InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Seven Feudal Fairy Tales ❯ Pride or Shame ( Chapter 21 )

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi and other associated companies.

 

 

Chapter Twenty-One: Pride or Shame

 

 

Sesshoumaru waded through the sea of grass, their thin, pale blades parting around him in soft, rustling waves. He plucked one absently, patiently teasing away its papery flesh from its vein with precise tears of claw. The stripped pieces of leaf flew from his hand as he worked until there was nothing but a slender skeleton remaining. Then he let it flutter away as well as he reached for another, beginning the process over again as he thought, his mind drifting over his past, his clan and the curse that both bound and split them.

 

`A curse,' he pondered quietly, staring at a tiny shred of grass caught between the nails of his thumb and forefinger, `Did he really believe in such a thing?' It seemed ridiculous when he thought about it. The mere idea that something so elusive and intangible would hold any power over him was foreign to his mind. Yet there it anchored, nestled quite comfortably without his knowing. His brow furrowed and his claws mercilessly pierced the thin blade of grass he had been delicately holding, its shredded remnants flittering away on the breeze.

 

Years of vile tongues and actions had taken their toll. He had slain countless pathetic youkai for their mindless insults and for their pointless assaults. However, even as their bodies melted away into a burning haze of nothingness, their bitter, derisive remarks remained behind like hidden snares. He may have killed them for the impudence of their words, but that did not mean he didn't agree with what they had said. He looked down at the slender, burgundy stripes of his wrist and frowned. It was not a curse that he felt entrenched in his heart and mind, but shame. Shame for his clan.

 

The grass receded as he crossed the bare, dirt road. Effortlessly, he scaled the steep hill bordering on the other side and entered a thin, sparse orchard. He weaved his way through the trees, their brittle, bony limbs fanning out around them. A strange familiarity drew him from his thoughts as his eyes were caught by the dull glint of a worn axe hidden in the fallen leaves. Then the tai youkai cursed the magic of the scroll under his breath as he recognized the frayed remains of a stump and the shallow hole at its base.

 

He stood upon the crumbling rim of the pit, gently loosening clumps of earth from the edge with his boot. Down they fell, covering the bubbling, green liquid still pooled at the bottom. Feeling an odd easing of his heart, the youkai lord continued to push the piled dirt into the grave, erasing the thin grooves of the neighbor's handprints from when he undoubtedly clambered out of the hole he had been dropped into. With a new purpose in mind, he walked over to the stump and gave it a good kick, breaking it from its roots with a sickening crack. Into the pit it tumbled and was soon hidden away beneath a fresh cascade of earth. Then there was nothing, but smooth, discolored soil. The last vestiges of his great-grandsire's sacrifice removed from his sight.

 

“A man buries that which he loathes or fears,” a warm baritone remarked behind the tai youkai, “But a dog buries that which he treasures. I wonder which is the case for you?” Sesshoumaru's amber eyes widened in surprise at the voice at his back and he cast a look over his shoulder at his unexpected companion. Leaning casually against the rough trunk of a nearby tree, stood the old lord, his arms crossed comfortably against his chest.

 

“I do not know,” the younger lord answered softly after a space of time, returning his sight to the newly vacant ground before him.

 

“Hmm, a wise answer,” Shiro commented with a gentle smile as he approached his great-grandpup. “Like love and hate, pride and shame are not such different feelings, pup.”

 

“It does not seem wise,” Sesshoumaru considered aloud and then looked up at the taller lord now at his side. “Do you not feel shame for being foolishly tricked by those who you had grown to trust?”

 

“For someone who has the lingering scent of fang where his arm should be, you should not be so quick to name another's foolishness.” The narrowed eyes and the hard, unwelcoming frown of a scowl were the only response he received, eliciting a soft sigh from the great-grandsire. “There are times when I doubt. Times when I regret. It is an easy thing to say that if you had the moment to live over again, you would always choose to do the same. But, after thousands of deaths, the answer is not so simple anymore.”

 

“You have chosen differently?”

 

“No,” he answered with a slightly bitter laugh, “I've always made the same decision, chosen the same fate. I refuse to let this place break me. I refuse to let it erode away my resolve, reducing me to the pathetic, self-pitying waste of a man like the one that has imprisoned me here.” Smiling faintly, Sesshoumaru considered the words and the will of the demon behind them. “I feel no shame for the sacrifices I have made or the squandered gifts I have given away for there is true honor and pride in every action.”

 

“I know how to honor your death,” the young demon remarked. “I know how to carve your mortar and if necessary, I can will myself to give it away to the unworthy. I can do all that is asked of me out of duty and honor to my clan, but you ask for more than that. You ask for pride as well and that I cannot give.”

 

“Pride. Yes, I desire that from you. Mindless honor and duty are not enough. I wish to purge the hate and shame from your heart and fill it with love and pride instead. I wish to open your eyes so that you may truly see who the fool in this story is. For I can assure you it is not I.”

 

“And who is that?”

 

“You are,” Shiro replied with a devious smirk at the returning scowl gracing the young tai youkai's face, “As the old man who unthinkingly lent his loyal dog to the wicked neighbor. As the one who carved a mortar of overflowing rice only to waste it on the same cruel man who had remorselessly slaughtered the greatest joy of his life only the day before.”

 

“I am not the old man.”

 

“No, you are not, but his is the role that has been entrusted to you.”

 

“How are you expecting me to reject this shame and hate if I am to embrace the actions of the human who is the cause?”

 

“I am not asking you to embrace the betrayal and pain, but to look beyond it and see the gift for what it truly was.” The great-grandsire swiftly strolled back over to the tree he had leaned against a moment earlier and carefully retrieved a small package nestled in the gnarled roots at its base. He slipped the smooth mortar out of the cloth bag and held it out to the young lord. “I told you that I had finished dying for those humans a long time ago and that I now die for you. This is then not a gift for the old couple, but for you. Whether you treasure it for the brief time you have it or squander it before it is stolen from you is your decision. Pride or shame. Love or hate. The choice is yours.”

 

An empty silence passed as Sesshoumaru stared at the wooden bowl proffered before him. His great-grandsire remained still in the pale sunlight, patiently waiting with his warm, inviting expression. Then with a hesitant grasp, the young demon took it into his hand, cautious not to spill the freshly-made rice cakes within.

 

“I will leave you now to think, Sesshoumaru,” Shiro spoke up, before turning away in the direction of the old house down the hill.

 

“Did it hurt?”

 

“Hurt?”

 

“Death,” Sesshoumaru asked, absently freeing a few fingers to feel for the thick hilt of the Tenseiga at his hip. “Did it hurt?”

 

“Every time,” Shiro replied quietly, his voice distant and pained. “One is only meant to die once. That is why a true warrior's death is glorious. Any more than that is simply torture.” Then the old lord strolled away leaving his great-grandpup cradling the mortar in peace.

 

Sesshoumaru looked down into the bowl and the expertly molded clumps of cooked rice sitting at the bottom and frowned. Having only one hand really was troublesome. He scanned the landscape, spying his quarry sitting conspicuously just outside a lonely field. Walking lazily, he made his way to the granite boulder and set the mortar down gently on its flat, rough surface. He plucked a white cake from its nest, the fine grains sticking slightly to his fingers as he examined it carefully.

 

“Treasure it or squander it?” he asked himself under his breath with a brow furrowed. Pride or shame, the decision would be his own. No curse or clan would make the choice for him and his answer, good or bad would be his and only his. Then without further thought, he bit into the rice ball. The delicate flavor melted on his tongue marbled with just enough saltiness to bring out the sweet, but savory taste. He chewed it slowly, absorbed by the inviting texture of the grains and the light, clean feeling in his mouth after he swallowed. He finished each cake leisurely, drawing out his meal until he was left with only a few lost grains sitting sadly at the bottom of the bowl.

 

He heard a shuffling step closing behind him and the hunched figure of the neighbor came into the corner of his eye. The ragged, soiled man stood impatiently behind him, fidgeting in nervousness.

 

“What do you want, human?” the tai youkai asked finally, looking over his shoulder with a cool, golden stare.

 

“I heard you have come into the possession of a mortar that gives you never-ending rice and I wish to borrow it.”

 

“Borrow it?” the youkai lord spoke with mock incredulity. “You have slain the dog whose spirit has bequeathed me with this gift. Why should I give it to you?”

 

“I miss the dog as well,” the neighbor answered, his tone suddenly solemn. “He was a good animal and did not deserve his fate. I wish to celebrate his life with a festival. It would only be fitting if I used the mortar which he has gifted to you.”

 

“No, he did not deserve his fate and you the deliverer of it do not deserve this mortar. You will only destroy it out of your own greed and envy, wretched filth.” Sesshoumaru turned to face the man and with a glare, he held out the bowl. “I am only here to fulfill a duty and this mortar is destined to be in your hands whether I choose it to be so or not. Do know that if this were not the case you would never have had the pleasure of asking.”

 

“Thank you,” the neighbor answered hesitantly, his tone hinted with confusion as he reached out cautiously for the bowl. Once he held it in his own hands, he quickly bowed and scurried across the field, the youkai lord's angry stare following him until he disappeared. His expression softened and he looked down at the dark stripes on his wrist. Living with pride would be harder than living with shame, but even now his heart felt lighter and for a brief, lonely moment, a warm, subtle smile spread across his lips.