InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Tsubaki's Revenge ❯ Manners ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimer: This story is based on "Inuyasha," copyrighted by Rumiko Takahashi. No infringement of copyright intended or implied.

 

 

Tsubaki's Revenge, Part VIII: Manners

 

Tsubaki.

 

Kikyo closed her eyes and bowed her head, as an exhausted Kaede slumped in her hold. Tsubaki. The dark priestess, who had tried to curse her with early death. The woman who had tried to kill her and steal the Shikon No Tama. Kikyo had not been able to kill a sister priestess, even one who had turned to the dark path. She had thought Tsubaki punished enough, with the backlash of her own spell.

 

And here was the price for her leniency. Inuyasha captured. Not dead: of that she was certain. It wouldn't be in the dark priestess' nature to simply kill him. Tsubaki would have realized that the Shikon No Tama was destroyed. She would torture Inuyasha simply because of his connection to her. If Tsubaki learned that he was himself responsible for the jewel's disappearance…

 

She opened her eyes, not caring if anyone saw the tears tracing down her cheeks. “I have to go after her,” she whispered. “I can't let her destroy him.”

 

“And I'm going, too.”

 

Kikyo looked down at met Kaede's eye. “No, little sister.” She combed the ragged bangs back. “This is my fight. Not yours.”

 

“But—“

 

She put a finger over Kaede's lips. “I need you here.”

 

 

 

He woke slowly, feeling groggy and exhausted. Feeling his torso throb in pain, he growled, then in the silence remembered his first awakening. Keeping his eyes closed, he concentrated on his ears and nose. Deciding that no one was in the room, he leveraged himself to a sitting position, and then started to examine himself. The burns on his shoulder had disappeared, save for some scarring. His left forearm was entirely covered with skin, but the flesh underneath was shrunken and malformed, with the last two fingers still immobile.

 

He examined what he could see of his gut wound. The wound had shrunk to a ragged, star-shaped scar, but it was still swollen and, as a careful finger proved, still quite tender. The larger area around the scar was darkly bruised and sensitive. He sighed, ears dropping. The feeling of motion surprised him a little. Reaching up, he discovered that his ears had regrown, but not completely, ending in tattered, ragged edges. His hair in the front was growing back, but at the moment, was no more than a thick bristle, less than the width of a finger.

 

Looking around the room, he saw that it was nearly as large as Kikyo's hut, but almost entirely empty, save for the crumpled heap of the material he must have been sleeping under the first time. There was also, along one wall, what appeared to be a wooden drinking vessel.

 

He sniffed. Water. He became aware of the dryness of his mouth and throat. He almost obeyed the first impulse to scramble over to the container and drain it. Two thoughts held him back. The first; that he was a prisoner, that the witch almost certainly had a watch on him, and he was cursed if he was going to make it obvious how thirsty he was.

And second was the distinctly embarrassing memory of the results of the purloined bowl of stew. His stomach felt better, but he wasn't ready to trust it.

 

Climbing to his feet, the hanyo had to wait for his head to stop spinning. When his head cleared, he walked over to the abandoned cloth and picked it up. As expected, it was a roughly woven, undyed, oversized kimono. He was tempted to drop it with a disdainful sneer, but the epithet of `puppy' was still annoying him. The witch expected him to be uncivilized? He thought that a lot of things humans did were downright stupid, and he normally didn't care what humans thought about him. But he was cursed if he was going to do what the witch expected.

 

The kimono was large enough to hide the privates even without a belt. Making his way over to the wall where the water was, Inuyasha seated himself with as much surface nonchalance as he could. Sniffing as he picked up the container, he decided that it contained only water. Nevertheless, he forced himself to take only a modest sip, working the water around his mouth before swallowing. He waited awhile, and then took several more cautious swallows. Setting the container back down, he leaned back, folded his arms into the generous folds of the sleeves, and pretended to go to sleep.

 

Concentrating on hearing and nose, Inuyasha sought hints of where he was and who besides the witch was keeping him prisoner. He detected a forest, and sun-heated grass, but nothing suggesting crops or gardens. Catching the hint of humming, he finally decided that the witch was at least two rooms away. He smelled nothing else that smelled remotely human, but there were distinct odors of demons, both lingering and present. He detected nothing to suggest they were very strong demons—nothing he wouldn't be able to dispatch with a single blow, even in his weakened state. Nevertheless, they made him uneasy, because he couldn't understand their presence. The woman was not another Naraku, he was certain. She had her own source of power, so why was she apparently working with demons—and quite minor ones at that?

 

The riddle remained unanswered as Inuyasha detected light footsteps heading towards the room approaching the room. The scent of paper, ink, and youkai preceded the sliding back of the door. Lazily, Inuyasha opened his eyes and turned his head. A short, slender `man' dressed all in black stepped through. Inuyasha looked at him, not moving, his face deliberately blank.

 

The puppet bowed. “The Lady Tsubaki has instructed that the hanyo is to be bathed and clothed, if so it desires. If the hanyo would follow this one?”

 

His ears twitched. After silencing him and knocking him out, now she was offering him a bath and clothing? Inuyasha entertained the thought of finding out just how flimsy the paper-smelling thing was. He doubted it could stand up to his physical claws, let alone the power attack. It would be so satisfying to shred it into tiny pieces of paper.

 

But he didn't quite dare. His sense of self-preservation kept slapping down every impulsive thought that came to him. But he knew it was not the time to show fight. He didn't know how powerful this `Tsubaki' was; but her previous actions were an ominous clue. Attacking her, at the moment, was apt to get him further injured, or dead.

 

Part of him didn't give a damn.

 

Another part of him did. The part that wanted to get back to Kikyo. The part that wanted to be with Kikyo, to take care of her, like she'd been taking care of him.

 

Something he couldn't do if he acted too much like his usual impulsive self and got killed.

 

He growled to himself and rose with apparent smoothness to his feet. Nodding to the puppet, he fell in behind it after it bowed and turned around, walking out of the room.

 

 

Trailing the shikigami, Inuyasha felt his skin prickling as he was led through what—to his eyes—appeared to be several vacant rooms. His nose was picking up scents that where in disagreement with his eyes and even his sense of touch told him. Was someone—this `Tsubaki'—using illusions against him? Why else would he see floor mats and wood, and smell crushed grass? He tried to keep his ears from flattening and his hands from arching—if the witch was using illusions, he didn't want her to realize that she was failing to fool his nose.

 

But he forgot that, as the shikigami opened a door and gestured him to enter. He took a step over the threshold, and then stared in shock and a surge of memory.

 

It was a bathhouse, but tiled and decorated in a manner that only the nobility could afford.

 

Like the one his mother's family had owned.

 

For a moment, he thought it was the same bathhouse. Then memories became clearer, and he knew this was not the same one. The family version had been tiled in green, yellow and white, with the family's crest in the design. This was a much plainer blue and white, with no real pattern. It was also smaller.

 

“Clothing is provided in the next room,” said the puppet, with a bow. “The lady will see you after you have dressed.” The door slid shut.

 

Inuyasha kept himself from sneering. He had no doubt the witch was keeping some sort of watch on him. He eyed the hot pool, the irritating smell of minerals suggesting that the source of the water was a hot spring, wondering if she expected him to be so ignorant that he would simply plunge in. Turning his back on it, he looked for a proper alcove. A panel on the opposite wall slid back, revealing what he was looking for. Eying the buckets of water, he pulled his hair forward, grimacing internally as he examined it. Between them, Kaede and Kikyo had tried to remove the blood from his hair, but wet cloths and combs had only taken the worst of it out. Pulling off the kimono and dropping it into an empty basket, he picked up a dipper, leaned over one of the buckets and began to pour water over his hair, careful to waste as little as possible. He could not keep the grimace off his face as he picked up the only cleanser in the alcove—a sharp-smelling slab of harsh, lye soap. He could smell the lingering, floral scent of a milder soap, but the witch obviously wasn't inclined to share.

 

Eventually deciding that he was as clean as he could stand to make himself, Inuyasha dashed the last bucket of water—now barely warm—over his head. Resisting the instinctive urge to shake himself, he set the empty bucket precisely in its original position. Wringing the water out of his hair, he coiled it loosely on top of his head, then used a long, narrow cloth from a shelf to keep it in place. Flicking another, smaller cloth from the shelf, he held it ostentatiously in front of himself, he stepped carefully back into the main room. He slipped into the water with barely a ripple, smirking inside. Just because he hadn't had a chance to use a bathhouse since he was a child, didn't mean he was an ignorant barbarian.

 

The hot water was painful on his half-healed wounds at first. But as the pain eased, he began to relax. He had forgotten what it felt like to be immersed in hot water. A hunted hanyo could never dare try to relax even in the most hidden hot spring pool he might locate; and, of course, the human-built baths were forever out of reach. He had forgotten how good it felt—

 

Memory washed over him, with an anguish that made his eyes sting. Hastily leaning forward, he dipped the cloth in the water and then splashed his face as he fought not to let any tears out. He remembered. Some of his favorite times with his mother had been in the bath, usually at odd hours, late in the evening, when no one else would be there. How he had loved those times! Sometimes he would splash water all around, giggling at her gentle chiding; other times, he would happily sit across from her as she told a story, and sometimes, he would simply lean against her, wrapped around her arm, content simply to be. He had always felt so safe those times! So safe, and warm, so happy and feeling loved—and all of it washed away when his mother died.

 

Angry and irritated, he dipped the cloth and splashed his face again. Why should he be all upset now? He would have lost his mother long ago, even if she hadn't died of the fever that winter. He'd long since grown old enough not to need a mother. He didn't need to be protected. He didn't need to be—

 

His thoughts can to an abrupt halt, as a realization came to him. Like it or not, he had been needing protection—and he had gotten it. From Kikyo. He remembered how easily he had fallen asleep on her shoulder that day. How he had woken up another night, feverish and shaking from a nightmare, and she had been there, soothing him, softly singing a lullaby. He had felt safe, he realized. For the first time since his mother had died, he had felt safe, and cared for.

 

And now this damned witch had tricked Kikyo, and snatched him away, making him a prisoner. Did Kikyo even know if he was still alive? Would she come hunting for him? When he managed to escape, would he be able to find her? And how was he going to escape? The witch must be powerful, to destroy his voice with a simple snap of fingers. How was he to defeat her? He knew how to fight youkai. He knew how to not get caught and killed by demon-slayers or mikos or priests. But a witch?

 

He felt anger flaring within him, and forced it down. He couldn't afford to lose his temper again. He had to be patient, he had to keep his head. He had to learn about his enemy, learn her weakness. This was a hunt, he told himself. A hunt against a dangerous and cunning prey. He must be the patient stalker, the watcher, waiting for the right moment to strike.

 

I will do it, he thought, sinking deeper into the water, until it lapped his chin. I will come back to you, my Kikyo. I promise.

 

 

Kikyo knelt across from the headman, the forlorn scrap of cloth before her. “I know the village may be at risk, if I leave. But I can't leave Inuyasha in her hands. She'll torture him, she'll try to break his mind and will. I can't let her do that—not to anyone, and not to him.”

 

Yasuo sighed, looked at the bloodstained piece of cloth. “He does not deserve that,” he agreed softly. “Hopefully I could say that, even if he hadn't saved our people.” He met Kikyo's weary but relieved gaze as she looked up. “You have guarded and healed us since your arrival, miko-sama,” he said. “It would be selfish, to insist you stay here, when your hanyo and your heart need you to go.”

 

Beside him, Satsuki stirred. He glanced at her and gave a minute nod. Her answering glance included a quick smile. “And I will answer before you ask, miko-sama. Yasuo-dono and I would be honored to care for your sister, while you are gone.”

 

Kikyo looked startled. “You and—“ She looked back and forth between the two people, before bringing her gaze back to Yasuo. “You've—decided?”

 

He smiled, somewhat sadly. “A death—well, in this case, an apparent death—reminds one that there is only a limited time for living. My wife would say I have mourned for her too long as it is. And I have known for months, that Satsuki is the one I would most want to live the remainder of my life with.”

 

Kikyo smiled. “I will have to find Inuyasha quickly. I would not want to miss your wedding.”

 

Yasuo shook his head, though pleased by her reaction. “We will not wed until some time after the rice harvest—would I dishonor Satsuki-san with a hasty wedding?” Beside him, Satsuki snorted.

 

“Stupid husband-to-be,” she said cheerfully. “Think you, I truly care if we have a ceremony or not? Once was enough for me. But, alas, you are the headman, and we do not need every person in this village, and every village in this region, to be gossiping about your—indiscretions.”

 

Yasuo shook his head. “We can argue later, wife-to-be. But for now—miko-sama, how else may we help you? And, if I may ask, how do you hope to find Inuyasha? Do you know where this Tsubaki lives?”

 

Kikyo reached as if to touch the scrap of cloth. “His blood on this cloth will lead me,” she said. “There is a spell I can use: his blood will call to his blood.” She sighed, looking weary again. “Complicated spells, such as Tsubaki uses, have never been my preference. Healing was what I loved learning, at the temple, and archery and giving my power to the sacred arrows I learned without effort. But the ceremonies, and the spells…” she shook her head. “But I have no choice. I must find him, as quickly as I can.”

 

“And we will give you our prayers,” Satsuki said, standing up and moving over to kneel next to the young priestess. She gave Kikyo a hug. “We will pray to the gods that they guide your steps, and that they give you the strength to defeat this dark priestess quickly.”

 

 

 

Kikyo walked down the steps from the shrine. She had chosen to cast her finding spell within its protective confines. It appeared to have worked—she knew which direction to go—but she felt so drained! She didn't recall feeling so tired the last time she had cast the spell. Oh the other hand, she had spent much of her energy yesterday, and had slept poorly, so little wonder she found it harder to work the spell.

 

The horse—and most of the village—were waiting for her at the bottom of the hill. Yasuo gave her a questioning glance, to which she gave a slight nod in reply, touching the scrap of cloth tucked into her sash. He stepped back and out of the way, patting her shoulder as she walked to the horse.

 

Out of habit, she checked the saddle girth and the fastenings of the various items attached to the saddle. She paused as she touched a bag she hadn't put on. “What's this?” she asked aloud. “Who put this here?”

 

“I did.” Kikyo looked over at her sister, as Kaede stepped out of the crowd. “It's Inuyasha's fire-rat robes,” she said. “He'll want them, when you find him.”

 

Kikyo blinked, chagrined to realize that she hadn't thought about what Inuyasha would wear, after she freed him. Medicines and bandages to tend his wounds, yes, but clothing? Still—“Kaede, they're only rags. They won't do him any good.”

 

“But they're not rags, not now!” Kaede exclaimed. “Take a look!”

 

Hesitating, Kikyo turned back to the bag and unfastened the ties. Reaching in, she pulled out the top layer. Her eyes widened, as she held out the red kimono. A quarter moon ago, when she had removed the kimono from Inuyasha's body, she would have sworn that there was not one piece of it wider than her hand. She would have tossed the rags in the fire, save for knowing that they wouldn't burn, and also knowing that they were all Inuyasha had from his parents.

 

But this kimono was in one piece. It was still torn and tattered, but there were no bloodstains and no burns. Very faintly, she could feel a whisper of youkai power in the cloth—and it was familiar. Inuyasha.

 

She felt a lightening of heart, and a lift of energy. Inuyasha was alive. Somehow, the kimono seemed to be telling her that, more clearly than her reasoning had. Carefully, she folded the material and held it to her breasts a moment before placing it back in the bag. “Thank-you, Kaede,” she said, looking at her sister, just a bit misty-eyed. “You are right. He will want those.”

 

Kaede rushed up and hugged her, which Kikyo returned. “You'll come back—both of you!” she said. “Please promise you'll come back!”

 

“I'll do the very best I can,” Kikyo replied, not willing to make a promise she knew she might not be able to keep.” Kaede looked hurt, and Kikyo shook her head. “I promise that I'll not come back without him.”

 

She would keep that promise.

 

 

Tsubaki studied the final lines of her written spell, a small smile on her lips. It had been a good day, despite a few drawbacks. Kikyo had broken the spell on her sister, just as expected, and had taken the bait. The number of youkai attracted to her lure had increased, allowing her to be more selective. And the hanyo was proving to be much easier to subdue than she had guessed. Taking its voice had obviously shaken it so badly that it hadn't even tried to test her spells against escape.

 

Though it was a pity that it had managed to elude her trap in the bathhouse. Who would have thought it knew enough to clean itself before attempting to enter the main tub?

 

The door behind her slid back. Tsubaki continued to review the scroll, unconcerned about any attempt to attack her from behind. Even a taiyoukai would have problems with her shield, let alone a mere hanyo. Her indifference to its position directly behind her should have a satisfactory subduing effect on the hanyo. Even better, of course, would be the lesson she was going to teach it, about its utterly futility in selecting proper clothing for itself. The bathing house escape might well be due to some primitive level of reasoning, and presumably some sort of instincts about cleanliness. But no instinct or reasoning could help it with the clothes she had stacked around the room, all of them be-spelled to look and feel like the finest silks, and in every color possible. Who knew if it even saw in color? It certainly had no sense for clothes, given that ridiculous peasant garb it had been wearing when she had rescued it.

 

The faint rustle of silk told her that the hanyo was moving. She looked up, prepared to laugh at its ridiculous appearance.

 

Instead, her thoughts froze.

 

White was what she first saw as she raised her eyes. The hair that had been a tangled, dirty mass of stained strands was a glimmering fall of pure white cascading past his hips. Against the dark blue haori that she knew was real silk and not illusion, his hair blazed. It swayed slightly as he walked, his steps silent, save for the whisper of silk from the pleated hakama that matched the haori, and her eyes followed that fall that was thicker and longer than her own treasured locks, almost hypnotized.

 

He turned to face her. Golden eyes, brighter than any polished coin, met her gaze squarely from under dramatic black eyebrows. The hair on top of his head was a short, thick bristle, which oddly did not distract from his appearance. The tattered tips of his dog-like ears were barely visible through locks of hair that had been carefully combed forward.

 

He paused by the flat cushion, standing tall and poised, and she drank in his appearance. The sleeved haori was decorated with red and gold appliqués of dragons. Arms folded across his chest, hands hidden in the voluminous sleeves, he gave her a long, intense look.

 

Tsubaki stared back, aware of nothing but the image before her. Eyes locked onto hers, he stepped forward onto the cushion with stockinged feet, and then slowly went to his knees, his eyes not once wavering from hers. Unfolding his arms, he placed his loosely-fisted hands on his thighs, revealing the edges of the dark blue and inner white kimonos he wore underneath the haori.

 

He was exotic, handsome, and graceful beyond anything she had ever seen. Almost panting, her heart racing, inexplicably warm, Tsubaki could not look away. The fool of a nobleman she'd entertained a week ago was an overweight, petulant, dull nonentity compared to the young man before her. His intense gaze, that golden fire, said things—promised things—she wanted—she wanted—

 

He started. His eyes widened a moment, as he stared at her, and then, with a jerk, he looked away, red flushing across his cheeks. Contact broken, Tsubaki found herself able to yank her own gaze away, staring down at her scroll with something like shock. She'd never felt more than the faintest echo of such a reaction before. But she knew what it was. Impossible as it was.

 

Attraction.

 

To a hanyo.

 

Tsubaki fought to keep her emotions from showing as shame and embarrassment flashed through her. This couldn't be! Attraction to a hanyo, a vile mix of human and youkai? As well be attracted to a mindless, ravaging beast! This couldn't happen to her! She was no mere woman, to be slave to bodily needs! Let that weak-willed Kikyo succumb to the urge to give herself to a male! She was Tsubaki, beautiful and pure, and no male—human or monster—was going to sully her!

 

She removed the weights holding the scroll open and rolled it shut. Precisely placing the weights on the desk surface gave her a few more moments to reassert control over her face and body. Finally looking back up, she found his gaze directed at her again. She met it, calling on hate to strengthen her will. She already had cause to hate him—it, she reminded herself. It had destroyed the Shikon No Tama. Now it was trying to turn her own body against her—well, it wouldn't succeed!

 

“At least, now I see why Kikyo fell so easily to my curse,” she said, smiling. “You almost look like a very pretty human boy, properly dressed. I, of course, could never be seduced by a mere hanyo. Unlike that pathetic excuse of a miko.”

 

It blinked, then stared harder, eyes narrowing a little. “Surprised, little puppy?” she asked, with a slight sneer. “You think I didn't know all about Kikyo and her hanyo lover? After all, I'm the one who cursed her with death.”

 

It started, looking surprised, then disbelieving. It shook its head, and blew out a silent snort. “What, you don't believe me?” Tsubaki asked, projecting amusement. “Well, I suppose she never told you. She wouldn't. But I can assure you, it was an excellent curse. Why else do you think a miko of her power would fall in love with a mere hanyo? Why else do you think her powers weakened, to the point she could be slain by a youkai?”

 

It flinched and stared at her, face paling. Tsubaki smiled, and pressed on the weakness she had uncovered. “You don't really believe a woman like Kikyo could love a vile, dirty abomination of a hanyo of her own free will, do you? Oh, pity you, perhaps, but to fall in love with a dog-eared thing like you?” She laughed. “You're pathetic! She doesn't love you—she only thinks she does!”

 

 

Inuyasha sank his claws into the palms of his hands as his mind screamed under the impact of the witch's barbed words. Words that echoed all the words thrown at him for nearly all the decades of his life, from human and youkai alike. Freak. Abomination. Dirty. Filthy. Half-blood, hanyo, hanyo, hanyo!

 

He looked down, grinding his teeth against the snarl of rage and pain that wanted to tear itself out of him. He tried to fight the howl of pain, the burning rage that he had started to cage, since he had first realized that Kikyo wasn't just trying to trap him with her attempts to converse with him. The witch was lying, he told himself. This was just an attack. She was trying to hurt him, just as surely if she using a knife instead of words. But he wouldn't give in! He wouldn't!

 

Closing his eyes, panting through his clenched and bared teeth, Inuyasha struggled to bring memories to his mind, calling on fragile, new defenses he had been learning to summon against the pain. Little fingers gently stroking his ears, little arms fearlessly flinging themselves around his neck. A one-eyed girl, standing straight against her fear, affectionately calling him `older brother.' A middle-aged man, thanking him—thanking him—for saving his people.

 

And a spirit's praise. You are indeed worthy of love. If he could not believe a miko's words—the words of a miko whose soul had spent untold years trapped in a battle against evil—then who could he believe?

 

Worthy of love. Inuyasha opened his eyes, pushing the pain and the rage back. Worthy of love. Turning his hands over, he forced his hands to unclench, watching the puncture wounds stop bleeding, shrink to pinpoints and disappear. Turning his hands back over on his thighs, he breathed deeply, forcing his jaws to relax. Straightening, he raised his head and looked at the witch.

 

She stopped laughing. She frowned a little, studying him. He studied her, trying to read her scent without obvious sniffing. She scowled, looking annoyed. Considering, he smiled at her. He knew who had won this round.

 

She glared at him. “Don't get over-confident, little puppy,” she snarled. “I didn't save your worthless life out of the goodness of my heart.”

 

He cocked an eyebrow at her and nodded, his smile gone. Some of the ire left her face, and she smirked again. “I'm sure you've been wondering why I saved your life.”

 

Inuyasha shrugged. “You don't know, or you don't care?” He gazed steadily at her, not trying to answer. She looked annoyed again, then, with a toss of her head, visibly forced the annoyance out of her expression. “It's really quite simple, little puppy,” she said with a false, simpering smile. “You've made me very angry at you. You destroyed something that was supposed to be mine.” He blinked, bewildered. She didn't give him any time to wonder. “The Shikon No Tama should have been mine—not Kikyo's. I would have turned it to much better use than she would have, or you did. Wasting it on a few stupid villagers!” she sneered. “You're such a fool, hanyo!”

 

Inuyasha stared at her, taken aback. He was a fool? Remembering the power he'd felt inside the jewel, from both halves, he knew the real fool was sitting across from him. The night after the episode of purloined stew, too much in pain to sleep, he had welcomed Kikyo's questions about the fate of the Shikon jewel. In turn, she had told him the history of the jewel, as much as she had learned from the taijiya headman. He had that night become grateful that he had not ever captured the jewel for himself, for he'd found himself agreeing with Kikyo's conclusion. He could have become youkai, but at the cost of his heart and soul.

 

Staying hanyo forever was better than paying that price.

 

Her sharp eyes apparently caught some clue of what was going through his mind. “You think I'm the fool, don't you?” she challenged. “You think I couldn't control the jewel? Well, you're wrong!” Her hands curled into fists. “You think I'm just a weak, human woman with a few tricks, don't you? You think you just need to wait for a moment of weakness, and then you'll escape, don't you?”

 

He shook his head, but she didn't appear to notice, her blue eyes glittering. “Well, you're wrong. I am Tsubaki, a dark priestess. I am now more powerful than Kikyo, as she'll find out when she tries to find you. I am going to kill you, very, very slowly, and she's going to watch. And then I will kill her, and her sister, and I will curse that village with sickness and suffering. And it will be all your fault, hanyo. Your fault for destroying the Shikon No Tama.”

 

His ears canted backwards, and if he could have, he would have been growling. Was the witch mad? Wanting vengeance on him and Kikyo, that was one thing. But the villagers? They were only innocent bystanders!

 

She saw his snarl. “Angry, at you? Well, you're not as angry as I am! Shall I show you? Here!” Tsubaki pulled a small, very slender knife from out of a sleeve. “I had to use very powerful spells to save your life, you know. I put a spell of timelessness on you in Kikyo's hut, to keep you from dying. Then when I got back here, I had to take that off and put a spell of healing on you. But do you know what the difference between a spell and a curse is?” she asked, then swept on. “Intent. And that spell on your wound is still active. And I can turn it from a spell of healing, to a curse, so easily. Like this.”

 

She thrust the point of the tiny knife into the wooden table before her, whispering in words Inuyasha didn't recognize.

 

His wound throbbed, as pain stabbed from front to back. Inuyasha gasped, then gritted his teeth. She twisted the knife in the table top, and the pain grew. She continued to whisper, eyes glittering at she watched him. Inuyasha felt cold sweat break out on his forehead as the pain mounted with each beat of his heart. He clenched his fists, staring back at her, determined not to react or give in.

 

The pain seared. He refused to move. Refused to scream. He glared, ears now flat against his skull. She glared back, the triumph in her eyes replaced by anger, her voice rising as she continued her spell, small curls of wood gathering at the tip of the knife as she punished the table. The pain became ever hotter, and his body was frozen with the tension, but he continued to match her glare, willing himself not to give in. He was youkai and human, and no damned witch's spell was going to make him scream! His vision began to haze. Anger flared, and he felt a different kind of fire flooding his veins. He snarled, baring his fangs.

 

The snarl reached his ears.

 

And hers.

 

She started, her concentration shattering. The knife dropped from her hand, and she sagged, nearly collapsing, her face going gray.

 

Inuyasha found himself crumpling forward as the pain vanished. He gasped for air, panting, as his head swam. Shaking, he forced to his feet. Swaying, he stared at the slumping woman, realizing that she was at his mercy. Cracking his knuckles, he raised his hand. One swipe of his claws would destroy her, just as he had destroyed so many youkai. One swipe and he would be free, to return to Kikyo, to the village.

 

He arched his fingers.

 

And hesitated.

 

She was a human. A woman.

 

And a promise stood between his claws and her death. Promise me, Inuyasha. His mother's voice whispered in his ears, as her drawn face danced before his eyes. Promise me.

 

“Damn it!” With a curse, Inuyasha clenched his fist, turned, and staggered towards the door. He had to get out, before the witch recovered. He willed his legs to move faster. He would run. He could run. He would get out of this place, out of her reach. He would run, run all the way back to the village, to Kikyo. Then he would rest.

 

He made it past the door, into the next room. The dizziness began to fade, and his legs stopped feeling as if they were going to collapse. The opposite door was wide open, and he could see a porch, and beyond it, forest, shadowed with twilight. Heart lifting, Inuyasha sprang forward.

 

He leapt through the door, his leap taking him clear across the porch and across the steps. Grass cushioned his landing, and he felt a laugh starting to bubble in his throat. Gods. Free--

 

Something small and sharp buried itself in his back. Startled, Inuyasha whirled. Next to the door stood the shikigami, face expressionless, its arm extended from the act of throwing. Reaching behind him, Inuyasha pulled out the small knife, thought of throwing it back at the shikigami, then shrugged off the notion and dropped it. Why bother attacking a puppet? He turned his face back towards the woods and sprang.

 

But instead of his legs driving him off the ground and into the free air, he found them giving way. He slammed down onto his face. Stunned, he tried to push himself off the ground, only to discover that his arms failed to work. Paralyzed! The knife—it had to have been the knife.

 

He would have screamed with rage, but found his throat once again paralyzed. Damn it! He'd been so close! So close!

 

Small feet appeared within his very limited range of vision. “The lady Tsubaki gave orders that the hanyo was not allowed to leave,” said the shikigami. “The poison works on human and youkai blood. It will not kill the hanyo, but it will be unable to move until the mistress gives the antidote. This one extends its apologies. It acts only as the mistress requires.”

 

A polite shikigami.

 

What was with this woman's stupid obsession with manners?

 

Not that it mattered.

 

He'd lost what was probably his best chance to get free.

 

And he couldn't even growl.

Tsubaki's Revenge, pt 8, page 1