InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Shogun's Fury ❯ Chapter 1
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Demetz 
The hero and his party find a vagrant struggling with his past and Miroku is reminded of his own.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.02.2005 | Updated On: 10.01.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 159 | Status: Work In Progress
The hero and his party find a vagrant struggling with his past and Miroku is reminded of his own.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.02.2005 | Updated On: 10.01.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 159 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I suck at names so I’m borrowing some from Inusyasha. The story is mine and I’ll probably change the names later. If you see this story elsewhere… kill whoever it is who posted it because they don’t have permission.
Chapter 1
"What's his problem?" complained Inuyasha, regarding the vagrant stumbling across the road before him. The man he was referring to appeared to be in a drunken stupor, was mumbling various curses and didn't seem interested in the approaching band of travelers. "Out of our way, old man!" For the first time the vagrant took notice of the travelers. He looked at each of them in turn and was about to step aside when his eyes came upon Miroku. He looked so familiar, so much like his lost ward, but his ward had disappeared in times long past, had never been heard from nor seen since the night of the Daimyo's death. It couldn't be him, but the resemblance was remarkable. "Well are you going to move or not?" asked an increasingly agitated Inuyasha.
The vagrant stepped aside, but watched them until they were out of sight, shaken from his drunken madness by the sobering sight of his one time ward. The heir to the Mori clan lived, and there was work to be done. Throwing his bottle of sake aside he straightened his shoulders and walked with the determination he once had. His ward lived, and with him the clan. I failed in my duty once, its time to undo the mistakes of the past. He had never since that night so long ago found solace, had never believed he could, or would, but if the heir lived on the clan could be rebuilt, his honor restored and his shame wiped away.
Chapter 1
"What's his problem?" complained Inuyasha, regarding the vagrant stumbling across the road before him. The man he was referring to appeared to be in a drunken stupor, was mumbling various curses and didn't seem interested in the approaching band of travelers. "Out of our way, old man!" For the first time the vagrant took notice of the travelers. He looked at each of them in turn and was about to step aside when his eyes came upon Miroku. He looked so familiar, so much like his lost ward, but his ward had disappeared in times long past, had never been heard from nor seen since the night of the Daimyo's death. It couldn't be him, but the resemblance was remarkable. "Well are you going to move or not?" asked an increasingly agitated Inuyasha.
The vagrant stepped aside, but watched them until they were out of sight, shaken from his drunken madness by the sobering sight of his one time ward. The heir to the Mori clan lived, and there was work to be done. Throwing his bottle of sake aside he straightened his shoulders and walked with the determination he once had. His ward lived, and with him the clan. I failed in my duty once, its time to undo the mistakes of the past. He had never since that night so long ago found solace, had never believed he could, or would, but if the heir lived on the clan could be rebuilt, his honor restored and his shame wiped away.
***
Nine Years Earlier
"The Daimyo has fallen in battle!" …came the cry he never believed he would hear. The daimyo had been his friend, his leader, was a good man and an excellent fighter, and with his death the clan would soon find itself in turmoil. He had an heir, too young to lead, but he could be taught. He wouldn't get that chance if his father's enemies came too quickly, as surely they would. The boy needed immediate protection, but was days away in what had been the safety of his father’s castle. The Daimyo's death was unexpected and his son was vulnerable. "Vulnerable with no one to protect him because I am not where I should be." Forgetting his armor he grabbed his no-dachi and leapt upon his horse. Perhaps he would arrive before it was too late.
Fate would not be so kind. The castle was already under siege when he arrived. As a samurai, to fail was to lose his honor; to lose his honor was to lose his head. This was the way of things, but with a solemn stature and growing anger for these traitors, he thought to himself, "So let them take it, if that be my end." He got down from his horse, and sword held high the Kensai plowed into the ranks of his dead master's enemies. More than a hundred died by his sword that day, their blood painting red the ground he once called home. He remembered that fight with alacrity. He acutely remembered the dagger that found his side. He had fallen, but had not died. He remembered waking up, he remembered finding the drink. The events that led up to that first bottle were seared into his mind; no amount of alcohol would ever change that, though it could dull his heart’s ache.
A light rain began to pour as the vagrant removed his cape and tossed it aside. He washed his face and wet his hair in a nearby stream, looked once more in the direction he had watched his ward walk and turned back to his reflection in the stream. He resolved to put aside the past and being working toward the future. Removing his sword from its scabbard he stared at the Mori clan seal engraved on both sides of the bottom of the blade. For the first time in more than a decade he took in its beauty. Returning it to its scabbard, he smiled - also for the first time in a decade. He would make things right again: a daimyo would be restored. Remembering the days where honor meant something he recited to himself a poem "As there is no lack of flowers at blossom time so those in defeat will not escape," and added a line of his own "As there is no lack of enemies to fight where the will is strong, so the defeated will rise again at least until his will be done."
"The Daimyo has fallen in battle!" …came the cry he never believed he would hear. The daimyo had been his friend, his leader, was a good man and an excellent fighter, and with his death the clan would soon find itself in turmoil. He had an heir, too young to lead, but he could be taught. He wouldn't get that chance if his father's enemies came too quickly, as surely they would. The boy needed immediate protection, but was days away in what had been the safety of his father’s castle. The Daimyo's death was unexpected and his son was vulnerable. "Vulnerable with no one to protect him because I am not where I should be." Forgetting his armor he grabbed his no-dachi and leapt upon his horse. Perhaps he would arrive before it was too late.
Fate would not be so kind. The castle was already under siege when he arrived. As a samurai, to fail was to lose his honor; to lose his honor was to lose his head. This was the way of things, but with a solemn stature and growing anger for these traitors, he thought to himself, "So let them take it, if that be my end." He got down from his horse, and sword held high the Kensai plowed into the ranks of his dead master's enemies. More than a hundred died by his sword that day, their blood painting red the ground he once called home. He remembered that fight with alacrity. He acutely remembered the dagger that found his side. He had fallen, but had not died. He remembered waking up, he remembered finding the drink. The events that led up to that first bottle were seared into his mind; no amount of alcohol would ever change that, though it could dull his heart’s ache.
A light rain began to pour as the vagrant removed his cape and tossed it aside. He washed his face and wet his hair in a nearby stream, looked once more in the direction he had watched his ward walk and turned back to his reflection in the stream. He resolved to put aside the past and being working toward the future. Removing his sword from its scabbard he stared at the Mori clan seal engraved on both sides of the bottom of the blade. For the first time in more than a decade he took in its beauty. Returning it to its scabbard, he smiled - also for the first time in a decade. He would make things right again: a daimyo would be restored. Remembering the days where honor meant something he recited to himself a poem "As there is no lack of flowers at blossom time so those in defeat will not escape," and added a line of his own "As there is no lack of enemies to fight where the will is strong, so the defeated will rise again at least until his will be done."
***
"There is something I have to do, and I thought for a while that traveling with you guys would get me closer to it, but I am no closer than when we started."
"Well what is it?" Inuyasha inquired, always to the point. He had known since they had first met that something bothered the monk, but had never before inquired as to what it was, assuming the monk, like himself, preferred privacy in personal matters. If the monk was going to leave though, Inuyasha felt it was not unreasonable to ask for an explanation, though he wouldn’t press the matter.
"It is not right for me to drag you into my problems."
"You mean it’s none of my business and I suppose that’s fair enough. I'll let the others know you've gone in the morning.”
The vagrant was not the only one who had recognized someone from his past. Miroku made no mention of it, nor had he reacted in any visible way when he saw the sword inside the vagrant's cloak, but that seal brought back memories of his distant past and there was something familiar in the face of the vagrant. He had long assumed there was nothing left of his clan, but that was surely his clan's seal on that sword. He had to find out where the vagrant had come from so he backtracked to where he had seen him and followed his trail to a nearby port town.
"Sorry but I haven’t seen anybody of that description in weeks," said the beggar when asked, but held out his hand as if his memory could be refreshed by currency. Handing the beggar what change he could spare Miroku looked at him expectantly. "A man came through here not long ago, hitched a ride on a merchant vessel heading for Iyo. Had an intense look, that one did."
"Thank you sir, may Buddha's compassion go with you," was all Miroku said as he walked away. This complicated matters. Miroku was none too fond of sea travel for any length of time, but convenience had been his shadow for too long. He swore an oath and he would fulfill it. Recalling his studies of geography Iyo lacked rich farmland, but a swords master was said to live somewhere in the mountainous area to the South. As he departed for the docks he heard screams coming from a nearby alley. It was late and he would not be able to charter a vessel tonight anyway so he turned to confront whatever problems lay down that alley. What he found there would turn his stomach.
A demon, having possessed the body of an old and quite possibly dead man was preparing to feast on the body of a crying young girl. Speaking an incantation Miroku lifted his staff and promptly beat the misshapen figure over the head. Acquiring its attention was easy; defeating it would prove more difficult. Stepping to the side as the possessed body charged him, Miroku slammed his staff into the small of its back as the girl ran off. The skin gave way and the staff tore through flesh. Angered at the impertinence of this monk interrupting his meal and daring to hurt him, the demon squealed with what sounded like a mixture of pain and delight. Sizing up his opponent anew and realizing his impending doom the demon recognized something he hadn’t noticed earlier. There was no mistaking it, this was the one. “What is the lord of the Mori clan doing so far from his home?” he spat out.
That stopped Miroku. He had told no one of his past, could barely remember his life in the clan himself, how could this demon know such a thing about him? Something wasn’t right. “What do you know of clan Mori, demon?”
“I know your grandfather was a great enemy to my former master.”
“Former?”
“Yes, he is the most annoying of masters I’ve ever had, taking captives but letting none near them, not using them himself but flaunting them for all the rest of us.”
“So sorry,” Miroku had heard enough from this demon. He may know something of my lineage, but he is only trying to delay his end. He prepared to exorcise the demon but as he did so the demon uttered yet another surprise.
“Zowijane is with him you know.”
He briefly lost his composure and a fury began to shine through the eyes of the monk and the demon realized he had badly erred. “Don’t you ever speak her name!” Miroku shouted, dropping his staff and grabbing the demon before him. He lifted him, slammed him against the wall of the alley and proceeded to beat on his demon face. How that demon howled for his mistake! A public display was in order. Still enraged, Miroku tossed the demon from the alley into a busier street, then into the town square, scattering onlookers who, realizing it wasn’t just a drunk being tossed from a bar, kept their distance. Addressing the townspeople Miroku said “This demon has attacked your town and attempted to violate your women! Bring some oil” Somebody did, and Miroku poured the oil over the howling demon and set it ablaze with a holy flame. His composure and calm regained, Miroku turned to the cheers of the townspeople. Finding a boat would be much easier now.
Easier did not translate into cheaper, as he soon found out. Of the three boats he had tried to get a ride on not one was within his price range and his hopes were low as he approached the only remaining vessel. Yet, as luck would have it, the girl he had rescued the day before happened to be this boat’s captain’s daughter. The captain insisted Miroku not pay for passage, since he was on his way there anyway and no payment could be greater than his daughter’s life regardless. Miroku sympathized but accepted the free voyage anyway. He had little money remaining and needed to extend what he had for as long as possible. They arrived at a small village, more a handful of families really, by sundown.
***
“Well Well Otsumkato,” started the Samurai, “I never expected to see you around here again.”
“Nor did I”
“So what’s the occasion?”
“The heir to the Mori clan survived.”
“Don’t start with that again. You know better than any just how the Mori clan died”
“I saw him Oyjambi, clear as day light”
“And how drunk were you?”
“Not very, and that doesn’t matter. You sit in front of me, you can smell that I am sober and – “
“And I can see in your eyes that you are serious. My friend, its good to have you back.” Oyjambi finished for him.
“Then you know what we have to do.”
“Hold on there. I know what you have to do. I have a family to take care of, a business to run, yakuza to profit from.
“Fair enough. Can you provide me with information at least? I haven’t been in these parts for a long time and I need to know the political scheme of things – who might have a sense of loyalty to the old order were it restored and who would stand to lose the most by such a restoration.
“For an old friend, I’ll even give you a discount off the normal price for info.
There was more work ahead of him than he realized. The old Mori territories were split into numerous factions, each run by a taisho, all vying for power against one another. Loyalties would be difficult to secure indeed but he could appeal to their hopes of battlefield glory. Alone none could prevail over the others, but if they had the backing of daimyo blood the peasants could be rallied and their armies put to better use than as police. Before he could get to any of that he had to have proof that the man he saw was indeed the heir and to do that he would first have to find him again.
"Well what is it?" Inuyasha inquired, always to the point. He had known since they had first met that something bothered the monk, but had never before inquired as to what it was, assuming the monk, like himself, preferred privacy in personal matters. If the monk was going to leave though, Inuyasha felt it was not unreasonable to ask for an explanation, though he wouldn’t press the matter.
"It is not right for me to drag you into my problems."
"You mean it’s none of my business and I suppose that’s fair enough. I'll let the others know you've gone in the morning.”
The vagrant was not the only one who had recognized someone from his past. Miroku made no mention of it, nor had he reacted in any visible way when he saw the sword inside the vagrant's cloak, but that seal brought back memories of his distant past and there was something familiar in the face of the vagrant. He had long assumed there was nothing left of his clan, but that was surely his clan's seal on that sword. He had to find out where the vagrant had come from so he backtracked to where he had seen him and followed his trail to a nearby port town.
"Sorry but I haven’t seen anybody of that description in weeks," said the beggar when asked, but held out his hand as if his memory could be refreshed by currency. Handing the beggar what change he could spare Miroku looked at him expectantly. "A man came through here not long ago, hitched a ride on a merchant vessel heading for Iyo. Had an intense look, that one did."
"Thank you sir, may Buddha's compassion go with you," was all Miroku said as he walked away. This complicated matters. Miroku was none too fond of sea travel for any length of time, but convenience had been his shadow for too long. He swore an oath and he would fulfill it. Recalling his studies of geography Iyo lacked rich farmland, but a swords master was said to live somewhere in the mountainous area to the South. As he departed for the docks he heard screams coming from a nearby alley. It was late and he would not be able to charter a vessel tonight anyway so he turned to confront whatever problems lay down that alley. What he found there would turn his stomach.
A demon, having possessed the body of an old and quite possibly dead man was preparing to feast on the body of a crying young girl. Speaking an incantation Miroku lifted his staff and promptly beat the misshapen figure over the head. Acquiring its attention was easy; defeating it would prove more difficult. Stepping to the side as the possessed body charged him, Miroku slammed his staff into the small of its back as the girl ran off. The skin gave way and the staff tore through flesh. Angered at the impertinence of this monk interrupting his meal and daring to hurt him, the demon squealed with what sounded like a mixture of pain and delight. Sizing up his opponent anew and realizing his impending doom the demon recognized something he hadn’t noticed earlier. There was no mistaking it, this was the one. “What is the lord of the Mori clan doing so far from his home?” he spat out.
That stopped Miroku. He had told no one of his past, could barely remember his life in the clan himself, how could this demon know such a thing about him? Something wasn’t right. “What do you know of clan Mori, demon?”
“I know your grandfather was a great enemy to my former master.”
“Former?”
“Yes, he is the most annoying of masters I’ve ever had, taking captives but letting none near them, not using them himself but flaunting them for all the rest of us.”
“So sorry,” Miroku had heard enough from this demon. He may know something of my lineage, but he is only trying to delay his end. He prepared to exorcise the demon but as he did so the demon uttered yet another surprise.
“Zowijane is with him you know.”
He briefly lost his composure and a fury began to shine through the eyes of the monk and the demon realized he had badly erred. “Don’t you ever speak her name!” Miroku shouted, dropping his staff and grabbing the demon before him. He lifted him, slammed him against the wall of the alley and proceeded to beat on his demon face. How that demon howled for his mistake! A public display was in order. Still enraged, Miroku tossed the demon from the alley into a busier street, then into the town square, scattering onlookers who, realizing it wasn’t just a drunk being tossed from a bar, kept their distance. Addressing the townspeople Miroku said “This demon has attacked your town and attempted to violate your women! Bring some oil” Somebody did, and Miroku poured the oil over the howling demon and set it ablaze with a holy flame. His composure and calm regained, Miroku turned to the cheers of the townspeople. Finding a boat would be much easier now.
Easier did not translate into cheaper, as he soon found out. Of the three boats he had tried to get a ride on not one was within his price range and his hopes were low as he approached the only remaining vessel. Yet, as luck would have it, the girl he had rescued the day before happened to be this boat’s captain’s daughter. The captain insisted Miroku not pay for passage, since he was on his way there anyway and no payment could be greater than his daughter’s life regardless. Miroku sympathized but accepted the free voyage anyway. He had little money remaining and needed to extend what he had for as long as possible. They arrived at a small village, more a handful of families really, by sundown.
***
“Well Well Otsumkato,” started the Samurai, “I never expected to see you around here again.”
“Nor did I”
“So what’s the occasion?”
“The heir to the Mori clan survived.”
“Don’t start with that again. You know better than any just how the Mori clan died”
“I saw him Oyjambi, clear as day light”
“And how drunk were you?”
“Not very, and that doesn’t matter. You sit in front of me, you can smell that I am sober and – “
“And I can see in your eyes that you are serious. My friend, its good to have you back.” Oyjambi finished for him.
“Then you know what we have to do.”
“Hold on there. I know what you have to do. I have a family to take care of, a business to run, yakuza to profit from.
“Fair enough. Can you provide me with information at least? I haven’t been in these parts for a long time and I need to know the political scheme of things – who might have a sense of loyalty to the old order were it restored and who would stand to lose the most by such a restoration.
“For an old friend, I’ll even give you a discount off the normal price for info.
There was more work ahead of him than he realized. The old Mori territories were split into numerous factions, each run by a taisho, all vying for power against one another. Loyalties would be difficult to secure indeed but he could appeal to their hopes of battlefield glory. Alone none could prevail over the others, but if they had the backing of daimyo blood the peasants could be rallied and their armies put to better use than as police. Before he could get to any of that he had to have proof that the man he saw was indeed the heir and to do that he would first have to find him again.