InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Temporal Sequence ❯ Chapter 11 ( Chapter 11 )

 

Temporal Sequence

 

Chapter 11:

 

He watched as she stared silently, her anxiety personified with shallow breaths and a faltering composure. He felt even more confident that his initial theory was correct. He knew he could be wrong since time, though inescapable by nature, had eluded him in meaning. He really wasn't sure what year or even century they inhabited in this place and time, nor the exact meanings of all those numbers and adjoining phrases. But the back of his mind lit from its previous darkness and whispered in his mind's ear that she did not belong in this time.

 

“Where did you get that?” she finally asked with great unease, the tinge of fear shading the air a dark gray.

 

“I took it,” he said plainly.

 

“Without permission?” she asked weakly. He swore he could feel her anger rising like the tide at that moment—a total upheaval of her previous uncertainty. Were her feelings always so turbulent and at odds with each other? “You stole it!” she yelled, finger pointed at him in accusation. He waited patiently for her other hand to fist at her side. He was not disappointed.

 

“I merely borrowed it,” he said calmly.

 

“Yeah, right. Do you always borrow things without asking? Hey! You went through my bag!” Her face was burning, embarrassment dulling the sharp edge of fury.

 

“You digress,” he said sternly, then paused to ensure the closure of this distraction. “Do not worry, I have not invaded your privacy.” The blush started to die. “Do you wish to explain or should I start sharing my theories?” he asked slowly, allowing each syllable to sink to a sufficient depth, anchoring within her chaotic mind.

 

“Well,” she said, nervousness fighting for control as she plucked haphazardly at the grass, “economics wasn't really my subject, so please do share.”

 

“That's not what I'm speaking of,” he replied lazily. A blade bent languidly between her fingers, not yet ready to break though she willed it so.

 

“What do you think you know?” she asked strangely, apparently trying to side step the inevitable course of the conversation. His certainty only solidified in response, though he realized she was being difficult, again. He sighed; she was choosing the long route. He would comply, for he was intent on her cooperation.

 

“I'm not entirely sure, but I have my ideas. Tell me what a copyright is, Kagome.”

 

She paused for a moment, sifting through her cloudy mind for the most appropriate answer. It was a good sign. If she were to be uncooperative, she would have exploded in outrage by now.

 

“A law to protect intellectual property.”

 

“Intellectual property?” he repeated. The curiosity dripped from his voice and he didn't care, it was such an interesting phrase and completely unknown to him. “I have never known of such laws. Do humans care a great deal for this type of property?”

 

“Well, yeah. Ideas are important to society and it's not fair to steal them from others.”

 

She stopped plucking the grass, worry slowly etching across her face. She was not comfortable with direct confrontations, this he knew, unless she was somehow justified in her actions, or at least in her mind. Then her righteous fury would take over, but not this time—not when she was hiding something and knew it. Perhaps he knew her better than he thought and thus it may be advantageous to use that same righteous fury against her. That way he would catch her off-guard in her weak defense, hence prompting her to voluntarily comply with his wishes. Luckily, tactical eloquence was something he had fine-tuned long ago.

 

“The world is on fire, Kagome. Humans slay each other and destroy entire villages while worthless shoguns fight for power. Where is the time for ideas and who would even bother to protect something as useless as intellectual property when one is vying for physical property on which to grow crops? Food and survival are priorities, not books, especially when most humans cannot even read or write in the first place.”

 

Her hands balled into fists, knuckles paling in indignation. That fury was flaring to life.

 

“Maybe that's true now, but it won't always be like that! I know what you think of humans, but we get better and stop all the senseless kill—”

 

She stared at him, mouth agape and eyes empty. He leveled his own gaze upon her, not even sure if she could see him.

 

“How did you find out?” she asked softly, empty eyes refocusing and drooping, her fingers finding the grass again.

 

“Everything about you is foreign to me. You are different from the villagers as well, so it was not a human discrepancy. An old seamstress did not even recognize the fabric of your bathing suit, which I knew not to be demon skin as she had speculated.”

 

“My bathing suit? The village?” Her mind was too hazed to think properly. She was displeased with his knowledge. He couldn't help but wonder why. Was it distrust?

 

“I left it there with her. Perhaps we can retrieve it tomorrow. But for now, I wish to speak with you.”

 

She stared at the green blades with open fingers.

 

“You are foreign and Japanese simultaneously. How can that be? Perhaps your origins are to blame, correct? But I recall traveling all throughout Japan and the mainland and have yet to come across anything akin to you.”

 

“How did my book convince you otherwise? It all could have been magic you know.” Her idle fingers found the grass again.

 

“I am not that naïve. Perhaps a local villager who has never wandered past the next town over would believe something like that, but not me. I am too old.” She stopped her futile attempt to pluck the grass from the earth and stared at him fully. She was biting her lower lip now. “As for your question, the book had a number of dates on it, or at least what I presumed to be dates. I did acknowledge the fact that I could be wrong. It seemed off, though I am not accustomed to keeping track of the centuries like you humans. I am, however, not ignorant of your ways.”

 

“But there are so many dates? How did that not confuse you?”

 

“Your underestimation of my intelligence is rather insulting. The list of dates was a factor, but not the only influential one. The place where it was printed was foreign as well as the author's name. Tell me, how could a human girl come to possess a foreign book, from a place I have never even heard of, in her native tongue about advanced concepts? It is too unlikely, for in all my years I have yet to see such a book. The binding is unique and the print is perfect and the diagrams are colored. The paper is even glossy. Doesn't it strike you as a little…suspicious?”

 

“Yes,” she whispered; her eyes once again vacant, as though she were too exhausted to think on it anymore. “You figured me out from a book? That's it! No more studying in the feudal era!” She crossed her arms over her chest in defiance, her previous shock uprooted by frustration.

 

“Kagome, most people here cannot read. So do not worry. And the fact that you could read in the first place should have alerted me to this truth sooner, but unfortunately my mind has been a bit preoccupied.”

 

“You are such a jerk,” she said through clenched teeth, her breathing growing heavy. He recognized the sting of salt and realized she was about to cry—she was very upset. “You find out where I'm from and suddenly you want to talk to me.”

 

How did she live like this? All these differing emotions, striking in their reality and heavy in their depth were discombobulating. Surely her body should collapse from such a mental onslaught, but then again, her mind should have already succumbed to its disarray. Maybe it had. Maybe she was crazy.

 

“Talking holds no significance if it has no purpose. You would do well to learn that.”

 

“Well?” she snapped. She was such an interesting creature. No mood lasted long and precedence of her behavior was short-lived indeed, making its recognition seem rather pointless. How did she come to be this way? “What do you want to know?”

 

“You are uncomfortable with my knowledge of this. Why?” This was something he really wanted to know. It seemed important somehow.

 

She huffed, exasperation already setting in—another mood swing. “Come on, Sesshoumaru. I'm pretty uncomfortable with anything that has to do with you because I don't know you! I don't know how you'll use this information.” Her hand was twitching; it desired the grass between its fingers again.

 

“You have reason for this distrust?” He waited and she nodded. He was curious about her and this future she came from, but he would not resort to dishonorable tactics as a means to sate his curiosity. He needed to make her more comfortable and he knew exactly how to do it—it hadn't failed him thus far. If she was such a fan of talking, then he would appease her with her own methods.

 

“I wish to learn about your place of origin and how you have traversed backwards into time. I have always viewed time as a linear thing and so your presence in this particular timeline intrigues me. I mean you no malice. However, you apparently have reasons to withhold this from me. So I suggest we come to terms.”

 

“Terms?” she repeated hollowly.

 

“Yes. You say you do not know me and that seems to bother you. Let us sate one another's curiosities civilly. We shall…talk. Agreed?”

 

She was initially shocked at his suggestion that they speak at length as though they were friends, but then she became serious and thought on it for a minute.

 

“I agree, but on one condition,” she said carefully. She looked at the smooth green blades as he waited, darkness settling behind her. “I will never tell you how I come here, but I will let you in on the circumstances of my arrival.”

 

“So you are able to cross back and forth?”

 

“Do you agree?”

 

“I agree.”

 

“Good. And yes, I can jump back and forth between this era and mine. My turn!” she said gleefully, eyes blazing.

 

“This is not a game,” he asserted, a reel of frustration pulling at his will as again he readjusted to her change of mood.

 

“You asked a question so now it's my turn to ask one.”

 

“It was a rhetorical question. Surely, I could have figured that out on my own seeing as how you returned `home' to take tests. But that is not the point. I feel we should simply speak freely and not limit our discussions as such. Sometimes one question is not enough to thoroughly understand what someone is saying.”

 

“Whatever,” she said lamely. “It was still a question with a one-word answer. Guess you should have used that superior intellect to think that one through first.” He sighed, mentally questioning that same intellect on its wisdom behind this little bout of appeasement. It was going to backfire; he could already feel the burn.

 

“Fine, I will grant you this small victory, as dirty as it may be. Apparently you wish to begin this conversation, so by all means, please commence.”

 

“Quit being such a snob!” He scoffed and she exhaled. “I can't think of anything good.”

 

Figures she would be like this. “Perhaps it is a sign from the gods that I should chose the first topic of discussion.”

 

“Shut up about it! Geez, give me a minute to think!”

 

“You've already had a minute.”

 

“Well, maybe if you shut it I could think! You are so not helping! And here I thought you were patient.”

 

“Patience inevitably wanes. With you in company, its life span has shortened.”

 

She stared at him for a moment, apparently still unaccustomed to his rare jests. She snapped out of it rather quickly and finally spoke. “How old are you exactly?”

 

“I do not know.”

 

“Well we're gonna talk about you first so you had better come up with a roundabout figure!”

 

A roundabout figure? He had to think this one through, not even sure if he had enough memories to adequately estimate.

 

The days became weeks and the weeks drew into months and the months morphed into years. Before he knew it, a century had past. After that first one, the rest followed even faster. He remembered wandering off as a child and found himself on a human burial ground. What seemed like a few years later, that same graveyard was a relic. New tombs were littered about and the ones he recalled from before were decaying away. How long had it been?

 

The sun's rising and setting were dull indeed. He had seen it repeat itself too many times to count. The blooming of cherry blossoms had lost its appeal so long ago that he couldn't even remember when. Majestic scenery went by unnoticed as time passed and autumn was so brief that he forgot summer had already ended and winter was setting in. The snow was insignificant as was most else in the world around him, but the snow he found reminiscent for the simple fact that he knew he was born in the dead of winter. However, he could not recall the haunting circumstances of his birth or how long ago it had happened. Infants' memories were too short-lived, though the happenings of his entrance into this world would be a continuous woe to him. He wished he could remember so their words hadn't cut so deeply, because then he could have told them with the certainty granted by first-hand knowledge that it was not his fault.

 

“You do know why he always misses your birthday, right?”

 

No.

 

“Because that was the day you killed your mother.”

 

“This is for me?”

 

“Yes. A gift. Today is your birthday after all.”

 

“Oh.” He didn't know how to act. He had never received a birthday present before…

 

“Try it on and tell me what you think.”

 

“Now?”

 

“I suppose it matters not.”

 

It was armor. It looked old, but a perfect fit.

 

“Where did it come from?”

 

“It was my first set of battle armor. My father gave it to me. Now I give it to you.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No need. It belongs in our family.”

 

Kazuma never let him forget anything, though his uncle's indifferent attitude toward anything and everything seemed to speed the years' passing. For the most part, nothing was of significance and so Sesshoumaru lived in eternal monotony, the decades mounting unnoticed until he couldn't even remember his age. Kazuma had said such things were natural for those who lived so long and Sesshoumaru was inclined to agree.

 

“I am at least three centuries old, perhaps four. I had lost count, long ago.”

 

“Wow. You just look so young. About twenty-five I suppose, for a human that is.”

 

He didn't acknowledge her meaningless words, again doubting his decision to freely speak with her. He didn't like doing things without a good reason and he was sure he could get information out of her some other way. But that would probably involve threats since her reluctance to speak about her origins was quite adamant and he had already vowed that he would not resort to such methods. This, however, was going to be dull. At least while she was leading the conversation.

 

“What was your favorite toy when you were little?” she asked gleefully. “Did you even play with toys?”

 

What a ridiculous thing to ask. This was becoming more of a waste of time by the second, but he just had to keep reminding himself that this was payment for his answers. After all, she couldn't go on forev—

 

He saw a red top spinning in his memory's eye and a battered wooden bokken leaning against a wall, an unused ball, brown, but not dirty, resting beneath it.

 

“Children would not play with me,” he said hollowly, his voice faint, as though it was vanishing before leaving his mouth.

 

“What?”

 

“I was the lord's son. I don't think it was because they feared me so much as they feared my title. I watched from afar as the servants' children played ball. I still do not know how the game is played.”

 

“How sad.”

 

“No. It was simply…natural. My father gave me a bokken then. I practiced nonstop hoping to impress him.”

 

“Did it work?” she asked, dare he say, hopefully.

 

“He didn't seem to notice. But my uncle thought it foolish of him to let me use a practice tool as a plaything. He was quick to take it from my hands. Training begins with conditioning after all,” he supplied airily, his legs subconsciously twitching.

 

“Will you tell me about him? Your uncle?”

 

He looked at her then, really looked at her. She was leaning toward him with keen interest plastered across her face and her eyes were warm, seemingly inviting. She was not one to judge. She was one to sympathize. He didn't want her sympathy. Then again, she was also an empathizer and he suddenly felt a sense of relief, knowing that someone wanted to listen. He wasn't giving orders or guarantees of death, but rather his life. His life was his memories and he had lost them once. And someone wanted to help him find them—his life.

 

He started speaking before he even realized what he was doing.

 

“His name was Kazuma and he raised me. He was direct and callous, never one to squander time on anything insignificant. He was efficient and effective and no one was like him. He was so apathetic that I could never tell when he was feeling or if he was feeling at all. But he did. He taught me many things, but personally, through our interactions, he taught me that the deepest love and most fervent hate are thinner than the width of rice paper.”

 

Kazuma…was always there. So many words and so many moments forever dulled and incased within the glass of time.

 

“She would rather curse the very ground you walk on than love you.”

 

He wanted to strike him then, but he knew better. His uncle's tongue may be sharp, but it also had impeccable aim. Did she love him? He was so angry and so confused and…and… He walked away.

 

“Time alleviates all hurt. And time is favorable to you, but not to her. Trust me, it's better this way.”

 

He couldn't look at him, choosing instead to watch the tipped flasks of sake, his heart burning with its significance—its finalization. Then he watched them kiss and she smiled, dark eyes sparkling. He turned away then, his seared heart left to simmer until its death.

 

“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.”

 

He took it, all the while wondering where his life would go from here. The path of conquest set, waiting for him to journey to its end and he, a foolish young boy, not yet aware that such a journey never ends.

 

“Your father is a fool if he is too blind to see his own son standing before him.”

 

He wanted to cry, but warriors don't weep. And he was a warrior now, having been ordained so by the rite of battle. He had finally stood by his father's side and fought, all the while thinking this was to be the turning point in their relationship. They were victorious and his father said he was ashamed. Maybe Kazuma did love him…unlike his father…

 

“It is a consequence of his own inadequacies, not your own. Do not forget that.”

 

`But I am his son,' he thought as he looked to his bloodied hands. His father should be here, not Kazuma. He was beginning to think he should have never been born.

 

“The embodiment of the circle of life and you destroyed it.”

 

It was times like this that Sesshoumaru thought Kazuma hated him. But it was true, as were all things said by Kazuma.

 

“Because you should have been my son.”

 

His heart skipped a beat as snow-laden woods stained with blood flashed before his eyes.

 

“Did you love him like a father?”

 

Green eyes flashing, back rigid and words tense, Kazuma always saw him. A bloodied claw ran through red hair, snow falling quietly in the backdrop.

 

“I viewed him more as a guide than a father.”

 

Youkai ran, scared for their lives, as two demons preyed on them for the pure thrill of the hunt. The snow bled as he wept inside, solitary, alone, not wanted by the one who should cherish him above all else.

 

“Did he love you?”

 

Angry eyes and glittering fangs polluted his vision—emotion, for him, from someone. He was wanted, somehow.

 

“Because you should have been my son.”

 

“I'm not sure.”

 

xxx

 

“You are upset?”

 

He looked from his uncle's face to the blood caked on his claws. The bodies at his feet were so maimed they were almost unrecognizable as previously living, breathing demons; their blood the only thing left to distinguish them as such. He had done this—butchered them ruthlessly as they tried to flee. The scents of aging blood and putrid acid hung heavy in his lungs, the air becoming harder to inhale. It was all too much. He felt the burning sensation of vomit teetering at the back of his throat. He balled his bloodied fists and willed the sickly substance back into his stomach. Kazuma would be displeased by such an act of weakness.

 

“Perk up, boy,” he said matter-of-factly, no changes in the tone of his voice, no reassurance offered with softened inflections. “Your first hunt was a success.”

 

His first hunt. It was supposed to be with his father since he had come of age. That was tradition and his father was…was just not here.

 

“Would father be proud?” he asked quietly, his eyes roaming over the destruction inflicted by his own hands.

 

“I don't see why not,” Kazuma said as he nonchalantly ran a clawed hand through his red hair. There was blood on Kazuma's hands as well, though not near the amount on his own, and he didn't seem to care that he spread it through his hair—the crimson liquid blending unnoticeably within his already scarlet-colored locks.

 

“He should have been here,” Sesshoumaru whispered, his voice faint, like a ghost.

 

His uncle sighed. “You would be past your prime had you waited on him. His position keeps him away. You know that.”

 

“I suppose,” he said, crestfallen.

 

“These feelings for your father are unnecessary and thus a waste of time. You are youkai and strength is your concern, not fatherly love. Have I taught you nothing?” Still no changes in his voice, not even anger found its way through the abyss between his sentimentality and rationality.

 

“It is my birthday. And he promised this to me.” His voice was cold, his breath still managing to embody itself in the frigid air. He would have thought his breath colder than the winter's breeze.

 

“You have long known he avoids this day. Must I again remind you?”

 

His eyes shot to his uncle who stared at him dispassionately with pale green eyes—a sickly color in the dim light.

 

“Did he love her that much? More than me?” He hoped and prayed to the gods he hardly believed in that his uncle would grant him a smidgen of the comfort and reassurance he so desired. He would be left wanting.

 

“Your father hardly knew your mother. It was an arranged marriage, for political purposes of course. Your father is powerful, as was your mother, but your father reaped all the rewards. He gained land and even more influence as well as a son. My father gave up his rightful lands in the hopes of gaining a powerful descendent through his only daughter, thus transcending the potential power of our clan. This is why I train you as I do. Her gift will not be in vain.”

 

“You loved her?”

 

“Very much. She was the most beautiful woman to walk these lands. She was sweet and strong. I questioned your father's worthiness of her. But low-and-behold she produced that heir that was too powerful for her body to handle. Hence, your name.” Kazuma's eyes tore from his claws, scrutinizing Sesshoumaru's reaction.

 

“My name?”

 

“She forfeited her own life to bring the life of another into this world. The embodiment of the circle of life and you destroyed it.”

 

He knew she had died giving birth to him, but he had no idea that was where his name originated. The thought disgusted him. Even his name, that he would carry with him always, was marked and tainted by events he had no memory of. Why would his uncle do that, especially if he loved his sister as he said?

 

“You hate me then? Like my father?”

 

His uncle sighed, again. “Your father doesn't hate you. He just doesn't know how to deal with you. It is a consequence of his own inadequacies, not your own. Do not forget that. As for me, I do not hate you or else I would not be taking care of you as I have been.”

 

“You hold ill-will toward me then, do you not? It would explain how hard you are on me.” He inhaled sharply; he had never been so blunt with his uncle before.

 

Kazuma's eyes narrowed and a scowl formed. “I am hard on you to ensure your power so that I may honor my beloved sister's memory.”

 

“So that's all you care about, huh? Making your family look good through me,” he spat, his disgust with himself making him careless and clouded as he displaced his anger onto his uncle. Kazuma had him off the ground by the neck before he could inhale another breath, forcibly extracting all the air he possessed within his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

 

“Foolish boy,” Kazuma said maliciously. Finally, some sort of emotion infected his horribly stable, dry voice. “You should know better than to speak of things you know nothing about.”

 

He threw Sesshoumaru then; the rough bark of a tree splitting as it broke his fall. His anger was taking over and he knew that fact alone would enrage his uncle who had diligently taught him to keep his emotions in check—never give the enemy a clue, he had said.

 

He flexed his bloody claws and lunged at his uncle. The demon stood still, eyes rolling over Sesshoumaru with pointed displeasure. “Blind fury will be your downfall, boy.”

 

Kazuma immediately darted upward and unleashed his youki whip, connecting with Sesshoumaru's back and forcing him into the blood-soaked ground. Before Sesshoumaru could make move to get up, Kazuma lifted him by the back of his haori. He roughly turned Sesshoumaru to face him and a hard slap resonated through the woods. Sesshoumaru moved his face forward slowly, facing his uncle once more, his cheek throbbing.

 

“You should learn some respect, boy.”

 

“Why?” he asked slowly, infusing his need to understand his uncle within his strained voice.

 

“I am angry, yes,” Kazuma said slowly, his eyes searching Sesshoumaru for a brief moment before he set him back on his feet again. His uncle continued to stare at him for a few minutes as Sesshoumaru waited with bated breath. He thought he may never know.

 

“Because you should have been my son.”

 

xxx

 

Kazuma turned his back then and walked away, briefly reminding Sesshoumaru of his father. That was when Sessshoumaru learned that he would never understand Kazuma on his own.

 

“I can't believe he said that to you. And to name you that for those reasons is…is horrible! And what did he mean by that anyhow? You know, by saying you should have been his son and all.”

 

He inhaled slowly, the thoughts materializing. “I believed he meant it as anger at his father. His father made a pact with mine when he gave away his daughter. My grandfather feared the decline of his family's blood and power since pure-blooded inu-youkai had become a rarity. My father was the most powerful of them all and so my grandfather forfeited his lands to my father in return for taking his daughter as a wife. I thought my uncle was angry because his father took his inheritance away and further degraded him by insinuating his inferiority to my father. Therefore, by saying I should have been his son, he meant that he should have been good enough to carry on his family's bloodline and honor.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He watched the stars wink at him as he tried to recall Kazuma's later elaboration on that incident. He could feel it somewhere, in the dark recesses of his own mind, willing to be exposed, but too far to reach. He just knew there was more to the story.

 

“I was wrong.”

 

“So…he did love you as a son then?”

 

“I cannot remember. I just know my assumptions were wrong. It was far more…complicated.”

 

“What a strange relationship,” she stated nonchalantly. He couldn't agree more.

 

Silence reigned for a while, both engrossed with meandering thoughts.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For trusting me enough to share with me.”

 

He scoffed, fervently attempting to disengage the smile that was threatening to form. Why he even bothered doing such a ridiculous task was beyond him, though he did recall being raised by a man that loathed smiles. Too much emotion gave away too much. That alone was a disadvantage.

 

“It's not as though the favor will not be repaid.”

 

She smiled then as she stood, her protesting stomach not gone unnoticed by his ears.

 

“Time for some dinner!”

 

He watched her thoughtfully as she rummaged through that big yellow bag of hers for cooking supplies. He then realized that perhaps this little deal they struck wasn't so bad after all. In fact, it could prove doubly beneficial seeing as how talking about his past and her subsequent questions seemed to jog his memory a bit. Perhaps she could help expedite his memory's recovery. Then he could move forward instead of stagnating like this.

 

The yellow bag tipped over, much to her chagrin as she mumbled her incoherent frustrations. Speaking of that damnable yellow bag… “By the way,” he started, not bothering to hide the growing smirk on his face, “what were you doing earlier?”

 

She tripped over her own two feet, releasing a rather delightful yelp. Apparently, she was embarrassed by his question. No matter, he would find out eventually. It was his turn to get some answers after all.

 

x x x