InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Snare ❯ Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

Chapter 7

‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Seek ye no further than that.’ Jukuryo considered these words of wisdom and rotated his meditation balls around in his four fingered hand. They chimed softly and the sound pleased him. Not that he was all that fond of the chiming sound himself but the effect of the faint noise on the composure of the bat youkai he was facing across the boardroom table was well worth any minor annoyance he might feel on his own account. A sonorous voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Honorables, the third counsel congress of this fiscal year is now in session.”

Jukuryo glanced down the table to where Sesshoumaru sat in impassive silence at its foot and sighed. He had tried to dissuade him; Sesshoumaru’s determination to bring his complaint against the council out into the open in one of their own sessions seemed foolhardy at best. He had brought up the wisdom of letting offenses blow over. To convince the dog daemon to ignore the attempted disruption of his hanyou brother’s wedding to the shrine maiden and let matters fade a bit into memory before the pair began to breed. “Don‘t bring it up,” the old bird had said. “Let folk forget about it.”

Sesshoumaru had simply ignored the comments and repeated his request for the location and the date of the next counsel meeting in his cold voice. So here they were, in the devil’s den, so to speak.

The voice droned on, crawling over the widespread business concerns of the youkai holdings in Tokyo. It was complex subject and the old business bid fair to take most of the night. The new business was to be handled after that and so on to suits and petitions.

Jukuryo fantasized momentarily of the old days, long before the re-naming of Edo, when youkai lords ruled for themselves and such tiresome things were not discussed. He had been a chick then, under his lord father’s care in the mountains. That was when he had first seen Sesshoumaru, the young son of one of the most powerful of lords. That was before the dark time of the great absorbing by the hanyou Naraku and all the loss and privation that had gone with it.

That had been 500 years in the past and none at this table were so old as he. None at this table had any idea of the paradox of this youthful upstart, Sesshoumaru, Jukuryo’s elder by his own count. The one who had come forward in time with all of the power of the ancient youkai lords in their prime intact in his young hands. In his hands and those of his hanyou younger brother, Inuyasha, the murderer of untold scores of youkai

Jukuryo stopped fiddling with his tension balls and put them away, folding his arms to wait. ‘After all,’ he mused to himself, ‘this could turn out to be an interesting meeting for once.’

The bat youkai opposite quivered in relief, grateful for the cessation of piercing whistles that those cursed balls had been driving through his brains. Next meeting, he was going to have to bring along a tray of suet cakes with liquor-injected, overripe berries.

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Miroku sat alone staring out over the empty temple forecourt. He could hear the Lotus Sutra being chanted over in the main hall. He supposed he should join the monks at their holy office but he felt no inclination to do so. In the early evening he sat instead, screened from view by a couple of low bushes, with a bundle made up of the things he had rescued from the ruins of the Hotiji Temple wrapped up in a cloth in his lap, Kagome, Inuyasha and the others had gone with one of the monks on a tour of the temple treasures; Inuyasha ostensibly very bored but curious to see anything that interested Kagome and unwilling to let her alone even among monks.

Miroku laughed to himself at that thought a little wryly. Not that he had exactly been a shining example of virtuous probity. Perhaps the hanyou had a point from his view of things. Monks were nothing to trust considering the one he knew best was Miroku’s own humble self.

He looked down at the knobby bundle in his lap and sobered. In the bundle was a letter, a sealed scroll, a small fragment of precious mirror in its own box and a flattish figurine representing one of the more ugly protective devils of legend. Somehow, he was going to have to find Mushin and turn everything but the mirror over. The mirror was his, come to him through the hands of his long-dead mother.

But the rest of it was needed by Mushin. Especially the last item, yes, most especially that. He had no idea how long it had been hidden in the darkness at the back of the Hotiji Temple’s secret cubby but he suspected it had been there a long time. He could feel the weight of it even now pressing down against the flesh of his thighs like lead. But it wasn’t lead, he had worked secretly with the tip of a steel knife and what was under the black lacquer on the figurine had shone gold. Surely, enough of a bribe to save Mushin’s life if the letter and the scroll didn’t work. The loops of strung cash weighing at the side of his belt were scarcely part of the equation compared to the small statue.

There was the faint scuff of sandaled feet and Miroku looked up to see Sango making her way towards him across the sloped hill of plantings around the forecourt. She came and settled next to him without speaking, her shoulder brushing his.

“All done with your tour?”

“I am,” she said composedly. “Kagome discovered the temple kitchens, the monks were making oden for the evening meal. That seemed to be important.”

Miroku raised his brows in inquiry.

“They’re all young and hungry,” Sango elaborated. “I think they are planning on staying here for the night and to carry on and find your master in the morning.”

He smiled a little and leaned toward her, “So, where do we stay?”

“I believe there is a set of traveler’s rooms that have been opened for us. But wherever you like, really. Kagome and Inuyasha can handle things just fine.” She kissed him lightly on the lips, paused and returned to slowly move her mouth against his, then pulled away with a blush and studied her hands in her lap.

He took a deep breath and studied Sango’s down turned face. Her lashes just brushed her cheekbones and the ghost of shadow that she wore on her lids caught his attention. “Sango, can you ride a horse?”

Her eyes shot wide, “A horse? I guess so. Why, what do you mean?”

“There is a place that I know of near here that I would love to take you to visit for the night.”

Her answering smile was slow and warm.

It took only a few minutes for them to make a quiet getaway. Miroku left a note in the guest quarters addressed to Inuyasha. He knew the hanyou could read, he had caught him at it once or twice, rapidly scanning scrolls of histories and legends when he thought no-one was looking. Why Inuyasha considered such a thing as being able to read to be private information was a little beyond Miroku’s understanding. It seemed to have something to do with never tipping his hand and keeping his own counsel but the monk felt Inuyasha took secrecy too far. High time that particular secret was out, the contents of the note would keep Inuyasha busy with Kagome anyway.

Sango merely took her bundle and boosted herself deftly onto the broad back of the placid old mare Miroku had waiting at the stable door. Miroku took the mare’s headstall and lead her out on the road into town as the sun was just setting. The way was short, not more than three miles and the last rays of the sun shed a deceptively warm light on the mossy roofs of the old ryokan sitting by the wayside behind a trellised bamboo gate. There were a couple of other guests there before them and the stable boy gave a smiling greeting as Miroku turned the horse over to him. The boy treated the mare as an old friend and Miroku wondered briefly why the abbot would be going so often to an inn that his personal horse would be known. The monk dismissed the question from his mind however, as he joined Sango on her way to the front porch.

There, the hostess and a couple of serving maids knelt at the entrance bowing over their hands and offering slippers. The windows of the inn were concealed by horizontal wooden screens which allowed the inhabitants to see out but not those outside to see in. Sango looked about her at the hall and sighed in pleasure as the owner bustled up to have Miroku sign the ledger and offer tea. She was not particularly surprised to see a wrapped package change hands as Miroku seldom was without resources. He just preferred to finagle his way along through life as a matter of humility and principle.

She firmly stifled a laugh at that thought and followed the others into a private room almost startling in its simplicity. A subtle incense perfumed the air and shoji screens were slid aside to reveal a roofed porch and a tiny private garden with its own stone lantern already lit. There was the soft sound of water flowing and Sango stepped out to view a tiny brook that wound from one side of the garden to the other through the bamboo fence and with its own koi pond formed by a lipped inlet.

She watched the fish for a few moments. One was a piebald, white with a scattering of orange, it bid fair to crowd the others out soon. Its movements were slow, but the others backed off from it in a swirl.

Her attention was brought back by voices behind her, the innkeeper had lingered.

“We were very sorry to hear of what happened at Hotiji Temple, Houshi-Sama. The kindness of the honorable Mushin, no less than his skills as a saké brewer will be sorely missed.”

Miroku winced inwardly although the corners of his mouth quirked up into a properly social smile. He might have known that the old monk had developed his activity into a sideline. That would help to explain the intensity of the fire, a large scale brewery operation in the basement. He might have know. “He is surely better off where he has gone to. I trust the loss of the temple brewing vats will not prove too great a loss to your establishment?” he asked, testing the waters.

The innkeeper shook his head, “None so well seasoned, nor a hand so well skilled. Perhaps you, Houshi-Sama, have an interest?”

“Ah, so sorry, I was not gifted by my master with that knowledge.”

“A shame. Please feel free to use the baths any time. We have but two other visitors tonight and they have both already bathed. Dinner Is from our own farm; chikuzen-ni, our finest vegetables and tender chicken steamed in soy sauce, chawan-mushi, the egg custard is flavored with ginkgo nuts, tempura with fried baby trout and grilled trout with kinome pepper leaves as a garnish.

Both of his guests bowed profoundly at his announcement of the menu and Miroku tossed in a couple of extra bows as the innkeeper crouched to bow himself out and slide the screen closing off the room shut. Miroku turned with a sigh to start at the vision of Sango, already naked to the waist and kneeling to reach for the kimono box provided by the inn.

“Sango-Sama.” He breathed. He swiftly crossed the room and knelt next to her, hand reaching to run a palm over her shoulder. Un-cursed now, he could feel the silk of her skin and the smooth flex of the muscles gliding beneath his palm. With a flap something landed in his lap.

“You’d best change,“ Sango said matter-of-factly. The maid will be here any moment to take us to our baths.”

“Hmmm,” Miroku mumbled and brushed her hair aside to nuzzle her shoulder before forming his hands about her ribs to pull her up and gain access to her breasts.

She gave a faint squeak of a giggle as his mouth hotly drew a nipple in and let herself revel for a moment in the sensation, knees unconsciously bracing and spreading outwards before she reached down and grabbed for his crotch. The next instant she had the folded yukata she had tossed him dropped over his head and was using it as a cushion for her hands as she firmly pushed him back, “I really want my bath and dinner Houshi-Sama.”

Miroku fought a brief battle with himself while he was being pushed away and reluctantly let her go. He turned aside to let her change the rest of the way in peace and to pull his own clothing off and put on the inn’s yukata with what was perhaps unnecessary force. He was still adjusting his belt when a soft knock came at the frame of the door.

Sango opened it and they followed the maid out through a couple of turns in the halls to what was the main gathering room of the inn. There was a rustic hearth set into the floor with a bright flame in the center of it. An iron pot hung from a crane suspended from a hook by the smoke hole in the ceiling. The counterpoise was in the shape of a carp and seemed to swim through the bluish smoke. As they passed through, headed to the hallway behind the blue split curtain, they could hear a couple of male voices but they couldn‘t see the speakers in the gloom.

The hallway to the baths had standing paper lanterns set at intervals along it and one of the outside shutters still stood open, giving a view to the autumn woods beyond. The bathing room was walled with an aperture in the roof and the thermal spring bubbled up through the stony floor to fill a pool some ten feet wide and two feet deep. Wooden buckets and stools were stacked neatly to one side and the atmosphere was misty from the steam of the waters hitting the cool of the air.

They helped each other bathe, cowed into silence by the echoes that their every movement woke in the rock-walled room and eased themselves into the onsen in stages. The indistinct murmur of voices came to their ears as they eased into the bath, caught by some trick of acoustics into the bathing chamber. That was enough keep them silent and still for the first few moments until Sango moved softly through the steamy mist to Miroku’s side and he put up an arm to receive her.

His hand traced down over her side to her thigh and down between her legs. She sighed and eased back, resting her head against her folded towel. The voices from the front room were audible again in their silence and the pair paused, listening.

“So, you’re sure that fat old monk survived? The monks at the temple seemed to be unaware of what had gone on until yesterday morning.”

A lighter voice answered the first one, “You saw the smoke rising from the temple location earlier today didn’t you?”

The other grunted assent, “Our agent staying in the temple court disguised as a wandering minstrel stated that a party of monks set out this morning and returned with one of their number running ahead to give the news of the Hotiji temple’s final collapse. There are a lot of closed doors and the gardens and temple proper have been off limits to any outside visitors since we first tried to lay hands on that monk.”

“So what is the Abbot’s explanation?”

“Mourning the dear departed of course. That and the silence required for chanting the full Lotus sutra one thousand times for the death a holy man. It takes a while.”

“That doesn’t sound so suspicious.”

“Such ceremonies are usually conducted at the place of death and the grounds purified, not at the temple. Also, there has been no viewing of the body, as is customary.”

“How quaint of you to know that. I had no idea you had a religious bent.” The other coughed and the listening pair remained frozen in anxious silence. “Perhaps we should force the Motouji temple to open their gates then. How difficult could it be?” Light voice laughed then, “It’s not as if our men don’t have enough heart, or food.”

The deeper voice grunted, “No can do. Turns out the old turtle is related to his imperial highness, and he’s already sent off a letter. Sent it the night we arrived.”

“Don’t we have archers? Surely you had the messengers followed.”

“They missed.”

“They should be punished.”

“I’ll have to delegate a party to dig up their headless bodies from the midden pit that they are in. What further punishment did you have in mind?” Their laughter rang around the bathing chamber. The voices slowly descended into chuckles as the pair in the bath held their breath. After a pause, the deep voiced one spoke again, “Speaking of taking a while, our two love birds have been in that onsen a bit. Do you think we should call the innkeeper to check on them? They could have been overcome by the heat.”

Silently, in the flickering darkness of the bathing room, Miroku gripped Sango’s shoulder and traced his fingers across her lips as she gasped. “Shush,” he murmured and splashed a little in the water. In a tense whisper by her ear he muttered, “Laugh.” From somewhere she brought up a soft assenting moan and splashed in return. Miroku poked her, “Louder,” he hissed, “and I thought I said ‘laugh’.”

She gave an irritated squawk and climbed out of the tub, splashing considerably. She was simply boiling and crouched for a moment at the edge as the ache of her over-heated limbs pounded through her knees down to her ankles. Miroku eased out after her and the trick of the echoes in the room made the relieved laughter of the two men in the front room swirl around them.

“I guess we needn’t worry, they’re alive.”

Sango’s face flamed as brightly as the rest of her skin when she made her way down the now chill hallway on spongy feet followed closely by Miroku. He batted the curtain aside and stepped deftly out ahead of her into the warmth of the main hall. The cushions at the hearth were occupied now by two pipe-smoking men that they could see clearly lit by the oil lanterns set up on bamboo stands, the light focused by scoops of paper. One had the shaven pate and waxed knot of a military man and the other was a thin fellow, his hair twisted up with a woman’s comb. Their eyes followed the young couple unabashedly as Sango crowded against Miroku’s back in an attempt to get out of the room faster.

In the next hallway they were met by the hostess of the inn who bowed with a smile and pointed back towards the onsen.

“I’m so sorry,“ she said in a soft murmur, “we were so careless, that hallway seems to conduct sound straight into the bathing chamber when that window is left open. I trust you weren‘t disturbed from your privacy.”

Miroku immediately bowed and tendered a paper package that clinked slightly. “Please do not concern yourself over it, Sama. All things are kept in confidence after all, and how could their conversation concern us? Local events are bound to be much talked of.”

The woman weighed her packet in a knowledgeable palm and conducted them to their room where their meal was just being served while Sango was still getting up enough shocked spit to squawk. Dinner was on low-footed trays upon the table that occupied the center of the room and they both ate in silence. Sango still felt some disturbance of mind, however and chose to stand out on the balcony as the meal was being cleared away and the room was set up for the night.

Miroku joined her, sliding the doors closed and leaned against the balustrade, arms crossed. She pointed out the piebald orange fish and stopped in amusement as Miroku stepped carefully over the railing and gently boosted the overlarge fish out with the pressure of water from the back of his hand. It zinged off down the channel and through the bamboo bars of the fence like a shot.

“Why did you do that?” She asked, watching him as he still crouched by the water. “Are you sure that was the right thing to do?”

He looked at her then, his face careful in the gloaming, “I don’t know, but I am sure that it would have eaten all the others and I actually do know that this stream empties into a natural pond across the street from this inn.”

She reached a hand out to him, white in the darkness, “So wise, Miroku,” she said. “and kinder than you ever let on, come here.” He came to her then, sleeves rolled up and hands still dripping from the cold water to kiss her across the veranda fence. She tugged at him again and he followed in a smooth vault over the railing. The table in the center of the room had been removed to some cubby and the futons laid out and a lamp lit standing and ready by a flask of water by the head of the bedding.

Sango looked and approved. The inn had fallen quiet, this not near to any festival time and was almost empty, with only a few rumors of motion from the other occupants of the house. Somewhere, off in the distance, was the clang of a dropped iron pot and the sound of hurried footsteps as someone dropped the front shutters of the inn, sealing in the warmth in the common room. “I think this is one of the nicest houses I’ve ever been in,” Sango spoke softly, barely breaking the silence.

Miroku shook his head and looked about himself, “I hardly know, the only times I’ve been here I was a child and slept by the hearth in the kitchens before Mushin shouldered me to carry me home. This is kind of new.”

She moved and he looked over at her then, caught by the sway of her hips and s certain speculation in her eye, “Well,” she said, quite casually, “even now, it’s not like we don’t have worries, but I still like the room.” She tugged at the belt of his robe, “I would like to return here one day. Under better circumstances, of course.”

His knot was sliding out under the steady pull of her hand and he took a step to follow the band as it slipped from his waist, “The circumstances are not good enough?” He asked with some guilt and anxiety. Perhaps they should go back after all but he didn’t want to, tomorrow could take care of itself, couldn’t it?

“Oh, I think they will do.” With that she put her hands up to his shoulders, parted the fabric of the yukata and kissed his collarbone.

He gave a little gasp and his hands flew to cradle her against him, all of the lust for her he had been feeling since seeing her in the forecourt of the temple was back in full force. His face dropped to nuzzle her hair as a hand found its way up the side of her neck to tilt her chin, fingers spreading through the heavy tresses. She didn’t hesitate but pulled his head down to hers with an arm to kiss him firmly, rising on her toes to seal it. Her other arm wasn’t idle however, and Miroku gave a yelp as he stumbled back from the electrifying sensation of her warm hand cupping his most sensitive part.

It was with a not particularly sympathetic smirk that the taijiya propelled him backwards onto the futon and down in an undignified tumble. Her fingers raked up through his hair to snap the band that was securing it to fly off into the dimly-lit room never to be seen again. Miroku’s hair fanned out into an aureole about his head as he thumped backwards just missing the hard pillow.

His smile was remarkably silly, “You know, I’ve been chased by some pushy women, but I’ve never enjoyed it like this.”

She clenched her hand and sat up as he squirmed at bit, “What’s that supposed to mean?” She was disheveled herself and looked like a flashing-eyed goddess in the dimness as her temper started to slip. His left hand clasped her wrist as his right, bare now of the everlasting beads and gauntlet reached up to pull at her robes.

“It means none of all that stupid shit compares to your reality. Sango, com’ere.”

She relented then and leaned forward to be pulled to her side and positioned with a leg over his hips and his arm under her head. One hard pillow fell off the futon behind the to nearly knock over the waiting tumbler of water. And, at some point in the proceedings, Sango found herself considerately pulling the other over to position it under his head. They could kiss and relax and Sango didn’t mind if the position didn’t seem too promising but she reckoned without the power of a young man’s strong thighs and Miroku’s sheer attentiveness. She found herself crying out and shuddering as he took her and reveling in the strong massage of his hands on her body in the aftermath.

He didn’t withdraw from her until much later in the night when she was deeply asleep and an insistent scratching sounded at the door of their veranda. He was neither pleased nor displeased to find it was Inuyasha and took in good part the hanyou’s rapid retreat off of the railing and halfway across the miniature garden.

Inuyasha’s voice sounded low in the dark, “Crap, Miroku, you owe me one. I read your letter, we’re all out and the temple Raikoji has had a haunting that they won’t forget for a couple of decades. Half of the monks are trying to set up an emergency mass to appease the gods and I found your watcher in the temple courtyard.”

“Soften your voice,” Miroku muttered, sliding the screen shut behind him, “What did you do to that guy? Who was he?”

Inuyasha hissed slightly, as if frustrated, “Some asshole who was traveling with that troop. I didn’t find him until he made the mistake of taking a shit in the middens. I could smell the roasted youkai meat. Then I found him alright. He was disguised as a music peddler of some sort.”

Miroku’s eyes hooded, considering this news and he brushed at his flyaway hair. “I see,s“ he said finally, “what did you do?”

Inuyasha made an irritable gesture, “What do you think? Kagome was there, I scared the living hell out of everybody, knocked him out with his own samisen and got the group out of there. Kagome and the others are up on the hill above this dump. Your abbot doesn’t miss a trick and I found a second letter on top of the first one indicating he would appreciate it if you would leave late and leave his horse here. How long do we need to wait for you to get going?”

“To leave before dawn would arouse suspicion. The leader is staying here.” Miroku hesitated, “Are you sure we can wait that long? If you only knocked him out won’t their spy wake up?”

Inuyasha’s teeth flashed in the dark, “Not a problem. He’s tucked up nicely in the temple drum, they’ll wait until the sun is high to investigate that one.” Inuyasha gave another sniff only to sneeze, “You really owe me one Bouzu.”

“By all means, Inuyasha.”

A flash of silver and the hanyou was gone over the garden fence, Miroku returned to the side of his wife to lie awake until morning and breakfast released them.