InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Season of Sorrow ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: ladygriddlebone 
Sango is no longer alone.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Angst / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 04.09.2010 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.5K | Visits: 506 | Status: Completed
Sango is no longer alone.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Angst / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 04.09.2010 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.5K | Visits: 506 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: InuYasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi.
Chapter Three
Miroku's head throbbed. A matching throb echoed from the palm of his right hand, where the kazaana was concealed.
He rubbed his temple with his left hand, but the motion did little to help. Groaning with pain and effort, he forced himself to sit up. Doing so made him feel nauseous and dizzy, and he collapsed back against the mat almost as soon as he had got up.
What the hell happened?
Cracking his eyes open brought more pain and the realization that he had no idea where he was. He shut his eyes again and took stock of the situation. He felt mostly intact, if a bit bruised. There were bandages wrapped tightly around his middle, most likely dressing a wound. Strangely, for all the bandages he felt not even the slightest twinge of pain. At least not from anything below his head. He decided that maybe he just could not feel it through the ache in his skull.
He felt around gingerly with his left hand. He was not wearing a borrowed yukata, but his own koromo and kesa. The blanket that had covered him was made of thick, heavy material. The mat beneath him was substantial, but not luxurious.
He listened, but could hear nothing. Not even the chatter of insects, much less the telltale arguing of his companions. If Inuyasha and Kagome were anywhere nearby, they would have been aware that he was awake by now. In fact, they probably would have awakened him with their constant bickering. Instead there was only a pervasive silence.
He lay still and listened hard, straining to pick up even the slightest sound. Still nothing.
Miroku considered himself a patient man, but this was trying even for him. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and then jerked upright again. This time he refused to let the pain overwhelm him, and managed to stay in a sitting position rather than falling back to the mat. Motes and sparks of light danced behind his eyelids, and did not fade when he opened his eyes.
Pain lanced through his skull like a hot knife. Swearing, he clamped a hand over his eyes.
The darkness helped, somewhat. Several minutes and many deep, focused breaths later, the pain had abated enough that he felt safe opening his eyes again. His head throbbed again, but this time it was bearable. Carefully, he removed his hand, and looked about the room.
It was spacious, but not large. Well-furnished, but not extravagant. A small fire pit provided light.
It told him little. He could be anywhere. And that made him suspicious.
That there was no sign of his companions most likely meant that they had been separated. The room's appointments indicated that he was either in an inn, or the home of a fairly wealthy man. Each deduction led only to more questions and added to his growing sense of unease.
Something was decidedly wrong here. How had he gotten here, anyway? He could not quite remember. There had been a battle, he knew that much. They had discovered a ruined village, empty of life and with bodies strewn about the streets, when a woman had attacked them. And... Naraku had been there. That was how he had become separated from Inuyasha and Kagome - when he went after Naraku. The warrior girl had been focused on Inuyasha, and Miroku, being the opportunist he was, had seen his chance and seized it.
The memories became clearer. Naraku had fled. He had given chase, finally catching up only to find the bastard transformed into some sort of hideous thing, a mass of jiggling flesh replete with tentacles and spines. He had known Naraku to be a shapeshifter - it was always a major problem to find the bastard, because he could be anyone or anything - but he had not expected anything like this. And he had been no match for it.
He winced at the memory of tentacles grabbing him, pulling him down... and the sight of another, flashing forward to strike him, stabbing into his gut and all the way through.
He'd been impaled. That explained the bandages around his middle, though it did not explain how he had managed to survive such an injury. He did not remember anything after that; he must have blacked out.
He should have died. But then he woke up and found himself here. Wherever here was.
It was frustrating not to know, but he was far too weak to go exploring just yet. Besides, he had a feeling that if he was patient, the answers would find their way to him. And, perhaps, even his erstwhile companions would find him as well.
Equal parts resigned and exhausted, he lay back down on the mat and closed his eyes. The pain lessened somewhat, and the throbbing faded away. He slept.
-----
Time seemed to drift by without him. He slept often, losing himself in the deep, dreamless sleep of healing. Sometimes when he woke, there would be food. Sometimes there was not. But it was days before he saw anyone.
He was not sure exactly how many days had passed, because it was nearly always dim inside the room, but he awoke once to find two matronly, gray-haired women beside him. They were strangely, worryingly silent, but they had a fresh supply of bandages and they seemed intent on getting him cleaned up. He cooperated as best as he could, considering they would not tell him what they wanted, communicating instead with hand gestures and annoyed expressions when he failed to correctly guess at what they wanted him to do.
He allowed them to strip off the old bandages and wash the wound, which was considerably smaller than he had thought it might be, and did not go all the way through as he had feared it might. He watched with a sort of detached fascination as they wrapped more bandages around him and urged him to lie down again.
"Why do you not speak?" he asked when they turned to leave.
They gave no sign of having heard him at all, sliding the door shut behind them purposefully, as if to tell him that was enough of that.
Frustrated, Miroku frowned. Healing was not nearly so fun without pretty young girls to make a fuss over him. These women were older than he preferred, and so ominously silent... It made him uneasy. And where were Inuyasha and Kagome? It was unlike them not to have found him already, or to be courteous enough to allow him to heal before accosting him.
As the next several days passed, he grew stronger and more frustrated. He found no answers to his questions, only the resounding silence.
There were servants in this place, many more than just the two that had seen to his wound, but none of them spoke. Most of them were female. Some were old, some young, and one even looked hauntingly familiar, though he could not place her.
The servants brought food, as well as fresh bandages and blankets. The food was plentiful, but bland, and he was given only water to drink. He found himself longing for spicy food and sake. And women. And talking.
The silence was getting to him. It was making him bold and reckless. Stupid, even.
He had somehow got it into his head that it was time to be up and about. He'd had enough of this place, and though he might not be strong enough to leave it yet, he was determined to at least have a look around. And so, when he found himself suitably alone, he staggered to his feet. The lightheadedness was overwhelming, and he very nearly lost his footing, but he managed to stay upright until the fit passed and the world quit swimming dizzily around him.
He had spent too much time lying about, waiting for something to happen, without really giving much thought to how dangerous his situation might be. He had no idea what was going on... he could be at the mercy of an ogre, or a guest in a demon-infested castle, or anything in between. He had not sensed any youki during his stay, but he had not been in a position particularly conducive to being aware of his surroundings until the last day or so. For all he knew, he had simply missed all the warning signs.
Shaking off his apprehensions for the irrational fears they were, he made his way across the room. It was beyond time he had a look around. Paranoia reared its ugly head as he approached the door, but there was no sign of trouble, and no indication that anyone knew - or even cared - what he was doing. The door opened easily. The hall outside was empty. Aside from a faintly smoky smell that wafted past, everything was as still and silent as ever.
But as Miroku stepped through the doorway, he felt the icy shock of a barrier envelope him. It did not prevent him from passing through, but it set him on edge. It would seem his suspicion that he was not supposed to leave that room had been on the mark: someone wanted to know what he was up to. The only question now was who.
His steps echoed almost painfully loudly in the hall, accompanied by the pounding of his heart and a faint, fleeting whisper, which sounded almost like a woman weeping. But when he paused and strained to hear better, there was only echoing silence.
It seemed his fears of discovery were well-founded, for he had not gone very far at all before a door slid open ahead of him and three figures emerged. Two he recognized as the women who took care of his wounds, and the third was a big, burly man. Not a one of them looked particularly pleased. In fact, they looked downright menacing.
He stood his ground as they approached, unnerved by the sense of impending conflict. He did not like to find himself weaponless in a fight, but for now he knew he would have to make do with whatever he could improvise; he was without his staff and sutras, and these were humans, which meant the kazaana was off limits. But he was not even sure he could reason with them. They had ignored everything he had said to them thus far.
"What's with the sour looks?" he asked, his voice obscenely loud in the otherwise silent hall. "I'm just having a little look around."
This explanation did nothing to placate the trio, nor to slow them down. Each of the women took one of his arms, gripping tightly lest he try to escape, and the man took the opportunity they provided to punch Miroku squarely in the gut. The blow came hard and fast, forcing the wind from his lungs. Dazed and gasping for air, he slumped against the women.
They were stronger than they looked, dragging him easily, if unceremoniously, back to his room and tossing him inside. It occurred to him just before he landed that he had never been thrown quite so hard by a human opponent. He hit the ground hard, his head impacting the floor with a crack that had him seeing stars. He remained where he had fallen, flinching as one of his keepers slid the door into place with a resounding thwack!
Through a haze of pain, he wondered why his innocent wandering had been so offensive to the servants who had been caring for him, but it was easier just to let the soothing darkness in than to think about it too hard. He would worry about that later, after he had a nap, when the pain went away...
-----
When Miroku woke again, there was someone in the room. He knew it before he even opened his eyes, before he had really begun to emerge from the depths of sleep. It was a powerful presence, dark and cold and... at least part youkai. He feigned sleep for as long as he could, struggling for serenity amidst tumultuous emotions. He needed a plan, because... he knew this aura. Its darkness sang harmony with the throbbing hole in his palm.
Naraku was in this very room.
He wondered what the odds were that he could open the kazaana and destroy Naraku before being killed himself. Probably slim to none.
He lingered indecisively for a moment longer; there came the quiet rustle of shifting fabric and the sound of footfalls on the mats, the door slid open and closed again almost silently. When Miroku opened his eyes, there was no one else in the room, but the sense of darkness and unease remained.
He sat up suddenly. Someone had moved him back onto the futon. He did not want to think about the 'who' or 'why' of the situation. There was something else he needed to check first. He rolled to his feet, letting momentum push him upright as he paced to the door. He could not touch it. The barrier had shifted to just inside the room, and it would no longer let him pass.
At least now he knew that he was no guest, but a prisoner instead. He returned to the futon and settled himself upon it. So Naraku was behind all this... which meant he had been kidnapped, not rescued. Did that, in turn, mean that Inuyasha and Kagome had given him up for dead? He hoped that they had, for their own sakes.
-----
Miroku had never been a prisoner before, not really; Naraku had always been content to let him wander the land in a fruitless search, the threat of death hanging over his head until the kazaana eventually ate him up. Something had changed in Naraku's strategy. He had to be up to something to change his tactics so drastically, but Miroku was stumped as to what that something might be.
He supposed as far as prisons went, this was not that bad. He was provided with anything he needed: food, water, fresh fuel for the fire... he simply was not allowed to leave, nor was he allowed anything that might be used as a weapon. The barrier outside the door kept him neatly caged within, without the need for guards. There were only the servants, as ominously silent as always, keeping the place in order. There was no pain or torture, unless he counted the unending solitude.
One day passed, then two, and ten, and twenty, and more until he began to lose track of the days. He appreciated idleness as much as the next man, but this prolonged inactivity was enough to try even his patience. He had never thought he would see the day when his family's honor would be the one thing that kept him going, but loneliness, boredom, and frustration brought him perilously close to that point several times as the days slipped slowly by.
Eventually, the wound in his belly healed enough that the two ladies no longer came to treat it, and he no longer had need of fresh bandages. The flesh was still red and sore, and especially tender to the touch, but he was whole. Now that the two ladies, who he cheerfully referred to as "Grumpy", no longer came to his room, he found that he almost missed them.
Boredom and unease ate at him constantly, threatening to drive him mad. In an effort to combat the oppressive boredom, he recited all the poems, chants, and folk songs he knew, and then went back through them all again. At first he whispered the words under his breath, but then he spoke and even sang them. No one was listening, anyway. If there was someone listening, they gave no sign.
He masturbated, often. Once, he did it in front of one of the servant girls, just to see if it would get a response. It did not. And after a while, even that lost its appeal. When he was well enough to be up and about without feeling dizzy, an unpleasant side-effect of having hit his head so hard on the floor, he walked in circles around the room, just to keep moving, to fool himself into believing there was some purpose for all of this. Meditation grew tolerable, and eventually pleasant.
And, inversely, Miroku's temper grew worse and worse. He found himself feeling constantly irate, and the source of his ire always came down to one question: if this was Naraku's grand trap, where the hell was he? And, if Miroku stopped to think about it at length: what was Naraku up to? Worse: was he going to keep Miroku trapped here, secluded, until the kazaana opened up and swallowed him?
He could not afford to let that happen.
Unfortunately, Naraku had had the foresight to strip him of all of his sacred sutras, as well as his shakujou staff, leaving him without even his most basic weapons. And it seemed that no matter how many times he asked the servants to bring him ink and paper, they simply stared at him in dumb silence before moving on to their next task. Unless he could somehow get close to Naraku, he was not sure there was anything he could do... and after his sound defeat during their last battle, he was not at all sure that getting close to Naraku was a good idea.
As much as he paced and meditated and thought, and he really had nothing better to do, he could not come up with a viable solution to the situation. He simply could not get past the barrier. Without that obstacle in his way, he might have had options. But the fact remained that he first had to get out of this prison before he could even think of anything else.
In the end, he opted not to think about it much. It was as pointless as his ruminations on the kazaana, and only served to blacken his already dangerously dark mood. He would just have to wait and see, and ensure that he was ready for any opportunity that might present itself.
-----
There was a sound in the hall, beyond the door. It was the first such sound that Miroku had heard during his stay, and it instantly put him on alert. It was different from the gentle settling of the building or a wind-driven creak; it was deliberate, like a footfall.
He had been sitting on the futon, meditating lightly, when it happened. Now he was wide awake, straining to hear any sound that might follow, trying to see if he could detect any traces of youki that might betray a demonic presence. What he sought was faint, but he knew it was there, like the first whiff of smoke before a fire. The hole in his palm pulsed faintly in time with the ebb and flow of it.
The door opened on its own, right before his eyes. In the eerie quiet that followed, he could feel the flow of youki as it poured into the room. A man dressed in the pelt of a white baboon stood just out of reach outside the door. Miroku's temper flared at the sight of the object of his hatred, so close, yet so far. Naraku...
He brought his hands up, his left hand finding the beads that bound the kazaana with practiced ease. In less than the span of a single heartbeat, he could remove the beads and open the void. "Come into this room, Naraku, and I'll use your own curse to kill you."
"You would risk destroying this castle and killing everyone within it, just to end my life?" Naraku's voice was calm; he knew that Miroku refused to take any human life, much less use the curse of the kazaana to do so. By putting the presumably human staff in harm's way, Naraku had ensured his own safety. And Miroku did not like it one bit.
"What do you want?"
"I have a purpose for you."
Miroku narrowed his eyes and said nothing.
"You are alive right now, monk, because you are no threat to me. But you may prove yourself useful."
"I would sooner die than serve you, Naraku."
The demon smiled. If anything, it made him look more wicked. "Not even if it means removing your curse?"
Miroku's heart stopped for an instant; his right hand reflexively curled into a fist and squeezed tightly. To end the kazaana's curse... he would do almost anything to achieve that freedom. It was tempting, so tempting, to blindly accept the offer and do whatever was asked of him, if only it would get rid of the curse... but he knew better than to trust Naraku. When he could speak again, he asked, "Just what are you offering?"
The smile grew wider. "Do a favor for me, monk," he said, "And in return, I'll do one for you."
"I want to know what I'm getting into before I agree to anything."
"Then see for yourself."
Naraku withdrew then. The barrier around the room melted away. As if it had been keeping out Naraku's darkness as much as it kept Miroku bound within, he felt suddenly inundated by youki. Miroku hesitated. Making a deal with a demon, any demon, much less Naraku, was a dangerous thing. He reminded himself that he had not agreed to anything yet, and stepped through the door.
He followed as Naraku moved silently down the hallway, his apprehension growing with each step. He kept the kazaana at the ready, should he find an opportunity to use it. Naraku had his back turned... it was tempting to try to use it, but he could not. What if there were people behind those walls?
Finally, they came to a stop in front of a door that looked exactly like any of the others that lined the hall. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this room in particular, but something about it made Miroku nervous.
As if oblivious to Miroku's concern, Naraku opened the door.
The first thing that struck him was the horrible stench. Somewhere between vomit and stale urine, it made him want to gag, though Naraku showed no ill effects. Holding a hand over his nose and mouth protectively, Miroku peered over Naraku's shoulder and into the room. Whatever he had expected to see beyond the door, it was not this.
It was a room in total disarray. It was dark, dirty, dingy. There was a fire pit colored black with soot, but no sign of fuel nor fire. The floor mats had been torn up, and the futon lay not on the floor, but thrown awkwardly against one wall. A woman sat in the middle of the room, her knees hugged to her chest. It took him a moment to realize that she was naked, save for a ring of dark bruises around her neck.
"Keep her alive," Naraku said simply. He moved aside suddenly, his hand against Miroku's back, shoving, sending the monk reeling into the room. It seemed he had no say in the matter, after all. "And I will remove the kazaana from your hand."
Miroku did not have time to wonder what Naraku was up to, or who this woman was, or how she had ended up in this place, or why Naraku wanted her alive, for she was already in motion, hurling herself toward him. Her hands caught in the fabric of his kesa, and she pulled - hard. He grunted from the effort of staying on his feet and barely managed to keep from toppling over as she swung him madly around. But her strength did not last, and once her initial momentum was gone, she sagged against him, almost clinging.
Her eyes caught and held his. Those eyes... a rich, deep brown, opened wide, and with a crazed, haunted look to them.
He sought words and could find none.
She found words for him, and when she spoke, her voice rough and smooth at once, it chilled him to the bone.
"Kill me."
For a long moment, all that existed was the two of them and a horrible, confused, transfixed silence.
Miroku blinked, and the spell was broken. "What?"
The door slid shut behind him; the faint sound of Naraku's laughter slipped into the room and faded away. He turned to look, glaring at the door as if it made a difference; he was furious, both with Naraku for tricking him again and with himself for being so stupidly gullible. But the promise of removing the kazaana had been too much. He should have held his ground, refused the request, and... then what? Gotten himself killed?
He frowned.
Suddenly trembling, the woman released her grip on his robes and sank to the floor. "You're... you talk. You're not one of them," she whispered.
He knew who she was talking about - the servants. More than once, he had thought the silence would drive him mad. "No, I'm not," he said, his voice hushed.
He knelt beside her, inspecting her curiously. She looked familiar, but she was covered in grime and bruises, and was thin enough that he could count her ribs through her skin, so it was difficult to place her. She could have been anyone, really. But to judge by the look of her, and the room in which she was trapped, his own imprisonment had been positively cozy.
"But you're going to do what he said, aren't you?"
"What?"
Her eyes were downcast. "You're going to make me live." She laughed. It was a bitter sound, like a bark. Under her breath, quietly enough that he almost did not hear, she added, "I wished for someone to end my suffering, and Naraku gives me a damned monk. I only wish I knew what I had done to deserve this."
What had happened to this woman that she wanted so desperately to die? Somehow, Miroku felt it would be inappropriate to ask, and yet, he could not help himself. "What happened to you?" he murmured, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder in what he hoped would be a comforting caress.
Fire flashed in her eyes and she slapped his hand away. "Do not touch me," she hissed.
He recognized that look, and the strength that belied her apparent frailty. He had seen this woman before - she was the warrior that had attacked Inuyasha outside the village of demon slayers. He had not recognized her at first because she was not wearing her mask. Myouga had known the girl's name, and Miroku struggled to recall it now, but found he could not. He had not been paying close enough attention, having assumed her to be either one of Naraku's pawns or at least completely under his control. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely, his mind racing.
Was she a prisoner, like him, or was she merely part of some new elaborate game Naraku had devised? Or had she failed in her mission to slay Inuyasha, and this was the punishment? He could come up with a dozen sordid explanations for the black ring of bruises around her neck, or the fact that she had no clothes. It was strange, especially for a man of his proclivities, but her unabashed nudity bothered him. Any other woman he had known would have at least tried to cover herself in front of a strange man, but it was almost as if she did not care.
He scanned the room, searching for any sign of her clothes, and found none. The only things he could give her were pieces of his own clothing. His koromo robe would be far too large for her, but the kesa could at least be fashioned into a workable covering until he could find a better alternative. So he stood, stepping away from her in the process, untied the kesa, and pulled it free.
"Here," he said, offering the kesa. If he had thought she would jump at the chance to cover herself in his presence, he was wrong. She merely stared at him, as if confused. He sighed, and draped the fabric over her shoulders.
She shuddered and threw it off. "Go away."
He held his hands up, hoping the placate her, or at least demonstrate that he was not going to do anything else she would not like. "I'm sorry."
"And stay away from me," she sobbed.
"Okay, okay," he acquiesced. He backed away from her slowly, and took up a spot in one of the room's corners, where the tatami mats still lay in order on the floor. It was the best he could do, considering he did not think he would be able to pass the room's barrier.
He found himself in an uncomfortable stalemate; he was beyond curious about this woman, and she was completely unwilling to talk to him, even to accept his assistance. She watched him warily from her position near the door. He could feel her watching him even if he closed his eyes.
He did his best to ignore her, and let his thoughts resume their wandering. This situation had to be a deliberate ploy of Naraku's. The bastard had never before indicated that he might be willing to remove the curse of the kazaana; there had never been the slightest hint that such a thing might even be possible. Miroku had been a fool to be so easily convinced...
However, his foolishness had brought an end to his solitude, at least. This woman was far from an ideal companion, but he felt that perhaps she would come to accept his presence, once she realized that he had no intention of hurting her. He even hoped, cautiously, that she might prove to be someone he could talk to, that she might tell him her story and let him help her to suffer less. That she wanted him to kill her... was upsetting. No one, least of all a woman, should have to suffer to the point where they longed for death. And yet it rankled that his own instincts aligned so perfectly with what Naraku had told him to do.
He had to wonder if Naraku was trying to trick him into causing this woman - or himself - more pain. It was obvious that Naraku knew of his appreciation for women - it was the reason his family was cursed in the first place. He wondered if that might perhaps be why this woman had no clothing; if Naraku was hoping to make him into the villain. Did Naraku really think he had so little self-control that he would avail himself of the first woman he met, even when she was so obviously suffering already? It would not be the first time someone had assumed him to be motivated purely by lusty self-interest, but that did not make it any more tolerable.
Miroku scowled. Naraku was definitely a master of mind-games. If he meant for this move to push Miroku into some less than pleasant thoughts, he had certainly succeeded. For now, at least. But Miroku intended to turn the situation to his advantage. If this woman was not a pawn and had not yet lost her mind completely, and he did not think she had, then that meant he had a potential ally against Naraku.
He just needed to be patient.
Dark brown eyes watched him and the kazaana in his palm throbbed, as if to remind him that he might not have the time to be patient.
Chapter Three
Miroku's head throbbed. A matching throb echoed from the palm of his right hand, where the kazaana was concealed.
He rubbed his temple with his left hand, but the motion did little to help. Groaning with pain and effort, he forced himself to sit up. Doing so made him feel nauseous and dizzy, and he collapsed back against the mat almost as soon as he had got up.
What the hell happened?
Cracking his eyes open brought more pain and the realization that he had no idea where he was. He shut his eyes again and took stock of the situation. He felt mostly intact, if a bit bruised. There were bandages wrapped tightly around his middle, most likely dressing a wound. Strangely, for all the bandages he felt not even the slightest twinge of pain. At least not from anything below his head. He decided that maybe he just could not feel it through the ache in his skull.
He felt around gingerly with his left hand. He was not wearing a borrowed yukata, but his own koromo and kesa. The blanket that had covered him was made of thick, heavy material. The mat beneath him was substantial, but not luxurious.
He listened, but could hear nothing. Not even the chatter of insects, much less the telltale arguing of his companions. If Inuyasha and Kagome were anywhere nearby, they would have been aware that he was awake by now. In fact, they probably would have awakened him with their constant bickering. Instead there was only a pervasive silence.
He lay still and listened hard, straining to pick up even the slightest sound. Still nothing.
Miroku considered himself a patient man, but this was trying even for him. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and then jerked upright again. This time he refused to let the pain overwhelm him, and managed to stay in a sitting position rather than falling back to the mat. Motes and sparks of light danced behind his eyelids, and did not fade when he opened his eyes.
Pain lanced through his skull like a hot knife. Swearing, he clamped a hand over his eyes.
The darkness helped, somewhat. Several minutes and many deep, focused breaths later, the pain had abated enough that he felt safe opening his eyes again. His head throbbed again, but this time it was bearable. Carefully, he removed his hand, and looked about the room.
It was spacious, but not large. Well-furnished, but not extravagant. A small fire pit provided light.
It told him little. He could be anywhere. And that made him suspicious.
That there was no sign of his companions most likely meant that they had been separated. The room's appointments indicated that he was either in an inn, or the home of a fairly wealthy man. Each deduction led only to more questions and added to his growing sense of unease.
Something was decidedly wrong here. How had he gotten here, anyway? He could not quite remember. There had been a battle, he knew that much. They had discovered a ruined village, empty of life and with bodies strewn about the streets, when a woman had attacked them. And... Naraku had been there. That was how he had become separated from Inuyasha and Kagome - when he went after Naraku. The warrior girl had been focused on Inuyasha, and Miroku, being the opportunist he was, had seen his chance and seized it.
The memories became clearer. Naraku had fled. He had given chase, finally catching up only to find the bastard transformed into some sort of hideous thing, a mass of jiggling flesh replete with tentacles and spines. He had known Naraku to be a shapeshifter - it was always a major problem to find the bastard, because he could be anyone or anything - but he had not expected anything like this. And he had been no match for it.
He winced at the memory of tentacles grabbing him, pulling him down... and the sight of another, flashing forward to strike him, stabbing into his gut and all the way through.
He'd been impaled. That explained the bandages around his middle, though it did not explain how he had managed to survive such an injury. He did not remember anything after that; he must have blacked out.
He should have died. But then he woke up and found himself here. Wherever here was.
It was frustrating not to know, but he was far too weak to go exploring just yet. Besides, he had a feeling that if he was patient, the answers would find their way to him. And, perhaps, even his erstwhile companions would find him as well.
Equal parts resigned and exhausted, he lay back down on the mat and closed his eyes. The pain lessened somewhat, and the throbbing faded away. He slept.
-----
Time seemed to drift by without him. He slept often, losing himself in the deep, dreamless sleep of healing. Sometimes when he woke, there would be food. Sometimes there was not. But it was days before he saw anyone.
He was not sure exactly how many days had passed, because it was nearly always dim inside the room, but he awoke once to find two matronly, gray-haired women beside him. They were strangely, worryingly silent, but they had a fresh supply of bandages and they seemed intent on getting him cleaned up. He cooperated as best as he could, considering they would not tell him what they wanted, communicating instead with hand gestures and annoyed expressions when he failed to correctly guess at what they wanted him to do.
He allowed them to strip off the old bandages and wash the wound, which was considerably smaller than he had thought it might be, and did not go all the way through as he had feared it might. He watched with a sort of detached fascination as they wrapped more bandages around him and urged him to lie down again.
"Why do you not speak?" he asked when they turned to leave.
They gave no sign of having heard him at all, sliding the door shut behind them purposefully, as if to tell him that was enough of that.
Frustrated, Miroku frowned. Healing was not nearly so fun without pretty young girls to make a fuss over him. These women were older than he preferred, and so ominously silent... It made him uneasy. And where were Inuyasha and Kagome? It was unlike them not to have found him already, or to be courteous enough to allow him to heal before accosting him.
As the next several days passed, he grew stronger and more frustrated. He found no answers to his questions, only the resounding silence.
There were servants in this place, many more than just the two that had seen to his wound, but none of them spoke. Most of them were female. Some were old, some young, and one even looked hauntingly familiar, though he could not place her.
The servants brought food, as well as fresh bandages and blankets. The food was plentiful, but bland, and he was given only water to drink. He found himself longing for spicy food and sake. And women. And talking.
The silence was getting to him. It was making him bold and reckless. Stupid, even.
He had somehow got it into his head that it was time to be up and about. He'd had enough of this place, and though he might not be strong enough to leave it yet, he was determined to at least have a look around. And so, when he found himself suitably alone, he staggered to his feet. The lightheadedness was overwhelming, and he very nearly lost his footing, but he managed to stay upright until the fit passed and the world quit swimming dizzily around him.
He had spent too much time lying about, waiting for something to happen, without really giving much thought to how dangerous his situation might be. He had no idea what was going on... he could be at the mercy of an ogre, or a guest in a demon-infested castle, or anything in between. He had not sensed any youki during his stay, but he had not been in a position particularly conducive to being aware of his surroundings until the last day or so. For all he knew, he had simply missed all the warning signs.
Shaking off his apprehensions for the irrational fears they were, he made his way across the room. It was beyond time he had a look around. Paranoia reared its ugly head as he approached the door, but there was no sign of trouble, and no indication that anyone knew - or even cared - what he was doing. The door opened easily. The hall outside was empty. Aside from a faintly smoky smell that wafted past, everything was as still and silent as ever.
But as Miroku stepped through the doorway, he felt the icy shock of a barrier envelope him. It did not prevent him from passing through, but it set him on edge. It would seem his suspicion that he was not supposed to leave that room had been on the mark: someone wanted to know what he was up to. The only question now was who.
His steps echoed almost painfully loudly in the hall, accompanied by the pounding of his heart and a faint, fleeting whisper, which sounded almost like a woman weeping. But when he paused and strained to hear better, there was only echoing silence.
It seemed his fears of discovery were well-founded, for he had not gone very far at all before a door slid open ahead of him and three figures emerged. Two he recognized as the women who took care of his wounds, and the third was a big, burly man. Not a one of them looked particularly pleased. In fact, they looked downright menacing.
He stood his ground as they approached, unnerved by the sense of impending conflict. He did not like to find himself weaponless in a fight, but for now he knew he would have to make do with whatever he could improvise; he was without his staff and sutras, and these were humans, which meant the kazaana was off limits. But he was not even sure he could reason with them. They had ignored everything he had said to them thus far.
"What's with the sour looks?" he asked, his voice obscenely loud in the otherwise silent hall. "I'm just having a little look around."
This explanation did nothing to placate the trio, nor to slow them down. Each of the women took one of his arms, gripping tightly lest he try to escape, and the man took the opportunity they provided to punch Miroku squarely in the gut. The blow came hard and fast, forcing the wind from his lungs. Dazed and gasping for air, he slumped against the women.
They were stronger than they looked, dragging him easily, if unceremoniously, back to his room and tossing him inside. It occurred to him just before he landed that he had never been thrown quite so hard by a human opponent. He hit the ground hard, his head impacting the floor with a crack that had him seeing stars. He remained where he had fallen, flinching as one of his keepers slid the door into place with a resounding thwack!
Through a haze of pain, he wondered why his innocent wandering had been so offensive to the servants who had been caring for him, but it was easier just to let the soothing darkness in than to think about it too hard. He would worry about that later, after he had a nap, when the pain went away...
-----
When Miroku woke again, there was someone in the room. He knew it before he even opened his eyes, before he had really begun to emerge from the depths of sleep. It was a powerful presence, dark and cold and... at least part youkai. He feigned sleep for as long as he could, struggling for serenity amidst tumultuous emotions. He needed a plan, because... he knew this aura. Its darkness sang harmony with the throbbing hole in his palm.
Naraku was in this very room.
He wondered what the odds were that he could open the kazaana and destroy Naraku before being killed himself. Probably slim to none.
He lingered indecisively for a moment longer; there came the quiet rustle of shifting fabric and the sound of footfalls on the mats, the door slid open and closed again almost silently. When Miroku opened his eyes, there was no one else in the room, but the sense of darkness and unease remained.
He sat up suddenly. Someone had moved him back onto the futon. He did not want to think about the 'who' or 'why' of the situation. There was something else he needed to check first. He rolled to his feet, letting momentum push him upright as he paced to the door. He could not touch it. The barrier had shifted to just inside the room, and it would no longer let him pass.
At least now he knew that he was no guest, but a prisoner instead. He returned to the futon and settled himself upon it. So Naraku was behind all this... which meant he had been kidnapped, not rescued. Did that, in turn, mean that Inuyasha and Kagome had given him up for dead? He hoped that they had, for their own sakes.
-----
Miroku had never been a prisoner before, not really; Naraku had always been content to let him wander the land in a fruitless search, the threat of death hanging over his head until the kazaana eventually ate him up. Something had changed in Naraku's strategy. He had to be up to something to change his tactics so drastically, but Miroku was stumped as to what that something might be.
He supposed as far as prisons went, this was not that bad. He was provided with anything he needed: food, water, fresh fuel for the fire... he simply was not allowed to leave, nor was he allowed anything that might be used as a weapon. The barrier outside the door kept him neatly caged within, without the need for guards. There were only the servants, as ominously silent as always, keeping the place in order. There was no pain or torture, unless he counted the unending solitude.
One day passed, then two, and ten, and twenty, and more until he began to lose track of the days. He appreciated idleness as much as the next man, but this prolonged inactivity was enough to try even his patience. He had never thought he would see the day when his family's honor would be the one thing that kept him going, but loneliness, boredom, and frustration brought him perilously close to that point several times as the days slipped slowly by.
Eventually, the wound in his belly healed enough that the two ladies no longer came to treat it, and he no longer had need of fresh bandages. The flesh was still red and sore, and especially tender to the touch, but he was whole. Now that the two ladies, who he cheerfully referred to as "Grumpy", no longer came to his room, he found that he almost missed them.
Boredom and unease ate at him constantly, threatening to drive him mad. In an effort to combat the oppressive boredom, he recited all the poems, chants, and folk songs he knew, and then went back through them all again. At first he whispered the words under his breath, but then he spoke and even sang them. No one was listening, anyway. If there was someone listening, they gave no sign.
He masturbated, often. Once, he did it in front of one of the servant girls, just to see if it would get a response. It did not. And after a while, even that lost its appeal. When he was well enough to be up and about without feeling dizzy, an unpleasant side-effect of having hit his head so hard on the floor, he walked in circles around the room, just to keep moving, to fool himself into believing there was some purpose for all of this. Meditation grew tolerable, and eventually pleasant.
And, inversely, Miroku's temper grew worse and worse. He found himself feeling constantly irate, and the source of his ire always came down to one question: if this was Naraku's grand trap, where the hell was he? And, if Miroku stopped to think about it at length: what was Naraku up to? Worse: was he going to keep Miroku trapped here, secluded, until the kazaana opened up and swallowed him?
He could not afford to let that happen.
Unfortunately, Naraku had had the foresight to strip him of all of his sacred sutras, as well as his shakujou staff, leaving him without even his most basic weapons. And it seemed that no matter how many times he asked the servants to bring him ink and paper, they simply stared at him in dumb silence before moving on to their next task. Unless he could somehow get close to Naraku, he was not sure there was anything he could do... and after his sound defeat during their last battle, he was not at all sure that getting close to Naraku was a good idea.
As much as he paced and meditated and thought, and he really had nothing better to do, he could not come up with a viable solution to the situation. He simply could not get past the barrier. Without that obstacle in his way, he might have had options. But the fact remained that he first had to get out of this prison before he could even think of anything else.
In the end, he opted not to think about it much. It was as pointless as his ruminations on the kazaana, and only served to blacken his already dangerously dark mood. He would just have to wait and see, and ensure that he was ready for any opportunity that might present itself.
-----
There was a sound in the hall, beyond the door. It was the first such sound that Miroku had heard during his stay, and it instantly put him on alert. It was different from the gentle settling of the building or a wind-driven creak; it was deliberate, like a footfall.
He had been sitting on the futon, meditating lightly, when it happened. Now he was wide awake, straining to hear any sound that might follow, trying to see if he could detect any traces of youki that might betray a demonic presence. What he sought was faint, but he knew it was there, like the first whiff of smoke before a fire. The hole in his palm pulsed faintly in time with the ebb and flow of it.
The door opened on its own, right before his eyes. In the eerie quiet that followed, he could feel the flow of youki as it poured into the room. A man dressed in the pelt of a white baboon stood just out of reach outside the door. Miroku's temper flared at the sight of the object of his hatred, so close, yet so far. Naraku...
He brought his hands up, his left hand finding the beads that bound the kazaana with practiced ease. In less than the span of a single heartbeat, he could remove the beads and open the void. "Come into this room, Naraku, and I'll use your own curse to kill you."
"You would risk destroying this castle and killing everyone within it, just to end my life?" Naraku's voice was calm; he knew that Miroku refused to take any human life, much less use the curse of the kazaana to do so. By putting the presumably human staff in harm's way, Naraku had ensured his own safety. And Miroku did not like it one bit.
"What do you want?"
"I have a purpose for you."
Miroku narrowed his eyes and said nothing.
"You are alive right now, monk, because you are no threat to me. But you may prove yourself useful."
"I would sooner die than serve you, Naraku."
The demon smiled. If anything, it made him look more wicked. "Not even if it means removing your curse?"
Miroku's heart stopped for an instant; his right hand reflexively curled into a fist and squeezed tightly. To end the kazaana's curse... he would do almost anything to achieve that freedom. It was tempting, so tempting, to blindly accept the offer and do whatever was asked of him, if only it would get rid of the curse... but he knew better than to trust Naraku. When he could speak again, he asked, "Just what are you offering?"
The smile grew wider. "Do a favor for me, monk," he said, "And in return, I'll do one for you."
"I want to know what I'm getting into before I agree to anything."
"Then see for yourself."
Naraku withdrew then. The barrier around the room melted away. As if it had been keeping out Naraku's darkness as much as it kept Miroku bound within, he felt suddenly inundated by youki. Miroku hesitated. Making a deal with a demon, any demon, much less Naraku, was a dangerous thing. He reminded himself that he had not agreed to anything yet, and stepped through the door.
He followed as Naraku moved silently down the hallway, his apprehension growing with each step. He kept the kazaana at the ready, should he find an opportunity to use it. Naraku had his back turned... it was tempting to try to use it, but he could not. What if there were people behind those walls?
Finally, they came to a stop in front of a door that looked exactly like any of the others that lined the hall. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this room in particular, but something about it made Miroku nervous.
As if oblivious to Miroku's concern, Naraku opened the door.
The first thing that struck him was the horrible stench. Somewhere between vomit and stale urine, it made him want to gag, though Naraku showed no ill effects. Holding a hand over his nose and mouth protectively, Miroku peered over Naraku's shoulder and into the room. Whatever he had expected to see beyond the door, it was not this.
It was a room in total disarray. It was dark, dirty, dingy. There was a fire pit colored black with soot, but no sign of fuel nor fire. The floor mats had been torn up, and the futon lay not on the floor, but thrown awkwardly against one wall. A woman sat in the middle of the room, her knees hugged to her chest. It took him a moment to realize that she was naked, save for a ring of dark bruises around her neck.
"Keep her alive," Naraku said simply. He moved aside suddenly, his hand against Miroku's back, shoving, sending the monk reeling into the room. It seemed he had no say in the matter, after all. "And I will remove the kazaana from your hand."
Miroku did not have time to wonder what Naraku was up to, or who this woman was, or how she had ended up in this place, or why Naraku wanted her alive, for she was already in motion, hurling herself toward him. Her hands caught in the fabric of his kesa, and she pulled - hard. He grunted from the effort of staying on his feet and barely managed to keep from toppling over as she swung him madly around. But her strength did not last, and once her initial momentum was gone, she sagged against him, almost clinging.
Her eyes caught and held his. Those eyes... a rich, deep brown, opened wide, and with a crazed, haunted look to them.
He sought words and could find none.
She found words for him, and when she spoke, her voice rough and smooth at once, it chilled him to the bone.
"Kill me."
For a long moment, all that existed was the two of them and a horrible, confused, transfixed silence.
Miroku blinked, and the spell was broken. "What?"
The door slid shut behind him; the faint sound of Naraku's laughter slipped into the room and faded away. He turned to look, glaring at the door as if it made a difference; he was furious, both with Naraku for tricking him again and with himself for being so stupidly gullible. But the promise of removing the kazaana had been too much. He should have held his ground, refused the request, and... then what? Gotten himself killed?
He frowned.
Suddenly trembling, the woman released her grip on his robes and sank to the floor. "You're... you talk. You're not one of them," she whispered.
He knew who she was talking about - the servants. More than once, he had thought the silence would drive him mad. "No, I'm not," he said, his voice hushed.
He knelt beside her, inspecting her curiously. She looked familiar, but she was covered in grime and bruises, and was thin enough that he could count her ribs through her skin, so it was difficult to place her. She could have been anyone, really. But to judge by the look of her, and the room in which she was trapped, his own imprisonment had been positively cozy.
"But you're going to do what he said, aren't you?"
"What?"
Her eyes were downcast. "You're going to make me live." She laughed. It was a bitter sound, like a bark. Under her breath, quietly enough that he almost did not hear, she added, "I wished for someone to end my suffering, and Naraku gives me a damned monk. I only wish I knew what I had done to deserve this."
What had happened to this woman that she wanted so desperately to die? Somehow, Miroku felt it would be inappropriate to ask, and yet, he could not help himself. "What happened to you?" he murmured, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder in what he hoped would be a comforting caress.
Fire flashed in her eyes and she slapped his hand away. "Do not touch me," she hissed.
He recognized that look, and the strength that belied her apparent frailty. He had seen this woman before - she was the warrior that had attacked Inuyasha outside the village of demon slayers. He had not recognized her at first because she was not wearing her mask. Myouga had known the girl's name, and Miroku struggled to recall it now, but found he could not. He had not been paying close enough attention, having assumed her to be either one of Naraku's pawns or at least completely under his control. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely, his mind racing.
Was she a prisoner, like him, or was she merely part of some new elaborate game Naraku had devised? Or had she failed in her mission to slay Inuyasha, and this was the punishment? He could come up with a dozen sordid explanations for the black ring of bruises around her neck, or the fact that she had no clothes. It was strange, especially for a man of his proclivities, but her unabashed nudity bothered him. Any other woman he had known would have at least tried to cover herself in front of a strange man, but it was almost as if she did not care.
He scanned the room, searching for any sign of her clothes, and found none. The only things he could give her were pieces of his own clothing. His koromo robe would be far too large for her, but the kesa could at least be fashioned into a workable covering until he could find a better alternative. So he stood, stepping away from her in the process, untied the kesa, and pulled it free.
"Here," he said, offering the kesa. If he had thought she would jump at the chance to cover herself in his presence, he was wrong. She merely stared at him, as if confused. He sighed, and draped the fabric over her shoulders.
She shuddered and threw it off. "Go away."
He held his hands up, hoping the placate her, or at least demonstrate that he was not going to do anything else she would not like. "I'm sorry."
"And stay away from me," she sobbed.
"Okay, okay," he acquiesced. He backed away from her slowly, and took up a spot in one of the room's corners, where the tatami mats still lay in order on the floor. It was the best he could do, considering he did not think he would be able to pass the room's barrier.
He found himself in an uncomfortable stalemate; he was beyond curious about this woman, and she was completely unwilling to talk to him, even to accept his assistance. She watched him warily from her position near the door. He could feel her watching him even if he closed his eyes.
He did his best to ignore her, and let his thoughts resume their wandering. This situation had to be a deliberate ploy of Naraku's. The bastard had never before indicated that he might be willing to remove the curse of the kazaana; there had never been the slightest hint that such a thing might even be possible. Miroku had been a fool to be so easily convinced...
However, his foolishness had brought an end to his solitude, at least. This woman was far from an ideal companion, but he felt that perhaps she would come to accept his presence, once she realized that he had no intention of hurting her. He even hoped, cautiously, that she might prove to be someone he could talk to, that she might tell him her story and let him help her to suffer less. That she wanted him to kill her... was upsetting. No one, least of all a woman, should have to suffer to the point where they longed for death. And yet it rankled that his own instincts aligned so perfectly with what Naraku had told him to do.
He had to wonder if Naraku was trying to trick him into causing this woman - or himself - more pain. It was obvious that Naraku knew of his appreciation for women - it was the reason his family was cursed in the first place. He wondered if that might perhaps be why this woman had no clothing; if Naraku was hoping to make him into the villain. Did Naraku really think he had so little self-control that he would avail himself of the first woman he met, even when she was so obviously suffering already? It would not be the first time someone had assumed him to be motivated purely by lusty self-interest, but that did not make it any more tolerable.
Miroku scowled. Naraku was definitely a master of mind-games. If he meant for this move to push Miroku into some less than pleasant thoughts, he had certainly succeeded. For now, at least. But Miroku intended to turn the situation to his advantage. If this woman was not a pawn and had not yet lost her mind completely, and he did not think she had, then that meant he had a potential ally against Naraku.
He just needed to be patient.
Dark brown eyes watched him and the kazaana in his palm throbbed, as if to remind him that he might not have the time to be patient.