InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Every Heart ❯ Chapter 16
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: LuxKen27 
Kohaku regains his memory, with disastrous results. He's very tragic, no?
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Action / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.05.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.1K | Visits: 780 | Status: Work In Progress
Kohaku regains his memory, with disastrous results. He's very tragic, no?
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Action / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.05.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.1K | Visits: 780 | Status: Work In Progress
Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the views and reviews. Want to see the ultimate author’s notes for this story? Visit me! http:// luxken27. livejournal. com / (minus the spaces of course). Explanations, clarifications, spoilers available!
Warning: Rating increase (from T to Y) due to implied lemon and dark themes, including violence.
Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media. This is merely one girl’s dream of life after “The End.”
“Sango, let’s get married.”
Sango smiled as the pleasant memory washed over her. She looked down at the pot she was currently stirring, happy and grateful to be in the small front room of their hut, near the warmth of the fire. The weather had been especially harsh these last few days, and she hoped her husband would complete his journey in relative safety.
Husband. It was still a bit disconcerting for her to think of Miroku in such intimate terms. She remembered their wedding day as if it happened yesterday, instead of almost three months ago. It was a much-needed joyous event, and probably the one thing that held her fragile emotions intact.
“Sango, let’s get married.”
Sango stopped short, looking at Miroku with surprise and confusion. “You mean now?” she stuttered, a blush stealing across her cheeks. They were in the middle of the road, in the middle of a heavy travelling schedule they had set for themselves. Because they had decided to reside in her home village indefinitely, and because said village had been abandoned for years, they had decided to travel as much as possible before the onset of winter, in order to earn enough money to survive during the snowy months. They were occasionally accompanied by Hachi, but Kirara was staying behind in the village with Kohaku.
They had thus far travelled in relative comfort, relying not only on her demon-slaying skills, but also on his spiritual powers, a welcome supplement for most of the villages they served. The news of Kagome’s disappearance had partially spurred the travel spree; both felt they needed a change of pace from the depressing turn of events.
Miroku pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her and letting one hand slide down to cup her bottom. “Yes, now,” he whispered in her ear, delighting as her face grew even redder at his touch. “I don’t know how much longer I can withstand the urge to practice for those children you promised me.”
Sango laughed. “You lech!” she cried, pushing away from him. “Is that all you care about?”
The mirth died in Miroku’s eyes. “Sango,” he said, his tone serious, his hands moving to a more chaste position on her body. “What are we waiting for? We have defeated Naraku. We have found your brother. We’re starting our lives together.”
She gazed at him steadily, trying to gauge the weight of his words. He was indeed serious, she realized, her heart beginning to be rapidly. And he had a point. There was nothing standing in the way of their official union; they had accomplished all of the goals they set for themselves. Really, it was becoming a matter of principle; could she be as spontaneous, as carefree as him?
“What are we waiting for, my lord monk?” she finally replied, smiling once again and leaning forward to kiss him. “Let’s get married.”
They stopped in the next village and announced their need for a priest. In exchange for performing the spur-of-the-moment nuptials, the priest insisted on having them rid the village of a most irritating weasel demon. The demon had taken up residence in the priest’s home and was wreaking havoc at the shrine he attended.
Sango and Miroku defeated the tricky youkai without much fuss. They had their marriage ceremony the next day, and were given a large wedding feast as a reward from the villagers.
It was nice to finally have a large, complete, filling meal for a change. Miroku was charming everyone, including the headman, managing to wrangle the nicest room in his house for the evening. The wine was flowing freely as well, and Sango let her inhibitions go. She deserved to be happy, she thought. The laughter of the villagers, the love of her newly-minted husband, the good food, and the warm house were a welcome change from the darkness and loneliness that had shrouded her heart for so long.
She pushed the thoughts of her future, of her brother, of her friends from her mind, and let herself relax completely. The feast seemed to last for hours, but finally, Miroku picked her up and carried her from the room, laughter still ringing in her ears. Her head was hazy from the wine, her body weary from the travelling, but she decided she’d never been happier.
Miroku proved to be a passionate but considerate lover, and she only hoped she pleased him half as much. He charmed her right out of her clothes, but didn’t rush matters, taking his time until she was as comfortable as he. She found something wild within him as they coupled for the first time; it was intoxicating to see beyond the self-contained mask he usually wore. He held her close afterwards, when the pain came, with a whispered “I love you” making everything even better.
Sango continued to stir the stew, not entirely sure her warmth was from the fire, her memories, or both. After such a long engagement, after each nearly losing the other forever in the heat of battle and sacrifice, their bond was very strong. Solidifying their union made returning to their village easier. She felt strong enough to deal with the consequences of life with her lost brother.
The morning after their wedding night, he turned to her and smiled, his gaze full of love and desire. “Would you consider bearing my child?” he asked her, his tone a cross between teasing and earnestness.
She put her arms around his neck and twisted her legs around his. “Only if you allow me more practice,” she replied, kissing him.
Her hand drifted down to her stomach. She was almost certain all that “practice” had led to a baby, and she couldn’t wait to tell Miroku the good news. It was only a matter of time, now; he’d journeyed to a neighboring village after hearing word of an ominous black cloud hanging about.
She stood and walked over to the door, peering out for a sign of his return. Her heart constricted as she saw Kirara pacing around the door of her family’s hut, where Kohaku was staying. Even in this, the happiest period of her life since their family was killed, she felt sadness and worry for her little brother.
Kirara had been spending a lot of time there with him, as if patiently waiting for his memory to be restored. Sango herself had an awkward relationship with him. He addressed her with a formal title, especially now that she was married to Miroku, and stood a polite distance away from her when she was working with the youkai remains in the weapons hut. She’d made overtures towards him about training him to use the new weapons she created, but thus far, he’d been distant. It hurt her, especially considering how close they’d been as children, but she tried not to show it.
Kohaku spent a lot of time in Miroku’s presence, as if working towards the purification he so desperately wanted. Miroku had taken him under his wing, but resisted the idea of giving the boy penance for something he couldn’t remember doing. He told his wife that they’d cross that bridge when they came to it, but otherwise kept his thoughts on the matter to himself, concentrating on building his life with her.
She let the door fall back into place and turned back towards the fire. It was strange, having her brother so close, and yet so far away. She cupped her arms around her stomach. Here she was, back in her village, her family nearby, and her husband on his way home. It was everything she’d always dreamed of having. Now if only she could feel as content as she told herself she should be…
She heard Miroku enter the hut a few moments later, turning to see him brushing the snow from his shoulders. Her heart filled with love as he moved towards her. “Husband,” she whispered, throwing her arms around him.
She could feel him nuzzling down into her warmth. “Wife,” he replied, pressing his cool lips to her neck. “If this is my greeting when I return, I should leave more often.”
She kissed him in response, pressing close, holding him tightly. Perhaps she’d felt more melancholy than she realized...
He gently parted from her, his violet gaze coming to rest on her face. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
She smiled; he could read her like an open book. “I missed you,” she replied, not yet willing to let him go. “And…I have some news.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She swallowed convulsively before leaning up to whisper in his ear. “I’m pregnant.”
He stiffened. She fell back to look into his face, and found his expression priceless. Eyes wide, gaze unfocused, mouth slightly agape. He appeared completely shocked.
“Well?” she finally asked, urgency flooding her stomach. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it?
“Sango,” he said, closing his eyes. “I love you.” He tightened his grip around her waist and swung her around in a circle, causing her to laugh with joy and relief. “I love you!”
He was afraid to close his eyes.
He didn’t want to see the nightmares again.
Ever since the arrival of Lord Miroku and Lady Sango, he had been unable to find peaceful sleep. At first, he chalked it up to his deep desire for purification, for absolution from his sins. And yet, little by little, it was her face that haunted him more and more in the small of the night. It was as if he was teetering on the brink, and he knew that if he did fully regain his memory, he would be cast into a pit of hell. No question.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re being silly,” he told himself, moving onto his side and reaching out to pet Kirara. The cat’s purring increased, and he stretched out to have every possible inch petted. Slowly but surely, Kohaku relaxed as Kirara’s warmth poured over him. His breathing slowed and his eyes grew heavy.
Sleep…
As his eyes fluttered closed, thoughts of the time spent with the two-tailed cat drifted across his mind. Kirara was a welcome companion, gradually inserting himself into Kohaku’s existence. The cat was always near when he was practicing on the training grounds, observing him with bright, shining eyes. When he decided to explore the edges of the village, or visit the graves lined against the north wall, Kirara was there with him, twining between his legs and offering a comforting rub.
The little cat had shown him a secret path to a field of flowers, blooming even at the beginning of winter. Something compelled him to bring back handfuls of those flowers to put on the graves, a way to honor the fallen villagers.
That’s when the nightmares began.
It was nothing specific, just the feeling of horror and dread and nausea, and a vision of a red sea. He was standing in the middle of everything, his hands slick with blood but clutching a weapon of some sort. Always, when he looked up into the sky, he saw her face floating before him. He felt so guilty, so helpless, and he had no idea why.
Kohaku resettled himself in his sleep, drawing his hands away from Kirara’s soft fur. He lay flat on his back, burrowing under the layers of blankets. Kirara stirred awake, standing to look into Kohaku’s face. The boy’s breathing was slow and regular, his face a picture of perfect repose. The cat’s curious red eyes bored into him, as if he could sense the turning tide of Kohaku’s dreams.
Kohaku knelt in the courtyard of the castle, trying to control his trembling hands. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. His poison mask felt suffocating. His heart was beating so fast. He was so nervous. He’d never been on a demon hunt before.
The lord of the castle sat at the entrance, looking down at them with skepticism and some air of disapproval. “These are the best you have? But I see a young girl, and even a child among your numbers.”
The man at the head of the group looked steadily at the lord of the castle. “They are my own son and daughter. They are the best fighters among our clan.”
The man’s words made Kohaku’s heart pump even faster in his chest. This man was his father? He looked up through the curtain of his hair. The man was large and well-built, confidence radiating from every line of his body. His hair was pulled back in a short queue, his back and shoulders covered with armor, his sword tight to his hip. A large weapon lay behind him, a crescent-shaped dagger on the end of a bayonet, gleaming in the moonlight.
This man was obviously strong, and he felt so, so weak.
An arm came around his shoulders. “Relax, Kohaku,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Did you hear that? You’re the best.”
Kohaku looked at the person connected to the voice. Lady Sango? She looked younger, but it was definitely the monk’s wife. She smiled sweetly at him, giving him an encouraging squeeze.
“Father lies,” he heard himself say in a choked voice. Lady Sango ignored his words, grabbing his hand to pull him into a standing position.
“We leave it to you, taijiya!” the lord announced, and there was a rush of wind at that moment. Kohaku could sense the demon looming behind the group. His guts twisted as he slowly turned to face it.
It was a spider.
His eyes grew wide, his hands clammy as he clutched his small sickle and chain. The contents of his stomach rose into his throat, choking him as he stared into the sky.
God, I want to throw up.
“Quickly! Surround it!” their leader – his father – commanded, and the group rushed to their positions. Everyone but him. He was frozen in his place, his eyes locked on the huge, poisonous spider above them. Venom dripped from its pinchers. He closed his eyes and cowered, fear and worry gripping his heart.
I can’t do this! I’m so afraid! Father! Sister!
The spider could sense his weakness. It struck out at him first, trapping him with its webbing.
“Kohaku, stay sharp!” his father called out, pulling him from the silky prison.
“R-right,” he managed. It seemed he could never quite untangle himself from the web. No matter where he moved his feet, a thread was always around him. He felt like he was suffocating, his breath coming back in his face hot and fast. He felt the sweat pouring down his head and back, felt his grip slipping on his weapon. Tears pooled behind his eyes as panic crawled up his spine.
I can’t do this. I’m not like you, Father! I’m not strong!
Then a peace fell around him, as if the world was falling away. His vision blurred, his heart slowed, his breathing stopped. He raised his arm and sliced down, but he had no control over his body; it was as if he was a living puppet. Over and over again, his arm raised and lowered. Blood poured out of the opaque figures in front of him, covering him.
“Kohaku?”
The broken whisper of his name brought him out of his trance. His eyes cleared, and he looked down. The big, tall, confident man – his father – lay at his feet, his head completely severed from his body. Nearby was Lady Sango. It was she who called his name in disbelief.
“Kohaku – why?!”
Did I do this? Did I kill my own father?
He looked around; every single one of the demon-slayers was dead, their bodies strewn across the courtyard. Again, his stomach was in his throat, threatening to return his dinner.
Oh God Oh God Oh God ohgodohgod –
In his panic and despair, his mind blacked out. When he came to, Lady Sango was lying on top of him, her face full of agony and love. “Don’t worry, my brother, we’ll die together and it’ll all be okay…We’ll see Father again very soon…” Blood dripped down onto him, and he saw the arrows piercing her back. Her face fell into the crook of his shoulder, and he screamed.
Kirara cocked his head to the side as Kohaku began to move about in his sleep. He rubbed the boy’s cheek with his head, nudging him to awaken from whatever gripped his mind. Kohaku didn’t comply.
“Do you want to stop feeling?”
It was a voice in the distance, but it held a welcome promise. Kohaku looked out into the great beyond, his eyes focusing on something past the littered bodies of his family and friends. It was a mysterious shadow, just outside his line of vision.
“I can make this all go away. You will remember nothing. You will feel nothing. Do you want that?”
Kohaku squeezed his eyes shut against the cries of his comrades, the tears of his sister, his own internal screams of agony and despair. He was in hell, and here was an offer to escape this nightmare. Dare he take it?
The mysterious figure loomed closer to him, a hand outstretched, a small gleaming shard moving closer to him. “Do you wish to forget this place, this horror?”
He opened his eyes and stared into the blackness beyond the arm. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Then come with me.” He watched as the arm penetrated his body and ripped out his heart. He knew he should cry out, but somehow, no longer felt the urge to mourn the physical pain. Life drained from his body and he lay still, staring with dead eyes at his savior.
“Kukuku, you are now my puppet, Kohaku.” A face passed before him, unknown but yet familiar. “I, Naraku, will find use for you yet.” The hand squeezed his heart, but instead of exploding, it sank into the palm, becoming part and parcel of Naraku’s body.
“No!” Kohaku cried out, bolting upright in on the futon. Kirara bolted for the door as Kohaku pushed the blankets away and crawled into the cold night air, his breathing heavy and hurried. He forced his eyes wide open, but even that didn’t stop the string of memories that washed over him like a flood. He remembered everything – killing his family and friends, becoming a servant of Naraku, killing hundreds of innocent humans, staring down into the face of his sister with his weapon raised at her –
“No!” he shouted again, twisting around and half crawling, half running to the door closest to the training ground. There against the wall rested his armor, his weapon – God, the weapon he wielded against all those humans under a demon’s order – and his sword. His mind was racing, his heart fluttering in his chest, his limbs trembling with panic and despair. For a moment, he was eleven again, crouched with fear on the grounds of that castle, absolutely petrified.
He grabbed the sword and unsheathed it, gripping the hilt with both hands. “What have I done?” he whispered to himself. I’ve committed the greatest dishonor, killing my father and my fellow demon-slayers. “There’s only one honorable way to atone for these sins!”
Closing his eyes, he clutched the sword and turned it to the side, the blade sharp against his belly. He clenched his teeth as tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. God, if only he could stop his hands from shaking so badly –
“Kohaku, no!”
Sango̵ 7;s face dropped into a puzzled frown. When did Miroku learn how to purr? She knew he was good, but that would be a whole new level of amazing. Not that she didn’t like it; the soft, warm vibrations against her neck felt very sensuous.
“Mmrrow!”
Sango shifted, pressing herself back against Miroku and wrapping her hands around his at her waist. He could throw his voice, too? What a talented man she had…
A soft tongue flicked at the end of her nose, and she felt another nudge against her head. She opened her eyes and realized Kirara was standing before her. Suddenly the last few minutes made a lot more sense.
“Kirara?” she asked, shrugging out of her husband’s embrace and sitting up. “What’s wrong?”
The cat mewed at her again, more plaintive this time. Sango’s heart dropped to the lower reaches of her abdomen as he turned to the doorway and called for her again. Kohaku.
She shot up, waking Miroku in the process, and threw on a winter kimono. Kirara watched her with wide eyes from the door, pacing back and forth as she readied herself.
“What’s going on?” Miroku asked, thoroughly confused as he watched her dress with such haste.
“Something’s wrong with Kohaku,” she fretted, her hands shaking as she pushed her hair back from her face. She grabbed a small dagger from the table and rushed out into the cold. Miroku was hot on her heels, pushing his arms into a kimono as he went.
Sango burst through the door of her family’s home, and could hear the sobs coming from the back room. She felt as if she was running through mud as she made her way towards the cries. There, she saw Kohaku huddled by the far door, his hands wrapped around his small katana. He was shaking and sobbing, the blade perilously close to his stomach.
“Kohaku, no!”
The scream was ripped from her throat as she threw herself across the room, knocking him to the ground. She pushed the sword from his hands and put her arms around him, practically smothering him. Tears streamed down her face. “Why, Kohaku? Why?”
Kohaku was sobbing just as hard as she was. “Sister….Sister, I remember everything,” he choked out, burying his face in her shoulder. “Oh, God, I remember everything.”
Warning: Rating increase (from T to Y) due to implied lemon and dark themes, including violence.
Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media. This is merely one girl’s dream of life after “The End.”
“Sango, let’s get married.”
Sango smiled as the pleasant memory washed over her. She looked down at the pot she was currently stirring, happy and grateful to be in the small front room of their hut, near the warmth of the fire. The weather had been especially harsh these last few days, and she hoped her husband would complete his journey in relative safety.
Husband. It was still a bit disconcerting for her to think of Miroku in such intimate terms. She remembered their wedding day as if it happened yesterday, instead of almost three months ago. It was a much-needed joyous event, and probably the one thing that held her fragile emotions intact.
“Sango, let’s get married.”
Sango stopped short, looking at Miroku with surprise and confusion. “You mean now?” she stuttered, a blush stealing across her cheeks. They were in the middle of the road, in the middle of a heavy travelling schedule they had set for themselves. Because they had decided to reside in her home village indefinitely, and because said village had been abandoned for years, they had decided to travel as much as possible before the onset of winter, in order to earn enough money to survive during the snowy months. They were occasionally accompanied by Hachi, but Kirara was staying behind in the village with Kohaku.
They had thus far travelled in relative comfort, relying not only on her demon-slaying skills, but also on his spiritual powers, a welcome supplement for most of the villages they served. The news of Kagome’s disappearance had partially spurred the travel spree; both felt they needed a change of pace from the depressing turn of events.
Miroku pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her and letting one hand slide down to cup her bottom. “Yes, now,” he whispered in her ear, delighting as her face grew even redder at his touch. “I don’t know how much longer I can withstand the urge to practice for those children you promised me.”
Sango laughed. “You lech!” she cried, pushing away from him. “Is that all you care about?”
The mirth died in Miroku’s eyes. “Sango,” he said, his tone serious, his hands moving to a more chaste position on her body. “What are we waiting for? We have defeated Naraku. We have found your brother. We’re starting our lives together.”
She gazed at him steadily, trying to gauge the weight of his words. He was indeed serious, she realized, her heart beginning to be rapidly. And he had a point. There was nothing standing in the way of their official union; they had accomplished all of the goals they set for themselves. Really, it was becoming a matter of principle; could she be as spontaneous, as carefree as him?
“What are we waiting for, my lord monk?” she finally replied, smiling once again and leaning forward to kiss him. “Let’s get married.”
They stopped in the next village and announced their need for a priest. In exchange for performing the spur-of-the-moment nuptials, the priest insisted on having them rid the village of a most irritating weasel demon. The demon had taken up residence in the priest’s home and was wreaking havoc at the shrine he attended.
Sango and Miroku defeated the tricky youkai without much fuss. They had their marriage ceremony the next day, and were given a large wedding feast as a reward from the villagers.
It was nice to finally have a large, complete, filling meal for a change. Miroku was charming everyone, including the headman, managing to wrangle the nicest room in his house for the evening. The wine was flowing freely as well, and Sango let her inhibitions go. She deserved to be happy, she thought. The laughter of the villagers, the love of her newly-minted husband, the good food, and the warm house were a welcome change from the darkness and loneliness that had shrouded her heart for so long.
She pushed the thoughts of her future, of her brother, of her friends from her mind, and let herself relax completely. The feast seemed to last for hours, but finally, Miroku picked her up and carried her from the room, laughter still ringing in her ears. Her head was hazy from the wine, her body weary from the travelling, but she decided she’d never been happier.
Miroku proved to be a passionate but considerate lover, and she only hoped she pleased him half as much. He charmed her right out of her clothes, but didn’t rush matters, taking his time until she was as comfortable as he. She found something wild within him as they coupled for the first time; it was intoxicating to see beyond the self-contained mask he usually wore. He held her close afterwards, when the pain came, with a whispered “I love you” making everything even better.
Sango continued to stir the stew, not entirely sure her warmth was from the fire, her memories, or both. After such a long engagement, after each nearly losing the other forever in the heat of battle and sacrifice, their bond was very strong. Solidifying their union made returning to their village easier. She felt strong enough to deal with the consequences of life with her lost brother.
The morning after their wedding night, he turned to her and smiled, his gaze full of love and desire. “Would you consider bearing my child?” he asked her, his tone a cross between teasing and earnestness.
She put her arms around his neck and twisted her legs around his. “Only if you allow me more practice,” she replied, kissing him.
Her hand drifted down to her stomach. She was almost certain all that “practice” had led to a baby, and she couldn’t wait to tell Miroku the good news. It was only a matter of time, now; he’d journeyed to a neighboring village after hearing word of an ominous black cloud hanging about.
She stood and walked over to the door, peering out for a sign of his return. Her heart constricted as she saw Kirara pacing around the door of her family’s hut, where Kohaku was staying. Even in this, the happiest period of her life since their family was killed, she felt sadness and worry for her little brother.
Kirara had been spending a lot of time there with him, as if patiently waiting for his memory to be restored. Sango herself had an awkward relationship with him. He addressed her with a formal title, especially now that she was married to Miroku, and stood a polite distance away from her when she was working with the youkai remains in the weapons hut. She’d made overtures towards him about training him to use the new weapons she created, but thus far, he’d been distant. It hurt her, especially considering how close they’d been as children, but she tried not to show it.
Kohaku spent a lot of time in Miroku’s presence, as if working towards the purification he so desperately wanted. Miroku had taken him under his wing, but resisted the idea of giving the boy penance for something he couldn’t remember doing. He told his wife that they’d cross that bridge when they came to it, but otherwise kept his thoughts on the matter to himself, concentrating on building his life with her.
She let the door fall back into place and turned back towards the fire. It was strange, having her brother so close, and yet so far away. She cupped her arms around her stomach. Here she was, back in her village, her family nearby, and her husband on his way home. It was everything she’d always dreamed of having. Now if only she could feel as content as she told herself she should be…
She heard Miroku enter the hut a few moments later, turning to see him brushing the snow from his shoulders. Her heart filled with love as he moved towards her. “Husband,” she whispered, throwing her arms around him.
She could feel him nuzzling down into her warmth. “Wife,” he replied, pressing his cool lips to her neck. “If this is my greeting when I return, I should leave more often.”
She kissed him in response, pressing close, holding him tightly. Perhaps she’d felt more melancholy than she realized...
He gently parted from her, his violet gaze coming to rest on her face. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
She smiled; he could read her like an open book. “I missed you,” she replied, not yet willing to let him go. “And…I have some news.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She swallowed convulsively before leaning up to whisper in his ear. “I’m pregnant.”
He stiffened. She fell back to look into his face, and found his expression priceless. Eyes wide, gaze unfocused, mouth slightly agape. He appeared completely shocked.
“Well?” she finally asked, urgency flooding her stomach. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it?
“Sango,” he said, closing his eyes. “I love you.” He tightened his grip around her waist and swung her around in a circle, causing her to laugh with joy and relief. “I love you!”
~*~
Kohaku lay restlessly on his futon, staring up into the depths of darkness that veiled the room. It was almost completely silent, save the little noises of the world as it settled in for the night. He was cold, even under the piles of blankets from every chest in the room. Beside his pillow, Kirara was curled into a little ball, purring softly.He was afraid to close his eyes.
He didn’t want to see the nightmares again.
Ever since the arrival of Lord Miroku and Lady Sango, he had been unable to find peaceful sleep. At first, he chalked it up to his deep desire for purification, for absolution from his sins. And yet, little by little, it was her face that haunted him more and more in the small of the night. It was as if he was teetering on the brink, and he knew that if he did fully regain his memory, he would be cast into a pit of hell. No question.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re being silly,” he told himself, moving onto his side and reaching out to pet Kirara. The cat’s purring increased, and he stretched out to have every possible inch petted. Slowly but surely, Kohaku relaxed as Kirara’s warmth poured over him. His breathing slowed and his eyes grew heavy.
Sleep…
As his eyes fluttered closed, thoughts of the time spent with the two-tailed cat drifted across his mind. Kirara was a welcome companion, gradually inserting himself into Kohaku’s existence. The cat was always near when he was practicing on the training grounds, observing him with bright, shining eyes. When he decided to explore the edges of the village, or visit the graves lined against the north wall, Kirara was there with him, twining between his legs and offering a comforting rub.
The little cat had shown him a secret path to a field of flowers, blooming even at the beginning of winter. Something compelled him to bring back handfuls of those flowers to put on the graves, a way to honor the fallen villagers.
That’s when the nightmares began.
It was nothing specific, just the feeling of horror and dread and nausea, and a vision of a red sea. He was standing in the middle of everything, his hands slick with blood but clutching a weapon of some sort. Always, when he looked up into the sky, he saw her face floating before him. He felt so guilty, so helpless, and he had no idea why.
Kohaku resettled himself in his sleep, drawing his hands away from Kirara’s soft fur. He lay flat on his back, burrowing under the layers of blankets. Kirara stirred awake, standing to look into Kohaku’s face. The boy’s breathing was slow and regular, his face a picture of perfect repose. The cat’s curious red eyes bored into him, as if he could sense the turning tide of Kohaku’s dreams.
Kohaku knelt in the courtyard of the castle, trying to control his trembling hands. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. His poison mask felt suffocating. His heart was beating so fast. He was so nervous. He’d never been on a demon hunt before.
The lord of the castle sat at the entrance, looking down at them with skepticism and some air of disapproval. “These are the best you have? But I see a young girl, and even a child among your numbers.”
The man at the head of the group looked steadily at the lord of the castle. “They are my own son and daughter. They are the best fighters among our clan.”
The man’s words made Kohaku’s heart pump even faster in his chest. This man was his father? He looked up through the curtain of his hair. The man was large and well-built, confidence radiating from every line of his body. His hair was pulled back in a short queue, his back and shoulders covered with armor, his sword tight to his hip. A large weapon lay behind him, a crescent-shaped dagger on the end of a bayonet, gleaming in the moonlight.
This man was obviously strong, and he felt so, so weak.
An arm came around his shoulders. “Relax, Kohaku,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Did you hear that? You’re the best.”
Kohaku looked at the person connected to the voice. Lady Sango? She looked younger, but it was definitely the monk’s wife. She smiled sweetly at him, giving him an encouraging squeeze.
“Father lies,” he heard himself say in a choked voice. Lady Sango ignored his words, grabbing his hand to pull him into a standing position.
“We leave it to you, taijiya!” the lord announced, and there was a rush of wind at that moment. Kohaku could sense the demon looming behind the group. His guts twisted as he slowly turned to face it.
It was a spider.
His eyes grew wide, his hands clammy as he clutched his small sickle and chain. The contents of his stomach rose into his throat, choking him as he stared into the sky.
God, I want to throw up.
“Quickly! Surround it!” their leader – his father – commanded, and the group rushed to their positions. Everyone but him. He was frozen in his place, his eyes locked on the huge, poisonous spider above them. Venom dripped from its pinchers. He closed his eyes and cowered, fear and worry gripping his heart.
I can’t do this! I’m so afraid! Father! Sister!
The spider could sense his weakness. It struck out at him first, trapping him with its webbing.
“Kohaku, stay sharp!” his father called out, pulling him from the silky prison.
“R-right,” he managed. It seemed he could never quite untangle himself from the web. No matter where he moved his feet, a thread was always around him. He felt like he was suffocating, his breath coming back in his face hot and fast. He felt the sweat pouring down his head and back, felt his grip slipping on his weapon. Tears pooled behind his eyes as panic crawled up his spine.
I can’t do this. I’m not like you, Father! I’m not strong!
Then a peace fell around him, as if the world was falling away. His vision blurred, his heart slowed, his breathing stopped. He raised his arm and sliced down, but he had no control over his body; it was as if he was a living puppet. Over and over again, his arm raised and lowered. Blood poured out of the opaque figures in front of him, covering him.
“Kohaku?”
The broken whisper of his name brought him out of his trance. His eyes cleared, and he looked down. The big, tall, confident man – his father – lay at his feet, his head completely severed from his body. Nearby was Lady Sango. It was she who called his name in disbelief.
“Kohaku – why?!”
Did I do this? Did I kill my own father?
He looked around; every single one of the demon-slayers was dead, their bodies strewn across the courtyard. Again, his stomach was in his throat, threatening to return his dinner.
Oh God Oh God Oh God ohgodohgod –
In his panic and despair, his mind blacked out. When he came to, Lady Sango was lying on top of him, her face full of agony and love. “Don’t worry, my brother, we’ll die together and it’ll all be okay…We’ll see Father again very soon…” Blood dripped down onto him, and he saw the arrows piercing her back. Her face fell into the crook of his shoulder, and he screamed.
Kirara cocked his head to the side as Kohaku began to move about in his sleep. He rubbed the boy’s cheek with his head, nudging him to awaken from whatever gripped his mind. Kohaku didn’t comply.
“Do you want to stop feeling?”
It was a voice in the distance, but it held a welcome promise. Kohaku looked out into the great beyond, his eyes focusing on something past the littered bodies of his family and friends. It was a mysterious shadow, just outside his line of vision.
“I can make this all go away. You will remember nothing. You will feel nothing. Do you want that?”
Kohaku squeezed his eyes shut against the cries of his comrades, the tears of his sister, his own internal screams of agony and despair. He was in hell, and here was an offer to escape this nightmare. Dare he take it?
The mysterious figure loomed closer to him, a hand outstretched, a small gleaming shard moving closer to him. “Do you wish to forget this place, this horror?”
He opened his eyes and stared into the blackness beyond the arm. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Then come with me.” He watched as the arm penetrated his body and ripped out his heart. He knew he should cry out, but somehow, no longer felt the urge to mourn the physical pain. Life drained from his body and he lay still, staring with dead eyes at his savior.
“Kukuku, you are now my puppet, Kohaku.” A face passed before him, unknown but yet familiar. “I, Naraku, will find use for you yet.” The hand squeezed his heart, but instead of exploding, it sank into the palm, becoming part and parcel of Naraku’s body.
“No!” Kohaku cried out, bolting upright in on the futon. Kirara bolted for the door as Kohaku pushed the blankets away and crawled into the cold night air, his breathing heavy and hurried. He forced his eyes wide open, but even that didn’t stop the string of memories that washed over him like a flood. He remembered everything – killing his family and friends, becoming a servant of Naraku, killing hundreds of innocent humans, staring down into the face of his sister with his weapon raised at her –
“No!” he shouted again, twisting around and half crawling, half running to the door closest to the training ground. There against the wall rested his armor, his weapon – God, the weapon he wielded against all those humans under a demon’s order – and his sword. His mind was racing, his heart fluttering in his chest, his limbs trembling with panic and despair. For a moment, he was eleven again, crouched with fear on the grounds of that castle, absolutely petrified.
He grabbed the sword and unsheathed it, gripping the hilt with both hands. “What have I done?” he whispered to himself. I’ve committed the greatest dishonor, killing my father and my fellow demon-slayers. “There’s only one honorable way to atone for these sins!”
Closing his eyes, he clutched the sword and turned it to the side, the blade sharp against his belly. He clenched his teeth as tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. God, if only he could stop his hands from shaking so badly –
“Kohaku, no!”
~*~
“Prrroew?”Sango̵ 7;s face dropped into a puzzled frown. When did Miroku learn how to purr? She knew he was good, but that would be a whole new level of amazing. Not that she didn’t like it; the soft, warm vibrations against her neck felt very sensuous.
“Mmrrow!”
Sango shifted, pressing herself back against Miroku and wrapping her hands around his at her waist. He could throw his voice, too? What a talented man she had…
A soft tongue flicked at the end of her nose, and she felt another nudge against her head. She opened her eyes and realized Kirara was standing before her. Suddenly the last few minutes made a lot more sense.
“Kirara?” she asked, shrugging out of her husband’s embrace and sitting up. “What’s wrong?”
The cat mewed at her again, more plaintive this time. Sango’s heart dropped to the lower reaches of her abdomen as he turned to the doorway and called for her again. Kohaku.
She shot up, waking Miroku in the process, and threw on a winter kimono. Kirara watched her with wide eyes from the door, pacing back and forth as she readied herself.
“What’s going on?” Miroku asked, thoroughly confused as he watched her dress with such haste.
“Something’s wrong with Kohaku,” she fretted, her hands shaking as she pushed her hair back from her face. She grabbed a small dagger from the table and rushed out into the cold. Miroku was hot on her heels, pushing his arms into a kimono as he went.
Sango burst through the door of her family’s home, and could hear the sobs coming from the back room. She felt as if she was running through mud as she made her way towards the cries. There, she saw Kohaku huddled by the far door, his hands wrapped around his small katana. He was shaking and sobbing, the blade perilously close to his stomach.
“Kohaku, no!”
The scream was ripped from her throat as she threw herself across the room, knocking him to the ground. She pushed the sword from his hands and put her arms around him, practically smothering him. Tears streamed down her face. “Why, Kohaku? Why?”
Kohaku was sobbing just as hard as she was. “Sister….Sister, I remember everything,” he choked out, burying his face in her shoulder. “Oh, God, I remember everything.”