InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Tsubaki's Revenge ❯ Regrets & Retribution ( Chapter 16 )

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

 

 

Tsubaki's Revenge, Part XVI: Regret & Retribution

 

The ashes left smears of black on her hands as black as his eyes. Tsubaki knelt where she had picked up the ashes that the errant breeze had not already stolen. It stole more, twirling them from the cup of her fingers even as she stared at them, a pain in her heart she could recall only ever feeling once before.

 

"Kuroshin." She whispered his name to herself, not willing to believe, though she had seen it happen. She had reinstated the spell linking her to the bird-youkai's vision just as the two youkai had attacked. She had been surprised and dismayed when the hanyo destroyed the vicious pests. Fingering the paper dog, she had been trying to figure out how to drop the hanyo without further damaging it when it had sat up, snarling. A figure had moved from out of the obscuring shadow of leaves, and she had felt a stab of horror to see that it was Kuroshin. Still trapped beneath debris and stretched by the active feeding of two spells, she had been unable to anything but watch as Kuroshin, her na•ve, trusted Kuroshin, walked up to the snarling hanyo, apparently saying something. The hanyo had slashed out with his hand, and golden claws had ripped into the unsuspecting shikigami, tearing him apart.

 

Something hot touched her cheek. Lifting one ash-smeared hand, she touched a finger to the heat, then lowered it. She stared at the dampness. A tear?

 

She didn't cry. She could not remember crying in years, since her mother had died. Since her nurse had told her that crying made her look weak and was beneath her rank. How could she cry for a mere puppet, a shikigami?

 

But Kuroshin ... Her creation, from the demonic power she had gained from her first bargain. She had felt herself both exhilarated and frightened from the consummation of that first bargain. A peculiar pain/not pain that had struck her as she absorbed the youkai into her body through her scarred eye; the pain, she had realized, that was a piece of her soul being ripped from her. The power flooding through her had left her euphoric. And yet, at the same time, from the pain had come a surge of terror. Of fear, that she taken the first step down a path that would lead to destruction. She had stood, trembling, poised between two emotions. And then a voice had sounded in her head-her conscience? The demon?

 

What do you want?

 

She had expected to reply with her desire for eternal youth and beauty. Yet somehow, from somewhere inside her, had come a difference reply--I want someone who tells me the truth. I want someone who will never betray me.

 

Not like her nurse, who had spoiled her, flattered her, lied to her, pretended more skill and influence with Tsubaki's father than she had.

 

Not the priest who had effectively bought her, praised her potential, then set her to the humiliating tasks of cleaning his temple and serving him.

 

Not her teacher, who had rescued her from the old fool of a priest, who had praised her eagerness and ability to learn, her growing spiritual powers, who pretended that she was his best student, but then who refused to ensure that she received the Shikon No Tama, not that pale, self-righteous Kikyo.

 

She had never clearly remembered that next few hours. Mesmerized by a sudden desire to create, she had grabbed paper, ink and brush, and began to write spells. Spells of knowledge, of intelligence, of curiosity. Spells for loyalty, honesty and perception and strength. The sun fell and rose as the power flowed into the spells she created, until she slumped over her desk, exhausted, the youkai power swirling around the pile of scrolls. She had awoken on her futon, a small, slim figure kneeling beside her, with black eyes, short, black hair, dressed in black and white priest-robes.

 

How may I serve you, Mistress? The first words from his mouth.

 

"Kuroshin," she whispered, closing her eyes that burned. Gone, as if he had never been--

 

A moan, broken by a gagging cough, drew her attention from her own thoughts. Looking around, she saw the hanyo stirring on the slope above her, blood spraying out of his mouth as he coughed and choked. Dark bitterness stirred in her heart as she stared coldly at him. She had still been holding the dog figure when Kuroshin had been destroyed. Not until the hanyo crumpled had she realized that, and noticed that she had bent the figure nearly in half. The spell had broken the hanyo's ribs, and at least one must have punctured a lung. A pity it hadn't been his neck. Alive, but paralyzed, would not begin to pay for what he had done to her innocent shikigami, but it would have at least kept him reasonably harmless for a while.

 

On the other hand, a broken neck might also keep him from feeling the pain she intended to inflict on him.

 

Standing up, she drew her crystal knife from her sleeve, bitterness deepening. Had she simply killed the hanyo, Kuroshin would not have been destroyed. Because of the hanyo, her shikigami, her confidant, her--companion--was gone. She would never be able to create another Kuroshin, never again anything like him. All she could do was avenge her loss.

 

Circling to come at the hanyo from above him, Tsubaki stopped when she was half a length from his head. There was no indication that it was aware of her presence. It might well be oblivious to everything except the effort to breathe, though she doubted that. She studied the sprawled body carefully. The facial injuries had stopped bleeding, and the simple slashes where already closing. The ribs were obviously broken, but the scar marking the horrific wound that had nearly killed the hanyo looked as if it had occurred several months ago. The hands were a bloody mess, yet the injuries looked older than the raw wounds at wrists and ankles, which were still bleeding. Tsubaki took careful note of that last, while her sense of bitterness grew, envying that precious ability to heal--so wasted on such a monstrous creature. Even if it did mean she could punish it as much as she desired, without fear of its dying.

 

Though no amount of punishment would be enough, to pay for what he had done.

 

Her Kuroshin. The passionless, thoughtful voice in her head.

 

Her other self.

 

Her conscience.

 

* * * * *

 

Settling herself into the saddle, Kikyo reached for the half-open bag at her knee. She had not slept well the night before, unable to stop reaching for the bag containing Inuyasha's clothes, until she had firmly scolded herself and placed the bag on the other side of the banked fire. Even then, she had slept restlessly, waking with vague dreams of a young boy lost and crying. Her morning check of the fire-rat robes had gained her the sense that Inuyasha was in pain, angry-and afraid. That had disturbed her; she'd never thought of the reckless, hot-tempered hanyo being afraid of anything. She had hurried through breakfast and cleaning up. She had to find him before Tsubaki killed him.

 

Her fingers barely touched the red material before she snatched them back. For a moment, almost every bone in her body seemed to pulse with pain, and her breath caught. Gods! What had that wretched woman done to him! Turning her hand over, she stared at her fingertips, as if to try and read and answer there. There was nothing, of course. Only the awareness that, for whatever reason Tsubaki had forborne to torture her captive, that forbearance was over. Inuyasha was in mortal danger, and she had to get to him!

 

Reins in her other hand, she pulled the drawstring on the bag tight, then reached for the scrap of blood-stained cloth at her waist. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she started to invoke the finding spell she'd lain into the material.

 

And hesitated.

 

The fire-rat cloth felt as if it were filled with Inuyasha's essence, as if he had worn it so long that magically, it was part of him. She had noticed the difference in feel between the two materials before. She had assumed the difference was the difference between thread spun from a youkai's fur, and ordinary, magic-less, mortal cotton. Yet the scrap of cotton was heavily stained with Inuyasha's blood. And from all her lessons, she knew, nothing had a stronger tie to a person's self than their own blood. Even allowing for her spell on the cloth, the dried blood should have been giving off an impression of pain even stronger than the fire-rat cloth. Yet, she felt nothing from the blood or the cloth at all. The mare snorted, tossing her head, then side-stepping in evident impatience. Kikyo curbed the restless animal, and then dismounted. Tying the mare to a convenient limb, she removed two of the saddlebags, and after a moment's hesitation, her bow and quiver. Returning to her camp, she quickly reset her wards. Pulling out a sleeve of the red robe, she tried to cut the lacing with her knife, only to discover that the leather-like lace was totally oblivious to the edge of her knife. It cut quite readily when she used the edge of the glimmering arrowhead on it. Laying down the arrow that still contained the spiritual power she'd pulled from Inuyasha to save his life, she wondered just how and when her sister had slipped that arrow into the quiver. She dismissed the question as unimportant, as she prepared the finding spell. She had to know.

 

Though she already suspected the truth.

 

* * * * *

 

Pain stabbed him from all sides, it seemed, as he breathed, and blood kept getting in the way of his air. All four limbs ached, but his ankles and wrists pulsed with burning agony, worse than anything else. And he was blind. The split-second flash of seeing those two horrid youkai speeding straight for his eyes kept replaying in his mind, and he wanted to whimper. Helpless, again! He could only smell his own blood, he could barely breathe, he wasn't sure he could move: it was almost as bad as the first night, with that poison! And where was that bitch? If she had enough power to break his bones at a distance, she surely had the power to free herself, and she surely intended to preen over his almost helpless state. She--

 

A hand grabbed his good ear and twisted hard. "Ow--bitch!" He tried to raise his arm. If she was close enough to grab his ear, she was close enough to slash with his claws, if only he could get his hand up.

 

A burning, razor-sharp edge drew gently along his skin under his jaw. "I wouldn't move," said her voice, cool and unafraid. "Unless you think your youkai blood can heal a throat slit by this knife."

 

Her human-born power burned his skin. Part of him wanted to cringe. "You're -- bluffing," he managed to gasp after a few moments. "You want -- me alive."

 

"Am I?" She slid the edge along his neck. Pain seared, and he felt blood trickling down his neck. "After what you did to Kuroshin--my lovely Kuroshin--you dare believe I would bluff, about anything?"

 

"Kuro-shin?" he whispered, totally confused. "What--are you--talking--about?"

 

The grip on his ear tightened, and the knife sliced a little further. "Don't pretend ignorance, you half-breed monster," she spat. "Kuroshin came out of the woods, completely unaware of what was going on, and you killed him."

 

Kuroshin? Inuyasha's mind went blank, trying to remember what had happened after the youkai had blinded him. There'd only been the pain and the shrieking terror at being blind, and a rising tide of angry fire that blanked thought and control. "Don't--remember," he gasped, then began to cough again. The blade left his neck as his body tried to expel the blood flooding his throat. Dizzy and sick with pain as the paroxysm passed, the hanyo couldn't stop the faint whimper. "I don't--remember," he repeated. "Honest." He moved his head slightly, trying to relieve the pull on his ear.

 

The fingers left his ear. Inuyasha felt it twitching violently, as a piece of him that was almost separate and not under control. At least it was moving, which was more than he could say for the rest of his body. He was so tired, and his head ached, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep until his youkai blood healed him. But his enemy was within touching distance, he was blind and nearly helpless, and she said he had killed Kuroshin?

 

Kuroshin had never--Kuroshin had treated him like a person. Kuroshin had been--polite to him. To a hanyo. His creator hated hanyos, yet, somehow, Kuroshin--hadn't. The little man had done his mistress' bidding, but there had never been even a suggestion of malice.

 

And he had killed him? Without knowing it?

 

I didn't mean to.

 

"Did you say something, hanyo?" Inuyasha started, then flinched, dismayed to realize that he must have spoken aloud.

 

"Nothing--you'd care--to hear, bitch," he rasped, not wanting at all to let the dark priestess know he was weak enough to feel regret for killing her puppet. It was only a puppet, after all. A thing. Wasn't it?

 

"So true, hanyo," she agreed. "Who would ever want to listen to anything a hanyo said? Except, maybe, to hear a hanyo beg for mercy."

 

He tried to growl. "Never."

 

"Never?" she echoed, archly. "I'll remind you of that, when you beg me to kill you."

 

"I--won't."

 

"You will, little puppy," she said with smug assurance. "You're only a hanyo. I am a dark priestess, and I have my own youkai power. You may have broken a spell or two, but you won't manage that again. I am going to take your power, I am going to break your body, and I am going to make you beg to die."

 

"If anyone dies, it will--be you, bitch." Without thinking, he flexed his hands, then winced as pain washed up his arms.

 

"You plan to kill me, like you did Kuroshin?" she asked. "Then I'd better take care of your weapons, hadn't I?"

 

Weapons? His claws? But how could she do anything to his claws? They were part of him--

 

His ear twitched, as he heard her whispering something that he couldn't understand. His nose was still overwhelmed with the stench of his own blood clogging the back of his throat, yet he could almost scent-or was it sense-something building? Power: not his power, not her borrowed youkai power. The power of a priestess turned to the dark path. Part of him wanted to whimper and crawl away and hide. But he wouldn't! He could feel the sweat trickling down his face, and the traitorous throat trying to create that whimper, but he wouldn't let it! No one would ever make him beg, no one would ever make him admit he was afraid, she could destroy him bit by bit, and he would defy her to his last breath--

 

A knife with no substance slashed through the fingertips of his right hand, cutting through bone and claw, skin and flesh with as much ease as it might through the wind itself. Inuyasha screamed in agony, his body convulsing, as the shock of those five amputations slammed through him. He screamed again, and then something was being pulled out of him, and his mind and will crumpled and fell into the dizzying darkness.

 

* * * * *

 

The strip of cloth and the length of lacing pointed in two very different directions, over a third of a circle apart. Kikyo closed her eyes against a stab of despair and recrimination. How could she have not suspected Tsubaki of further attempts at misdirection? How could she have let herself blithely assume that the false memories implanted in Kaede were the dark priestess' only effort to hide her doings? How much had Inuyasha, how much would Inuyasha suffer, because she never thought that the solitary strip of bloodied cloth had been a deliberate, misleading lure?

 

Taking a deep breath, Kikyo pushed back the negative, flagellating thoughts, knowing that none of that would get Inuyasha free. She eyed the cotton strip. She couldn't read the cloaked spells she had finally detected on it. But she could guess that one of them allowed Tsubaki to track her. If she took it with her, Tsubaki would realize that Kikyo had changed her course. But just leaving the cloth behind would probably have the same result.

 

She sat and thought for a while, trying to ignore the urge to get back on the horse, and set off on a hard gallop. Cunning was needed, not haste. Finally, she sighed, reaching for her quiver. She sliced the palm of her left hand with the sharp arrow-tip, smearing the blood over the arrowhead and the shaft. Cutting a piece from her sleeve's lacing, she tied the cloth scrap to the arrow. Standing up, she set the arrow to the bowstring, and looked around for a target. Presently, a squirrel appeared among the leaves of a nearby tree. Forgive me, she thought to the small animal. I will pray for your soul. Imbuing the arrow with her power, she sighted and let fly. The squirrel squealed as it was pinned to the branch, and then it went limp.

 

Sighing, Kikyo tucked her new finder into her waistband, before dismissing the wards. If she were lucky, Tsubaki would read the blood and death traces surrounding the cloth, along with the spiritual power she'd put in the arrow, and assume that Kikyo had been attacked and killed.

 

The mare snorted and sidled away as she approached with her bleeding hand. Murmuring gently to the horse, Kikyo reached for one of the bags and drew out a strip of cloth she used to bind her hand. Fastening the remaining bags and her weapons back to the saddle, she untied the mare and mounted. Turning the mare around, she headed back down the trail. She had passed a more traveled path late the previous afternoon. From her knowledge of the area, she knew that the path in turn crossed a road that led in the right direction. If she pressed hard, she could get to a village on that road late that afternoon. It would be hard on the mare, but the village was large enough, and wealthy enough, that they surely would willingly trade horses for a miko in an emergency. And the gods grant that she was now on the right path.

 

And that she would be in time.

 

Maybe even tonight.

 

She had to find Inuyasha before it was too late.

 

* * * * *

 

The obsidian half of the blade was glowing red with the power absorbed from the hanyo's youki. Tsubaki looked down at her prey, feeling almost drunk with the power she drawn into herself, and smiled. In her other hand she held the bent and folded paper dog, its right forepaw edged with red. Her clever spells had allowed her to cut off his claws without having to risk being too close to him. And, as she had guessed, much of his power was tied to those claws, and it had poured out of his fingers with as much force as his blood. Channeling it through her knife and into herself had been simple, and exhilarating. The hanyo was truly more powerful than any youkai she had yet dealt with.

 

She let her eyes slide a bit out of focus, studying the hanyo's aura. The odd restraint on his youkai blood was still there. Weakened, but still intact. She could only imagine how much power must be behind that barrier. When she finally found her way around it, all her goals-power, eternal youth, eternal beauty--

 

Shaking off the dream, Tsubaki returned her attention to the present. The ground around the hanyo's hand was soaked with blood. She should do something to stop the bleeding, she mused, noting how pale the creature had become. She certainly didn't want it to die before she broke the restraint on its power, not to mention that it hadn't begun to pay the price for Kuroshin's destruction. Thinking a bit, she smiled cruelly. Moments later, the hanyo's body jerked and started screaming as she cauterized the bleeding fingers with a fire spell. She held the spell longer than she knew was necessary. Dismissing it, she watched in satisfaction as the hanyo curled up on its side, whimpering in pain.

 

"That's only the first payment," she told it. The white ears didn't even twitch at her voice. She smiled again, and looked up at the youkai hovering overhead. "Take the hanyo to the back yard, near the well," she ordered.

 

There was a shivering movement among the youkai, and their circle started to widen. "Do it!" she snapped, putting power into the order. "The hanyo can't hurt you, and you can drop it by the well--just no more than three man-heights, and not on its head. Now obey me!"

 

After a further shivering hesitation, two of the youkai dived. They wrapped themselves around the torso and arms of the semi-conscious hanyo, and lifted him into the air. Tsubaki watched them for a few moments, before turning her attention to the ground. Kneeling by the blood-soaked patch of earth, she began to pick up the five pieces of claw and flesh. As she picked up the last claw, she thought she saw a glint from the corner of her eye. Looking over the ground where she thought she'd seen something, she saw nothing. With a shrug of her shoulders, she dismissed the glint as either imagination, or a bit of youki sparking out of existence. She had a collar to finish, and a hanyo to finish breaking. An odd glint signified nothing.

 

* * * * *

 

The disappearance of the sun on his back roused Inuyasha. He opened his eyes to a fog of light and shadow, totally contradicting the warm, dry air his nose reported. Remembering, he closed his eyes again. He took a slow, careful breath against the fear, and discovered that while his sides were still very sore, there was no sensation of ribs digging into flesh, and that there was no blood in his throat or mouth. Letting his breath out in a sigh, he started mentally examining the rest of his body. His limbs ached with the peculiar pain of healing bone, but he reckoned that if he were careful, he could use them. His wrists and ankles throbbed, but the pain was mostly on the surface. His ears twitched with no indication of the deep cut on the left one he vaguely remembered. He started to stretch his hands, and gasped as pain flamed up his right hand. It was agonizing: he tasted blood as he bit down against a cry. What had that bitch done to his hand?! He remembered the pain, but that had been early morning, and the sun was starting to set. His youkai blood was healing his eyes and the rest of him; what was wrong with his hand?

 

"Awake again, puppy? That was a very long nap you took."

 

Inuyasha growled as he belatedly caught the dark priestess' scent. Shifting himself carefully, he pushed himself up with his good hand, settling into his squatting position. Orienting himself with his ears, he shifted position slightly, to face her. "Bitch", he said--

 

But what came out of his mouth was a snarl.

 

He started. The next moment, he realized two things. There was a band around his neck, several fingers wide. And he was holding his injured hand in a very peculiar position. Not curled up next to his chest, but hanging limply from his wrist, with his forearm raised just enough to keep the fingers out of contact with the grass. He growled, raising his good hand in an instinctive effort to examine the collar. Or, rather, he tried. The instant he raised his hand, he felt himself going off balance, and had to slap his hand hastily back, in order to avoid tilting over. What?! Squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment, Inuyasha made sure his balance was secure, and started to reach up to his neck again. Immediately, his sense of balance went off again, and the hand went down. Not only that, but he realized that the motion of his arm seemed oddly restricted.

 

The bitch laughed. He tensed, ears flattening even further against his skull. "You haven't figured it out yet, have you, little puppy?" she said, sneering. "Your body thinks it's a dog."

 

Inuyasha froze. Dog?! He tried to spread the fingers of his left hand. They barely moved. Setting himself, he lunged to his feet. His sense of balance swam sickeningly. He tried to stay upright, but his body refused, crumpling forward. He landed painfully on his good hand, barely avoiding making contact wit his bad hand. He swore, but the words came out in a series of snarls and barks.

 

He sank back into his crouch, trying not to shake. I am not a dog! He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out with his claws, he wanted to bite-no; he didn't want to bite! He wasn't a dog!

 

Water fell, cascading from one container to another. Inuyasha lifted his head, sniffing. Thirst swarmed into his awareness, and his body whined and took a three-legged stride forward before he could stop himself.

 

"Come here, puppy," said Tsubaki. "I know you're thirsty."

 

His body started to obey. Snarling, Inuyasha struggled to keep his limbs from moving. "That's an order, puppy," she said sharply. The collar tightened. Inuyasha gagged, and his mind swam for a long moment. When his thoughts cleared, he discovered himself limping forward, hunched over, moving on his toes and his hand.

 

"Here you go, puppy," he heard her say. The scent of water just in front of him and his thirst were overwhelming, and he felt his head lowering, his mouth open. Horrified, Inuyasha realized that she meant him to drink like a dog, lapping up the water with his tongue.

 

His scream of rage translated into a howl. With a convulsive lunge, he went up and over backwards, slamming down onto his bad hand. The fire that ran up his arm only fed the rage. He howled again, writhing, one leg reaching forward in instinct that was as much inu youkai as dog to claw at the collar. The collar tightened inexorably. He choked, unable to breathe, but refused to quit fighting, even as his thoughts began to blur. He would not be a dog! He--would--not!

 

* * * * *

 

Tsubaki studied the unconscious hanyo spilled on his side, motionless except for the heave of its ribs as the loosened collar allowed it to breathe again. "Not quite broken yet, are you, puppy?" she murmured. Walking to a position behind the limp body, she knelt. She began to stroke the silky bristle of hair on his skull. His ears twitched, and a very low growl came out of his throat. "You know it's me this time, don't you?" she asked the unconscious hanyo, continuing to pet him. "You'll learn, little puppy," she murmured, scratching gently behind one ear. "By the time I let Kikyo find you, you're going to be my dog, doing everything I say, without the collar forcing you." She glanced at his rump, where she had enchanted the object she had created from his hair and the bits of bone and flesh. "Even wag your tail."

 

A white, long-furred tail twitched. Rose. And fell.

 

She chuckled, and gently tugged on the ear.

 

"Good dog."