InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Season of Sorrow ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: ladygriddlebone 
The truth comes out, bit by bit.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Angst / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 04.09.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.7K | Visits: 294 | Status: Completed
The truth comes out, bit by bit.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Angst / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 04.09.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.7K | Visits: 294 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi.
Chapter Six
Miroku's world had been reduced to a blurry haze that seemed somehow to have been tilted at a bizarre and dizzying angle. He blinked a few times, nearly slipping back into the soothing dark of unconsciousness, but a nagging thought kept him from drifting off. Something had roused him. Something had beaten him to a pulp and left him in a throbbing world of semi-conscious pain, too. He half wondered if the two somethings might not be one and the same.
It was not until he tried to move that he realized he had been lying on the floor, his head tipped back far enough to make his neck ache. It was not the world that had gone all awry, it was simply his viewpoint. Slowly he pushed with aching muscles and managed to sit up, but the motion made him feel very disoriented, even dizzy. Whatever had hit him, it had hit him hard. But whatever it was, he could not remember it.
"Houshi-sama, why?" Sango cried from somewhere out of sight, but the words reverberated strangely, as if in a dream. She had asked him that before... or had she spoken just now? He could not remember, but...
Sango. The name restored some sense of mental clarity, even if it did nothing for the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Sango. She wanted to know why... Why what? Had he done something? Not done something?
He realized slowly, with a growing sense of dread, that he was in the hall and not in the room where he usually dwelt with Sango. Something was very, very wrong.
He scrambled to his feet as best he could, which amounted to little more than gracelessly sprawling the short distance to the door. The door was wide open, but he could not pass. He could clearly see through the portal, but the barrier that surrounded the room would no longer let him through. And that was not the worst of it.
When he first looked into the room, searching for some sign of Sango or at least an indication of what had happened to him, he thought his eyes must be deceiving him. He thought that his wits must have been addled by whatever blow had sent him into unconsciousness, and now he was seeing things that were not there. But he knew, somehow, that what he was seeing was no mere vision; it was real, and happening right in front of him. He could not comprehend how, but there it was.
Or rather, there he was. He watched as he forced Sango down and raped her on the floor of her prison. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny what his eyes showed him. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see right through himself like a ghost, wondering for a moment if he had been possessed, his spirit knocked right out of his body, before realizing that it could not possibly be him taking such vile liberties Sango, but Naraku. Naraku, the shape-changer.
Naraku, with Sango.
Detached, confused disgust gave way to black fury. He shouted wordless rage and hurled himself forward, determined to stop this at any cost, but found his determination dashed to pieces against a rock-solid barrier. He tried again, focusing all the tattered remains of his spiritual power into the attempt, but it did him no good. The barrier was immovable.
And it seemed, as he watched from the wrong side of the barrier, that even time slid to a stop. It seemed to go on and on with no hope of surcease. The worst part was not just in witnessing such a disgusting act at close range, but in the helplessness he felt. He had let himself believe that Naraku would not make a move so long as he stood guard over Sango, in some way he had even thought that together they could stand against their captor and survive. And yet, here he was, forced only to watch while Naraku yet again did as he pleased with the unfortunate demon slayer.
Miroku wondered furiously why the abuse she had suffered before had not been enough to slake Naraku's thirst for violence. He simply could not understand what the point of this might be; or perhaps, he realized in a sudden flash of clarity, it was rather that he did not want to understand.
He had helped many young women escape horrific situations in the past, but swiftly realized that he could do nothing to stop this, had no hope of intervening. It was not long before he was forced to conclude that this was exactly what Naraku wanted. This wasn't just about Sango, it was about Miroku as well. The barrier would not let him through no matter what he tried. He guessed that it would also mask any sign of his presence, including any sounds that he made, but that did not stop him from screaming obscenities until he was hoarse.
Naraku had used them both. He had allowed them to believe that their alliance went unnoticed when in fact it was all a part of his plan.
Miroku was shaking when he realized the deed was, at last, done. Naraku had risen almost unnoticed, leaving Sango where she lay, and was walking toward the door.
He stepped aside so as not to be run into as Naraku exited the room, half wondering if he ought to try to throttle the bastard and end it all here and now. Or perhaps the kazaana would be more fitting. It seemed to take forever for Naraku to emerge from the room; Miroku hung suspended in an agony of indecision. If he attempted to fight Naraku now, would he be strong enough? He had a feeling that at best he could hope for a swift death, and at worst the silent half-life of one of the castle servants.
In the end, the choice was not Miroku's to make. Naraku did not walk calmly or sedately through the door; rather, he stumbled gracelessly into the hallway. A glance through the open doorway revealed that Sango had struck him.
She had made the first move. In that moment, Miroku knew he would follow through on what she had begun.
His expression darkening, he wordlessly pulled the string of protective beads from itsplace around his arm. All he had to do now was raise his arm and open his hand, and Naraku would be pulled in and destroyed forever.
The servants, Miroku told himself, were already dead, devoid of the souls that had once made them human. It was no matter to him if their lifeless, puppets' bodies were pulled into the void along with the puppetmaster. Even so, it gave him a moment's pause. If he was wrong, and the servants were still human but merely possessed... he was not sure he could forgive himself for being responsible for their deaths.
"Think before you attempt to defy me, monk," Naraku sneered without even turning to look.
Miroku barely noticed. He was overcome by pain. It ricocheted up and down his arm, sharp as the edge of a knife.
The kazaana!
He could not help but panic a little. Had Naraku made him watch only to open the kazaana and kill him afterward?
His fingers spasmed uncontrollably as the pain increased to unbearable intensity. Miroku dropped the beads and clamped his left hand over his right, as if the pressure might somehow stop the violent twitching in his muscles. For a few intense moments, red clouded his vision. He feared that this pain might truly signal the beginning of his end, too soon to save Sango -
And then it began to fade. Breathless and unable to stand, Miroku sank to his knees.
He was not surprised in the least to find that Naraku had disappeared.
-x-
The incident haunted Miroku for days afterward. The memory of watching as he ruthlessly raped that poor unfortunate woman plagued his dreams and lurked even while he was awake. He felt disgusting, as if Naraku's taint had polluted him simply by virtue of having borrowed his form; he had to remind himself again and again that it was Naraku that had done the deed, and he himself had been but an innocent bystander.
At first he was afraid to go to Sango. If she had not realized Naraku's deception, than Miroku's presence would do far more harm than good. But when he finally gathered the courage to risk approaching her, it quickly became apparent that he could not go to her even if he wanted to. The barrier surrounding her room would no longer allow him to pass. He was trapped outside, forced again into the role of helpless onlooker.
He thought to meditate, to gather his mental and spiritual strength in order that he might attempt to break through the barrier. He thought that perhaps by dint of sheer stubborn idiocy he might get through to Sango and somehow be able to lead them both from this hell. But he couldn't concentrate. Whenever he sought to center himself, his thoughts scattered in a dozen directions at once and try as he might he could not seem to bring them to order.
The kazaana provided a constant aching counterpoint to the disorder in his mind, seeming to be the sole point of stability in his life. As if he needed the distraction, or the continued reminder that he survived only by Naraku's whim.
After a day or two, Miroku began to spend his time in the kitchen rather than lurking in the hall outside Sango's room. He could not reach her, only watch her. But he had to wonder to what purpose he was allowed that small glimpse into her life. It only made his heart ache or filled him with rage to see her like this, and he knew enough of Naraku's tricks to know that that was what Naraku wanted. Naraku thrived on pain and suffering, especially that which he himself had inflicted. And so Miroku resolved, eventually and with great difficulty, not to give him that satisfaction.
There was nothing he could do for Sango anyway. He might be able to see into her room without a problem, but it was clear that she was unaware of his presence. And it only took one look at her to see that she was broken, perhaps beyond repair. She had reverted back to the way she had been when he first met her, sullen and silent, a mere shadow of the warrior she had been.
Now that he was no longer permitted to care for her, the servants returned. Their silence was somehow even more oppressive than it ever had been before. He kept a wary eye on them, half expecting some new treachery every time they appeared, but they summarily ignored him. Their sole purpose was to care for Sango.
Perhaps, Miroku reflected bitterly on more than one occasion, 'care' was the wrong word.
She would not eat, so the servants worked in teams of two and three to force water and broth down her throat. After the first couple of times, Miroku stopped following them. He could not stand to see them pass so effortlessly through the barrier that kept him out, and he could not bear to watch them force Sango to live. He hated to see how she fought them, yearning for death, only to face the inevitable betrayal of her body's demand for life.
At the same time, he could not bring himself to try to stop them. He was certain that whatever nourishment they brought her was all that was keeping her alive and, being the rather selfish creature he was, he did not want her to die.
When he finally realized that he had become determined not just to ensure her continued existence, but to save her, he was not sure whether he should laugh or despair. There was no one around to ask, and he had no better way to spend his time, so he did a bit of both.
-x-
Time dragged on interminably. As much as Miroku detested solitude, he knew it would serve him better to accept it than to dwell on what might have been.
And he tried to accept it, but that was easier said than done.
Sango was a hard woman to forget. There were times when, despite his best efforts, he could not stop himself from thinking about her. He would find himself worrying about her almost without realizing it. He wondered when she might at last be allowed to find peace, or how much she was suffering. More than anything, he wondered if she hated him now for what she thought he had done, or if she had somehow managed to see through Naraku's ploy. He had made a point of warning her of Naraku's shapeshifting ability and of his cunning, but Miroku had no way of knowing whether or not those warnings had been of any use.
He had just finished walking this mental path for the hundredth time when a trio of servants went past. Miroku glanced up at them more out of instinct than interest.
And yet, as the three women made their way silently past him, something piqued his curiosity.
By now he was at least passingly familiar with the servants that tended to Sango. He could recognize most of them, and had even come up with names for a few. But this time, something was different.
One of the women was much younger than the others, barely matured into womanhood at all, really. And when Miroku looked at her, he felt a flash of deeper recognition. He had seen this woman in the castle before and felt a strange sense of familiarity, which he had always simply shrugged off. He had made himself familiar with many women in the past. It was hardly surprising that he should see passing similarities in other women and be reminded. But now he was increasingly certain that he had seen this particular young woman somewhere else before his imprisonment here, though he could not recall where or when, or what her name might have been.
So he waited and let them pass without comment or interruption. And while they were gone, no doubt tending to Sango in their ungentle way, he wracked his memory for any hint of the young servant woman.
It was there, he could tell, but it was always just out of reach.
When he heard the servants returning, he had made up his mind. It would probably get him nowhere, but he had to try something. So when they drew close to him, he insinuated himself between the youngest woman and the others.
It was a foolish ploy. He would have a few moments at best before the other servants realized what he was up to and returned for their companion, and he had no idea what he was going to do before then.
When he stepped in front of her, catching her shoulders in his hands, the young woman stopped walking and looked up at him. He met her gaze, half fearing she would simply toss him aside with the same inhuman strength the other servants had displayed, and thought frantically. He knew her, he was sure of it. And as he stared into her empty eyes, something finally slid into place in his memory.
He did know her. Her story came rushing back to him. She had been only a child when they first met. And now...
"Koharu," he said, suddenly remembering the girl's name.
She stared at him blankly for a moment, then her facade seemed to suddenly crack. She shuddered, gasped, broke miraculously free of Naraku's control - or was perhaps deliberately released. Miroku did not particularly care which.
She stared at him again, but her eyes were slowly overcome with clarity. She recognized him. "Houshi-sama?" she asked, half-stuttering, half wavering. "Where am I? Why are you here, again?"
So he was right. This was the same girl; she recognized him even in her supreme disorientation. "I saved your life once, when you were still a child," he told her. "I could not knowingly leave you in danger now."
"I was in danger?" she asked, faltering. It was obvious that she had no memory of how she had come to be in this place, working as a servant for Naraku. It was probably better that way, at least for her. "And you saved me." That part was not a question. Koharu had been a sweet and impressionable girl and had never once doubted him. "Thank you, Houshi-sama!"
She flung herself toward him, into his waiting arms. He had expected this, and held her close for a moment, trying not to let on just how much comfort he drew from such fleeting contact. He would have liked to spend more time reacquainting himself with Koharu, but he knew this might be his one chance to make a move. It was now or never. He had to seize this chance. "We are not safe, Koharu. Not yet."
She gazed up at him, eyes wide with fear. "I don't remember how I got here. That's very bad, isn't it?"
He nodded. "We are prisoners of a powerful demon," he began to explain.
"But you are a monk. You have holy powers. You can defeat him, right?"
"I cannot reach him," he confessed. "There is a barrier here which I cannot pass. But you, who he thinks to be his brainwashed servant, can."
Koharu trembled for a moment. And then she steeled herself to calm. "What must I do?"
"There are other people here that he has enslaved. Find a way to free them, if you can. And then... you must bring the demon Naraku to me." He spoke quickly, if quietly. This plan was desperate and suicidal, but at this point he was ready to risk anything for freedom. To save Koharu, Sango, the other humans... and whatever might be left of himself. "Find him. Tell him whatever it takes to get him to come here, to me. And then run. As fast as you can. Get behind me if you can, or hide in a side room. But you must not stay in the hall or you will be killed."
She touched his hand, the one bound against the kazaana. "You're going to use this to destroy him, aren't you?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Yes."
Her gaze dropped to the floor beneath their feet. "You've saved me twice now, Houshi-sama," she said quietly. "I'll do everything I can to help you in return."
She seemed earnest, but he wondered how far he could trust her. This could be another of Naraku's ploys; this could be Naraku he held in his arms, or she could still be under the demon's control, playing along to cause him more anguish. But he had to do something, and soon. Sango would not survive much longer without his intervention, and it suddenly seemed more imperative than ever that she live to find happiness and freedom once again.
"Koharu," he began, gripping her by the shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "This will be the most dangerous thing you have ever done. You must be careful."
"I will, Houshi-sama."
Feeling beyond conflicted, Miroku sent Koharu on her way. He knew there was a very high chance that he had just sent her to her death, and that the guilt for that might haunt him for the rest of his life, however short a time that might be. But it was too late for regrets now. All he could do was wait. And hope and fear, the tension rising inside him with each passing heartbeat.
For a long time, nothing happened. The halls were as silent as ever, yet somehow the quiet seemed even more ominous than before. It seemed that at any moment he would see his plan begin to unravel; his mind raced, full of fears both rational and irrational. And still nothing happened.
Miroku had been waiting a very long time, long enough to wonder if he might never find out what had become of Koharu at all, when finally something did happen.
One moment the hall in front of him was empty, the next it was filled with darkness. Poisonous miasma swirled everywhere.
It all happened so swiftly that Miroku was momentarily stunned. Where there had been empty air a heartbeat before, Naraku now loomed over him. He did not even have time to pull the rosary free from his arm before slimy tentacles, erupting from where Naraku's legs ought to have been, seized him and hauled him into the air. Miroku thought of a thousand things to say and in the end chose silence.
Anger swirled in Naraku's fathomless black eyes; Miroku nearly crowed with glee. Something had not gone according to the bastard's plan, and he could not help but take pleasure in that knowledge. Any victory, no matter how small, was something to be cherished.
Miroku's satisfaction vanished in an instant.
Naraku released him abruptly. Something thudded to the ground nearby a moment later. Miroku knew without looking what it would be, but he forced himself to look anyway. He must accept responsibility for the suffering he had caused.
So he looked. Koharu's body lay twisted and lifeless on the floor at his feet. Her kosode was stained with blood, but it was not torn. The blood might not be hers at all, he realized with a pang. There was no sign of the other servants, so there was a small chance that she had succeeded in freeing them before Naraku caught on. At the very least, the demon's fury told him that Koharu's rebellion had been unexpected.
Naraku's reaction, however, was exactly what Miroku had expected. He braced himself for impending death.
"You cannot escape, houshi," Naraku said.
Miroku reached for the beads that bound the kazaana... and gagged on a fresh gout of deadly shouki. He choked, eyes watering, and could not breathe. The lack of air made him dizzy; he fell to his knees, coughing and gasping ineffectually at the poisoned air.
Just when he was certain he would lose consciousness - for the last time - Naraku seized him again and drew him up and out of the miasma. Tears streaming from his eyes, he was forced to regard his captor.
"Why won't you just kill me?" he demanded weakly, wishing all the while that he could try for the kazaana again. But he was bound too tightly by the tentacles to make any attempt at resistance.
Naraku did not deign to answer his question. They merely swept silently down the hallway toward, Miroku realized dimly, Sango's room. It was only when they reached that destination that Naraku spoke again.
"Keep her alive," was all he said, just as he had once before, an eternity ago. And then Miroku found himself tossed through the air and into Sango's room, passing through the barrier without a problem.
The last thing he heard as he hit the ground and rolled to a stop was Naraku's voice. He could not even be sure he actually heard it, for it was so faint as to be less a whisper and more a caressing of the mind. "If she dies, so do you."
As the blackness closed in around him, he thought that might not be such a bad option, after all.
-x-
Sango was there when he woke up. It seemed somehow silly of him to notice it like that, with surprise. Of course Sango was there. She couldn't leave. Naraku would not allow it. He must have some sort of plan for her that went beyond merely keeping her as his prisoner, though Miroku could not - dared not - guess what it might be.
To his surprise, she was cautiously curious rather than afraid. His sudden and rather violent reappearance seemed to have made an impression.
"Houshi-sama," she said, hesitating slightly. She must have been watching him for signs of awareness. "You're alive."
"Yes," he grunted. With some effort he managed to get himself properly arranged, so he could sit rather than simply sprawl on the floor. "For the moment, anyway."
When she made no immediate response, he wondered whether she was happy to see him again or merely surprised. He was not entirely sure, himself.
He felt he should tell her what had happened, and now was as good a time as any to make their positions clear. So he forced himself to meet her gaze and admit, "Naraku has ordered me to keep you alive."
"You," she murmured at last, as if taking note of his haggard condition. It must be obvious that there was more to it, but she did not ask. Instead, she seemed to think for a few moments before blurting out, "It wasn't you that hurt me. He kept us apart because it wasn't..."
"It wasn't," he agreed. It was not much, but he was pleasantly surprised that she had seen through Naraku's deception after all. Perhaps the situation was not as dire as he had feared it might be.
Sango drew a sudden sharp breath and turned away, as if she couldn't bear to look at him anymore. "It wasn't you. I know it wasn't, but every time I look at you, I -"
Every time she looked at him, she would remember what Naraku had done to her in his form. Every time she looked at him, she would relive all the fear and pain of that act. She would never again see just his face, she would always see Naraku in his eyes. From that day forward, she would always suffer just from the sight of him. Miroku's right hand unconsciously clenched into a fist so tight it was painful.
In just that small span of time, Naraku had effortlessly destroyed whatever fragile alliance they had managed to build between them. Miroku could feel his hopes for escape begin to crumble all over again, and for once he had no idea how to stop it.
"Taijiya-sama, you cannot let him win."
"And why not?" she snapped, but her anger was only half-hearted. "So I can suffer more?"
Miroku made to protest, but she interrupted him. Her voice dull, she murmured, "If I live, he will only destroy me again."
That gave him pause, but only for a moment. "What can he possibly do to you that he has not already done?"
She met his gaze again, drawing out the silence for a long time. The empty look in her eyes chilled him to the core. She waited until he was well and truly unsettled to land the final blow. In a perfectly calm voice, she told him, "I am with child."
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Chapter Six
Miroku's world had been reduced to a blurry haze that seemed somehow to have been tilted at a bizarre and dizzying angle. He blinked a few times, nearly slipping back into the soothing dark of unconsciousness, but a nagging thought kept him from drifting off. Something had roused him. Something had beaten him to a pulp and left him in a throbbing world of semi-conscious pain, too. He half wondered if the two somethings might not be one and the same.
It was not until he tried to move that he realized he had been lying on the floor, his head tipped back far enough to make his neck ache. It was not the world that had gone all awry, it was simply his viewpoint. Slowly he pushed with aching muscles and managed to sit up, but the motion made him feel very disoriented, even dizzy. Whatever had hit him, it had hit him hard. But whatever it was, he could not remember it.
"Houshi-sama, why?" Sango cried from somewhere out of sight, but the words reverberated strangely, as if in a dream. She had asked him that before... or had she spoken just now? He could not remember, but...
Sango. The name restored some sense of mental clarity, even if it did nothing for the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Sango. She wanted to know why... Why what? Had he done something? Not done something?
He realized slowly, with a growing sense of dread, that he was in the hall and not in the room where he usually dwelt with Sango. Something was very, very wrong.
He scrambled to his feet as best he could, which amounted to little more than gracelessly sprawling the short distance to the door. The door was wide open, but he could not pass. He could clearly see through the portal, but the barrier that surrounded the room would no longer let him through. And that was not the worst of it.
When he first looked into the room, searching for some sign of Sango or at least an indication of what had happened to him, he thought his eyes must be deceiving him. He thought that his wits must have been addled by whatever blow had sent him into unconsciousness, and now he was seeing things that were not there. But he knew, somehow, that what he was seeing was no mere vision; it was real, and happening right in front of him. He could not comprehend how, but there it was.
Or rather, there he was. He watched as he forced Sango down and raped her on the floor of her prison. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny what his eyes showed him. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see right through himself like a ghost, wondering for a moment if he had been possessed, his spirit knocked right out of his body, before realizing that it could not possibly be him taking such vile liberties Sango, but Naraku. Naraku, the shape-changer.
Naraku, with Sango.
Detached, confused disgust gave way to black fury. He shouted wordless rage and hurled himself forward, determined to stop this at any cost, but found his determination dashed to pieces against a rock-solid barrier. He tried again, focusing all the tattered remains of his spiritual power into the attempt, but it did him no good. The barrier was immovable.
And it seemed, as he watched from the wrong side of the barrier, that even time slid to a stop. It seemed to go on and on with no hope of surcease. The worst part was not just in witnessing such a disgusting act at close range, but in the helplessness he felt. He had let himself believe that Naraku would not make a move so long as he stood guard over Sango, in some way he had even thought that together they could stand against their captor and survive. And yet, here he was, forced only to watch while Naraku yet again did as he pleased with the unfortunate demon slayer.
Miroku wondered furiously why the abuse she had suffered before had not been enough to slake Naraku's thirst for violence. He simply could not understand what the point of this might be; or perhaps, he realized in a sudden flash of clarity, it was rather that he did not want to understand.
He had helped many young women escape horrific situations in the past, but swiftly realized that he could do nothing to stop this, had no hope of intervening. It was not long before he was forced to conclude that this was exactly what Naraku wanted. This wasn't just about Sango, it was about Miroku as well. The barrier would not let him through no matter what he tried. He guessed that it would also mask any sign of his presence, including any sounds that he made, but that did not stop him from screaming obscenities until he was hoarse.
Naraku had used them both. He had allowed them to believe that their alliance went unnoticed when in fact it was all a part of his plan.
Miroku was shaking when he realized the deed was, at last, done. Naraku had risen almost unnoticed, leaving Sango where she lay, and was walking toward the door.
He stepped aside so as not to be run into as Naraku exited the room, half wondering if he ought to try to throttle the bastard and end it all here and now. Or perhaps the kazaana would be more fitting. It seemed to take forever for Naraku to emerge from the room; Miroku hung suspended in an agony of indecision. If he attempted to fight Naraku now, would he be strong enough? He had a feeling that at best he could hope for a swift death, and at worst the silent half-life of one of the castle servants.
In the end, the choice was not Miroku's to make. Naraku did not walk calmly or sedately through the door; rather, he stumbled gracelessly into the hallway. A glance through the open doorway revealed that Sango had struck him.
She had made the first move. In that moment, Miroku knew he would follow through on what she had begun.
His expression darkening, he wordlessly pulled the string of protective beads from itsplace around his arm. All he had to do now was raise his arm and open his hand, and Naraku would be pulled in and destroyed forever.
The servants, Miroku told himself, were already dead, devoid of the souls that had once made them human. It was no matter to him if their lifeless, puppets' bodies were pulled into the void along with the puppetmaster. Even so, it gave him a moment's pause. If he was wrong, and the servants were still human but merely possessed... he was not sure he could forgive himself for being responsible for their deaths.
"Think before you attempt to defy me, monk," Naraku sneered without even turning to look.
Miroku barely noticed. He was overcome by pain. It ricocheted up and down his arm, sharp as the edge of a knife.
The kazaana!
He could not help but panic a little. Had Naraku made him watch only to open the kazaana and kill him afterward?
His fingers spasmed uncontrollably as the pain increased to unbearable intensity. Miroku dropped the beads and clamped his left hand over his right, as if the pressure might somehow stop the violent twitching in his muscles. For a few intense moments, red clouded his vision. He feared that this pain might truly signal the beginning of his end, too soon to save Sango -
And then it began to fade. Breathless and unable to stand, Miroku sank to his knees.
He was not surprised in the least to find that Naraku had disappeared.
-x-
The incident haunted Miroku for days afterward. The memory of watching as he ruthlessly raped that poor unfortunate woman plagued his dreams and lurked even while he was awake. He felt disgusting, as if Naraku's taint had polluted him simply by virtue of having borrowed his form; he had to remind himself again and again that it was Naraku that had done the deed, and he himself had been but an innocent bystander.
At first he was afraid to go to Sango. If she had not realized Naraku's deception, than Miroku's presence would do far more harm than good. But when he finally gathered the courage to risk approaching her, it quickly became apparent that he could not go to her even if he wanted to. The barrier surrounding her room would no longer allow him to pass. He was trapped outside, forced again into the role of helpless onlooker.
He thought to meditate, to gather his mental and spiritual strength in order that he might attempt to break through the barrier. He thought that perhaps by dint of sheer stubborn idiocy he might get through to Sango and somehow be able to lead them both from this hell. But he couldn't concentrate. Whenever he sought to center himself, his thoughts scattered in a dozen directions at once and try as he might he could not seem to bring them to order.
The kazaana provided a constant aching counterpoint to the disorder in his mind, seeming to be the sole point of stability in his life. As if he needed the distraction, or the continued reminder that he survived only by Naraku's whim.
After a day or two, Miroku began to spend his time in the kitchen rather than lurking in the hall outside Sango's room. He could not reach her, only watch her. But he had to wonder to what purpose he was allowed that small glimpse into her life. It only made his heart ache or filled him with rage to see her like this, and he knew enough of Naraku's tricks to know that that was what Naraku wanted. Naraku thrived on pain and suffering, especially that which he himself had inflicted. And so Miroku resolved, eventually and with great difficulty, not to give him that satisfaction.
There was nothing he could do for Sango anyway. He might be able to see into her room without a problem, but it was clear that she was unaware of his presence. And it only took one look at her to see that she was broken, perhaps beyond repair. She had reverted back to the way she had been when he first met her, sullen and silent, a mere shadow of the warrior she had been.
Now that he was no longer permitted to care for her, the servants returned. Their silence was somehow even more oppressive than it ever had been before. He kept a wary eye on them, half expecting some new treachery every time they appeared, but they summarily ignored him. Their sole purpose was to care for Sango.
Perhaps, Miroku reflected bitterly on more than one occasion, 'care' was the wrong word.
She would not eat, so the servants worked in teams of two and three to force water and broth down her throat. After the first couple of times, Miroku stopped following them. He could not stand to see them pass so effortlessly through the barrier that kept him out, and he could not bear to watch them force Sango to live. He hated to see how she fought them, yearning for death, only to face the inevitable betrayal of her body's demand for life.
At the same time, he could not bring himself to try to stop them. He was certain that whatever nourishment they brought her was all that was keeping her alive and, being the rather selfish creature he was, he did not want her to die.
When he finally realized that he had become determined not just to ensure her continued existence, but to save her, he was not sure whether he should laugh or despair. There was no one around to ask, and he had no better way to spend his time, so he did a bit of both.
-x-
Time dragged on interminably. As much as Miroku detested solitude, he knew it would serve him better to accept it than to dwell on what might have been.
And he tried to accept it, but that was easier said than done.
Sango was a hard woman to forget. There were times when, despite his best efforts, he could not stop himself from thinking about her. He would find himself worrying about her almost without realizing it. He wondered when she might at last be allowed to find peace, or how much she was suffering. More than anything, he wondered if she hated him now for what she thought he had done, or if she had somehow managed to see through Naraku's ploy. He had made a point of warning her of Naraku's shapeshifting ability and of his cunning, but Miroku had no way of knowing whether or not those warnings had been of any use.
He had just finished walking this mental path for the hundredth time when a trio of servants went past. Miroku glanced up at them more out of instinct than interest.
And yet, as the three women made their way silently past him, something piqued his curiosity.
By now he was at least passingly familiar with the servants that tended to Sango. He could recognize most of them, and had even come up with names for a few. But this time, something was different.
One of the women was much younger than the others, barely matured into womanhood at all, really. And when Miroku looked at her, he felt a flash of deeper recognition. He had seen this woman in the castle before and felt a strange sense of familiarity, which he had always simply shrugged off. He had made himself familiar with many women in the past. It was hardly surprising that he should see passing similarities in other women and be reminded. But now he was increasingly certain that he had seen this particular young woman somewhere else before his imprisonment here, though he could not recall where or when, or what her name might have been.
So he waited and let them pass without comment or interruption. And while they were gone, no doubt tending to Sango in their ungentle way, he wracked his memory for any hint of the young servant woman.
It was there, he could tell, but it was always just out of reach.
When he heard the servants returning, he had made up his mind. It would probably get him nowhere, but he had to try something. So when they drew close to him, he insinuated himself between the youngest woman and the others.
It was a foolish ploy. He would have a few moments at best before the other servants realized what he was up to and returned for their companion, and he had no idea what he was going to do before then.
When he stepped in front of her, catching her shoulders in his hands, the young woman stopped walking and looked up at him. He met her gaze, half fearing she would simply toss him aside with the same inhuman strength the other servants had displayed, and thought frantically. He knew her, he was sure of it. And as he stared into her empty eyes, something finally slid into place in his memory.
He did know her. Her story came rushing back to him. She had been only a child when they first met. And now...
"Koharu," he said, suddenly remembering the girl's name.
She stared at him blankly for a moment, then her facade seemed to suddenly crack. She shuddered, gasped, broke miraculously free of Naraku's control - or was perhaps deliberately released. Miroku did not particularly care which.
She stared at him again, but her eyes were slowly overcome with clarity. She recognized him. "Houshi-sama?" she asked, half-stuttering, half wavering. "Where am I? Why are you here, again?"
So he was right. This was the same girl; she recognized him even in her supreme disorientation. "I saved your life once, when you were still a child," he told her. "I could not knowingly leave you in danger now."
"I was in danger?" she asked, faltering. It was obvious that she had no memory of how she had come to be in this place, working as a servant for Naraku. It was probably better that way, at least for her. "And you saved me." That part was not a question. Koharu had been a sweet and impressionable girl and had never once doubted him. "Thank you, Houshi-sama!"
She flung herself toward him, into his waiting arms. He had expected this, and held her close for a moment, trying not to let on just how much comfort he drew from such fleeting contact. He would have liked to spend more time reacquainting himself with Koharu, but he knew this might be his one chance to make a move. It was now or never. He had to seize this chance. "We are not safe, Koharu. Not yet."
She gazed up at him, eyes wide with fear. "I don't remember how I got here. That's very bad, isn't it?"
He nodded. "We are prisoners of a powerful demon," he began to explain.
"But you are a monk. You have holy powers. You can defeat him, right?"
"I cannot reach him," he confessed. "There is a barrier here which I cannot pass. But you, who he thinks to be his brainwashed servant, can."
Koharu trembled for a moment. And then she steeled herself to calm. "What must I do?"
"There are other people here that he has enslaved. Find a way to free them, if you can. And then... you must bring the demon Naraku to me." He spoke quickly, if quietly. This plan was desperate and suicidal, but at this point he was ready to risk anything for freedom. To save Koharu, Sango, the other humans... and whatever might be left of himself. "Find him. Tell him whatever it takes to get him to come here, to me. And then run. As fast as you can. Get behind me if you can, or hide in a side room. But you must not stay in the hall or you will be killed."
She touched his hand, the one bound against the kazaana. "You're going to use this to destroy him, aren't you?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Yes."
Her gaze dropped to the floor beneath their feet. "You've saved me twice now, Houshi-sama," she said quietly. "I'll do everything I can to help you in return."
She seemed earnest, but he wondered how far he could trust her. This could be another of Naraku's ploys; this could be Naraku he held in his arms, or she could still be under the demon's control, playing along to cause him more anguish. But he had to do something, and soon. Sango would not survive much longer without his intervention, and it suddenly seemed more imperative than ever that she live to find happiness and freedom once again.
"Koharu," he began, gripping her by the shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "This will be the most dangerous thing you have ever done. You must be careful."
"I will, Houshi-sama."
Feeling beyond conflicted, Miroku sent Koharu on her way. He knew there was a very high chance that he had just sent her to her death, and that the guilt for that might haunt him for the rest of his life, however short a time that might be. But it was too late for regrets now. All he could do was wait. And hope and fear, the tension rising inside him with each passing heartbeat.
For a long time, nothing happened. The halls were as silent as ever, yet somehow the quiet seemed even more ominous than before. It seemed that at any moment he would see his plan begin to unravel; his mind raced, full of fears both rational and irrational. And still nothing happened.
Miroku had been waiting a very long time, long enough to wonder if he might never find out what had become of Koharu at all, when finally something did happen.
One moment the hall in front of him was empty, the next it was filled with darkness. Poisonous miasma swirled everywhere.
It all happened so swiftly that Miroku was momentarily stunned. Where there had been empty air a heartbeat before, Naraku now loomed over him. He did not even have time to pull the rosary free from his arm before slimy tentacles, erupting from where Naraku's legs ought to have been, seized him and hauled him into the air. Miroku thought of a thousand things to say and in the end chose silence.
Anger swirled in Naraku's fathomless black eyes; Miroku nearly crowed with glee. Something had not gone according to the bastard's plan, and he could not help but take pleasure in that knowledge. Any victory, no matter how small, was something to be cherished.
Miroku's satisfaction vanished in an instant.
Naraku released him abruptly. Something thudded to the ground nearby a moment later. Miroku knew without looking what it would be, but he forced himself to look anyway. He must accept responsibility for the suffering he had caused.
So he looked. Koharu's body lay twisted and lifeless on the floor at his feet. Her kosode was stained with blood, but it was not torn. The blood might not be hers at all, he realized with a pang. There was no sign of the other servants, so there was a small chance that she had succeeded in freeing them before Naraku caught on. At the very least, the demon's fury told him that Koharu's rebellion had been unexpected.
Naraku's reaction, however, was exactly what Miroku had expected. He braced himself for impending death.
"You cannot escape, houshi," Naraku said.
Miroku reached for the beads that bound the kazaana... and gagged on a fresh gout of deadly shouki. He choked, eyes watering, and could not breathe. The lack of air made him dizzy; he fell to his knees, coughing and gasping ineffectually at the poisoned air.
Just when he was certain he would lose consciousness - for the last time - Naraku seized him again and drew him up and out of the miasma. Tears streaming from his eyes, he was forced to regard his captor.
"Why won't you just kill me?" he demanded weakly, wishing all the while that he could try for the kazaana again. But he was bound too tightly by the tentacles to make any attempt at resistance.
Naraku did not deign to answer his question. They merely swept silently down the hallway toward, Miroku realized dimly, Sango's room. It was only when they reached that destination that Naraku spoke again.
"Keep her alive," was all he said, just as he had once before, an eternity ago. And then Miroku found himself tossed through the air and into Sango's room, passing through the barrier without a problem.
The last thing he heard as he hit the ground and rolled to a stop was Naraku's voice. He could not even be sure he actually heard it, for it was so faint as to be less a whisper and more a caressing of the mind. "If she dies, so do you."
As the blackness closed in around him, he thought that might not be such a bad option, after all.
-x-
Sango was there when he woke up. It seemed somehow silly of him to notice it like that, with surprise. Of course Sango was there. She couldn't leave. Naraku would not allow it. He must have some sort of plan for her that went beyond merely keeping her as his prisoner, though Miroku could not - dared not - guess what it might be.
To his surprise, she was cautiously curious rather than afraid. His sudden and rather violent reappearance seemed to have made an impression.
"Houshi-sama," she said, hesitating slightly. She must have been watching him for signs of awareness. "You're alive."
"Yes," he grunted. With some effort he managed to get himself properly arranged, so he could sit rather than simply sprawl on the floor. "For the moment, anyway."
When she made no immediate response, he wondered whether she was happy to see him again or merely surprised. He was not entirely sure, himself.
He felt he should tell her what had happened, and now was as good a time as any to make their positions clear. So he forced himself to meet her gaze and admit, "Naraku has ordered me to keep you alive."
"You," she murmured at last, as if taking note of his haggard condition. It must be obvious that there was more to it, but she did not ask. Instead, she seemed to think for a few moments before blurting out, "It wasn't you that hurt me. He kept us apart because it wasn't..."
"It wasn't," he agreed. It was not much, but he was pleasantly surprised that she had seen through Naraku's deception after all. Perhaps the situation was not as dire as he had feared it might be.
Sango drew a sudden sharp breath and turned away, as if she couldn't bear to look at him anymore. "It wasn't you. I know it wasn't, but every time I look at you, I -"
Every time she looked at him, she would remember what Naraku had done to her in his form. Every time she looked at him, she would relive all the fear and pain of that act. She would never again see just his face, she would always see Naraku in his eyes. From that day forward, she would always suffer just from the sight of him. Miroku's right hand unconsciously clenched into a fist so tight it was painful.
In just that small span of time, Naraku had effortlessly destroyed whatever fragile alliance they had managed to build between them. Miroku could feel his hopes for escape begin to crumble all over again, and for once he had no idea how to stop it.
"Taijiya-sama, you cannot let him win."
"And why not?" she snapped, but her anger was only half-hearted. "So I can suffer more?"
Miroku made to protest, but she interrupted him. Her voice dull, she murmured, "If I live, he will only destroy me again."
That gave him pause, but only for a moment. "What can he possibly do to you that he has not already done?"
She met his gaze again, drawing out the silence for a long time. The empty look in her eyes chilled him to the core. She waited until he was well and truly unsettled to land the final blow. In a perfectly calm voice, she told him, "I am with child."
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