InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Season of Sorrow ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: InuYasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi.

Chapter Four

It was a long time before Miroku allowed himself to relax. His nameless companion's silent staring, of which he was acutely aware even when he did not bother to look, was enough to keep him on edge no matter how he tried to hide it. For the most part, he was able to at least feign meditation, but the act brought him no comfort now.

This woman said she wanted to die, and he believed her. And he feared the lengths to which she might go in order to ensure her own death. For a long time, he thought she meant to attack him again and was only waiting for her chance, but she made no move against him and gave no further sign that she even cared about his presence. Except for the staring.

As time wore on, even the kazaana ceased its painful throbbing. Miroku curled his hand into a fist, grateful for at least this one small blessing.

In that dark and silent space, time was a strangely fluid thing. They might have spent hours or just minutes sitting like that, for all he could tell. But it was draining. The constant fear and apprehension, the sneaking, sidelong glances he cast at his newfound companion... it wore at him more than he expected.

Eventually, an uneasy sleep washed over him and, for better or worse, he slipped willingly into oblivion.

-x-

Miroku awoke with the sense of dizzy grogginess that came hand in hand with too little sleep. He was not sure what had roused him, for everything was as silent as ever around him and he felt only poorly rested.

When he opened his eyes, he was pleasantly surprised to find that nothing had changed at all while he slept. The room was still dim and dirty, and the slayer woman still stared at him with those deep, haunted eyes. He looked back at her for a moment, and had to look away. To say that nothing had changed was wrong; sometime during the night, she had used his kesa to cover herself.

"Good morning," he said, and nearly winced as his voice rattled through the silence. It was probably too much to hope for that his companion might respond, but it pleased him that there was even the slightest chance.

She regarded him warily and said nothing.

"I'm Miroku," he offered. "And you are?"

Still nothing.

He sighed, but let it drop. There was no sense in pushing for familiarity when he had not yet fully discerned his own feelings on the matter. His natural instinct, of course, was to do whatever he could to protect this woman, who was so obviously suffering. However, this was also what Naraku wanted him to do. He had to wonder why... Why was this woman's survival so important to Naraku? And why had Naraku chosen him to care for her? And... could he live with himself if he did Naraku's bidding, no matter how unpalatable the alternative?

Naraku had invested so much time and energy into making life hell for Miroku and his forebears, he simply could not believe that this would be any different. There had to be a catch. He would not have given Miroku a companion out of the kindness of his heart, if only because there was no kindness in that monster's heart. There had to be a reason, but Miroku could not fathom it. Unless, of course, this had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her.

He inspected her as best as he was able from such a distance and without touching her. She was well-built and looked as though she had been strong in the past, but injury - she was covered in old scars and fresh bruises - and her current accommodations had weakened her. Her hair was long and thick, though it had gone to mats and tangles, and her eyes were large and luminous, but dark. She might have been comely if not for her obvious distress.

She had begged him to kill her. Women had pleaded with him for assistance before, but none had ever asked for death, no matter how dire her situation. Something terrible indeed must have happened to her for her to see death as her only recourse. He already knew that her village had been destroyed, and had probably taken everyone she knew and loved with it. But what else? Rape seemed likely. He wondered if she had been tortured into doing Naraku's bidding, or tricked. Maybe she already knew she had attacked innocents, and it was that knowledge that tormented her.

Of course, everything he could think of could only be speculation unless she would talk to him, and she seemed disinclined to do so. Still, and in spite of their less than friendly introductions, he wanted to believe she had a good heart, and that they would find a way to work together and get out of this trap. He had to believe that. The alternative was too much to even consider.

And so, rather than consider any of that, he turned his attention to the accommodations they now shared. The room was in total disarray, but the materials from which it was constructed bespoke wealth and elegance, even more so than the room in which Miroku had been kept before. There was a firepit, but no fuel for a fire. Although the pit was dark with soot ingrained through years of use, there was not even a trace of ash to be seen within. Shadows consumed the far reaches of the room, eating away at the space with darkness. In the far wall, there was a door that Miroku guessed led to a courtyard, though he doubted either of them would be allowed to pass through the opening.

He decided it would be best not to worry about that just yet, and turned his attention to the room's disarray. Someone had ripped up several of the large tatami mats that covered the floor. Miroku got up and went to investigate. Much to his dismay, he felt weak and a bit creaky as he went. He had spent too much time lazing about and meditating lately.

It turned out that two of the mats had been torn up from their place on the floor. One was bent awkwardly and partially torn, the other was stained, perhaps with vomit. Some great struggle had taken place here, causing them to be dislodged. He looked out over the rest of the room, judging where these had once fit with the pattern formed by the rest. The floor mats had been laid in an inauspicious pattern. Miroku wondered faintly if he ought to rearrange them. Instead, he merely pulled aside the mats that were out of place and stacked them near the wall.

That accomplished, he set out to discover the source of the stench that permeated the room.

There was a large pot in the back corner, filled nearly to overflowing with excrement. Miroku managed not to flinch as he drew near. It was definitely the source of the smell.

There had been a similar makeshift latrine in the room he had been imprisoned in, but the servants had always seen to it that it was kept clean. He wondered idly if the servants had been instructed to ignore this woman, or if she had chased them off. And if he would somehow be able to clean or at least empty the thing.

He was well aware that there was a barrier around the room. He had felt it when Naraku threw him inside. The question that remained was whether or not he could still pass through it. He rather doubted that Naraku would be so kind as to allow him access to other areas of the castle...

But there was no harm in trying.

At least not unless Naraku had somehow rigged the barrier to kill anyone that attempted to pass through it.

"Have you ever passed through the barrier around this room?" he asked, turning back to his companion. She had not moved and gave no outward sign of listening to him at all. He wanted to believe he saw a spark of curiosity flash within her eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be certain. She would not assist him. Not yet, at least. He could not blame her, in spite of the ugly, selfish urge to demand her help and cooperation that reared up inside of him.

He paced the length of the room, indecisive.

What did Naraku want him to do? Would he be forced to remain passively within this room, or did his prison extend beyond the walls of this one room? The only way to find out was to push the boundaries. It made his stomach turn. What if this was exactly what Naraku wished for him to do?

There was no use wondering what Naraku wanted from him; it was only serving to torment him. "I'm going to try... to see if I can still get through," he said, half to the woman and half in an attempt to reassure himself that this was indeed what he was going to do. Taking a deep breath and steeling his resolve, he strode purposefully toward the door he had first come through. He paused in front of it, having reached it far sooner than he would have liked.

He glanced at his silent companion to find her watching him, her expression unreadable. Miroku gathered his courage and reached. His hand slipped, tingling, through the barrier, pressed against the door and slid it open.

His heart pounded.

He took one step, then another and another, and found himself back in the hallway. He waited several long moments, but no servants emerged to remove him, or to force him back into the room. Cautiously, he made his way down the hall, careful to keep the wall close on his right and to maintain a watchful eye for any sign of trouble.

The hall was silent save for the soft sounds of his feet against the floor as he walked. The silence set him on edge, but at the same time it was almost reassuring. He was reasonably sure that he would hear anyone coming before they could reach him.

As he continued down the hall, he began to wonder if perhaps he might be able to go far enough to find Naraku himself... a hope that was dashed almost as soon as it slipped into his mind, as he ran into a surprisingly solid barrier in the middle of the hall. Rubbing a hand to his face, which had unfortunately taken the brunt of the impact, he stepped back to regain his bearings.

So Naraku did not want him to go beyond that point... He seethed for a moment. He would get past that barrier if it was the last thing he did. Perhaps not today, but someday.

He turned around.

In the meantime, he had plenty of other rooms to investigate.

He took his time in returning to the woman's room, meandering slowly down the hall and poking his head into the rooms he was able to open. One of them had been transformed into a makeshift kitchen. Another contained stores of dried rice and vegetables. His stomach gurgled faintly with hunger at the sight, but he turned away, determined to finish his exploration. Most were bare, like the room in which he had originally been imprisoned.

He had hoped to perhaps find a new set of clothes for his companion to wear, but there were none to be had. Naraku definitely wanted this woman to live... but he seemed to care nothing for her comfort.

Miroku paused. Frowning, he wondered, not for the first time, if he should have listened when she asked him to kill her. It was a deplorable thought, and he hated himself for thinking it almost as much as he hated himself for doing as Naraku bid him. But Naraku had been in the perfect position to kill him... and had chosen not to. It seemed very likely that if he were to end this woman's life, that he would swiftly find himself following her into the underworld.

She might be ready to die this day, but he was not. He would not be content to die until he was free of the kazaana's curse. And for that, Naraku still had to die.

-x-

There was an enormous, festering scar across her back. It was the first thing Miroku noticed as he passed through the barrier and back into the room he shared with her. She was dozing lightly enough to rouse as soon as the sound of the door sliding shut alerted her to his return, no doubt too wary and shy to let her guard down while he was present.

"You can rest," he said, "if you're tired." Her expression darkened. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sighed and sat near to her, but not near enough that she might mistake him for a threat. "I can go through the barrier. I do not know if you are able to as well, but there is a kitchen with food stores and supplies. There are storage rooms, too. I didn't see anyone else."

He glanced in her direction, but she looked as impassive as ever. "I'll find something for us to eat in a bit, but first I'm going to try the other door."

As he stood up and headed away, he thought he saw her shudder. Apprehension crept in. He could tell even without words that she knew what lay beyond that door. What was it that moved her to that trembling reaction? Fear? Anger? Both?

The door slid open with a hitch, as if it had been knocked off its track in the past and now clung only imperfectly to the door frame. Beyond, there was a small yard. He could see a well to one side and, further off, a low wall of piled stones. It was late afternoon, and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky. The courtyard was a deceptively serene sight, and after being kept so long indoors it was positively beautiful to his weary eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the portal.

Fresh air assaulted him, and a fierce breeze. He stood upon a porch made of wooden planks, only a few paces long. Beyond that was meticulously arranged gravel, and near to the wall was a stand of decorative trimmed grasses. He went first to the well. There was a rope and bucket, and the water he drew from it was cool and tasted clean.

Between the fresh water, the moving air, and the crunch of his feet in the gravel, he felt more elated than he had in a long time. He felt almost free, save for the lingering awareness of the doorway behind him and the darkened room beyond. He glanced over his shoulder and felt a pang of guilt. There was no sign of his companion, as she was sitting well away from the door's line of sight. He had not even known her a full day, and he already felt guilty that he should enjoy the freedom of this space and she should not.

He guessed from her apparent disinterest that she could not pass through the room's barrier, or thought she could not, even if he could. It was enough to make him resolve to make their accommodations as comfortable as possible for her.

And perhaps if he did this small thing, she would see that they did not need to be enemies.

He dropped the bucket into the well and went back inside.

It was imperative that Naraku die, and soon. He knew now that he could not defeat that monster alone, but with a demon slayer on his side, perhaps he might have a chance.

-x-

Miroku did not close this door behind him, but left it open so that the fresh air might blow in from outside and chase the mustiness away. A block of sunlight slid across the floor, warming it beneath his feet as he waited for his eyes to readjust to the dark.

His companion watched his return with hooded eyes, her expression unreadable. For the moment, he decided to leave her be, and instead hauled the chamber pot outside and cleaned it as thoroughly as he could. If it was not perfectly spotless, at the very least it did not stink so foully any longer.

When he set it back in its place, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. There were cobwebs in the shadows and the corners, and he found himself wishing he had rags to sweep them away. There were probably plenty to be had, if he went back to the kitchen, but he did not feel like leaving just yet. He was too pleased with the smell of a fresh breeze and the feel of the sun on his back for that. Truly, he was happy just to be doing something again.

A chill went through him.

Naraku wouldn't let this last, so he had better make the most of it.

So he went to work, cleaning as best he could, ever aware of the sun's track across the floor. He set aside hunger and weariness, determined to finish this thing today, although a part of him urged that he drag out the time spent cleaning, that it might give him something to do during the coming days. And so he found, as the sun had just begun to set, that there was only a small portion of the room that had not been seen to, near the door to the courtyard: one dark corner and the tangled heap of a futon.

The corner was an empty space cluttered with cobwebs and shadows. An enormous, fat spider stared at him from its place high on the wall. He glared at it for a long time, but opted not to kill it. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he dusted away its webs and watched it scramble up and out of reach.

Turning back toward the center of the room, his eyes fell upon the last bit of disarray: the futon. The mat looked rather forlorn and broken, bent and shoved up against the wall like that, with the blanket bunched underneath it. He approached it slowly, noticing for the first time that it was stained with old blood. With a sour taste in his mouth, he knew this what those stains meant. Some undoubtedly came from the still healing wound across her back. Others, he would wager good coin, came from her debasement.

He hated Naraku more than ever, to see proof of what had been done to this woman. Hypocrite bastard, he snarled, though he kept the force of his anger in his head, to curse my family for my grandfather's so-called 'abuse' of women, and then so defile one yourself.

He made to grab the futon, though he would never be sure if he intended merely to throw it to the ground in a fit of rage, or if he planned to throw it out or to pretend at normalcy, because he never got the chance to find out. Before he could lay a hand on the offending mat: "Leave it."

The sudden outburst halted him in his tracks. It was the first time she had spoken all day. "Ah, if you insist," he managed, turning to gaze at her curiously.

Her face showed only anger. "It should be burned."

For all that he had not asked her what had happened, he knew from her response that he had guessed aright. And amid his anger, he felt a pang of guilt. If he had been more diligent, or his father before him, or his grandfather before that, Naraku might have been slain long ago, and this woman spared such sorrow.

He knew there was no use dwelling on might-have-beens, but his resolve was steeled. He would do better. So far as he knew, Inuyasha and Kagome were still searching for jewel shards; it was odd that they had made no attempt at rescue, but he wondered if perhaps they had given him up for dead. All he had to do was wait for them to make a move, or until an opportunity to make a move of his own presented itself.

"I am sorry," he said quietly, "for what he did to you."

She made no response. If he had thought she might cry, he was wrong. It would seem she had no tears left to shed.

"I will burn it, if that is your wish," he added. There had been a fire in the kitchen. He would manage it somehow.

She hesitated, hovering between trust and fear. Trust me, he urged mentally, knowing that his thoughts could not reach her, and fearing that his actions might not, either.

"Please," she said at last, and her voice broke a little on the word.

He gave a small nod. He gathered up the futon mat and the blanket that was with it, and hauled it out of the room and down the hall. There, he left it in an unkempt pile in one corner of the kitchen, but did not dare burn it for fear the resultant stench might attract undue attention.

It was not quite what his companion had requested, but it was out of sight now. And, hopefully, out of mind.

-x-

It seemed she was finally willing to talk to him. When Miroku finished disposing of the futon and made his way back into the room they now shared, he pressed his advantage, such as it was, hoping she might give him at least a clue as to why she was here in the first place.

"You won't tell me your name," he began without preamble, sitting near to her again, "But will you at least tell me what happened to you?"

Her expression had turned dark; she kept her eyes downcast. Finally, hesitantly, she shook her head "no".

Miroku sighed. Her story was undoubtedly painful to recount, and she probably thought him impudent for his insistence upon knowing, but he needed any advantage he could get. If he knew why Naraku had taken an interest in her, it might help him figure out how to thwart whatever plan the demon had brewing. "Alright," he said finally, trying not to let his frustration show in his voice. Could she not see that they needed to work together? "I'll let you be, then."

-x-

After a long, uneasy silence, Miroku gave up and wandered out of the room. Perhaps she would feel more at ease if he left her to her own devices. In the meantime, his stomach was growling with greater and greater ferocity, and he decided it was time he found something to eat. He had seen stores of dried vegetables and bushels of rice stashed near the kitchen, so he headed that way first.

His eyes had not deceived him; the kitchen and nearby rooms held stores of more dried, tasteless vegetables than he knew what to do with, and there were also numerous cooking implements to be had, though he noted there were no knives, nor anything else that might potentially be dangerous, save a couple of metal pots and pans. For a moment he thought he had the bad luck to have forgotten to draw water first, but then he spied a bucket in the corner that still held a fair quantity of water.

He wasted no time while he was waiting for the rice to cook, rifling around through the stores in search of spices, herbs, and other goodies. He was, of course, not lucky enough to find any sake, or anything particularly tasty, but he selected a number of vegetables and cooked those to go with the rice. It seemed that Naraku did not want them to starve, but he did not want them indulging themselves, either. Miroku made a sour face and wished for alcohol.

In the end, he had to admit that he could not wish a bottle of sake into existence, no matter how much easier the alcohol might make things. He had made more than enough to sate his hunger, and, having eaten his fill, scrounged for a bowl and utensils for his companion.

He found one, and heaped what was left of the food into it. He was cautious when he stepped into the room they shared, but the woman gave no sign of noticing his return. Without ceremony, he set the bowl in front of her.

"Here," he said, taking a seat opposite her. "I made some food for you. Eat."

His act of kindness had a strange effect upon her; something very like panic crossed her face in that instant. She shoved the bowl away forcefully enough that it upended, spilling rice across the floor.

Miroku scowled at the mess, before moving to clean it up. "What do I have to do to prove that I am not your enemy?" he asked.

When he looked back up at her, she was glaring at him. "Let me die."

"Why?"

For a moment he thought she would not answer, and they would go right back to their silent stalemate. But she relented a moment later.

"I have nothing to live for," she confessed. "I have no honor, no family, and no home."

"And yet, Naraku wishes for you to live."

"I think," she said, as if he did not already know, "that Naraku enjoys my suffering."

He nodded and took a moment to observe her more closely. The fabric wrapped around her hid much, but she looked very thin and a even bit emaciated. "You haven't moved from this spot all day," he mused. "Why is that?"

She gave a half shrug. "I lack the strength to move." When she caught the flash of surprise that crossed his face, she added, "I do not remember the last time I ate. It will be slow, but -"

"Then you should eat."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "No."

"Why die, when you can live? Honor can only be regained by living, by earning it. Surely you could find a new village to call home, find a husband and a family of your own."

"What has been done to me cannot be undone."

Do you think you are the only woman who has ever been forced, who has ever been beaten or downtrodden? If you are as strong as I remember, this need not be the end for you... But he said none of that aloud, only watched. Finally, he asked, "How long have you been here?"

"A month and more. I do not know for sure." She hesitated. "I was unconscious for some time, healing from my wounds. And it is not easy to keep track of time, here."

She had been Naraku's prisoner roughly as long as he had, then. A little longer, he would guess, since she had obviously been under Naraku's sway when she attacked Inuyasha, and he had not been captured until after the battle.

"So he brought you here to heal after the battle," he mused. "And he took away your clothes... Were you to be a pleasure-slave, then?" He could see it clearly, Naraku seeking the pleasures of the flesh in a woman who would be destroyed by it, and felt his anger turn its focus solely on Naraku, even as it grew darker and more dangerous.

She shook her head. He saw something strange in her eyes - a sick, conflicted despair.

"Then... why?"

"He took my clothes because I tried to kill myself."

"Because you..."

"An obi makes a fine noose," she clarified. "And he wishes for me to live."

Her blunt answers left Miroku reeling. It had not occurred to him that the bruises around her neck might have been self-inflicted; he had assumed both her nudity and the marks on her body had been some form of punishment or torture from her captor. He should have known better. Naraku liked to play mind games - it was always about the game, because Naraku was arrogant enough to believe that no one would ever outwit him - more than he liked to physically beat his victims into submission.

Miroku closed his eyes. The answer seemed simple enough. If Naraku wanted her to live because he enjoyed her suffering, then all she had to do to thwart his plan was to stop suffering. But such things were easier said than done, especially under the circumstances they now found themselves. And he had a feeling it went deeper than that. With Naraku, there was always more to things than first met the eye. "And so you wish to die, rather than give him what he wants."

"Yes."

He let his eyes open again. "I cannot kill you."

"I know." Her toneless inflection told him that, knowing nothing else about him, she believed his position as a monk to be the reason Naraku had made him into her keeper. She had said as much upon their first meeting, lamenting that her companion was a holy man and sworn not to kill.

Miroku was not ready to let her know about Naraku's other potential intentions, so he swallowed his ire and continued, "Nor can I in good conscience allow you to continue suffering."

"What will you do, then?"

"I intend to survive this hell, and escape, and you with me," he said, a bit brashly, but it was the truth and he did not want to win her to his side with lies. If he lied and she caught him in it, she would never trust him. And he needed her to trust him, and work with him.

She laughed, then, but it was fierce and mirthless. She was bitter when she spoke: "There is no escape. He has wards and barriers all over the place. His eyes and ears are everywhere. And he'll strike you when you least expect it, if he thinks you plot against him."

"He knows I'll plot against him." With only a little hesitation, his story came tumbling out of him, as if his tale of woe might sway her beaten heart. He told her of his grandfather, and his father, and how he had come to carry the kazaana himself; he spoke of finding shards of the Shikon Jewel, of believing it the answer to his problem, of meeting Inuyasha and Kagome and traveling with them. At the end, he held up his right hand, to show how it was bound against the kazaana. "One day soon Naraku's curse will kill me. He is no fool. He knows I will plot against him."

"Can you help but dance to his tune?"

It was a harsh question, and one he was not quite prepared to answer. "I can try."

The answer seemed to satisfy her. "I hope you succeed," she said. He almost believed her.

He was silent a while after that, considering his options. It had grown quite dark outside while he went about his day's tasks; part of him insisted that as it was now night he ought to get some sleep, while another part knew he would spend the night restless. He was accustomed to bouts of insomnia, and he had been given much to think about today. "Will you tell me your story, now that I have told you mine?"

"I don't wish to discuss it."

He shrugged. "I won't bother you for it again; I know enough."

"You know me, then." Her tone was dry, disbelieving.

"You are the woman that fought against Inuyasha in the forest, outside the village of demon slayers. You, I would guess, are also the last of the famed Taijiya. May I have your name, at least, or shall it be Taijiya-sama?"

"Sango," she said, dully. If she recognized him from the battle, now that she knew something of his part in it, or was surprised that he recognized her, she did not let it show. "Just... Sango. I don't deserve that title anymore."