InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Winds ❯ The Still and Silent Dance ( Chapter 5 )

The long, quiet miles opened emptily across Miroku's vision. His third dawn alone was thick with a cold and clinging mist, sticking to leaves and grass like glue. Despite the chill, he was vaguely amused as he struggled through the greenery like the drenched-sleeved lover of Chinese poetry, fresh from some moonlit tryst.

His thoughts drew back, and back, and back, until they touched on the journey that he had begun alone, the single shard of the shikon no tama and the name of Naraku - always Naraku. Somehow, those travels had not seemed as lonely as this new quest, undertaken by will and desperate hope instead of duty. The destiny that had been woven for him was gathering together from many threads into one strong rope, binding him on the course he had chosen.

If he kept his imagination taut, he could draw a whole lifetime of normal skills and pleasures, from the childhood he had watched to the man he had become. His imagined self was lighter, and more carefree, but not as strong. Naraku had made him into who he was, just as much as he had made himself by choices.

“I wonder if Sango…”

He startled himself with the sound of his own words. When he had traveled by himself, sometimes he had talked out loud, as though his voice needed keeping in practice. Habits returned so quickly, but he felt strange. He had not really been talking to himself - he had expected an answer, Inuyasha's grunt, or Kagome's ripple of laughter, or perhaps the low sigh of Sango's chuckle.

Sango.

He had kept himself from thinking of her, purposefully. It would do him no good to dwell on an injury he could not heal, and it would have been just like her to stride off on his hopeless quest before she was recovered. He frowned. Would she do something like that, and come after him? Kagome would never allow it, and Inuyasha would understand and talk her out of it gruffly. Or maybe not so gruffly, now that he had claimed Kagome.

His thoughts were wandering, from the past into the various futures that might be. If he went to this mountain, and received the blessing of a saint, and his curse was lifted, that would lead him on a better life. He could never stop hunting Naraku, not while he lived - but to have it be a choice, instead of the only way to save his own life!

More and more, Miroku wondered at Kagura's motives. Naraku had never shown an interest in him, not like Inuyasha or Kagome, not like Kikyou, who he hunted and tormented and sought, despising and lusting in the same breath. Why, then, would it be to Naraku's advantage to lead him away? If he tried to separate them, one by one, it would not succeed. Only Kohaku had any hold over Sango now, and she had learned the hard way that she could not fight for his freedom alone. Inuyasha and Kagome - they were Inuyasha and Kagome. Now, even Kikyou could not come between them.

His heart beat faster, anticipating the possibilities of the truth. To live! They had never been close enough to destroying Naraku for him to contemplate the potential - days, nights, springs, and winters - he stopped, and stared around him.

The low rise on which he stood was tall enough to break through the mists, burning off now as the sun rose higher in the sky. A familiar youkai presence was approaching him quickly, and he waited patiently while a cloud of dust approached him and then settled to the ground.

“Kouga, I am surprised to see you.”

“I've been looking for you, Houshi. Something…something strange happened, and now I don't know if it was real or not. I'm not…eh!”

The wolf prince shook his head, and the shake quivered down his whole body.

“Spirits!”

Another shiver sped through him, and Kouga pinned Miroku with eyes that darted, both ferocious and frightened.

“Last night, I was coming to find Kagome, when I caught the Inu-baka's scent. I never made it, I never came…there was a woman, or a dream, or a tennyo! She had Kagome's face, and Kagome's voice, and I thought she was Kagome, running at me half-dressed with a wild face. But she said she was not Kagome, and the scent of her told me this was true. She was cold, so cold, but she looked so much like…”

Kouga paused, fumbling in his words, obviously unsure of how to continue. Miroku's face had grown taut, and was losing its color.

“She asked me to pretend she was Kagome - said that for me, she was Kagome, and gave herself to me. I thought that she was Kagome, while I - and afterwards, despite everything, but when I woke she was gone, and there was not a scent or a strand of her hair. You know spirits, Houshi. What spirit was it that found me last night?”

Miroku moved his mouth wordlessly, soundlessly, at first too shocked, too numb to make a sound. His thoughts were scrambled and slippery, but finally he forced out the word, the name, the incomprehensible name.

“Kikyou.”

“Huh?”

Kouga was confused. That did not sound like the name of a spirit, or the confirmation of a dream. Miroku's sigh was heavy, and his explanation short.

“Not a spirit. Kikyou. Kagome is her reincarnation - that is why they share a face.”

“Reincarnation? But - ”

The monk's shaking head cut him off.

“If you continue asking these questions, Kouga, you will only disturb yourself. Suffice it to say that it is true, it is complicated, and it would be wise of you not to ever mention what you just told me in the hearing of Inuyasha - or Kagome.”

The wolf huffed, waving off the warning.

“You don't need to tell me. The scent of their mating was all over these woods this morning. I can't believe she chose the mutt!”

His anger was half-hearted - Kouga was distracted by the memory of his spirit woman, who now had a name.

 

Kikyou.

 

“Where are you going, Houshi? The sounds this morning were distressed, but I couldn't….”

Miroku nodded; he understood all too well why Kouga couldn't. He had seen the pair coming back from between the trees.

“I am traveling south. I have heard tell of a sacred mountain, whose patron saint may be powerful enough to lift the curse I live under.”

He raised his hand, and clenched the fingers around the beads.

“It is dangerous, and unlikely to succeed, and Sango is badly wounded. I could not let the others follow me - this has nothing to do with Naraku, and the only benefit is to my life. I know they are my friends, but I cannot endanger them for the sake of myself Especially…especially not considering the source of my information.”

Kouga raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“What source could be so risky?”

Miroku spoke simply.

“Kagura.”

 

 

“Kagura!”

The brooding anger that yowled in Naraku's voice did not bode well for the sorceress so summoned. She could not follow his voice, but she could follow the pain that lured her, the pain that had long before become monotony, still agony, making her another puppet on his string.

“It is time to draw out the Wolf, Kagura. It is you he desires for vengeance, it is you he will come to. When he is found, you will kill him.”

She looked down and shadows made slashes across her face. Her eyes burned, darkening from their usual crimson to bloody burgundy, more antagonism in them than the promised combat required. The words that flashed into her thoughts were tight and prickling. If she said them, would he destroy her? Would he dare? She would wield his own bones against him.

 

It is as though Kikyou's flesh is really his, as though he has something to protect. The miko would cringe if she knew. But what is her appeal now, if not to memory? Naraku has not lost all that he thinks he has lost.

 

The inner laughter must have showed in her eyes. Naraku held up an orb with a glow darker than fire and rarer than the sun's diamond core. Kagura shut her eyes, waiting for the pain. It ran through her veins like ice and penetrated muscles and up into her skin with fangs and claws and penetrating whips like acid glaciers.

“Now. Go from me, and wait for a messenger. You will be led to your prey on a leash, if that is what it takes to get you there.”

Without meaning to, she sucked in a breath that betrayed which pain was more stinging.

 

A leash!

 

When she was out in the cooling air, her blood burned hotter. How many times had she been sent after this mangy wolf? It was not his power that kept him alive, it was an absurd luck. No matter what she did, he stayed alive. Long before he had proved himself worthy of life as far as she was concerned, but he desired only her death. It was odd how she felt guilt for those dead wolves, their blank eyes boring holes in her memory, the whisper of silent voices prodding at her.

What apology would be worthwhile? She was suddenly full of a desire to choose her own prey, to find someone that deserved death and give it to them. Weariness filled her, thinking of the wolf. She was tired, so tired of this game, of Naraku's desire, of living wrapped up around the panic of her heart. If the wolf died, Inuyasha would be weaker. If she died, Naraku would be weaker.

 

I wonder what it is like to make a choice. I wonder if I can make one, even now. I wonder if the wolf knows that my blood is also red.

 

A thin smile spread across her lips with melting efficiency, and she let her fingers stroke the hard edge of her fan, claws quietly tapping. While she watched the ground fly by beneath her, a buzzing penetrated her thoughts.

Saimyoushou!

 

She turned with eyes and face suddenly frozen to follow on the path drawn for her through the shivering air.

 

A leash, Naraku. Very well. But not one you will ever attach to my throat again!

 

 

Miroku wandered alongside Kouga, not quite sure of how or why they had come to this particular arrangement, but it worked well. He was quite aware of his own weaknesses, the human frailties that came with strength of spirit. And Kouga….Kouga needed a watchful eye and a chance to figure out what had happened in the long night just past. He was youkai; he did not understand how a woman could come and go as she pleased and leave nothing behind.

Kouga did not understand Kikyou or her nature; he did not know that there was never anything left behind her but that nothing, still thick, still present. Above them the trees shook their heads in agreement with his thoughts - and then he stopped, and stared up at the wavering trees. He remembered this feeling, the same dancing of the leaves, and reached forward to stop Kouga with a hand on his arm.

“We are watched, Kouga.”

The wolf turned his face into the freshening breeze and closed his eyes, seeking, seeking. When they opened again, they were streaked with red and his face was tight with fury.

“It is Kagura! You must go from here. This time, I will kill her. You know why her blood is mine; do not interfere!”

Miroku stepped back into the trees, watching. He felt traitorous, as though he had somehow lured Kagura to her death. Kouga had never seemed to have the power to kill her, but now he had a darker fury.

 

Perhaps Kikyou was good for him…

 

It was a wincing thought, but sometimes Miroku couldn't help himself. The situation was ridiculous, and had been for four years. His eyes encompassed the slow steps of Kagura, but she did not speak, did not taunt like he remembered. The play of battle unfolded like he had never seen, never expected. She stood, and held her fan by one end piece. It unfolded down at the tug of the earth, and hung limply from her fingers. Her eyes closed, and waiting stillness covered her face.

Kouga attacked, a whirlwind of claws and gripping pains, slashing and biting. Soon even Miroku could smell the scent of her blood, and then taste it, thick and clinging to the air. Kagura did not move. The wind was dead, the air unmoving, the leaves still and silent like the deepest, most breathless night of summer's heat.

He couldn't watch. She was sacrificing herself, not working Naraku's will. Had he sent her because he knew Kouga had touched Kikyou? That was information that must come to Kagome, then. Kagome, but not Inuyasha. Even if she was now his mate, she was wise enough to know. And Kagura - what debt did he owe her, and what could she tell him, if she died this empty death for?

“Kouga! That is enough! Look at her!”

Kouga was looking, but not seeing. His eyes were blank with a glare of bloodlust and his fingers were bright with Kagura's blood. Miroku took another step forward into the clearing, and Kagura's eyes opened the slightest glimmer, a seam of red beneath her lashes. The wind rippled through the grass, making a noise like water.

With a blow that arched, Kouga struck through Kagura's right arm and down into the flesh of her shoulder. She shuddered, and fell. It was not one motion; first to her knees, and then forward. Miroku took another step, and held out a warning hand in Kouga's direction.

“Save your vengeance for Naraku, Kouga. She has not raised a finger, or a fan against you this whole battle - what honor is served by destroying a defenseless woman?”

Kouga's snarl twisted his handsome face into something truly demonic, something ugly.

“Naraku is not enough! She is not defenseless - if she chooses not to defend, it is not my problem!”

“Kouga!”

The snarl widened, darkened, and gained its own life and breath. Again the air fell deadly calm, and Miroku watched the life fall out of the leaves with flashing eyes. Why did they all have to be so damn stupid?

Kagura stayed on the ground, bleeding from half a hundred slashing wounds, and when her face closed and her eyes fluttered shut, Miroku could have sworn he saw relief in them, saw her turning to welcome death.

“Enough!”

He strode forward between them, halting Kouga with the presence of his body, and lifted Kagura's limp shape in his arms. It was the strangest thing he had ever done, but it felt right, and besides - she weighed almost nothing at all, as though he were carrying the wind itself.

Kouga was snarling, close to the true shape of the beast within himself, but Miroku's mind was made up, his temper rising hot.

“I said enough! She serves Naraku with no more will than you would do, if - “

He stopped. It was not his secret to reveal.

“She does not serve him because she wishes to. You have defeated her, beaten her, broken her, and I would not be surprised if she suffers Naraku's…displeasure because she has again failed to kill you.”

The hardness in Miroku's face turned wan, and the flush of angry color began to fade away.

“Didn't you notice that she stayed still, moving not even her eyes? Your rage blinded you. Be content that she has bled for your loss, and move from vengeance to grief.”

Kouga turned to face him with tight fists but better control, sneering through his words.

“There will come a day when she does not have you to protect her, and I will kill her. That day, she will fight me - but she still will die.”

Miroku did not speak. He turned, and carried Kagura away from Kouga and the lash-stains her blood had left on the grass. Her deadly fan dangled from one hand, and he tugged it gently away with his free fingers, and tucked it inside his robe.

She had come to him once with an offer of aid, but many more times he had suffered beneath her winds. If she woke while he was near her, he would not allow her the chance to do the same again. Kouga did not follow. Part of him understood the wolf's desire for vengeance, the need to kill. His pack had been destroyed, family, friends - perhaps lovers and children, he did not know the details of Kouga's life. What Miroku could not understand was the desire for blood when it was obvious she was not going to fight.

The wounds that had been slashed into Kagura's skin described the way her body had presented itself to Kouga's claws, undefended. Some of her injuries would have worried him, reaching so deeply into her flesh, but even while he carried her the raw red edges began to reach for each other, pink tissues sealing under the blood.

A few miles down the road, he stopped by a small shrine and laid her across the kneeling-stone before the altar. He bowed his head, praying silently.

 

Though she is a demon, I do not think this woman's heart unworthy of shelter here, for while it may reside in the hands of another, her thoughts and feelings remain her own. She feels the taint of actions for which evil would feel no guilt. Merciful Buddha, perhaps even youkai are blessed by your notice - if this is so, your servant asks that you guard and guide this woman.

 

For a long while, he stood contemplating his prayer and turning her fan over and over in his hands. The demonic aura was stronger from the fan than it was from Kagura herself. While half his brain screamed at him, trying to convince him that this was stupid, stupid, stupid, his hand moved, and lay the fan beside her. He smiled, and tapped the hard edge with a fingertip, whispering to himself.

“After all, what good would it really do? Death is death, not freedom.”

Suddenly full of silence, he turned away and continued down the southward road. In the dream of her healing unconsciousness, Kagura heard his whisper though not the voice that made it, and for a single moment, sparkling like rain, she understood and knew that he spoke a penetrating truth.

Death is death, not freedom.