InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Temporal Sequence ❯ Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

Temporal Sequence

 

Chapter 7:

 

xxx

 

He stood alone in a field near his father's house, but he wouldn't be left alone for long. He could smell his father's nearing scent and that of another male. The scent was vaguely familiar and its potency revealed the depth of the male's power, and it was overwhelming, much like his father's. He opened his eyes and looked to his right, the direction from where he could now hear his father's voice. His father spoke amiably to the unknown male, talking of his recent land expansions and newly developing incursions. It was all very boring really, but to Sesshoumaru, his father's words held another meaning. His father was leaving, again.

 

“Ah,” his father spoke merrily, “Sesshoumaru, there you are!” His father always seemed so very happy to see him after searching for his whereabouts, though the elder demon knew where to find him all along—all that was required was a heavy inhalation. Was his father truly delighted to see him? If that was the case, then why was he always so eager to leave?

 

He eyed the mysterious male standing beside his father as they approached. The man was as tall as his father and his face held an unreadable expression that could easily be misjudged for apathy, but Sesshoumaru noticed the slight incline of his brow. Was the man curious or surprised? He really couldn't decipher the man's enigmatic demeanor, but he looked intimidating standing there as silent as death.

 

“Sesshoumaru, this is your uncle, Kazuma.”

 

The man nodded his head in place of a bow, openly displaying his superiority, but Sesshoumaru didn't mind; this was the first relative he had yet to meet. Sesshoumaru bowed deeply in response to his elder, quickly rising to further inspect his uncle standing before him. The man had a strange hue to his hair that flared red like fire in the sunlight. His eyes were a pale green, so pale in fact that they looked nearly yellow, especially under the excessive sunlight. Kazuma's eyes contained a mere slit for a pupil, like a cat, and much like his own. In fact, Kazuma's eyes were shaped identically to his own. The man had a wide face with a squared jaw and a soft nose, but was rather good looking nonetheless. However, the thing that most caught his interest was Kazuma's markings. His cheeks were lined with a single, smooth red stripe and a blood red crescent moon hung proudly on his forehead, noticeable through his parted bangs, which fell exactly like Sesshoumaru's.

 

Despite the physical similarities he shared with his uncle, he still remained the spitting image of his father.

 

“Sesshoumaru, I must leave for a while to settle some land disputes. Kazuma will be your caretaker while I am gone.”

 

“How long will you be gone?” he asked, trying to reign in his disappointment. It would seem he failed as his father's lips curved down into a frown, his uncle sporting a displeased expression all the while.

 

His father knelt before him, an egalitarian display, so that they could see eye to eye. His father's hands fell upon his shoulders, giving them a light squeeze of meaningless reassurance. “Don't worry, I won't be gone long. Perhaps four or five moon cycles at the most. It'll pass quickly, especially since Kazuma will begin your training.”

 

“But you said we would go on my first hunt together,” he said lowly, once again trying to maintain his composure. He wanted to be strong, like his father. Maybe if he were a better, stronger son, then his father would stay.

 

“We will. Kazuma is just going to begin your training, that's all,” his father said with a smile. “Besides, you can't go on your first hunt until you know how to hunt.” His father embraced him briefly and stood to his full height, motioning toward the citadel. “Let's go eat. Did you know that your uncle Kazuma named you?” his father asked, switching subjects.

 

Sesshoumaru shook his head, his eyes immediately traveling back to his deathly quiet relative who hadn't even spoken a word since their introduction. The strange demon didn't even spare him a glance as his father spoke. He began pondering what his uncle's voice would sound like, wondering if it'd be deep like his father's, or biting like a chilled wind.

 

“Well, he did. I thought it was best that someone from your mother's side had the honor of naming you. Anyhow,” his father said with a slight wave of his hand, “he can teach you many things, so pay close attention and be respectful. Your energy whip comes from his side of the family after all.”

 

He turned awed and hopeful eyes on his uncle. His energy whip was a difficult weapon to use and he hadn't learned to control it yet, which had caused many problems, most of which were self-inflicted injuries. Perhaps his uncle could make him stronger, then his father would be pleased and maybe he'd stay home more often. Pale eyes found his at that point and the red inu-youkai gifted him with a small smile.

 

Perhaps things could change after all.

 

xxx

 

The wind died and Sesshoumaru blinked, clearing the remnants of the past from his sight. How had he gotten here again? Oh yes, someone was near, watching him.

 

He had awoken just as the sun rose and found himself in a highly uncomfortable situation. He was lying next to the girl, Kagome, and his arm was wrapped around her shoulders. How he had managed to get himself like that he didn't know, but the girl had made herself rather comfortable in his semi-embrace. Her body was turned toward him, her hand resting on his chest as she cradled her face in between the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It was distasteful to say the least, but fortunately he rose before her and she hadn't stirred as he pried her off his body and repositioned her as she slept.

 

But why was the whole ordeal so disgraceful to him? One thought came to his mind at that point, a single statement that was more like a declaration than an observation—she was human. He continued to ponder it for a while, coming up with blanks as he tried to recall something, anything that would shed light on this new-found knowledge. It would seem he was not very fond of her species.

 

Then he felt something, a tingling at the base of his skull and he immediately recognized it for what it was—a primal warning. Someone was watching him. So he walked into the dense forest, where logic told him the intruder was hiding, and soon found himself in a small clearing, the wind blowing a familiar scent to him, one he knew, but couldn't name. Then an image flooded his mind and he was but a child again, hoping against all odds to win his father's adoration through an uncle he had just met. Silly was what it was, for it was impossible to wish for something from someone he didn't even know. Life did change when his uncle became his caretaker, but not like he had anticipated. And his father had left, only to return after nearly twenty moon cycles, but he had been right about one thing—of that he was certain as a fragmented memory came to him then—his uncle did offer him the key to power, but it was more than that. His uncle gave him a taste for it.

 

xxx

 

“I don't understand,” he said softly, his own voice sounding awkward to his ears. It was changing, yes, but it was more than the deepening of tone that accompanied age— it was growing cold.

 

“What do you not understand? You wish to become as powerful as you can, correct?”

 

“But,” he stumbled as he gazed at the weary female hanging limply, chained from the ceiling, “she is my nurse.” He looked to his uncle through the darkness, hoping that Kazuma would change his mind, but deep within he heard the whisper of certainty confirm his doubts. He would lose this battle and all he could do was move forward.

 

“Her crimes are unacceptable and you must be the one to punish her,” Kazuma stated with finality, his eyes bright green in the darkness, like lush vegetation.

 

“I do not see them as crimes.” His eyes traveled back to the imprisoned youkai, her blood permeating the air, though her wrists only bled sparingly. The metallic scent hung in the air like a thick mist, making his eyes water and his throat tighten in the presence of such undesirable conditions. She was always so kind to him and he didn't want to hurt her, and he shouldn't have to punish he, not when Kazuma was the one she offended. He closed his eyes hoping the sight would disappear with his vision, but the coppery musk still clung to the damp air like a rotting corpse, confirming that his hopes were nothing more than pipe dreams, decaying with the cadaver's flesh.

 

“She weakens you. You will never be a great and powerful demon if you allow people to soften you as such. You must keep your distance from people like her.”

 

“But she was never warned that her treatment of me was improper,” he argued hopelessly. This was a test; an initiation into the realm of rulers. But she had done nothing wrong, except rebuked his uncle's ways, thus hoping to shape him from a different mold. Kazuma had none of that, which he referred to as treason, though Sesshoumaru was skeptical of that interpretation. Kazuma should have banished her, but instead he chose to make him draw her blood over and over again, no matter how agonizing her screams became. It was all part of the process; a way to weed out the weaklings.

 

“I had warned her, and all servants know better than to rebuke their masters. It is disrespectful and deserving of death. But the truth of it all is that you should have put an end to this ridiculous rebelliousness and coddling long ago. So now you must rectify your mistakes and teach her the folly of her ways.”

 

“I-I don't think I can,” he stuttered pathetically, nearly cringing at his own reaction.

 

“I am your caretaker, therefore you are to obey me. Did you not desire my help and knowledge? And when you have fought against my words, have I not been proven right? You stand to be corrected, boy. Make haste and get it over with. It is the only way to deal with these kinds of matters. One day you will rule your father's lands. Will you be capable of such responsibility if your heart bleeds for every individual that grants you a kind word? I think not.” Kazuma then extended a knotted leather whip to him, the tendrils dripping with water.

 

He stared at the torture device for a moment, wondering what other implications lay hidden within that morbid object. What would happen if he were to reach out and accept it?

 

“You do realize that this weapon belongs to your father, don't you? This dungeon is his and it is stained black with old and new blood. And most of those whose blood stains these stones never walked away from this place.”

 

His breathing quickened and his heart raced within his chest. His palms were even sweating, which never happened, and soon he became aware of the beaded drops rolling down his temple. He was nervous and scared, but why? He knew what his kind thought of such emotions and the mere thought of his father learning of his weakness made bile rise in the back of his throat. He was afraid to accept his lot in life—the path that would make his father proud and ensure his effectiveness as a ruler. He was becoming pathetic.

 

Kazuma took one step toward him, extending the weapon even further, his brow creased with determination. “It is a part of you—the call for blood. And if you refuse it, you will reject your destiny and purpose in life. And then what would you be? You would never inherit your father's lands and he would turn his back on you, ashamed that his only son lacked the courage and strength to do what was necessary. Doing what is necessary is not always easy or enjoyable for that matter, but it must be done—it is the only way to solidify your position of authority. Power is a necessity for one in your position. I offer it to you. All you have to do is reach out and take it,” Kazuma nearly whispered, stressing each syllable with the thundering force of a war drum.

 

The fear, the uncertainty, the wonder, the shame—all culminated within his heart until it hardened rapidly with catalyzed deference and want. He could only query what would come of this. Would this stony feeling in his chest subside when this whole ordeal had past? Or would it linger? There was only one way to find out…

 

He took the whip.

 

xxx

 

 

Was that why humans were near reproachable to him—because they were weak while he favored power? He knew it, from the very fiber of his being that he desired strength. He could feel it beckoning him with a pull greater than the ocean's strongest current. He craved power, even sought after it with a feverish drive. He could not, as of yet, recall any such instances, but he just knew, evidenced by one fragmented memory. At a very young age he decided that the accumulation of power should be his top priority to win the affections of an absentee father that didn't spare him the time of day.

 

Power was such an intangible concept, for it varies in infinite magnitudes and remains invisible to the eye, but power, much like any emotion, was felt and seen through the actions of others. Why was it that he tried to distance himself from emotions, but yet he could feel the desire for power coursing through his veins? Was want not an emotion—a feeling defined by the greatest of pulls, making man and demon alike bend to its unmerciful will? Two recollections of the past had come to him so suddenly, reminding him of why this impalpable drive for something he had already possessed became an obsession, drowning out all other components of his life and suffocating his very essence, only leaving behind a crystallized will. He couldn't help but wonder what other memories would bring to him.

 

Power was his goal, driven by a will that was born out of hope. A simple hope really, one that no child should feel, and yet being a child himself, Sesshoumaru failed to realize this one truth. A child should never have to earn his father's love and adoration. A child should not aim to grasp and sustain his father's attention and respect. Sesshoumaru didn't know this at the time, and so the insatiable hunger for power was firmly burned into his mind and heart, a simple solution to supplant the longing for a father.

 

But how did this drive become so central to him that it was tenaciously engrained within his mind? Again, only memories could tell him, but he did know that power was important to him and had caused his life to ferment in ways he could not have possibly predicted. He had paid the price with resentment and hurt…and his arm.

 

The truth of the matter was that he was justifying his own behavior based upon a few broken memories. Yes, it was understandable and ultimately tragic that he craved power to ensure his father's love, but the truth was that he had made a conscious decision that finalized his descent from grace. He did not have to take that whip. Perhaps there was more to the story than he could recall, but right now he had to deal with the fact that he remembered disregarding what was right in favor of what he viewed as necessity—increased power.

 

He hoped there was more to the story than an enraged drive to accumulate more strength, which happened to be of mind, not body, in that instance—the ability to crush those you care for if they meddle negatively in your affairs. Decisions are, after all, based upon many factors, but still, that one particular memory bothered him more than the others. He had chosen to physically harm a female, for a ridiculous reason nonetheless, because he believed it would aid his ultimate conquest in life. Something told him that his father would not have been proud of that particular moment in his life.

 

If only he could remember more.

 

x x x

 

She pushed her book away with a huff, not able to study no matter how hard she tried. It was strange since she had been able to study so diligently while being around Sesshoumaru, but that was the problem right now. Sesshoumaru was acting really weird. Not that he normally didn't act weird, but something was off about him, like the weight of the world had just fallen upon his shoulders.

 

She had woken mid-morning and Sesshoumaru was no where in sight and she felt sort of troubled by that fact since she had obviously fallen asleep next to him last night. She hoped he wasn't mad about that. Maybe he had moved anyhow, but she really didn't care either way because she had slept so peacefully. She had immediately eaten some breakfast after wondering for only a moment or so where Sesshoumaru had gone off to, silently hoping he hadn't reopened his wounds, again. Then she had started studying with a renewed vigor and after a short while he had walked back into camp from the forest, bringing with him a darkened countenance. It was almost disturbing, but this was Sesshoumaru and there was no telling what was going on in that wacky brain of his.

 

Now, it was near sundown and he just continued to stare at the charred wood in front of him as though he wished it were alive with flames, but too disappointed in its lifeless state to do anything about it. It all just seemed so wrong, like he was depressed or something. Maybe he was just thinking, which he obviously liked to do since he spent so much time perfecting those particularly quiet skills. There was no fathoming what he was mulling over, but she did wish he would confide in her—at least once.

 

Then he asked her a question that tripped up her sense of a world that was relatively predictable. How did he always manage to do that to her?

 

“Who reared you?” he asked softly, not looking from the black and gray ashes that remained as still as death in the fire pit.

 

What a strange question for him to ask her! She never would've imagined that he'd be interested to know anything about her life!

 

“Um…my mother. And my grandfather too, but he's a little quirky and absent-minded, so I'd say my mom's the one that really raised me,” she said with a smile as she thought about her odd yet loving family.

 

“What of your father?”

 

She almost believed she could taste that an-dango on her tongue that she had eaten yesterday. She had cried like a sappy little kid in the middle of a busy sector in Tokyo, not caring one bit what all the staring people thought of her. She would wager that most probably thought she had lost a lover to another woman as she looked at the sweet shop they used to frequent. No, she had cried differently on that account. She had cried alone in the woods and at other times in her mother's embrace or on the childish pink comforter in her room that she had refused to replace. Her father had bought it for her after all.

 

“He was a wonderful man. He was gifted, too,” she said not seeming to notice that golden eyes fell upon her as she looked to the swaying grass that always bent, but never broke, under the wind's pressure. “He knew how to make someone feel loved.”

 

“When did he pass?”

 

She looked up and met Sesshoumaru's curious gaze, not surprised by his intuition/ “Twelve years ago. I was seven.” It was so strange, but her eyes didn't even water at the mere thought of her father. She could feel the bright grin burning on her face, but she didn't care. She would no longer scorn his memory with sadness; he wouldn't have wanted it that way. She would bless his memory with love and happiness from now on, only smiling and laughing when she thought of him. He deserved that much—it would be her way of showing her love for him.

 

“Your mother, she is a kind woman?”

 

“The best,” she said merrily. “She's so loving and supportive. I guess I'm really lucky.”

 

“Yes. You are fortunate.”

 

She gaped at him as his eyes turned back toward the ground, penetrating the very dirt with his piercing stare. Something was definitely wrong with him and her mouth fell open as something occurred to her. He must have remembered something. Why else would he ask her those things and seem so sad? He even admitted in an eerie tone that she was indeed fortunate. The tone was ghost-like, as though haunted by things that would forever linger in this life, but could never be rectified because that present had died and now treaded in the realm of the past.

 

Kind of like Inuyasha's voice when he spoke Kikyou's name.

 

xxx

 

 

“You don't even care that she tried to kill me!”

 

She was mad and maybe a bit harsh, but damn it, this was ridiculous! She had mentioned earlier that day that she was sorry she had lost the jewel shards to Kikyou, but Inuyasha had merely said not to worry about it. It may have seemed so kind and understanding of him, but he nearly busted an aneurysm on other occasions when she had lost precious jewel shards. It was okay only because Kikyou did it. That was fine, she supposed, since he did love her `incarnation', but why hadn't he said anything about her near death experience with that walking corpse!

 

She really shouldn't think so maliciously about the undead miko, but she was a big enough person to admit she was jealous, and the anger was only heightened by the fact she was losing the battle for Inuyasha's heart to a dead woman. She really was fated to never have him.

 

“What do you want me to say?” he asked angrily. “That I should go rip her heart out because she tired to kill you? Look, I'm sorry that happened Kagome, but I'm at a loss for words here. I know I should have been more pissed at her, but…but I just can't,” he nearly whispered. “Kikyou…didn't really mean it. She's just angry right now because she hasn't accepted the truth yet. She still doesn't believe that Naraku tricked us.”

 

She could hear in his voice that he was upset and distraught beyond reconciliation. The ghost of what Kikyou used to be was haunting his heart and he couldn't find the strength to forget. But that was asking a lot. How do you forget such things, especially when a walking reminder of that ghostly relationship still treaded among the living? It was hard to condemn it to the past with other things better left forgotten when a physical replica of Kikyou crossed their path with relative frequency. Inuyasha couldn't manage to separate past from present and it really pissed her off. She didn't want to see the logic in it; it hurt too much to know that he favored the past that should have died with Kikyou.

 

She laughed maliciously for a moment, trying to drown out the voice of reason in her head. “Rip out her heart? That doesn't make sense seeing that she doesn't even have one!”

 

Inuyasha looked at her in shock; even she couldn't ignore the surprise ringing in her head after those nasty words left her mouth. The regret of her malice stung her eyes and she turned quickly and ran back to camp, not wanting him to see her tears, though he could probably already smell them. She shouldn't have said that, but there was no fixing it now, for those present words had just died with the moment to become a part of her past.

 

He didn't deserve it, but she was so angry. Didn't he understand her rage? Was it really rage, though? She was no longer sure; it felt more like sadness that weighed so heavy in her gut. She was sad that she had said those hurtful things, but she was even more saddened that his dead lover still held his heart.

 

She ran with all the speed she could muster, hoping to get as far away from her regret as possible. The regret that currently rested with Inuyasha back in the forest. She burst into the campsite and was immediately caught by Sango's arms.

 

“Kagome? Are you okay?”

 

The tears flooded over the dam of her lashes, consuming and unforgiving. Sango brushed the loose hair from her face and sat her down on the grass, running careful fingers over her scalp as she continued to cry.

 

“What happened?” After several moments of calming her frazzled nerves, the tears finally slowed and the hiccups ceased quaking through her ribs.

 

“I said something awful to Inuyasha. It was about Kikyou,” she said shamefully, tearing her eyes away from Sango. Sango was quiet for a while and it seemed like forever to Kagome, though the more she thought about it the more she realized that she had no true concept of eternity whatsoever.

 

“It was about this, wasn't it?” Sango asked as her forefinger carefully slid along the bandage on Kagome's cheek. Kagome said nothing, too ashamed to verify the truth, even to Sango. “What she did was wrong and perhaps Inuyasha should have done something about it, but please try and understand him. He knows she doesn't belong here, among the living, but the memories keep his claws from finding her flesh.”

 

The tears returned and Sango embraced her tightly, holding her for a long time as she cried. She cried for her regrets, her lost love, for Inuyasha, and she even cried for Kikyou.

 

“Forgive him. He knows nothing else.”

 

She let Sango's voice coax her to rest as the crickets hummed their nightly ritual. That night, she fell asleep in the arms of one who loved her dearly.

 

xxx

 

She remembered thinking that Sango was right; it was too hard for Inuyasha at that time and she recalled falling asleep believing that one day Inuyasha would realize that Kikyou was the past and that was where she belonged. It was not until now that she truly understood the depth of Sango's seemingly simple words. Inuyasha would never realize and she must simply accept that because he knows nothing else.

 

Inuyasha should have killed Kikyou by now, thus respecting her memory and putting that vile shell out of its misery, but that same memory would zap his resolve every time he attempted to end her decrepit existence. Kikyou had no desire to live, but Inuyasha wouldn't be the one to solve that problem, and so she continued to aimlessly wander because Inuyasha's memories were too vivid and his heart too soft.

 

She finally made a connection that somehow passed her scrutiny until this moment—Inuyasha and Sango shared the same horrific problem—Sango should have killed Kohaku. He was a mere shell of a being, minion of Naraku and bearer of evil deeds, but Sango's memory of her brother would not allow the blade to find his throat. It would never be made and that was okay, because doing what was necessary was not always right, for in so doing they would've in essence killed a part of themselves.

 

Fate bestowed upon them the cruelest of ironies. It seemed that some things were never meant to be finalized.

 

x x x