InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Winds ❯ The Vigils of Fate ( Chapter 15 )

Chapter 14

Vigil of Fate

 

*I am dreaming. What is it…that makes up my dreams? Is this…to be dead?*

 

In a nowhere that had been darkness, there was suddenly an eruption from silence into light. Brightness, like the blazing sun of a midsummer day, swelling down onto her eyelids and bringing out a cry from her throat. The cry was the loud, high cry of an infant ripped into the world; stunned, womb-bound thoughts reeling from the impossible, Kikyou felt her own tiny lungs draw breath and wail, again and again, angry at the cold, hard air of this new world.

 

*How can this be? What is this?*

 

Her vision darkened, and she felt a pale, pink tug at the ghost of her soul.

 

*Of course. It is the girl, who gives me life with her own life. I wonder why this is a memory. Birth is not a memory for infants, it is a memory for mothers.*

 

She knew intensely and without asking herself questions that this memory did not belong to her, that it belonged to Kagome. The blank, directionless strength of this girls' soul - something that had once been her soul - was frightening. She felt experiences pouring onto her, soothing her with strangeness, with dreams that she never could have dared to have.

A girl, four or five years old, in pink shoes, singing. There were many shining faces, staring up from behind a bright light, and the face of one that was picked out with especial care. Mother.

 

*I was not allowed…mother.*

 

With that thought, there was a flood of memories, thick like an embrace, a sad, solid tenderness. She knew mother, and it hurt all the way down, into the soft secret core of what remained of the real Kikyou, deep in the dark.

Her own childhood had been so different! From that very first day, when she had found the demon rat. Such a careful trap she had laid, thinking it only another rice stealer, taking those precious grains which were to be protected. And how shocked her father had been, coming down into the storage bins to see his four year old daughter on the verge of purifying her first demon.

Everything had moved quickly after that, with no doubts.

“A miko, how wonderful! She will be trained to protect the people, to slay demons and protect what is sacred.”

The priests had not left her alone, had not allowed her parents much time with their daughter, and had soon begun teaching her the laws that govern the sacred precincts. When she was nine, Kaede was born ,and the priest who had begun Kikyou's training was overjoyed

“Another miko! How fortunate! Your family is greatly honored; you must be sure to pay your respects at the appropriate shrines.”

That was what he said, while the bows were still twanging and the incense still burning in the birthing room. Her mother had wept. Her father accepted it with a stoic face - but really, it had been too cruel. The priest had not even allowed them a moment to believe that this new daughter could be theirs.

A miko was bound forever to her duty. She felt the darkness again, the overwhelming pressure, and tried to turn away the eyes of her mind, to no avail. From her own familiar memories she was ripped away, but something strange and important was in the memories of this girl. They stirred up the life Kikyou had almost forgotten with improbable thoughts.

 

*“What are you going to name him, mama? Jii-san says you should name him after a famous hero, for good fortune.”

The mother was laughing, but the girl stayed serious.

“Good fortune is important, mama! If you give him an ill-favored name, it will be bad for him. Maybe you should find a diviner!”*

 

An outsider to this strange conversation, Kikyou was astonished. That serious little girl, turning into this laughing woman? Did it come…from the mother?

After Kaede became another `fighter for the cause', so to speak, her mother never really became well again. Six months later, a year later, she could not still be suffering from the birth, but still she could not summon the energy to remain out of bed for very long, or even to nurse the baby Kaede.

At eight months, Kaede was nearly weaned - and it was Kikyou who prepared the soft baby foods, and made sure that her sister had what she needed to live. She was not a fussy baby, and Kikyou lavished attention on her. In the autumn that marked Kaede's second year, late in the falling of the leaves, her mother died, and quickly the house became silent and cold.

 

*“But mama, if you will not give him the name of a hero, what name will you give him?”

That laughter again, gentle and warming.

“I think I will name him Souta. That is the name of your father's father, you know.”

There was a nod, and a happy smile, a sense that bliss had engulfed and the world had dropped away the curtains on paradise.*

 

“And it can be like that?”

In her own thoughts, the words of her metal voice echoed loudly through the blurring scene as it left her, shifting, transforming. The lucidity of these dreams, these visions, faded with her attention and yet might strangle her.

 

*“I'm sorry, Kagome. Your father…is not coming back. I'm sorry.”

The mother's face crumpled in tears, holding the soft bundle of her son to her breast, watching for reactions in her daughter only through her own haze of grief.

“'Tou-san is not coming back? Mama, mama what is wrong? Why won't he come back?”

At the question, though Kikyou could already tell the answer, the mother could only shake her head. The words were slow in coming, thick with sobs.

“There was an accident and - he can't come home - the doctors - the doctors said there was not much pain - he - your father - he died, Kagome - Kagome -“

There were tears everywhere now, the girl, her mother, the infant. Behind the mothers tears was only grief, the immeasurable darkness, but behind the tears of the girl was a grim, solid determination that was hard to see. It said `if there is to be any more laughter, I must make it' and `I do not wish to live in a house of tears'. The girl herself had not even known what her own heart had decided..*

 

Tears leaked down Kikyou's unconscious cheeks, made wet lines down into her hair and along the curve of her ear. Kouga, watching, always watching, started forward and touched that wetness. He moved closer and shook her shoulders gently. Her body moved, but her eyes did not even flutter; her breathing did not change. The silent tears were more disturbing that her complete unconsciousness. Moved, Kouga wiped them away as they fell, and wondered at them without a hope of understanding.

 

~-~

 

The touch of Miroku's searching energy was like the caress of a single finger, right in the center of her back. Quietly startled from her own, searching thoughts, Kagura sat up straight and stared through the blue summer haze behind her.

 

*What is you want with me, Houshi? Were my directions unclear? Straight south, to the water's edge.*

Thinly, she smiled. If he traveled with companions, he would not dare search her out. So, he must be alone. How sweet. She turned, and moved in the direction of that prodding touch. It had come from further than she expected - had she really drifted so far?

She raised her head, peering forward over the edge of her feather. The trees ruffled on a far shore, responding to the dark breeze of her impending passage. Beneath her, the waves were equally ruffled, ragged white lines of curling foam across the jade surface of the water, deep and green and clear.

Around her, the currents of world-wind were strong and soothing. The fresh breath of new airs was enlivening, and she closed her eyes, holding on to it for a long moment. If her heart could be rescued from Naraku, what would ever keep her grounded again? She sped inland, over a broad sea of leaves, suddenly greener than the watchful sea. Stirred by her passage, the rustling multiplied into a cool and endless sound of trees.

Only a day away on foot, the speed she made now would bring her close to the Houshi in mere hours. She allowed trivial thoughts to occupy her, wanderings of the mind that she did not usually allow herself.

 

*This Miroku, why is he different? His companions too are strange, but each of them holds by their very blood a distinction. Even the slayer woman cannot be taken lightly. She and her family were the guardians of the shikon no tama…they were the ones upon whom Naraku first chose to demonstrate his power…while he hid in the shape of a man!*

 

Naraku remained male, but not man. In his desire for Kikyou he had proved his maleness, but whatever humanity remained in him served only as a deep and buried core of hate and base desires.

 

*Humans are eminently corruptible. Naraku by his very existence proves this, and that I remain in bondage to such a one! Unacceptable! How is it that one man could become Naraku, and another become this Houshi, seeking after him with death?*

 

She was forced to admit that she could understand what she knew of Naraku's motivation, as detestable as it was, but of the Houshi - what was there? Kagura found herself assaulted by the memory of his angled smile, the double quickness with which his eyes had drifted over her exposed skin and then gone to work on smooth purple stitches. But the memory was also in her of a far earlier day, and the accusatory voice of the Houshi following her, the finger she turned to see pointing at the stigma she could never hide.

The scar. The spider. Formed from Naraku's own amalgamated flesh, she too bore the mark that would not hide, the sign that spoke of his previous life. Onigumo. The demon spider. There had been revulsion on the Houshi's face, behind that damning finger. Now there was pity. Between the two, what had changed?

Again the sliver of her thoughts penetrated, remembered the sliding of his eyes.

 

*Does he simply desire me? Does he think…I am for desiring?*

 

Again, she saw that disgusted face, the recognition, the awakening hatred.

 

*I am become such a fool, such a fool. What wasted thoughts these are!*

 

 

The sun was just reaching its peak, seeding the sky with colors more bright and burning than flame. Between outthrust leaves and preening branches, Miroku stared up into a sky more blue than the purest azure silk. A new wind had begun to streak in through the branches over his head, and a smile of amused disappointment flickered on his face. He was becoming accustomed to the signs of Kagura's approach; he had so wanted to surprise her.

He was led to strange places by his thoughts. He did not know who Kagura was. Made of Naraku, but not Naraku herself - she had proven this by the manifestation of her will, her power, her beauty, all so much the opposite of his enemy.

The refreshed wind fluttered the leaves like pennants. Green shadows moved across his face. He passed a hand across his eyes and sighed. Softer than air, she landed, and waved her fan before her knees. Miroku stood, and nodded.

“Kagura. Once more, I must thank you for the breeze. Why have you come?”

She took quick steps, until she stood near enough that she could touch him. Her fingers skipped along the beads that bound his hand.

“You should not be asking that question, Miroku. Was it not you who reached out for me?”

He was smiling, but she could not see his face. His head remained tilted down, shadows hiding his eyes.

“Reached out, you say? It is you who are reaching out - and you touch.”

Something in his voice burned her. Her fingers withdrew; she took a step back and looked at him with fierce eyes.

“You are different, Miroku-Houshi. Different from other humans, from demons. What is it that makes you so? Is it because you are cursed?”

He shrugged and leaned toward her. He was suddenly speaking so close to her she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“You are different, Kagura.”

Now, she was angry.

“You! Tell me, what does it mean when you say something like that!”

They were exchanging the same breath. It might have been the anger that enriched her voice with passions, and made him remember her laugh.

“It means nothing, beyond what it says. You tell me what it says, Kagura.”

Kagura took another step back, and concealed her face behind the half open folds of her fan. The wind whipped the creeping jungle foliage into a froth of shimmering colors under the high sun.

“It says that you think strange thoughts, Miroku, that you observe well and carve a hiding place for that observation. You are full of…distressing emotions.”

The moment the last words passed her lips, she regretted them. They reflected on her own personal thoughts, but those were not for this Houshi to know! He smiled, looking at her now so she could see it, a lightning-bright smile. He took back the step between them.

“You must tell me of these distressing emotions sometime, Kagura. I am interested in knowing what it is that makes you so different.”

She shook her head, denying anything, denying everything.

“I am an offshoot of Naraku's flesh. You know this! Do not…taunt me.”

Very slowly, Miroku crossed his arms and turned away, so he was looking at her only in profile, out of the corner of his eye.

“I would never taunt you, Kagura. Did you know that Naraku was once a man?”

Unsure of where this new turn of conversation would go, she nodded.

“The man Onigumo, a bandit and thief, allowed demons to devour his soul in return for granting him the powers of their flesh. So he is many demons, and none of them. Since that time, he has traveled widely, and consumed many creatures, demon and not demon, seeking new power. So, what were you, Kagura, before he consumed that being and twisted it to his own uses? Do you have no memory at all?”

She shook, unwilling to believe and at the same time believing. She had seen other…offspring of Naraku become incarnate, and from none of them did he take a heart. She did not even know if they had hearts - Naraku required no such control over them. The Houshi was right. Why was she…different?

“I cannot tell you what you are seeking to know. That knowledge - it is not a part of me. Now, quickly, tell me what it is you wanted of me when you drew me here.”

He shook his head, attempted an innocence that usually came easily but now was lost to him.

“I only sought to find out if you were still near. I did not mean to draw you here - I know I must continue south.”

A new rush of wind blew Miroku's hair into a fluff of dark strands.

“Move quickly, and by nightfall tomorrow you will come to a village. It is human - the lynx do not bother them, but other demons enjoy the flavor of human flesh too much to ignore such an unprotected outpost. You may learn something to your advantage if you go there - but now that you have learned of humans in trouble, you would go there now whether there was information or not, wouldn't you?”

He nodded carefully, and was surprised by her gentle laughter.

“That is another thing, Miroku-Houshi, which I do not understand.”

With a careless gesture, she flipped a feather from the hair at her temple ,and tossed it at the ground. In a way that Miroku could not see, it turned, and twisted, and became suddenly much larger. With an elegant grace that seemed improbable with such a flimsy transport, she climbed in and knelt at the center.

She noticed the intentness of his gaze, the focus of his attention, and leaned across to speak to him, teasing from a safe distance as the feather rose gently into the sky.

“You still cannot come up with me, Miroku. If I landed you in a village of humans, they would worship you or kill you, but you certainly would not be able to help them!”

She spun on the wind, and soon faded into the south, beyond a thick, dark line of horizon. Wind was left behind her, and Miroku smiling, shaking his head.

“South it is, then, Kagura.”

 

~-~

 

“What is it you desire to see?”

The sky held leisurely clouds. Beneath them, a pustule of dark chambers and many doors occupied the space where there had been a tasteful mansion, the manor of some murdered lord

“Show me the woman who thwarts my will - the sister of the boy.”

Reflected palely in an oval of mirror more like water than glass, Sango's features were indistinct, her motions blurred. A haze obscured her in this reflection, as though she maintained such a fierce attention that even from this power she was obscured.

“Tell me why she is not clear to me, Kanna.”

“She resists with her whole self. The mirror cannot capture her.”

Scowling, Naraku stood and clapped his hands once, tightly. There was a sound that could be nothing but a great rush of silk, and a soft shadow appeared beyond the curtained door.

“You summoned me, lord?”

“You are to go out into the land, and find this woman.”

For a moment, the door slid open a few bare inches. The blurred features of the mirror turned towards the opened space, and then away again. The door slid shut.

“Does she travel alone, or with company?”

A dark smile that gave no hint of defeat darted onto Naraku's features like poison, and then slid away.

“She travels with company, but the one who concerns you is this woman. For the others, I may find…suitable distractions.

There was once more a great rustling of silk, and a single footstep that lingered on the polite edge of inaudible.

“I will return when she is dead. You have no preference as to the means of her ending? Many men, seeking the death of a woman, have diverse reasons for doing so…”

Satisfied even as she was speaking that the illusion he maintained was as perfect as before, he did not allow her to continue.

“It is enough that she dies. The reasons are nothing that concern you. Return successful, and you will see reward enough to make it worthwhile.”

He did not receive an answer; he had not expected one. There was no longer a shadow behind the door-curtains; this time, there had been no rustling of silk.

 

*What will you do, demon slayer, against one trained in arts more subtle than yours?*

 

~-~

The world was becoming dark as the edge of twilight brushed over it, and Kohaku finally groaned and rolled over. In a moment, Sango was by his side, one hand on his forehead, her eyes peering deeply into his fluttering pupils.

“Kohaku? Kohaku, are you awake now?”

Behind the flutter of those eyelids, something painful was happening, a dark flicker of dark events. Within a moment of bolting, he sat up quickly and had one foot on the floor before Sango realized what he was doing. Her arms, and then her whole body went out to restrain him.

 

*Why is it always like this! He can never bear…to stay with me.*

 

“Kohaku! I won't let you go this time. You're my brother…you're the only one I have left now.”

His eyes were hooded. Darkness had been planted in him deeper than the strength of Sesshomaru's claws could reach. Always, behind the darkness there was a glaring light of memories he did not want, memories for which his flesh was responsible while his heart wept, weary.

There had been few moments of clarity, moments he had stolen from Naraku. Some of them he had paid for. For others, he had not yet been punished - or perhaps they had passed undetected. He had strange allies in his confinement. Kagura kept his secrets, and her silence.

Sometimes, there was a strong presence inside him, a remembrance of days when there had not been such trouble, when the only worries on his mind spoke to his quieter self. He had never been sure that a life in combat was what he wanted, but he was the son of a demon slayer.

Now, he knew he would never have another kind of life. He would fight, until he died…and he would probably die sooner than he thought, or hoped.

With inner sight, he could see the light that had been snuffed out and would not return. In the center of that empty place, there was the smile of a man whose face was a thousand knives of guilt, and the echo of words that he could not quite catch.

“Kohaku?”

This woman, this woman who was his sister was too worried and did not deserve such pains. Slowly, he relaxed his fleeing muscles, and eased himself back from Sango's restraining embrace.
”I won't run away, but it's no good for you to try and keep me here. He will find a way to take me back. You know that.”

Enfolding him, gentle, she shook her head and yet was betrayed by her own words. Now, while she had him here with her to look after, nothing else mattered.

“I…know. But this time you are staying, Kohaku, or I am leaving with you.”

Her devotion was terrifying. It locked a swallow in his throat. How could she not hate him, knowing the awful things he had done?