InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Stealing Heaven ❯ Retributions ( Chapter 28 )

Honest to God,

I would break your heart,

Tear you to pieces,

And rip you apart.

~30 Seconds to Mars, "Night of the Hunter"

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Retributions

For a long, strained time it felt as though no one in the room was even breathing. Such an odd sensation . . . so still and somehow fragile that Kagome wondered if the world outside of this delicate bubble of thrumming, pulsing quiet hadn't taken a pause.

She wasn't even entirely certain how much time was passing- was this many minutes flying by, or long, protracted seconds creeping past them?- as they patiently and silently watched Myoga, mumbling and muttering under his breath as he hunched over Kouga's unresponsive form. Every so often she could feel a faint tugging, something intangible pulling at her that caused the most bizarre nervous roiling in the pit of her stomach.

It wasn't clear to her how she realized it, or even when, but eventually she came to understand that this was Myoga borrowing her energy. The old man probably would never acknowledge it openly, but he simply no longer had the strength to perform this task on his own and thus was taking little bits and pieces of hers where and when he needed it.

For a moment, though she had to wonder if it was his age . . . or if Lyka was stronger than any of them had been giving her credit for. Maybe that's the downside of being a completely psycho bitch, Kagome mused dryly in the back of her head as she tried to remain focused on what was happening before her. It was not only her own inner thoughts that were making it difficult, but that she felt nearly as if she had to concentrate to stay anchored in her body.

Strange . . . .

The incense seemed to be making her thoughts fuzzy and soft around the edges, giving her the impression of being in a dream-like state. She wasn't sure if this was supposed to happen. If she let go . . . if she allowed her consciousness to drift up and out of her body- the way it felt like it wanted to- would she find herself floating above them all in some sort of accidental astral projection? Myoga had already told her she would need to do as much someday soon enough to rid them all of Nah Rah Ku, but now . . . .

No.

Even currently subdued as Lyka was, her mentor had made it clear, that layer of existence was Lyka's domain and Kagome wouldn't set a proverbial toe there until there was some trusted assurance that the vengeful specter was gone for good.

She jumped as a hand clamped suddenly around her wrist, bony fingers digging into her flesh and disrupting her thoughts entirely. Blinking dazed blue eyes as she snapped herself back into the moment, she looked up at Myoga, who had his back to her still, apparently having reached out blindly to grab a hold of her.

"The jar," he murmured, relinquishing his grip to gesture vaguely towards two wooden bowls beside the small glass container, "dip the opening in the water, press it into the salt, then hand it to me."

Nodding quickly and briefly, Kagome immediately did as instructed. She could tell as soon as she bent over the first bowl that this water wasn't holy water- as all one had to do for that designation was have a priest mutter a prayer over it- it was blessed water; Myoga had probably meditated and muttered over it, imbued it with his own energy, which might also account for his need to borrow spiritual strength, since he'd only had a scant amount of time in which to make preparations for this.

Carefully rolling the mouth of the jar in the salt- long held to be a purifier in and of itself- to be certain there wasn't a single millimeter that wasn't coated, she handed it over to him and sat back once more to watch in a mix of awe and mental note-taking.

Myoga pressed the opening of the jar between Kouga's eyes and began muttering again as he touched the fingers of his free hand in an intricate, circular-based pattern around the young man's forehead. She repressed the strong urge to rub her eyes as she saw, almost like that night when The Thief had extracted the troublesome thing from her own head, a dark, shimmering something creeping out of the skin. Expanding and contracting as though it was somehow breathing on its own, it leaked and swirled out of him, swelling until it filled the jar.

Suddenly the way the old man's gnarled fingers gripped the jar changed, as if he was expecting the energy to break free, to fight its way out of this new, unwanted imprisonment. Gesturing with his other hand toward Kagome once more, he whispered urgently, "The salt!"

Glancing around skitteringly- Miroku and Sango were both so silent, and in near-dazed states themselves, that she'd practically forgotten they were there- Kagome instantly snatched up the bowl and scurried over on her knees to hold it steadily beside Kouga's head. She didn't bother to question how she comprehended that this was what was needed of her without any detailed instruction; she simply knew that this was what had to be done.

Nodding grimly, he took pinches of salt and dusted them along Kouga's skin, in a trail leading from where the jar was pressed now toward where Kagome held the bowl, leaving as little room as possible for Lyka to escape, in case there was even the tiniest crack in protections through which she could worm her way out. He slid the jar carefully along the trail he'd created, rubbing more still along the edge of the bowl until it was planted firmly in the center.

"Now," Myoga said with a faint, humorless grin as he slid his hand over Kagome's to take the bowl from her, "we get to make a mess. Get the salt that's beside the incense."

She didn't bother with any response as she scooted back across the circle to fetch the second, slimmer jar. By the time she returned to them Myoga, had, indeed, made quite the mess, turning the bowl over so that salt fell both into the jar- at which point the dark, glittering mass of energy within began to swirl more frantically- and sprinkled in a gritty little heap onto the floor.

At this, Myoga finally did look away from his task, fixing his gaze on his student's, impressing upon her the gravity of her assistance being flawless. "I am going to slide the bowl away- you are to immediately place the opening of that jar into this one so the salt fills it. Eee-mmeee-diate-leeeee."

The creaky voice and elongated annunciation caused the already wide-eyed spiritualist -in-training to force a hard gulp down her throat. Nodding, she inched closer still, the fingers that gripped the salt jar tingling with icy numbness suddenly and she nervously curled her other hand into a fist and shook it out again several times.

"Ready?"

Kagome frowned deeply as she gave a sort-of nod. She wondered briefly where that courage she'd had just earlier that same day when she'd beaten to a pulp a jock twice her size had mysteriously fled to, but then the situations- despite involving the same malicious entity- were entirely different, no matter how she looked at it.

Slowly Myoga began sliding the bowl to one side and she forced her hand to remain steady as she moved the jar incrementally closer. She could shake herself to pieces later; she needed to be on point now. For the briefest, tiniest second as the bowl slipped completely away she thought she could hear a pained, echoing scream so faint she could have been imagining it, but it silenced the instant she had the other jar upended into it, pouring salt into, over, throughout the sick, twisted darkness that was once a simple- if depraved- human being.

The salt looked to dampen instantly; the illusory effect seeped upward, crawling slowly through the white grains until the fill of the jar was turned to a deep purple-black. Something about the change made Kagome's stomach turn even as she moved to fetch the bowl of blessed water Myoga was waving a dismissive hand toward. Pressing the back of her free hand against her lips as she attempted to will the nausea away, she handed it over to him and watched through narrowed, rapidly blinking eyes as he knocked the salt jar to the floor and poured a measure of water into the blackened grains.

Kagome gave an involuntary start as some bizarre explosion of color had taken place, somehow, within the salt itself, throwing blotches of deep blue and washed out purple up against the sides of the jar. Myoga soaked a swatch of white silk in the water, frowning at the reaction as he tied the cloth tightly over the top of the jar, sealing it.

"Still trying to escape," he mumbled in a bitter tone with a shake of his head.

It was a long, silent moment as Myoga placed the jar beside the incense burner and lifted the tray upon which they were both now set, positioning it delicately beneath a closed window. He opened the shade so that sunlight could filter through, bouncing off of the glass in a nearly cheerful way that made the entire incident seem even more dreamlike in contrast as the sudden brightness jarred Miroku, Sango and Kagome, despite the fact that she'd been watching the old man the whole time, but was perhaps more dazed, still, than she'd realized as she had made no attempt to brace herself.

"What now?" she asked dully as the old man puttered about, putting his furniture back in place as though he didn't have a group of drowsy- and still unconscious, in poor, completely unwitting Kouga's case- young people littering his tiny apartment.

Bony shoulders shrugged at no one in particular as he shooed her out of his way and, in a blink, had snatched the elbow of Miroku's sleeve. The younger man looked down at him questioningly to which Myoga only gestured vaguely at Kouga and then waved toward the dilapidated sofa.

Kagome wondered briefly at the respect Miroku had for his elders as the man simply gave a deep nod that was almost a bow and proceeded to lift Kouga from the floor and set him on the cushions with no comment or question whatsoever. Certainly they were all respectful to those above them in age or station, but somehow . . . perhaps it was in the way he moved as he did so, or the soft expression that overcame his features, whatever the reason it did seem as though the depth of his respect was something nearly lost on her generation.

She could recall distantly in that moment Sango once telling her his ancestors had been monks . . . perhaps then, his background wasn't too dissimilar from her own in that some of the old ways were clung to even as they were given the freedom to embrace modern, even Westernized standards. It seemed a paradoxal upbringing when she thought about it in regards to someone else, even as it made her realize she'd never before noticed such about her own background.

Myoga sat on his knees beside the couch and gently placed his hands on the sides of Kouga's head. "Now I heal your friend," he cast a quick glance over his shoulder at her, "so he doesn't awaken with half of his brain functions diminished."

Kagome couldn't help rolling her eyes as Sango walked over- looking as dishelved as if she'd just been roused from a deep sleep- and rubbed her friend's shoulder. "Don't let it bother you, Lyka so had an ass kicking coming to her . . . even if it was someone else's body, she is the one that felt it and that's the important thing."

"I suppose," the mention brought Kagome back to her original point, "Um, I'm sorry, Myoga, when I said 'what now' I meant about . . . Lyka," just saying that name left a bad, filmy taste in her mouth.

"The twisting of her mind was likely helped along by some sort of mental illness. No human is inherently evil, we become that way either through choice- though we may not recognize it as a choice at the time- or design- design, of course, meaning defective parts. However, being trapped as she was for so long with nothing to do but wait and mull over her own perspective of what had transpired . . . . Well, if it can be said this way, that malice toward anyone that would seem to wish to separate her from the demon had spread to saturate her every metaphorical fiber of her soul."

Myoga said all of this in a calm, peaceful near-monotone as he concentrated on fixing Kouga, but something in what he said sent a sharp, cold pulse through Kagome. She understood it, even as it sliced into her. That feeling she'd had when they'd first entered the cavern . . . that horrible sensation of something waiting and watching, lurking in wait to leap out at her any moment. . . .

That hadn't been The Thief of Bliss; it had been Lyka all along.

Kagome shook her head at her inner ramblings. She didn't have the time, or the want- she couldn't, could not, for the Professor's sake- to start thinking of the things for which Nah Rah Ku was not responsible. She couldn't allow anything to humanize him more than he already was.

"Okay," she muttered in a shaky voice, determined to distract herself," no, I mean what happens with the salt, is she just stuck in there forever?"

"I was getting to that," the old man groused and she could tell from his tone that he was making that same scrunched expression he used whenever he whapped her on the forehead. She'd need to find excuses to cover the area once he was free of his self-imposed obligation to Kouga.

"As the salt dries that evil while be purged from her soul, and only when her energy is free of that weight will it be able to loose itself from the salt. White silk is also effective for resisting negative energy, rinsed in the blessed water, it, too serves as yet another measure to ensure that only that pure soul we all start out as is what leaves that jar. It is the only way to ensure that what she has done will not carry over into her next life."

Sango frowned darkly at that, crossing her arms tightly beneath her breasts. "Wait . . . how is that fair? Don't we all pay for what we did in our last lives in this one? Why should someone that vile get a free pass?"

Myoga gave a low, weary sigh. Pulling his hands from Kouga at last, he turned to face them as he replied, "You don't realize this, but that ritual we just did . . . what is happening to her now- since she seems to have the misfortune of being conscious of the process- is more painful than anything you or I could possibly imagine. Unlike you or I, she doesn't have the luxury of a body giving out and dying."

He paused then, and no one was certain if it was for dramatic effect, or if he was searching for the proper phrasing to make them all understand why he'd spared her from karma's wrath. "When our lives give back to us that which we sowed during incarnations prior . . . there's no understandable justice to it, no timeline. It doesn't wait until we're old enough to handle these things. No, young Sango. I could not just draw her out and send her back into the cycle, because I can't predict how or when her next life would make her pay and the retribution for Lyka's wrong-doings . . . we could have been wishing that upon a child and not even knowing it."

Somehow that made the tip of Kagome's nose sting and her eyes water just a little as she and Sango exchanged a silent glance, each rolling Myoga's words around in the minds. No matter what Lyka had done, those crimes belonged solely to her. There would be no justice in allowing another person- whose only crime would be having the reincarnated soul of a mentally ill girl, soured and twisted by the torments of unending time and unrequited love, though it might have been- to suffer and there was no controlling when or how, or what quantities in which these crimes would be paid.

Myoga was right, if the retributions of her crimes were to be visited upon that existence while it was still innocent and delicate . . . while that person was still a child . . . .

It was unfathomable.

Sango nodded slowly, stubbornly letting her resolve slip away to be replaced by reason . . . and perhaps even a hint of compassion. "I get it," she murmured in a hollow voice.

Nodding in response, Myoga stood and puttered toward his door just as Kouga began stirring. The old man didn't even glance over his shoulder.

Kagome couldn't deny the relief that washed through her as pale blue eyes opened. True that it was to dart frantically about the room and its occupants, but still it was nice to see that he looked like himself once more. In the next moment she was rewarded with yet another warming flood of relief as he quickly pulled himself to sit up, appearing groggy, but otherwise not as though he'd been walloped over the head with heavy texts gods only knew how many times.

"Okay, someone better start talking!" He said in a dangerously low tone that reminded Kagome of a canine growling.

Instantly Miroku was stepping cautiously toward him, giving a convincingly relaxed grin as he began, "See, you fell and bumped your skull really bad . . . . and-"

"I did?" Poor Kouga looked absolutely mystified as he reached a hand up to scratch at his mussed head.

Miroku made a severe face as he sucked his teeth to produce a hissing sound. "Wow, you don't even remember- that happens sometimes with head trauma, people lose like the five minutes or so prior to the injury . . . . Anyways, yes- you were holding the door open for Kagome," Miroku pointed at the girl and she waved, plastering a bright smile in place as Kouga cast a still mildly disoriented look her way, "as she was coming up from the basement store rooms 'cause the poor little thing had this huge stack of texts she was carrying and . . . Um, Kags," Miroku looked over at her, "How did that even happen?"

Kagome's voice caught in her throat for a moment as she shrugged helplessly. "Ya know, I'm not even sure, all I know is I was coming through the door and then suddenly . . . you, me, the books . . . all at the bottom of the stairs. I kind of landed on top of you, so uh, thanks for taking the brunt of the fall."

Sango could only give a long, exaggerated blink as she listened to her best friend and boyfriend come up with such a blithe, on-the-spot cover story. Clearing her throat, she pinched tiredly between brows as she muttered, "Don't look at me, all they told me was 'get the car'."

Kouga's dark, arched brows shot up into his bangs. "You landed on me?" he shook his head, giving a short, low chuckle at himself, "Now I kinda wish I remembered. Where the fuck are we?"

Myoga cleared his throat at that and Kouga's gaze leaped to the elderly man. "Oh, oh, shit, I'm sorry," at the utterance of another foul word Myoga's already slightly sour expression darkened, "Oh, I . . . I'm sorry." Kouga managed a half-bow from where he was seated, not quite sure how to smooth it over.

After a painfully awkward moment the old man gave one of his usual shrugs. "Whatever."

"Listen," Miroku began explaining as he stood and motioned for Kouga to stand as well, keeping an eye on their patient in case he was going to be more wobbly than he looked, "I know there's a track meet coming up and you were out cold. I figured if we brought you to a hospital or the campus infirmary you'd have to miss it, even if you turned out to be 'okay'. So we brought you to a . . . homeopathic healer instead."

Kouga nodded slowly once he was standing and had his bearings. "Then . . . I guess I should be saying thank you?"

At this, everyone in the room shrugged a little as Myoga opened the door, only too happy to shoo them all out of his apartment.

* * *

Taisho Sesshomaru paced around his office restlessly. He was getting worse, if that was possible. He paused in his contained wandering, letting his head tip back as he smoothed his hands over his hair, amber eyes squeezing tightly shut. He had always been in control before. Time and place prevailed whenever he'd been around her before, reminding him to keep his words and actions unemotional, impersonal. Though that was probably how that kiss had snuck up on them that night on her porch- no one had been around. But this time, she'd had to remind him that they were somewhere that even an inappropriate split-second glance could have disastrous results.

It had never mattered before how often he'd thought about her . . . Or the ways in which he had thought of her. Quickly he shoved the latter half of that ever-dangerous line of thinking to the back of his head. He'd been working so diligently to not allow his sordid dreams to invade his waking mind. Even now echoes of the imaginings he'd had of her were enough to set off fine tremors in his body, enough to make him embarrassingly, painfully hard and he would not reduce this to something that was purely physical. She deserved so much more than that from him.

He'd had to push himself, as well, not to be possessive of her. That was the thing he couldn't quite understand; he'd never been that sort of person, but then . . . he paused, glancing at his wall calendar. For all his life had held, for all that had befallen him once upon a time, he was self-aware enough to admit that he had never been in love with someone. He dreaded to think that this sort of darkness was brought out in him by an emotion that was supposed to be pure, a font of strength and virtue . . . . And yet it turned him into something primal.

Especially recently; he hid it exceptionally well, considering how often the feelings battered at him. Ever since that blow up at the site with Bruckner . . . it had only been a few seconds before he'd been able to reign himself in, but still it had been enough to show him that the idea of Higurashi Kagome looking at any other man the way she looked at him flipped a switch in him, turning him into something primitive and animalistic.

Something that declared her as his and would tear to shreds anything or anyone that tried to take her from him.

Sighing heavily, he pulled his chair from his desk and sat, propping his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead against the heels of his palms. This could not keep happening, but then he couldn't stay away from her, either. He was a mature, well-educated, grounded individual . . . these thoughts were not supposed to be in his head.

And lately he couldn't shake the feeling that he was vying for her attentions. He knew there wasn't- as tactless as it felt to think of it that way- a man in her life, and Higurashi wasn't the sort of woman to be frivolous in her affections with anyone.

Even acknowledging all of this- for the hundredth time- he couldn't put aside the gnawing, miserable sensation that someone else wanted her as much as he did.

There was a brief commotion outside rousing him from his thoughts and he stood, stepping over to the window and parting the shades. He recognized Miroku's car instantly, but something else in the scene outside set his teeth on edge and sent a flicker of angry heat dancing over his skin.

Higurashi Kagome was walking away from the car and a tall man with long dark hair- that he recognized vaguely as a student- had his arm draped around her shoulders. She lifted her head, to listen to something Miroku was saying, but Sesshomaru couldn't take his eyes off of her slim arm wrapped tight around the man's waist . . . of her little hand clasping at the wrist hanging over her shoulder.

* * *

"I told you, I'm fine . . . not that I mind an excuse to be this close to a pretty girl," Kouga said with a laugh as Kagome clung to his wrist.

"Nope, not budging until Miroku gets his butt around the car to walk you to your dorm," oddly, she was ignoring how easily she was . . . well, ignoring his clumsy compliment.

"Kagome, seriously," Miroku called from over the hood of the car after he climbed out, causing her to look up at him, "one wrong step and he'll crush you under foot by accident."

She gave a weary sigh, "I'm not as petite as you people keep making me out to be."

A split-second feeling crept over her and Kagome had to force herself to repress a shiver at the sense that someone was watching them.

* * *

Frowning, he stepped back from the window and gave his head a firm shake. He stood by his thoughts of her- it was probably perfectly innocent. Young people hung all over their friends all the time like that. Just because he didn't recognize the man didn't mean she wasn't familiar with him.

He trusted Higurashi Kagome. Maybe the man was sick? Yes, that made perfect sense, given how she was clinging to him. Nodding to the empty room, he forced himself to think reasonably. Whoever he was, he hadn't looked too steady on his feet, after all.

Still this had unsettled Sesshomaru. Even if Kagome wasn't interested in anyone besides him that obviously didn't mean that there wasn't anyone interested in her. Once more he tried to coax reason back into his thoughts. He succeeded . . . mostly, forcefully ignoring the tiny, burning daggers jabbing into his chest.

Just as he thought he had managed to tame the most volatile of his emotions- a grown man, a college professor and accomplished archeologist, no less, had actually considered storming out of his office to go beat another man to a bloody pulp for daring to be so close to her- he began to feel . . . sleepy, almost overpoweringly so, in fact.

"Sesshomaru, you really need to get sleep," he scolded himself as he stretched out on the too-small-for-someone-his-height couch.

It seemed as soon as he closed his eyes, Taisho Sesshomaru fell into a deep slumber, unaware that only a few heartbeats later they snapped open again, glittering like molten gold . . . .

And threaded through with fine veins of bright, furious red.

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