InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Separation ❯ Specter of the Past ( Chapter 10 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: King Baka 
The village falls under attack, and Sango comes face to face with a forgotten part of her past.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.07.2008 | Updated On: 10.14.2013 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.0K | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Completed
The village falls under attack, and Sango comes face to face with a forgotten part of her past.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Action / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.07.2008 | Updated On: 10.14.2013 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.0K | Visits: 1.3K | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I don’t own Inuyasha or any of the publicly known characters, plot, etc. I’m just renting them from Rumiko Takahashi, Viz, etc. I do own the plot of this story and any original characters I’ve created. I will make no money from this fic; I write for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of my readers.
Fanfiction of the Week: Broken*, by Quickening.
The only Inuyasha fanfic I’ve ever read that is set before Kikyou’s resurrection. It’s basically a divergence from right after when Shippou joins the group. The uniqueness is appealing in itself, but add in an intriguing premise and plenty of drama, and you’ve got a very entertaining story as well. Quickening does an extraordinary job with Inuyasha in particular. Highly recommended; just be ready for some angst.
Specter of the Past
The night had been quiet, for which Inuyasha was grateful. He felt reasonably well-rested, though his wound had yet to fully heal. He would need to take it easy today, a fact which irked him to no end. But he would heal if he did not push himself today, and he would be able to make up for lost time tomorrow.
He really didn't feel like climbing down the cliff. But there appeared to be no other way down, so in the end he was forced to grit his teeth and brave the climb. The progress was slow, as he lowered himself one hand at a time, each movement sending jolts of pain through his chest. When he finally reached the bottom he was breathing hard, and spent several moments leaning exhaustedly against the rock. His wound had reopened, the thin trickle of blood soaking into his kosode.
But he was too focused to allow himself a long break. He was so close to his goal; he could practically hear the sweet exclamation of his name from Kagome’s lips as she rushed toward him. Surely she would embrace him, something which he found himself looking forward to more than just about anything else. And perhaps he would find it within himself to hug her back, instead of gruffly pushing her away.
With thoughts of Kagome renewing his strength, he pushed himself upright and set out at a brisk jog back toward Shinobu's home.
Miroku cracked one eye open as her footsteps faded. Seeing that he was alone, he sighed, his lips twisting in a wry smile. For once, getting close with Sango had not been his idea. He had intended on being a perfect gentleman and remaining on his own futon, and so he had. But when he had awakened this morning, he had found the slayer nestled into his side on his futon. And since sleeping like that had been her idea...he was a man, after all. And what man wouldn't want to spend the night resting with such a woman in his arms? But there was far more to it than that with Sango, he reflected. He wanted to spend every night for the rest of his life with her, just like that. Minus her embarrassed ‘morning after’ reaction, of course. He had only pretended to still be asleep to prevent her from feeling even more uncomfortable. The day would be more pleasant if Sango thought him blissfully ignorant to her nocturnal wanderings.
Still, he could not wipe the silly grin off his face. Sango had always been good a concealing her true feelings. But over the past forty-eight hours, she had given him some real glimpses into her deepest desires. The kiss they had shared two nights ago had not been borne of merely an emotional bond. Her had seen it in her eyes, felt her rapid breathing and her heartbeat elevated to match his own. Her subconscious desire for physical contact had manifested itself again last night. He had always put Sango on a bit of a pedestal. It was difficult to imagine her lusting after anyone, especially him. But on some level, perhaps one she did not yet fully comprehend, she must desire him in the purely physical sense.
It was logical, he supposed; they were promised to be wed. But being willing to lie with him as man and wife was completely different from actually wanting him sexually. He had always assumed that due to her inexperience with the opposite sex—another assumption of his—she would be merely dutiful at first and gradually learn to appreciate lovemaking as time went on. That was the normal course of affairs in this time period, with many marriages arranged and women greatly encouraged to remain chaste until their wedding nights. So that is what he had always expected, if ever he found himself lucky enough to find a wife.
But Sango was no normal woman. She was a fierce fighter, a warrior through and through, yet she still maintained her femininity. This enticing contradiction was part of what had attracted him to her in the first place. He did not know what she found so attractive about him, but she had given him her word, and it was clear that she was willing to give him her heart, if only he would take it. If only he would cease his attentions toward other women, and not give her cause to keep her invisible barriers raised against emotional pain. He had thought his flirtations harmless fun, but if Sango desired him physically, how much more must it have hurt to observe his own physical desires directed toward another women?
No more.
He had learned so much about her during this brief journey, and about their relationship. Sango desired him, perhaps as much as he desired her. The thought somehow only made him want her more, and not solely in the physical sense. He wanted to give his heart to her, and receive hers in return. He wanted an ironclad trust established between them, so that she would never again doubt his faithfulness or devotion. Finally, he wanted her to feel comfortable giving voice and action to those deep desires she had hidden for so long.
The onus was on him, he knew. He had stressed their relationship with his foolish behavior. But for Sango he would run to the ends of the earth, pull the sun and stars down and set the whole world ablaze. Ceasing his flirtations with other women would be relatively easy. He hoped. He had never tried it before, but with the rewards of Sango’s hand, heart, and body awaiting him, was there anything he could not accomplish?
It was not hard to find the taijiya when he finally made his way outside; she was sitting in the shade of a nearby tree polishing hiraikotsu. For a moment he just watched her, the morning sunlight glistening off her hair as it bounced gently behind her with the rhythmic movement. She noticed his stare and turned away, no doubt to hide the reddening of her face. Miroku smiled warmly. I will never tire of making her blush. He padded his way across the wet grass toward her, the rings of his staff jingling with each step.
“Good morning, Sango,” he said amicably.
“Good morning, Houshi-sama,” she replied without taking her eyes off her work. But she seemed to be in good spirits, any lingering mortification over last night’s sleeping arrangements forgotten in favor of quiet contentment. So he simply sat next to her and enjoyed the comfortable silence. Once he caught her eyeing him, as if wondering when he was going to get up and move off to more lecherous pursuits. He only grinned softly to himself, which caused her even more consternation. Go ahead, Sango. Ask me, and I will tell you. But she remained silent, and instead continued to enjoy his company, even after hiraikotsu had been polished to a spotless sheen. Soon, Sango. Soon you will understand.
It was not until the sound of frightened screams reached them that the quiet tranquility was broken. Scrambling to his feet, Miroku turned toward the village. An ominous cloud of smoke was drifting through, sending villagers fleeing in its wake. Those who were overtaken collapsed gracelessly and lay unmoving. Sango sprinted into the fray, shedding her outer garments as she went to reveal her black taijiya armor. She yelled at the retreating villagers, rallying the men to grab masks and weapons. Miroku stood spellbound for a moment, utterly captivated. In the sea of panicked men, women, and children, Sango was the picture of calmness, a true warrior. When he saw her don a mask, the monk snapped out of his trance and darted forward to follow suit.
He would not have made it before the smoke overtook him had Sango not tossed him a mask. As the wind continued to push the haze their way, the men held their ground nervously, waiting for enemies to come charging out of the fog. Yet the only sound that pierced the gloom was heavy breathing. Then the smoke was past, and the fresh light revealed their opponents for the first time. At least fifty, perhaps sixty men stood across the field, the village at their backs. All were heavily armed, their swords glistening in the sun. They wore heavy armor as well, making them seem more like youkai than men, except for the leering human faces. Most of the village men stepped back in fear, and many might have turned and fled had the women and children not been hiding in the forest behind them. There were perhaps seventy of them, these farmers wielding clubs as swords and wearing luck as armor. Such a small numerical advantage it was; the bandit’s well-executed surprise attack had ensured as much. And it would not make a difference against the juggernaut currently biding its time across the field, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
Sango marched forward until she was almost halfway between the two armies, confronting the enemy fearlessly. Miroku jogged to stand beside her, and a transformed Kirara landed on her other side. Sango glanced at each of them in turn, and he nodded sharply. She nodded in reply before once more turning to face the hoots and catcalls of the bandits.
“Silence! All of you!” she yelled, her fierce tone silencing the majority. “I do not like killing humans, but if you don’t go back where you came from and leave this peaceful village alone, I will not hold back!”
The mob rose as one in uproarious laughter, not realizing the danger behind this woman’s threat. But Miroku had seen Sango in action before. He had witnessed hiraikotsu slicing youkai in half as if they were made of paper, and he had no doubt the weapon could do the same to a man if its wielder so desired. And he was no slouch when it came to hand-to-hand combat either; anyone who could hold off an angry Inuyasha could say the same. Kirara would show no more mercy than her mistress. Miroku grimaced, not liking the two alternatives that presented themselves. Either they would die protecting the villagers, or the three of them would slaughter the bandits to the last man. No, I won’t let that happen. I’ll suck all of them into my kazaana before I let Sango stain her hands with human blood.
“Sango, my dear! The last time I saw you, you were just a lass. My how you’ve grown!”
Both Miroku and Sango started upon hearing the strange voice. The owner came into view, strolling forward to stand about eight meters in front of them. Oh, Kami…he’s dressed like a taijiya! Dark green cloth overlaid the customary black armor, and an immaculate katana rested at his side. In his hand he wielded a pole, perhaps five feet in length, tipped with long, wicked-looking blades at both ends. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, his hairline just beginning to recede. The man’s tone had indicated genuine pleasure, but his eyes burned with hatred so deep it chilled Miroku’s blood.
“Do I know you?” Sango questioned warily as Kirara growled low.
“Don’t you remember Katashi, your old uncle?” the man asked, feigning hurt.
For a moment Sango just stared, then her eyes flashed in recognition and her expression shifted into a vicious glare.
“Bastard! You stopped being my uncle when you were banished from the village!”
At this, Katashi’s face also shifted, his smile becoming far more sinister. “You mean when your father, my own brother, banished me because I didn’t respect the old ways? I’ll admit, some of my methods were unorthodox, but—”
“Unorthodox?! Your techniques were barbaric! You used villagers as bait and even made them pay exorbitant fees up front! When they couldn’t afford to pay, you abandoned them to the youkai! My father gave you plenty of chances to mend your vile ways, but in the end you refused. You left him no choice!”
“And why shouldn’t people have to pay? Who else could have performed the necessary services?”
“You—”
“It does not matter,” Katashi cut her off calmly, seemingly bored with the conversation. “Do you remember what I told your father as he escorted me to the gate?”
Sango paused, her eyes darkening as she answered. “You said you would return and slaughter the entire village.”
“And I never forgot that promise. For ten years I toiled in this group, serving arrogant men with the fighting skills of a wet fundoshi. Slowly I worked my way up the ranks, winning allies, and when the opportunity finally came, I killed our leader and took over. A month ago, I returned to our old village, only to find a collection of graves. I feared my great privilege had been taken away from me, but then some of my men informed me of a woman, wielding a giant boomerang and wearing a certain mask. Can you imagine my glee, as I realized that my promise was not void after all? That the last taijiya was still alive, just waiting for me to kill her?”
Sango smiled fiercely. “So you think you can take me, old man? I’m not the same clumsy girl I once was.”
“I hope not. It’s been so long since I last fought someone worthy of me.”
Sango sobered, favoring her uncle with a solemn stare. “I’ll give you one last chance, Katashi. Turn back now and mend your evil ways, and our ancestors might yet smile upon you.”
“I have no interest in the approval of dead men.”
If that remark hit home for Sango, she didn’t let it show. The two slayers faced each other, sizing each other up. They leapt forward at the same time, Katashi swinging his halberd diagonally. Sango drew her own blade as she blocked with hiraikotsu, intending to counterattack immediately. Instead, the sheer force behind Katashi’s blow knocked hiraikotsu back, smashing it into her body. She stumbled, but managed to summersault out of reach even as the other end of her opponent’s weapon slashed across her cheek. The thin slice was of little concern, but Sango grimaced as the wounds in her shoulder and back flared to life. The power and precision in that stroke had been unbelievable, and she knew her wounded body couldn’t take many more beatings like that. No, trying to match Katashi’s strength would be suicide. She would have to use her smaller size, all her quickness and agility to win this fight. Father…give me strength. She dropped hiraikotsu.
“Come now,” Katashi taunted, leaning his weapon casually against his shoulder. “Do not tell me you’ve given up already, little girl.”
Sango didn’t answer, deciding to let her sword speak for her. She dashed forward, swinging the katana in a downward arc. Katashi parried the blow with one blade and in the same motion brought the other at her head. She ducked, his blade slicing a few strands of hair, and swung at his legs. He leapt, avoiding the attack, and Sango rose to her feet in time to deflect the next strike. She was constantly in motion, darting left and right, never taking the full force of his attacks. Katashi swiped at her leg, and Sango parried the blow before deftly drawing her blade back and slicing a gash in his arm. Katashi looked at the blood, a menacing grin forming on his lips.
“You are right, Sango. You truly have improved. I believe I am finished holding back now.”
It quickly became apparent that he really had been holding back. His halberd twirled furiously, thin blades flashing as they clashed with Sango’s katana. Miroku’s worries increased tenfold as she was forced back before her enemy’s determined assault. The battle was the only one going on; everyone else on the field watched transfixed. Sango cried out as her sword was knocked from her grasp, and she was sent sprawling by a powerful side-kick to the stomach. She rose to her knees, gasping for breath, as Katashi tossed her katana to the ground in front of her.
“Get up, little girl. This fight is far too amusing to be over so quickly. I doubt killing that houshi or your precious cat will provide me half as much enjoyment.”
Sango’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with white-hot fire. Clenching her teeth, she snarled viciously as she snatched up her sword and leapt into battle once more. Combat resumed in earnest, this time with Sango as the aggressor. She came on unrelenting, her blade moving swiftly and precisely, meeting Katashi’s halberd in thunderous clangs that resonated through the area. Several times she managed to draw blood, the tip of her blade sneaking past his defenses, but he remained tantalizingly out of reach. Growing tired of retreat, he counterattacked, thrusting his weapon at her stomach. Sango was ready; she nimbly sidestepped the oncoming blade and brought her sword down on the weapon’s shaft, testing its strength. The halberd shuddered under the impact, and Sango directed her next attack to break it. Raising her sword high above her head, she brought it down with all her strength, forcing Katashi to block with the halberd wielded horizontally. For a split second it held, then the hollow metal cracked and shattered as Sango’s blade descended through the middle. Katashi managed to lean out of the way, but he could not avoid the kick aimed at his sternum. The impact sent him toppling over backwards, and when he started to rise again he found the tip of Sango’s katana at his throat.
He smiled devilishly, seeing the indecision in her gaze. “Well, come on,” he taunted. “Kill me.”
But Sango hesitated, and Katashi took advantage. With a vicious swipe of his leg he took her feet out from under her. He had already sprung into a crouch by the time she landed flat on her back, and he wasted no time in slamming one half of his halberd through her shoulder. Her body contorted in agony, but only a small gasp forced its way past her well-disciplined countenance. Katashi placed his knee on her wrist, pinning her sword to the ground while unknowingly trapping her hidden arm-blade as well. He twirled the other half of his halberd casually, face twisting in amusement.
“Couldn’t kill your old uncle, could you?” he sneered. “Unfortunately for you, I have no such qualms!” He drew his weapon up in order to plunge it through her heart.
Miroku had waited as long as he could. He watched as Sango got the best of her uncle and held him at sword point, unable to bring herself to finish him off. In slow motion he saw Katashi turn the tables, stabbing her through the shoulder. He understood this was Sango’s fight, but at the moment he didn’t care. She could yell at him for this later, but only if she lived to see the end of the battle. He and Kirara leapt forward at the same time, and how he made it before the fire-cat he would never know. With a cry born of utter desperation he swung his staff.
Sango lay there for a moment, simply staring up at the blue sky overhead as the sounds of metal meeting metal once again reverberated through the clearing. Kirara nuzzled her cheek before placing a paw on her chest to hold her down. Sango cried out as her companion drew the blade from her shoulder, then reached up with a hand to staunch the flow of blood. She sat up with the help of her feline friend, and beheld a sight that filled her with dread. Miroku was going after Katashi, swinging his staff wildly as he tried to land a blow. For his part, the slayer was simply defending, and wearing a wicked grin all the while. He’s just toying with him…stupid Houshi-sama! He’s going to get himself killed! Lurching to her feet, Sango gripped her katana in both hands as she staggered to rejoin the fight. Katashi saw her coming, and decided to stop fooling around with the monk. In a flash the staff was sent flying through the air, embedding itself in the ground several meters away. Then he swung the blade straight for the monk’s exposed neck.
Sango arrived just in time, blocking the strike with inches to spare. She held strong just long enough for Miroku to scramble out of danger before Katashi pushed her back. She rolled to avoid another fall, leaving dark red spots on the grass.
“I see. So that houshi is dear to you, eh?”
Without warning, Katashi flung the half-halberd to the side, the blade tearing through the air like an arrow. It was coming straight at Miroku’s chest, moving far too quickly for human reflexes to avoid. Fortunately, the monk had youkai reflexes aiding him as well. Kirara lunged, ramming the monk out of the way and taking the blade in her chest instead. She roared, using a paw to fling the weapon away before transforming back into her small form.
“Kirara!” twin voices shouted in concern. Sango was relieved, however, to see the cat writhing on the ground, her tails twitching periodically. It meant that while she was pissed about the pain, she would survive this. The man who had wounded her, however, would not. At least not if Sango had anything to say about it. Her hesitation to kill her uncle had nearly cost Miroku and Kirara their lives. It would not happen again. Turning determined eyes back to her opponent, she readied herself for battle, one that at least one of them would not survive.
“Well, how about it, little girl? Shall we lose the distractions and finish this?” Katashi asked, drawing his katana for the first time.
“Fine by me!”
She charged, swinging her sword with both hands. With one arm virtually disabled and several wounds leaking blood, she knew she didn’t have much left. But she would end this, even if it meant her own death. If the man she loved could survive, she would enter the next life with a smile upon her face. Katashi blocked her attack easily and responded with one of his own. They traded several blows, each parrying the other’s strikes while searching for an opportunity to do damage. Sango felt her body start to weaken, her strength fading rapidly. Left with no choice, she intentionally let one of her swings miss and carry too far, creating an opening too tempting to pass up. Katashi thrust his katana forward, aiming for her exposed midsection. He was probably expecting her to attempt another sidestep, and was understandably shocked as she lunged forward instead, impaling herself on his blade. His surprised expression morphed into understanding and finally anguish, even as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He collapsed, the hilt of Sango’s katana still protruding from his gut. Swaying on rubber knees, Sango followed suit. She heard the sound of her name and felt the monk’s strong arms catch her as she lost consciousness.
“Sango! Sango!” he called, his heart ready to disintegrate in his chest. He gently drew the katana from her side and examined the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief; the sword had passed all the way through her, but the wound itself was only few centimeters from her side. The blood was flowing slowly, and odds were slim that it had hit any major organs. If the blood loss from her combined injuries did not kill her, it appeared that she would live.
But they weren’t out of the woods yet. It remained to be seen how the rest of the bandits would react to their leader’s demise. Miroku glanced up, expecting to see a bunch of angry men charging his way. What he glimpsed instead dropped his jaw to the ground. Disheartened by the loss of their leader, all of the bandits had thrown down their weapons and given up. Of course, the two hundred reinforcements from the other villages which suddenly appeared to the rear had a lot to do with that. He couldn’t help but grin; they had done it. And hopefully they would all live to celebrate the victory, though that was still up in the air. Gathering Sango in his arms, he pushed past the jubilant villagers and headed for the healer’s hut. Unfortunately, the old healer was one of those who had been caught unawares by the smoke. He found her lying on her stomach in front of the door, snoozing soundly.
He did the best he could under the circumstances, heating water so he could clean Sango’s wounds. Worried as he was, he even managed not to stare as he removed her armor and clothing so he could bandage her up. She mercifully remained asleep through the entire procedure; it was going to be bad enough when she woke up and realized she was naked under that blanket. But he would gladly deal with her anger, take a thousand slaps to the face or hiraikotsus to the head, if it meant she would recover. Eventually the old healer came to, and Miroku relayed to her the events of the day. When he was finished his tale, the elderly woman looked at Sango, then back up at him.
“She is lucky to have a man as attentive as yourself,” she said, flashing a toothless grin.
Miroku gave her a friendly smile in return as she left the hut, taking Sango’s armor to be washed and mended. His face fell once she was gone. No…I am the lucky one. He sat in silence, just watching Sango sleep, hanging on every rise and fall of her chest. He was probably worrying too much. Her complexion was only a little pale and her breathing was steady. She had lost a good deal of blood, but not enough to be fatal. Still, he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until she opened her eyes and yelled at him for undressing her.
*Mew*
Miroku nearly jumped out of his skin when Kirara made herself known. She limped in through the doorway and plopped down by Sango’s head. He was surprised to see her up and about already. The wonders of youkai blood.
“I’m sorry I left you on the field, Kirara,” he said, petting her head. “And thank you for saving my life.”
She mewed amicably in response, her eyes revealing that she did not hold it against him. She leaned close to Sango, sniffing lightly, then began licking her mistress’ cheek. The taijiya stirred, and Miroku leaned over her as well. This was the sight that greeted Sango as she came to—her two closest companions staring at her with eyes shining in unabashed concern. Her cheeks pinked lightly under such scrutiny, but she was still having difficulty wrapping her head around one simple fact.
“I-I’m alive.” It wasn’t a question, but there was no doubting the surprise in her voice.
“I would hope so,” Miroku joked, the tension finally leaving him. “Because if you are dead, then I must be dead as well.”
“What happened? I remember killing that bastard, but I thought for sure he stabbed me as well.”
“He did,” Miroku confirmed, his face somber once more. “But the wound was not too severe. You lost a lot of blood, but the sword missed your organs. We got lucky.”
“Ugh…that must be why I feel so light headed,” she replied, reaching up to massage a temple with her left hand. The monk made a strangled sound, and when Sango glanced at him he was looking away from her with an uneasy smirk adorning his lips. Gazing down at herself, Sango realized why. With an indignant gasp she drew the blanket up to her chin, finally becoming aware of her nakedness.
“Houshi-sama! Did you undress me?” she demanded tersely, and Miroku felt a strong sense of foreboding wash over him. It seems that I might get that thousand slaps or lumps after all…
“…”
“Houshi-sama!”
“N-now, Sango! You were seriously wounded, and the healer was unconscious. How else was I supposed to take care of you? I promise I didn’t take any liberties with my hands, or my eyes,” he replied matter-of-factly, hoping it would be enough but stealing himself for her anger.
For several moments she stared at him, studying his pleading posture and the truth behind his gaze.
“Okay,” she said quietly, lowering her eyes.
He blinked, not trusting his hearing. “Pardon me?”
“I said okay,” she reiterated louder, meeting his eyes once more.
“Y-you’re not mad?” he asked, tempted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
But she only shrugged, hiding her embarrassment through attempted nonchalance. Embarrassment, but not anger. Perhaps she understood the reason why it had never occurred to him to ask a female villager to take care of her. She was his to take care of, and he was hers.
“Not really. Though I could hit you if it will make you feel better.”
“No, that’s quite alright.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, and Sango reached her hand outside the blanket to grasp his. Before he could enjoy her touch, however, there was one thing he needed to say.
“Sango, I apologize for interfering with your fight. But I just couldn’t let you—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Now he was sure he was dreaming. “But, I…your honor—”
Sango scoffed. “Forget about honor. I don’t care about honor when I’m fighting a man who has none. Besides, we’re a team, right?”
That simple statement and all its many implications pulled at the corners of Miroku’s lips until he was practically beaming.
“That we are, Sango. That we are.”
A/N- the inspiration for the end of the Sango/Katashi fight scene came from the endings to Samurai Champloo and Black Lagoon, two of my favorite anime.
Fanfiction of the Week: Broken*, by Quickening.
The only Inuyasha fanfic I’ve ever read that is set before Kikyou’s resurrection. It’s basically a divergence from right after when Shippou joins the group. The uniqueness is appealing in itself, but add in an intriguing premise and plenty of drama, and you’ve got a very entertaining story as well. Quickening does an extraordinary job with Inuyasha in particular. Highly recommended; just be ready for some angst.
Specter of the Past
The night had been quiet, for which Inuyasha was grateful. He felt reasonably well-rested, though his wound had yet to fully heal. He would need to take it easy today, a fact which irked him to no end. But he would heal if he did not push himself today, and he would be able to make up for lost time tomorrow.
He really didn't feel like climbing down the cliff. But there appeared to be no other way down, so in the end he was forced to grit his teeth and brave the climb. The progress was slow, as he lowered himself one hand at a time, each movement sending jolts of pain through his chest. When he finally reached the bottom he was breathing hard, and spent several moments leaning exhaustedly against the rock. His wound had reopened, the thin trickle of blood soaking into his kosode.
But he was too focused to allow himself a long break. He was so close to his goal; he could practically hear the sweet exclamation of his name from Kagome’s lips as she rushed toward him. Surely she would embrace him, something which he found himself looking forward to more than just about anything else. And perhaps he would find it within himself to hug her back, instead of gruffly pushing her away.
With thoughts of Kagome renewing his strength, he pushed himself upright and set out at a brisk jog back toward Shinobu's home.
* * *
The gentle chirping of birds outside roused Sango to wakefulness, though she was loath to actually get up. Her warm pillow was far too comfortable, and she was well-protected from the morning chill at her back. Still clinging to dreamland, she snuggled into the welcoming warmth, causing the ‘pillow’ underneath her to stir slightly. Confused, she opened her eyes...and bolted upright with a shocked gasp. Her cheeks flushed darkly, and she scrambled off the futon before covering them with her hands. She turned cautious eyes back to the monk, taking in his closed eyes and even breathing. He appeared to be still asleep, and Sango heaved an immense sigh of relief. The jerk was wearing a small smirk, however. Still, truth be told, she wasn't angry at the monk. She was upset with herself, and how nice it felt to rest in his embrace. Ever since that kiss, it had been more difficult to control herself around him. And though the indiscretions were small now, she knew if she didn't keep her guard up they would end up doing something they weren't ready for. Blushing even harder now, she leapt to her feet and ran out the door, eager to find some constructive task to take her mind off the amorous monk.Miroku cracked one eye open as her footsteps faded. Seeing that he was alone, he sighed, his lips twisting in a wry smile. For once, getting close with Sango had not been his idea. He had intended on being a perfect gentleman and remaining on his own futon, and so he had. But when he had awakened this morning, he had found the slayer nestled into his side on his futon. And since sleeping like that had been her idea...he was a man, after all. And what man wouldn't want to spend the night resting with such a woman in his arms? But there was far more to it than that with Sango, he reflected. He wanted to spend every night for the rest of his life with her, just like that. Minus her embarrassed ‘morning after’ reaction, of course. He had only pretended to still be asleep to prevent her from feeling even more uncomfortable. The day would be more pleasant if Sango thought him blissfully ignorant to her nocturnal wanderings.
Still, he could not wipe the silly grin off his face. Sango had always been good a concealing her true feelings. But over the past forty-eight hours, she had given him some real glimpses into her deepest desires. The kiss they had shared two nights ago had not been borne of merely an emotional bond. Her had seen it in her eyes, felt her rapid breathing and her heartbeat elevated to match his own. Her subconscious desire for physical contact had manifested itself again last night. He had always put Sango on a bit of a pedestal. It was difficult to imagine her lusting after anyone, especially him. But on some level, perhaps one she did not yet fully comprehend, she must desire him in the purely physical sense.
It was logical, he supposed; they were promised to be wed. But being willing to lie with him as man and wife was completely different from actually wanting him sexually. He had always assumed that due to her inexperience with the opposite sex—another assumption of his—she would be merely dutiful at first and gradually learn to appreciate lovemaking as time went on. That was the normal course of affairs in this time period, with many marriages arranged and women greatly encouraged to remain chaste until their wedding nights. So that is what he had always expected, if ever he found himself lucky enough to find a wife.
But Sango was no normal woman. She was a fierce fighter, a warrior through and through, yet she still maintained her femininity. This enticing contradiction was part of what had attracted him to her in the first place. He did not know what she found so attractive about him, but she had given him her word, and it was clear that she was willing to give him her heart, if only he would take it. If only he would cease his attentions toward other women, and not give her cause to keep her invisible barriers raised against emotional pain. He had thought his flirtations harmless fun, but if Sango desired him physically, how much more must it have hurt to observe his own physical desires directed toward another women?
No more.
He had learned so much about her during this brief journey, and about their relationship. Sango desired him, perhaps as much as he desired her. The thought somehow only made him want her more, and not solely in the physical sense. He wanted to give his heart to her, and receive hers in return. He wanted an ironclad trust established between them, so that she would never again doubt his faithfulness or devotion. Finally, he wanted her to feel comfortable giving voice and action to those deep desires she had hidden for so long.
The onus was on him, he knew. He had stressed their relationship with his foolish behavior. But for Sango he would run to the ends of the earth, pull the sun and stars down and set the whole world ablaze. Ceasing his flirtations with other women would be relatively easy. He hoped. He had never tried it before, but with the rewards of Sango’s hand, heart, and body awaiting him, was there anything he could not accomplish?
It was not hard to find the taijiya when he finally made his way outside; she was sitting in the shade of a nearby tree polishing hiraikotsu. For a moment he just watched her, the morning sunlight glistening off her hair as it bounced gently behind her with the rhythmic movement. She noticed his stare and turned away, no doubt to hide the reddening of her face. Miroku smiled warmly. I will never tire of making her blush. He padded his way across the wet grass toward her, the rings of his staff jingling with each step.
“Good morning, Sango,” he said amicably.
“Good morning, Houshi-sama,” she replied without taking her eyes off her work. But she seemed to be in good spirits, any lingering mortification over last night’s sleeping arrangements forgotten in favor of quiet contentment. So he simply sat next to her and enjoyed the comfortable silence. Once he caught her eyeing him, as if wondering when he was going to get up and move off to more lecherous pursuits. He only grinned softly to himself, which caused her even more consternation. Go ahead, Sango. Ask me, and I will tell you. But she remained silent, and instead continued to enjoy his company, even after hiraikotsu had been polished to a spotless sheen. Soon, Sango. Soon you will understand.
It was not until the sound of frightened screams reached them that the quiet tranquility was broken. Scrambling to his feet, Miroku turned toward the village. An ominous cloud of smoke was drifting through, sending villagers fleeing in its wake. Those who were overtaken collapsed gracelessly and lay unmoving. Sango sprinted into the fray, shedding her outer garments as she went to reveal her black taijiya armor. She yelled at the retreating villagers, rallying the men to grab masks and weapons. Miroku stood spellbound for a moment, utterly captivated. In the sea of panicked men, women, and children, Sango was the picture of calmness, a true warrior. When he saw her don a mask, the monk snapped out of his trance and darted forward to follow suit.
He would not have made it before the smoke overtook him had Sango not tossed him a mask. As the wind continued to push the haze their way, the men held their ground nervously, waiting for enemies to come charging out of the fog. Yet the only sound that pierced the gloom was heavy breathing. Then the smoke was past, and the fresh light revealed their opponents for the first time. At least fifty, perhaps sixty men stood across the field, the village at their backs. All were heavily armed, their swords glistening in the sun. They wore heavy armor as well, making them seem more like youkai than men, except for the leering human faces. Most of the village men stepped back in fear, and many might have turned and fled had the women and children not been hiding in the forest behind them. There were perhaps seventy of them, these farmers wielding clubs as swords and wearing luck as armor. Such a small numerical advantage it was; the bandit’s well-executed surprise attack had ensured as much. And it would not make a difference against the juggernaut currently biding its time across the field, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
Sango marched forward until she was almost halfway between the two armies, confronting the enemy fearlessly. Miroku jogged to stand beside her, and a transformed Kirara landed on her other side. Sango glanced at each of them in turn, and he nodded sharply. She nodded in reply before once more turning to face the hoots and catcalls of the bandits.
“Silence! All of you!” she yelled, her fierce tone silencing the majority. “I do not like killing humans, but if you don’t go back where you came from and leave this peaceful village alone, I will not hold back!”
The mob rose as one in uproarious laughter, not realizing the danger behind this woman’s threat. But Miroku had seen Sango in action before. He had witnessed hiraikotsu slicing youkai in half as if they were made of paper, and he had no doubt the weapon could do the same to a man if its wielder so desired. And he was no slouch when it came to hand-to-hand combat either; anyone who could hold off an angry Inuyasha could say the same. Kirara would show no more mercy than her mistress. Miroku grimaced, not liking the two alternatives that presented themselves. Either they would die protecting the villagers, or the three of them would slaughter the bandits to the last man. No, I won’t let that happen. I’ll suck all of them into my kazaana before I let Sango stain her hands with human blood.
“Sango, my dear! The last time I saw you, you were just a lass. My how you’ve grown!”
Both Miroku and Sango started upon hearing the strange voice. The owner came into view, strolling forward to stand about eight meters in front of them. Oh, Kami…he’s dressed like a taijiya! Dark green cloth overlaid the customary black armor, and an immaculate katana rested at his side. In his hand he wielded a pole, perhaps five feet in length, tipped with long, wicked-looking blades at both ends. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, his hairline just beginning to recede. The man’s tone had indicated genuine pleasure, but his eyes burned with hatred so deep it chilled Miroku’s blood.
“Do I know you?” Sango questioned warily as Kirara growled low.
“Don’t you remember Katashi, your old uncle?” the man asked, feigning hurt.
For a moment Sango just stared, then her eyes flashed in recognition and her expression shifted into a vicious glare.
“Bastard! You stopped being my uncle when you were banished from the village!”
At this, Katashi’s face also shifted, his smile becoming far more sinister. “You mean when your father, my own brother, banished me because I didn’t respect the old ways? I’ll admit, some of my methods were unorthodox, but—”
“Unorthodox?! Your techniques were barbaric! You used villagers as bait and even made them pay exorbitant fees up front! When they couldn’t afford to pay, you abandoned them to the youkai! My father gave you plenty of chances to mend your vile ways, but in the end you refused. You left him no choice!”
“And why shouldn’t people have to pay? Who else could have performed the necessary services?”
“You—”
“It does not matter,” Katashi cut her off calmly, seemingly bored with the conversation. “Do you remember what I told your father as he escorted me to the gate?”
Sango paused, her eyes darkening as she answered. “You said you would return and slaughter the entire village.”
“And I never forgot that promise. For ten years I toiled in this group, serving arrogant men with the fighting skills of a wet fundoshi. Slowly I worked my way up the ranks, winning allies, and when the opportunity finally came, I killed our leader and took over. A month ago, I returned to our old village, only to find a collection of graves. I feared my great privilege had been taken away from me, but then some of my men informed me of a woman, wielding a giant boomerang and wearing a certain mask. Can you imagine my glee, as I realized that my promise was not void after all? That the last taijiya was still alive, just waiting for me to kill her?”
Sango smiled fiercely. “So you think you can take me, old man? I’m not the same clumsy girl I once was.”
“I hope not. It’s been so long since I last fought someone worthy of me.”
Sango sobered, favoring her uncle with a solemn stare. “I’ll give you one last chance, Katashi. Turn back now and mend your evil ways, and our ancestors might yet smile upon you.”
“I have no interest in the approval of dead men.”
If that remark hit home for Sango, she didn’t let it show. The two slayers faced each other, sizing each other up. They leapt forward at the same time, Katashi swinging his halberd diagonally. Sango drew her own blade as she blocked with hiraikotsu, intending to counterattack immediately. Instead, the sheer force behind Katashi’s blow knocked hiraikotsu back, smashing it into her body. She stumbled, but managed to summersault out of reach even as the other end of her opponent’s weapon slashed across her cheek. The thin slice was of little concern, but Sango grimaced as the wounds in her shoulder and back flared to life. The power and precision in that stroke had been unbelievable, and she knew her wounded body couldn’t take many more beatings like that. No, trying to match Katashi’s strength would be suicide. She would have to use her smaller size, all her quickness and agility to win this fight. Father…give me strength. She dropped hiraikotsu.
“Come now,” Katashi taunted, leaning his weapon casually against his shoulder. “Do not tell me you’ve given up already, little girl.”
Sango didn’t answer, deciding to let her sword speak for her. She dashed forward, swinging the katana in a downward arc. Katashi parried the blow with one blade and in the same motion brought the other at her head. She ducked, his blade slicing a few strands of hair, and swung at his legs. He leapt, avoiding the attack, and Sango rose to her feet in time to deflect the next strike. She was constantly in motion, darting left and right, never taking the full force of his attacks. Katashi swiped at her leg, and Sango parried the blow before deftly drawing her blade back and slicing a gash in his arm. Katashi looked at the blood, a menacing grin forming on his lips.
“You are right, Sango. You truly have improved. I believe I am finished holding back now.”
It quickly became apparent that he really had been holding back. His halberd twirled furiously, thin blades flashing as they clashed with Sango’s katana. Miroku’s worries increased tenfold as she was forced back before her enemy’s determined assault. The battle was the only one going on; everyone else on the field watched transfixed. Sango cried out as her sword was knocked from her grasp, and she was sent sprawling by a powerful side-kick to the stomach. She rose to her knees, gasping for breath, as Katashi tossed her katana to the ground in front of her.
“Get up, little girl. This fight is far too amusing to be over so quickly. I doubt killing that houshi or your precious cat will provide me half as much enjoyment.”
Sango’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with white-hot fire. Clenching her teeth, she snarled viciously as she snatched up her sword and leapt into battle once more. Combat resumed in earnest, this time with Sango as the aggressor. She came on unrelenting, her blade moving swiftly and precisely, meeting Katashi’s halberd in thunderous clangs that resonated through the area. Several times she managed to draw blood, the tip of her blade sneaking past his defenses, but he remained tantalizingly out of reach. Growing tired of retreat, he counterattacked, thrusting his weapon at her stomach. Sango was ready; she nimbly sidestepped the oncoming blade and brought her sword down on the weapon’s shaft, testing its strength. The halberd shuddered under the impact, and Sango directed her next attack to break it. Raising her sword high above her head, she brought it down with all her strength, forcing Katashi to block with the halberd wielded horizontally. For a split second it held, then the hollow metal cracked and shattered as Sango’s blade descended through the middle. Katashi managed to lean out of the way, but he could not avoid the kick aimed at his sternum. The impact sent him toppling over backwards, and when he started to rise again he found the tip of Sango’s katana at his throat.
He smiled devilishly, seeing the indecision in her gaze. “Well, come on,” he taunted. “Kill me.”
But Sango hesitated, and Katashi took advantage. With a vicious swipe of his leg he took her feet out from under her. He had already sprung into a crouch by the time she landed flat on her back, and he wasted no time in slamming one half of his halberd through her shoulder. Her body contorted in agony, but only a small gasp forced its way past her well-disciplined countenance. Katashi placed his knee on her wrist, pinning her sword to the ground while unknowingly trapping her hidden arm-blade as well. He twirled the other half of his halberd casually, face twisting in amusement.
“Couldn’t kill your old uncle, could you?” he sneered. “Unfortunately for you, I have no such qualms!” He drew his weapon up in order to plunge it through her heart.
Miroku had waited as long as he could. He watched as Sango got the best of her uncle and held him at sword point, unable to bring herself to finish him off. In slow motion he saw Katashi turn the tables, stabbing her through the shoulder. He understood this was Sango’s fight, but at the moment he didn’t care. She could yell at him for this later, but only if she lived to see the end of the battle. He and Kirara leapt forward at the same time, and how he made it before the fire-cat he would never know. With a cry born of utter desperation he swung his staff.
Sango lay there for a moment, simply staring up at the blue sky overhead as the sounds of metal meeting metal once again reverberated through the clearing. Kirara nuzzled her cheek before placing a paw on her chest to hold her down. Sango cried out as her companion drew the blade from her shoulder, then reached up with a hand to staunch the flow of blood. She sat up with the help of her feline friend, and beheld a sight that filled her with dread. Miroku was going after Katashi, swinging his staff wildly as he tried to land a blow. For his part, the slayer was simply defending, and wearing a wicked grin all the while. He’s just toying with him…stupid Houshi-sama! He’s going to get himself killed! Lurching to her feet, Sango gripped her katana in both hands as she staggered to rejoin the fight. Katashi saw her coming, and decided to stop fooling around with the monk. In a flash the staff was sent flying through the air, embedding itself in the ground several meters away. Then he swung the blade straight for the monk’s exposed neck.
Sango arrived just in time, blocking the strike with inches to spare. She held strong just long enough for Miroku to scramble out of danger before Katashi pushed her back. She rolled to avoid another fall, leaving dark red spots on the grass.
“I see. So that houshi is dear to you, eh?”
Without warning, Katashi flung the half-halberd to the side, the blade tearing through the air like an arrow. It was coming straight at Miroku’s chest, moving far too quickly for human reflexes to avoid. Fortunately, the monk had youkai reflexes aiding him as well. Kirara lunged, ramming the monk out of the way and taking the blade in her chest instead. She roared, using a paw to fling the weapon away before transforming back into her small form.
“Kirara!” twin voices shouted in concern. Sango was relieved, however, to see the cat writhing on the ground, her tails twitching periodically. It meant that while she was pissed about the pain, she would survive this. The man who had wounded her, however, would not. At least not if Sango had anything to say about it. Her hesitation to kill her uncle had nearly cost Miroku and Kirara their lives. It would not happen again. Turning determined eyes back to her opponent, she readied herself for battle, one that at least one of them would not survive.
“Well, how about it, little girl? Shall we lose the distractions and finish this?” Katashi asked, drawing his katana for the first time.
“Fine by me!”
She charged, swinging her sword with both hands. With one arm virtually disabled and several wounds leaking blood, she knew she didn’t have much left. But she would end this, even if it meant her own death. If the man she loved could survive, she would enter the next life with a smile upon her face. Katashi blocked her attack easily and responded with one of his own. They traded several blows, each parrying the other’s strikes while searching for an opportunity to do damage. Sango felt her body start to weaken, her strength fading rapidly. Left with no choice, she intentionally let one of her swings miss and carry too far, creating an opening too tempting to pass up. Katashi thrust his katana forward, aiming for her exposed midsection. He was probably expecting her to attempt another sidestep, and was understandably shocked as she lunged forward instead, impaling herself on his blade. His surprised expression morphed into understanding and finally anguish, even as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He collapsed, the hilt of Sango’s katana still protruding from his gut. Swaying on rubber knees, Sango followed suit. She heard the sound of her name and felt the monk’s strong arms catch her as she lost consciousness.
“Sango! Sango!” he called, his heart ready to disintegrate in his chest. He gently drew the katana from her side and examined the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief; the sword had passed all the way through her, but the wound itself was only few centimeters from her side. The blood was flowing slowly, and odds were slim that it had hit any major organs. If the blood loss from her combined injuries did not kill her, it appeared that she would live.
But they weren’t out of the woods yet. It remained to be seen how the rest of the bandits would react to their leader’s demise. Miroku glanced up, expecting to see a bunch of angry men charging his way. What he glimpsed instead dropped his jaw to the ground. Disheartened by the loss of their leader, all of the bandits had thrown down their weapons and given up. Of course, the two hundred reinforcements from the other villages which suddenly appeared to the rear had a lot to do with that. He couldn’t help but grin; they had done it. And hopefully they would all live to celebrate the victory, though that was still up in the air. Gathering Sango in his arms, he pushed past the jubilant villagers and headed for the healer’s hut. Unfortunately, the old healer was one of those who had been caught unawares by the smoke. He found her lying on her stomach in front of the door, snoozing soundly.
He did the best he could under the circumstances, heating water so he could clean Sango’s wounds. Worried as he was, he even managed not to stare as he removed her armor and clothing so he could bandage her up. She mercifully remained asleep through the entire procedure; it was going to be bad enough when she woke up and realized she was naked under that blanket. But he would gladly deal with her anger, take a thousand slaps to the face or hiraikotsus to the head, if it meant she would recover. Eventually the old healer came to, and Miroku relayed to her the events of the day. When he was finished his tale, the elderly woman looked at Sango, then back up at him.
“She is lucky to have a man as attentive as yourself,” she said, flashing a toothless grin.
Miroku gave her a friendly smile in return as she left the hut, taking Sango’s armor to be washed and mended. His face fell once she was gone. No…I am the lucky one. He sat in silence, just watching Sango sleep, hanging on every rise and fall of her chest. He was probably worrying too much. Her complexion was only a little pale and her breathing was steady. She had lost a good deal of blood, but not enough to be fatal. Still, he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until she opened her eyes and yelled at him for undressing her.
*Mew*
Miroku nearly jumped out of his skin when Kirara made herself known. She limped in through the doorway and plopped down by Sango’s head. He was surprised to see her up and about already. The wonders of youkai blood.
“I’m sorry I left you on the field, Kirara,” he said, petting her head. “And thank you for saving my life.”
She mewed amicably in response, her eyes revealing that she did not hold it against him. She leaned close to Sango, sniffing lightly, then began licking her mistress’ cheek. The taijiya stirred, and Miroku leaned over her as well. This was the sight that greeted Sango as she came to—her two closest companions staring at her with eyes shining in unabashed concern. Her cheeks pinked lightly under such scrutiny, but she was still having difficulty wrapping her head around one simple fact.
“I-I’m alive.” It wasn’t a question, but there was no doubting the surprise in her voice.
“I would hope so,” Miroku joked, the tension finally leaving him. “Because if you are dead, then I must be dead as well.”
“What happened? I remember killing that bastard, but I thought for sure he stabbed me as well.”
“He did,” Miroku confirmed, his face somber once more. “But the wound was not too severe. You lost a lot of blood, but the sword missed your organs. We got lucky.”
“Ugh…that must be why I feel so light headed,” she replied, reaching up to massage a temple with her left hand. The monk made a strangled sound, and when Sango glanced at him he was looking away from her with an uneasy smirk adorning his lips. Gazing down at herself, Sango realized why. With an indignant gasp she drew the blanket up to her chin, finally becoming aware of her nakedness.
“Houshi-sama! Did you undress me?” she demanded tersely, and Miroku felt a strong sense of foreboding wash over him. It seems that I might get that thousand slaps or lumps after all…
“…”
“Houshi-sama!”
“N-now, Sango! You were seriously wounded, and the healer was unconscious. How else was I supposed to take care of you? I promise I didn’t take any liberties with my hands, or my eyes,” he replied matter-of-factly, hoping it would be enough but stealing himself for her anger.
For several moments she stared at him, studying his pleading posture and the truth behind his gaze.
“Okay,” she said quietly, lowering her eyes.
He blinked, not trusting his hearing. “Pardon me?”
“I said okay,” she reiterated louder, meeting his eyes once more.
“Y-you’re not mad?” he asked, tempted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
But she only shrugged, hiding her embarrassment through attempted nonchalance. Embarrassment, but not anger. Perhaps she understood the reason why it had never occurred to him to ask a female villager to take care of her. She was his to take care of, and he was hers.
“Not really. Though I could hit you if it will make you feel better.”
“No, that’s quite alright.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, and Sango reached her hand outside the blanket to grasp his. Before he could enjoy her touch, however, there was one thing he needed to say.
“Sango, I apologize for interfering with your fight. But I just couldn’t let you—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Now he was sure he was dreaming. “But, I…your honor—”
Sango scoffed. “Forget about honor. I don’t care about honor when I’m fighting a man who has none. Besides, we’re a team, right?”
That simple statement and all its many implications pulled at the corners of Miroku’s lips until he was practically beaming.
“That we are, Sango. That we are.”
A/N- the inspiration for the end of the Sango/Katashi fight scene came from the endings to Samurai Champloo and Black Lagoon, two of my favorite anime.