InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Every Heart ❯ Chapter 8

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media.

The character Ryûtatsu is original to this story.

This is merely one girl’s dream of life after “The End.”


Kagome awoke slowly, unaccustomed to the stillness of the air around her. She stretched her arms and legs languidly, amazed at how the ground had become so soft and…mattress-like…in the passing of the night. Her eyes opened and her illusion was shattered, the weight of the world again dropping on her like a lead weight.

She stared up at the familiar grooves in the ceiling of her room, not quite willing to give up the illusion just yet. She couldn’t delay the inevitable, however; slowly the memories resurfaced. Her mouth became set in a thin line as she remembered what happened…after…

She sat in Inuyasha’s lap for a long time that day. Neither of them felt compelled to speak following his whispered plea for her return. Finally, as the day began to wane, she disengaged herself from him, sliding onto the bare tree branch. “Will you do one thing for me?” she asked, her voice rough with the gravel of spent tears.

“Of course,” he replied.

“Bring me my bow and my bag, please,” she requested, her eyes drifting down.

“You don’t want to see the others, to say goodbye?” She could hear the disbelief in his tone.

She merely shook her head, her gaze steady on the ground. She knew the talk of the village. She didn’t really have the patience or the heart to go back there. It was hard enough to contemplate leaving Inuyasha; she wasn’t sure she could deal with a sobbing fox kit and a silent slip of a girl on top of that. I’m a coward, she chastised herself. An exhausted, drained coward.

Inuyasha slipped from the tree with relative silence. He returned in due time, carefully carrying her bursting bag over his shoulder and her bow in his right hand. She spied him in the distance and felt a twinge. Is this how he looked upon Kikyo, all those years ago? So close, yet so far?

He stopped when he came upon the Sacred Tree. “They know,” he said bluntly, casting his golden eyes up to her.

She turned to the trunk to begin her descent, biting her lips to hold back another round of tears at this news. When she reached the bottom, he handed her the bow. Together, wordlessly, they walked down the path to the well.

It all started to feel like a dream then; under the darkness of the night, she sat on the ledge of the well and shouldered her bag. She felt strangely disembodied, as if she was looking down at the scene from above. She saw, rather than felt, the tug of the magic against her legs. She watched as Inuyasha embraced her again, one hand curving around her neck, claws extending into her hair, a kiss pressed to her lips. She watched as her body fell into the well and he leaned in after her, watching her disappear into the darkness.

Her heart lay heavy in her chest, her throat constricting with the seemingly never-ending weight of unshed tears. Every time she thought she’d drained her eyes, something else would prick at her memory, causing the cycle to repeat.

A day removed from her dramatic exit, she began to regret not going back and explaining herself to her friends. Surely they worried about her, if the look on Inuyasha’s face was anything to go by. Shippo and Rin were so young; would they understand her reasoning for leaving? Did they still possess the childish innocence that allowed them ignorance of the emotions that churned through her during those youkai attacks? Had they yet tasted the bitterness of self-doubt or agonizing despair?

She clapped her hands sharply. I will not think like this! she told herself. “If I want to get back to them, I must be positive. I must find a solution to this problem.”

Resolutely, she got up from the bed and tied her hair back. She left her room and walked downstairs. Ignoring the curious looks of her family, she shoved her feet into a pair of well-worn slippers and marched out the door. Her pace never slowed as she approached the Sacred Tree, and then she halted at its side.

“Goshinboku,” she breathed, reverently reaching out to touch the weathered bark. “What should I do?”

Inuyasha let his back fall against the trunk of the Sacred Tree. The time had arrived again, much to his disgust. He clenched his muscles as the change swept over him, through him. Going through the transition felt like nothing explainable. It was a weight lifted from his shoulders, a weakness thrust upon him.

He loathed the night of the new moon.

Luckily, in the intervening days since Kagome’s return to her own time, the youkai attacks on the village had lessened. He ignored the pleas of Shippo and Rin to stay at Kaede’s hut, determined to see out this most useless night on his own. Just like old times.

Resolutely, he stared off into the distance. He had to be on guard now more than ever. With autumn now upon them, the nights were growing longer.

I hate this, he thought to himself, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. The emotion churned through him, resonating strongly. He felt it settle into the fiber of his being, soaking through his muscles, tissues, bones. He closed his eyes and concentrated on it, encouraging its spread through his arms and legs. I hate this, I hate it!

Yes, this was good, holding onto this feeling. It was something solid, something that had weight. He could spend energy on it, let his mind fixate and his body respond. It would help him pass the time without notice.

It would fill the void left by Kagome.

Kagome.

His heart clenched painfully at the mere thought of her.

“No,” he growled, his face dropping into a scowl. “Let me hate this night!”

It was no use. His eyes opened as sadness overwhelmed his anger. The dark emotion drifted away from him, replaced with leaden sorrow. It weighed on him, let him sink into the nooks of the tree branch. Pressure built at his temples, blurred his vision.

Kagome.

He felt her absence very keenly, as if a part of him had been removed. It was bad enough when he was in his normal form, but with these heightened human emotions – it was a tossup between the primal urge to destroy something, and the primal urge to mourn the loss. He’d never felt anything like it before, not even when his mother died.

Memories flooded his mind, unbidden – the first time he saw her, the first time she cried over him, the first time she shyly asked to stay by his side, the first time he’d feared he’d lost her, the first time he’d made her upset. Dark jealousy laced his thoughts as they turned to Koga, that Hojo character from her time, poison master Mukotsu from the Band of Seven…anyone who’d ever lain a claim to her.

I put her through so much…she stayed by my side… why did she have to leave me?

He clenched his fists as the tears forced their way to the surface. All of his old insecurities poured through him, and he suffered through each distinct sensation. Tears slid down his cheeks, but he remained stoic. He did not cry out. He did not sob uncontrollably. He let the tears fall silently, the emotions washing out of him.

His head fell back, his eyes trained to the dark sky. “Goshinboku, bring her back to me,” he whispered, touching the trunk of the tree at his back.


Sango quietly sat on the steps outside of the temple. She folded her feet under her legs and put her head to her knees. The day was overcast with a cool breeze, a welcome change in the weather that signaled the midst of autumn. She gazed out into the middle distance, letting her eyes fall out of focus a bit.

Their group had been at Mushin’s temple for almost a week. Earlier that day, Miroku had finally gone under Mushin’s knife. After the ‘celebration’ feast that commenced their stay, it had apparently taken five days for Miroku to cleanse and purify himself enough for the surgery. The procedure had taken a long time, and Sango wasn’t one to hang around and observe. As soon as Miroku was unconscious, she slipped from the room.

She knew it was important for Miroku to spend time with his foster father, but she felt like she was treading water in her search for Kohaku. She couldn’t help but wonder where he was, what he was doing…if he remembered anything. She tried to formalize a plan of action in her mind, but the doubts were beginning to take hold. What if they never found him? Could she ever be content not knowing his fate? Would having her own children to care for eventually overcome this desire to find her only living relative?

She sighed glumly, closing her eyes against the weariness that settled over her. She felt Kirara bump against her leg and give a little meow, and she reached down to pet her treasured companion.

“How did you know I needed a cat in my lap?” she teased affectionately, pulling the tiny cat into her arms. Kirara began to purr with a vengeance.

“Ahem.” A throat cleared behind her, catching her attention. “I am finished; Miroku should be coming around in a few hours.”

Sango turned to see Mushin exiting the building, wiping his hands along the way. She smiled up at him, but he could see the sadness within her. He shuffled toward her and sat down beside her. “What ails you, my lady?”

Sango looked at the old monk. His face was open, his question warm and kind. Her feelings mounted in her chest, headed by the flagging relief of knowing that Miroku was okay. She turned away from Mushin to gather her thoughts, but he misinterpreted the gesture.

“I do wish Miroku could stay here,” Mushin said amiably. “He was my last apprentice monk. I have no one to carry on the traditions of this temple when he leaves.” He patted Sango’s arm. “I can certainly understand why he wants to go, however. You are a generous soul, Lady Sango.”

That did it; the tears spilled over her cheeks. “We are on a quest, Master Mushin,” she blurted out, unable to slow her thoughts or her sentences. “We are looking for my brother, who disappeared shortly after Naraku’s defeat.”

Mushin looked at her thoughtfully. “You are of the demon-slayer clan, are you not?”

Sango nodded, brushing her tears away with her fingers. Kirara purred and turned in her lap, offering comfort.

Mushin sighed. “Many have passed by this temple. There was a boy not too long ago, one whom I hoped to make an apprentice.”

Sango took a sharp breath, her eyes widening.

“He was quite pure of heart, innocent of intent,” Mushin continued, his gaze rising to look at the roof as he thought. “But he had a broken spirit. He claimed he could never be pure enough to serve the Buddha.” Mushin chuckled at the memory. “There was something else peculiar about him. He had the armor and weapons of a demon-slayer.”

Sango grabbed Mushin’s arm. “Are you sure?” she questioned, her heart pounding wildly.

Mushin wore that same comforting smile. “Yes. He asked me to purify his weapons. He said he had committed horrible acts with them.”

Kohaku, she thought desperately. Could it be?

“Where is this boy now?” she asked, her voice filled with hope.

“I told him to seek out the village of the demon-slayers, that he would find his answers among that clan,” Mushin explained. “He set off that very day.”

“Oh, Master Mushin, thank you!” Sango said, impulsively pulling the elder monk into a light hug.

Mushin chuckled and patted her back. “You’re welcome, my lady,” he replied. He watched the expression on her face as she pulled away, the complete opposite of the one she wore not five minutes past. She was really quite a lovely young woman, and her happiness made her seem even more youthful and alive.

“Please, I ask but one favor of you,” Mushin suddenly said, breaking into her thoughts. “Do everything in your power to make my Miroku happy. He cares deeply for you, Lady Sango.”

She turned her radiant smile to him. “I love him, Master Mushin. Of course I will take care of him.” Just as he takes care of me…

The little priestess prostrated herself before the great dragon lord, her whole being trembling as she spoke. “That was all I was able to see with the golem,” she repeated, wishing she had a different story to tell.

Ryûtatsu glared down at her. “You are supposed to be the strongest dark miko in these lands.”

The woman said nothing, not daring to look up at him. She knew she had failed. She only hoped her end would be quick and painless. She had not expected her ogre puppet to fall at the hands of a mere hanyou, especially not before learning the location of the Shikon Jewel.

The minutes stretched out interminably. Finally, curiosity claimed the better of her judgment; she glanced up. Ryûtatsu rewarded her with a swift sweep of his blade, her head cleanly separating from her body. He growled as he looked up from where she lay, eyeing his sentinels in the corner.

“There is no sign of the jewel or its aura?” he questioned them, his voice sharp.

The men glanced at each other. “It’s as if it disappeared from the face of the earth,” one replied rather lamely.

Ryûtatsu grunted. “That’s if it even existed in the first place,” he mused, replacing his sword at his hip. He glared at his men. “This story sounds like a wild goose chase, one I don’t appreciate. If I find out it was truly a hoax…” He let his eyes fall to the miko on the floor. Satisfied that he had scared some semblance of sanity into them, he turned and left the room.

The guards began to whisper among themselves. Myoga tried hard to catch their conversation, but only heard bits and pieces. He had his own doubts about the story, but something about it sounded awfully familiar.

“I was there, I saw it with my own eyes!” one of the men was whispering in a furious voice. “The little hanyou beat the miko’s golem with a single swing of his sword!”

“But where was the jewel?” the other asked. “You said that the aura was overwhelming.”

“It was,” the first insisted. “I think it was coming from the human girl, but I’m not certain. Surely the jewel’s powers would be too much for a mere human to handle.”

“We must tread carefully,” the second decided. “Ryûtatsu would kill us if we lead him astray, I have no doubt of that.”

The first nodded. “We will return there ourselves, and bring the jewel back!”