InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Eight-Fold Path ❯ Tainted View ( Chapter 5 )

Tainted View

Purples and blues tinted the sky; red clouds bled into it, slipping away to reveal the first few sparkling evening stars.

 

The beauty and tranquility was lost on the man who stood on the balcony, staring at the nearby river pensively, unaware of everything but the turbulent thoughts that ricocheted in his mind like so many salmon, each trying to swim up a raging river of horrible memories and half-truths.

 

“Your thoughts pain you. If you hold it in much longer, you will be lost to dukkha.”

 

Miroku sighed and hung his head, unwilling to respond. It hadn't been his plan, to travel to Mushin's temple, but Sango insisted they go. After all, Mushin was the closest to family Miroku had (other than his own, of course), and should know Miroku had a second son. He'd seen the hopeful look in her eye as she suggested it; Sango obviously knew something was troubling him and hoped he'd open up during the journey.

 

Her hopes went in vain.

 

Mushin stood at Miroku's shoulder, eyes looking over the horizon as he avoided saying anything. He took a deep, long swig from the sake bottle… and remained silent.

 

For a moment, Miroku almost chuckled, comparing Mushin to InuYasha. Both were able to say more in their silence than in any number of words, able to wait out their intentions with the utmost patience. Both were important to him, like family… and both knew what tainted his heart and soul.

 

Silence prevailed for a short while, during which the sunset darkened into night. Eventually, Miroku gave in. “My thoughts pain me, but my actions pain others. My curse claimed another victim; one I was unaware of and have not had a chance to honor or mourn.”

 

“The young boy's mother,” Mushin supposed. Miroku nodded his head jerkily. “I suspected when I saw his age that he may have been born before Naraku was destroyed.”

 

“It wasn't fair of me,” Miroku gritted out, clenching the railing tightly. “I stole an innocent life for a single night of pleasure. I killed a woman who innocently offered herself freely to me. I may as well have shoved a blade through her heart.” He let out a low chuckle, one out of character for any who thought they knew him well.

 

Mushin was unfazed. “The truth, boy, is there if you look hard enough for it.”

 

“Truth?” Miroku spun to face his mentor. “I know the truth! I killed my mother barely moments out of the womb! I broke my vows to never put another woman in that position!” He slumped to the wood floor. “All your efforts were useless. When I was old enough to hunt Naraku, I forsook your teachings and the ways of Buddha and did anything necessary to expedite his death.”

 

Miroku's carefully constructed façade melted in the face of the man who had raised him. “Why now? Why, when things have been going so perfectly? Why?”

 

Mushin exhaled slowly - less than a sigh, more than a breath, and only a noise Miroku had heard him make once: when Miroku's father had lost himself to his kazaana and left only Mushin to care for the young boy. The old man repeated what he had said then, as he had dried Miroku's tears.

 

“It is not our place to question Buddha or our karma. We can only find the path to truth through overcoming what is put in our place and coming out the better for it. If you allow dukkha to overwhelm you, you will not know truth.”

 

With that, Mushin patted Miroku on the shoulder and left. Miroku looked back out over the river, a smirk reminiscent of InuYasha on his face. For an old drunk, Mushin certainly did have his moments.

 

“Miroku?”

 

Jerked out of his thoughts by his wife's tentative query, Miroku spun and reached out to his wife. Nearly five years after they met and he still loved everything about her… him, the lech and ladies' man, clinging to a single woman like she was his sanity!

 

“It's quiet,” Sango murmured, taking his hand as she walked up to the railing and leaned on it slightly. “I'm so used to having the children around…”

 

Miroku nodded shortly, lacing his fingers with hers. The girls and their son had stayed behind this time, remaining under Rin and Kaede's more-than-competent care.

 

“Haruo's asleep,” she informed him softly, picking at her apron with her free hand. Miroku could only nod again as he braced himself for what he knew was coming. “I heard you with Mushin. You…” She gulped before obviously forcing herself to look at him. “What did you mean?”

 

Miroku nodded, looking away. “You mean about my mother?” Sango made a noise of assent and he groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Usually it meant he was thinking up an explanation for some mischief he had incited. Now, he was just trying to figure out where to start.

 

“The kazaana… was a terrible curse. Those drawn into the kazaana are killed, but… I recall their screams as they are drawn in. Remember how easily a large oni was sucked into my hand and think about what that would do to the creature.” His eyes closed in pain and he could feel the chill of her hand on his cheek. He neither leaned into it nor pulled away - he did not deserve the comfort, but if it would make her feel better…

 

“The kazaana was there at birth for all men in our lines. My father had an older sister who was born without the curse. She ran screaming from him at birth after the tiny kazaana in his hand slowly sucked up my grandmother. Only my grandfather's quick actions kept the curse from expanding there; an infant's hand is so tiny that had the hole ripped at all, it would have sucked him in and I would never have been born.”

 

He fell silent, contemplating what had happened. “My father learned from a young age what the curse could do. When he fell in love with my mother, he tried to keep from having children. She insisted and, I can only assume by forcing drink upon him, eventually carried me. He insisted on being there when I was born but they had been traveling and the miko at the temple where I was born refused to allow it.”

 

Sango's hitched breath caught in his ear and he forced himself to look at her. “I killed her. I killed my mother with my bare hand and would have taken the miko, too, had my father not fought his way into the room. I feared something similar had happened to Haruo but had hoped he would have been born just after Naraku's death. Instead, he will carry this burden, as well…”

 

“No!” Sango stood, angrily. “I will not allow it. Such nonsense will never, ever be repeated near that boy's ears. He has nothing to feel guilty about; this is not his fault.”

 

Miroku cringed as he stared into her eyes and realized that all of her anger... was directed at him. For a moment, he thought she might do... something. But instead he watched her whirl on the ball of her foot and stalk away with fists white-knuckled and forcibly held at her side.

 

As she stalked away, Miroku realized this was the first time he had ever been alone - truly alone, to the depths of his soul - in years.

 

 

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“The Eight-Fold Path” is a serialized fic, written based on prompts from the mirsan_fics community on LiveJournal.

“Tainted View” was originally posted June 16, 2009

Word Count: 1,249

Prompt: “Hold”