomi?”

“He requires a guide.  He will find for me the Sacred Ward.”

Jester’s head shot to the side, staring at Izanami.  “The Sacred Ward?  But—”

“If he accomplishes this, then I have promised to return Kaze no Kagura’s soul to him once more.  You feel that is an unfair barter?”

Jester slowly shook his head.  “On the contrary, it’s . . . a very generous one.”

Stepping over to drop the other stone into Sesshoumaru’s hand, the youkai blinked as Jester’s filmy body solidified the moment that the stone fell into his possession with a flash of strange, hazy blue light.  Tall, certainly, the rest of his form was lost under the jet-black robe, and this time, when he faced Sesshoumaru, he could see the man’s lower jaw, but the rest of his face was hidden behind a blackened mask under the hood that was still over his head . . .

“Who . . . are you?”

Jester gave pause at Sesshoumaru’s question.  “I am Jester,” he replied.  “Haven’t we already been over this?”

Sesshoumaru didn’t acknowledge the intended jest.  Something about him—his bearing, maybe his demeanor . . . Something . . .

“The Sacred Ward,” Sesshoumaru murmured, brushing the odd feeling aside.  And if he were to believe Izanami’s words, then he had to find these things before Kagura ate the food of Yomi, as well . . .

Jester dismissed it all with a flick of his hand and a very formal bow toward the monarch.  “All right, then.  Shall we go?”