InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Tsubaki's Revenge ❯ Tsubaki's Curse ( Chapter 34 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

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

Tsubaki's Revenge, Part XXXIV: Tsubaki's Curse

Yasuo heard the thunk of the arrow slamming into flesh before he could turn to watch the hanyo's maddened charge towards the miko. He saw the hanyo crumple to the ground, staring in stunned silence with the rest of the villagers as the reality of Kikyo's act sank in.

Korana broke the spell, wriggling within his hold. “Where's Inuyasha?” she wailed. “I want Inuyasha!”

The aging headman stared down at his armful, heart wrung with pain. “He can't come to you, Korana,” he said, seeing no way to cushion the blow. “The bad woman killed him.” And that was, he thought, the truth—the red-eyed monster that had risen from what had looked like a death-blow had not been Inuyasha.

“No!” Tears flooded black eyes as she stared up at him. “No!”

He pulled her back close to his chest, turning around to face his people. They were starting to react, some staring off into the meadow and whispering to each other, most of them looking at him. He saw Satsuki and Korana's mother moving forward. He moved to meet them.

“Satsuki,” he said, as he handed the crying girl to his mother, “Take the women and children back to the village. Set up the central firepit and start some food cooking. Try to keep everyone busy.”

She nodded, eyes dark with understanding. “The bodies?”

“We'll burn the woman's body here, I think,” he said. “Or close by. Hopefully, Kikyo-sama or the monk can make sure that one's soul is banished. Inuyasha...” he sighed, remembering how young the hanyo had looked, and how surprised he had seemed, when he had spoken to the hanyo to give him his thanks. “I'll speak with Kikyo. I think the least we can do, is give him the same rites we'd give one of our own.”

“I'll speak with the women, and see what can be spared to clothe him. He deserves that.”

Yasuo nodded, relieved and a bit chagrined that he hadn't thought of that point. “Thank-you, Satsuki,” he murmured, touching her shoulder. Turning to the rest of the villagers, he began to rap out orders. Four of the fastest young men, he sent to fetch bows and arrows, worried lest the dead priestess had had other youkai around, waiting to attack. Others were sent to fetch supplies that might be needed to tend the unconscious monk, and a cart to load up the youkai's remnants for dumping down the well. One group was set to keep a wary eye on the shattered body of the dark priestess and the rapidly decaying one of her youkai companion, while most of the rest were set to patrolling the outskirts of the meadow, looking for anything untoward. Finally, then, trailed by the mostly older men he had not assigned duties, Yasuo made his way towards Kikyo and the fallen hanyo.

* * * * *

He could not but examine the naked body as he came closer. Once again, the hanyo, at first glance, seemed to be little more than a young human male with a few oddities, a bit on the lanky side, built more for speed than brute strength. His white hair was a tousled puff barely a hand-width in length, currently half-obscuring the triangular ears, while not hiding at all the noticeable lack of human-type ears at his jaw line. But his face, visible in profile, was not human; the slightly open eyes blood-red, the long fangs jutting out of the mouth and over the lower lip, and the jagged line across his cheekbone. The hanyo's claws were easily thrice the length Yasuo had seen before his captivity.

The arrow, he noted in passing, had been a perfect heart shot. The tip of the arrow just barely broke the skin in the back, but there was no evidence of bleeding. That, if anything, was more discomfiting than the red eyes and lengthy claws. How could an arrow go through a body and not draw blood? It wasn't as if the hanyo couldn't bleed—he'd seen evidence enough after the fight with the merge-demon. The arrow that had stopped the hanyo was a sacred arrow, it was true. And yet...

The headman pulled his gaze away from the dead body and turned his attention to Kikyo. She was still sitting under the tree, her hands lying limply on her thighs, her face white and still. She did not stir as he moved closer, her eyes fixed on the hanyo. Shuddering inside at the thought of how terrible it must have been for her to kill someone she loved, Yasuo went to his knees and touched her shoulder. Slowly, she looked up, her dark eyes unreadable. He hesitated, then gripped her other shoulder as well. "I'm sorry for his death. You have all of our gratitude, for what you did."

Her eyes closed. For a moment, he thought she would break into tears and accept his implied offer of an embrace. She had, after all, just killed the man she loved. It must have torn her apart inside. She must need, want to cry—how could even a man not cry in such conditions?

But her eyes opened, tearless, unreadable. Her gaze returned to the hanyo. Her lips parted, and then, she said, "Take me to the houshi."

* * * * *

The sharp, cleansing scent cutting through a distinct stench came to his notice first. He felt himself waking, realized that he felt exhausted and possessed of a truly awful headache, and groaned in protest. Fingertips gently touched his temple, and a woman's voice spoke softly. “Miyatsu-sama, I am sorry to waken you, but I need your help.”

His eyes snapped open. He recognized, the pale, still face floating above him, with the dark eyes deeply shadowed by exhaustion. “Kikyo?” he murmured. Fragments of memory came sliding back. He'd been trying to rescue her, hadn't he? And another. But there'd been that other woman, so beautiful, and so horribly, sadly twisted. And there'd been that flash of multiple, golden arcs, trailing blood and gore—

Miyatsu sat abruptly, not even noticing that he swore. “What was that thing?” he demanded, looking around for the mutilated bodies that much surely exist. “How many did it kill? Did you managed to stop it? Where did it go to?”

“Inuyasha killed no one save Tsubaki.” The very slight emphasis on the name drew his attention back to Kikyo. Her eyes were opaque, but her voice held the slightest edge of anger. “I sealed him.”

“Sealed him?” Miyatsu stared at her, shocked. “You didn't destroy him? You saw what he did to that woman—he tore her apart with one slash of his claws! He could have destroyed the entire village!”

Something sparked deep in her eyes as they narrowed slightly. “I took care of him, houshi-sama,” she said. “Now, drink this.”

Miyatsu looked down to see a shallow bowl. “What is that?”

“A potion,” she said, less than helpfully. “It will ease your headache, and give you more strength—for a while.”

He returned his gaze to her face, frowning. Answering his unspoken query, she continued, “I need your help to make sure Tsubaki's spirit is banished. The villagers have been preparing a pyre, but burning her body will not be enough.”

Recalling what he'd seen of the dark priestess, Miyatsu realized that Kikyo was correct: that was not one that would accept that it must travel on to the other world. Suppressing his gut reaction to the thought of that killer not being dead, Miyatsu reached for the bowl, and with her hand steadying it, drained its contents in one breath. He tried not to shudder or gag, but quickly accepted a water tube and drained that. A young man helped him to his feet, and provided support as he looked around. Locating the blood and gore-soaked remnants of what had been a beautiful woman, Miyatsu closed his eyes with a grimace, then concentrated on his spiritual senses. He felt the messengers from the underworld crawling over the corpse, and then knew that Kikyo had been right to be concerned. The spirit was resisting the messengers' pull, radiating with rage and bitterness and pain. It was splotched with darkness and ragged where demonic energies had leached into it, clearly far from its natural goal of nirvana. Opening his eyes, Miyatsu looked around for Kikyo, and saw her being carried between two men.

“You have all of my aid, miko-sama,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

* * * * *

The crack of thunder snatched her awake. Sitting bolt upright, Kaede looked around wildly, trying to figure out where she was. It wasn't the hut she shared with her sister. And what was she doing inside, hadn't she been outside just a moment ago, running towards someone, running with something in her hands—

Tsubaki! “No!” Scenes scattershot through her mind—the ropes binding her sister to the tree, the white dog with tortured eyes, the scorn in the dark priestess' face as the girl charged towards her with nothing more than a too-heavy spear.

The whomp of heavy rain abruptly slamming into the roof caused her to jump. Voices yelped and cursed in the middle distance. Kaede blinked and looked around the dimly lit room, her initial fear fading. Her sister and Inuyasha must have defeated the dark priestess, she realized. The men surely wouldn't have sounded annoyed, rather than afraid, if Tsubaki had won. And why else would she have been picked up and brought to what she now recognized as the headman's house, unless Tsubaki had been dealt with? She couldn't imagine a reason the dark priestess would order the villagers to take care of a mere girl.

Feet trod the steps to the porch. Kaede turned her head in that direction, wincing a little as the back of her skull started to throb in pain. She heard the door to the main room slide open; moments later, the door to hers slid back, and two men, thoroughly drenched, sidled through, carrying in their paired arms an unconscious and equally drenched Kikyo.

“Big sister!” exclaimed Kaede with a gasp. She tried to scramble to her feet, but lost balance as her head swam, crumpling back to floor. “Ow!” She clenched her fists against her temples. “Big sister—how is she? What's wrong with her? Please tell me she'll be okay!”

“She's naught but exhausted, little one,” said a tiny, wizened woman, slipping in behind the two men. “Be weak as a nestling for a few days, I don't doubt, but recover she will.” She pulled off her straw hat. “Now, ye two,” she said, “lay the miko-sama—nay, you great idiots, not on the futon, next to it! Do ye really think to let her sleep in wet clothes?” Kaede watched as the two men gingerly knelt and lowered her sister to the floor next to the second futon. The old woman chased them out verbally, then turned her gaze to the row of baskets along one wall as the door was slid shut.

“Now, girl, which basket will have spare robes to dress your sister in—never mind,” she added, as she pulled the lid off the first basket. Pulling out the top layer, she held the patched kimono up. “Ah, to be expected,” she said with a tone of mild disgust. “After the last days, not even the headman could be expected to have much more than rags.” Turning her head, she gave Kaede a gimlet stare. “What are you waiting for, girl? Not going to help get your sister out of those wet clothes?”

Kaede flushed. “I—“ Drawing a blank on what to say, she rolled onto her hands and knees, and started to crawl towards her sister. The old woman pulled a second, even more patched kimono from the basket, then knelt by Kikyo's side. “That lump on your head still bothering you, girl?” she noted, more than questioned, as she started to unfasten the miko's wet clothes. “Once someone gets a fire started, I'll brew some willowbark tea for that head of yours,” the village herbalist and midwife continued, her voice gentling a trifle. “Take this and start drying her hair.”

Getting as comfortable as she could, Kaede carefully reached around her sister's head and untied the hair ribbon. Helping the old woman pull off the top layers of clothing, she then pulled the hair free as Kikyo was resettled to the floor. Finger-combing the hair into a reasonably unsnarled tail, above Kikyo's head, she wrapped the cloth around it.

“Obaa-san,” she asked, as she started to wring the length of hair and cloth, “what happened? After I ran towards the miko—I don't remember what happened next.”

Amaya snorted. “And as if that wasn't one of the stupidest acts I've ever seen, little one. Though I guess it might have helped a bit. That hanyo boy reappeared and attacked while she was throwing you all back. She was ready for him though—she sliced him straight up the gut with that glowing knife of hers. Didn't even have time to cry out, he did.”

Kaede gasped, blanching, her stomach twisting. “Inuyasha's dead?!” she wailed. “He can't be!”

Black eyes flicked a glance at her. “Not through talking, girl,” she said. “Be silent and listen.” Biting her lip, Kaede turned her attention back to the hair she was trying to dry, eyes burning.

“The boy looked dead, I'll grant ye that,” the old woman continued. “But that's when things went—odd. A big white youkai—looking rather wolf-life, if you didn't count the tails or the eyes—came out of that dark miko's face. It started sniffing around the hanyo's body: looked like it was planning on eating him.” Kaede made a small but audible gulp. “The monk tried to dissuade her from letting that youkai eat the boy, but he obviously wasn't going to get anywhere with that nasty witch.” She paused to concentrate on untying the red hakama.

“What happened next?” asked Kaede, too anxious to wait. “Obaa-chan, please—that youkai, it didn't, it couldn't—”

The old woman pulled the clothing down and returned to her rough toweling. “No, it didn't. The hanyo came back to life, and killed it with a single blow. Except, it wasn't the boy.”

“Wasn't the boy?” echoed Kaede. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it looked more like a youkai, than anything human. Its eyes were red, you could see the fangs, and its claws looked as long as its fingers. Now, I'm no miko, to have the sight, but I could almost feel the power rolling off it. And that gut-wound she gave him? Gone. The dark priestess tried to subdue that thing with her spells, and it tore her into pieces just as easily as it did the youkai.”

Tsubaki was dead? Remembering how she had been torturing Inuyasha, Kaede felt a sense of satisfaction. “Good,” she muttered. “She deserved it.”

Amaya gave her a sharp look. “Don't go around being pleased about death, girl. Life's too scant and hard as is, to go around cheering destruction. If it hadn't been for your sister, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean, girl,” said the old woman, continuing her work, “is that there wasn't anything human in that creature that killed the dark priestess. It enjoyed killing her—you could see it in its face. When some of the villagers panicked and ran, it started after them. Laughing. If your sister hadn't lured it into attacking her, and if she hadn't shot it, that monster would have killed everyone.”

“No! Inuyasha would never do a thing like that!”

Amaya stopped her work and gave her an impatient glare. “Aren't you listening to me, girl? That wasn't your half-tame hanyo that lets little girls pet his ears—that was a full-out monster that would have torn you to shreds and laughed about it. It's just fortunate for all of us that Kikyo had a second bow to hand, and managed to put an arrow straight through that monster's heart.”

Kaede looked down at her hands, fighting back tears. “Inuyasha can't be dead,” she whispered. “He can't be…”

The old woman sighed. “Actually, he isn't, according to Kikyo,” she said, after a long moment. “Your sister apparently put him under some kind of spell—`sealed him', is how she described it. Wouldn't let us burn his body when we burned the woman's. Don't think the monk agreed with her, but he collapsed before she did. Had us dress him in those red clothes of his—the dark miko had them with her supplies, for some reason—and then had him carried to her hut. Said we weren't to touch him, and put up a barrier to make sure of that. That's when she collapsed, and Yasuo-dono had the men carry her back here.”

The herbalist lapsed into silence, and Kaede did the same, though her aching head was whirling with questions. Silently, they pulled Kikyo onto the futon and covered her. Picking up the wet clothes, and ordering Kaede to lie back down and try to sleep, the herbalist left the room. Hesitating, Kaede pulled the cover and block she had been using onto the futon, then curled up on her side next to her sister. She closed her eyes, but sleep did not want to come. The words of the old woman haunted her. Inuyasha, a monster? Inuyasha, sealed by her sister? She remembered her lesson on the sealing spell, that it could be removed by the caster. Surely, Kikyo planned to remove the spell. But when? And if Inuyasha had turned in to a monster, how was she going to turn him back? What if—what if Kikyo couldn't turn him back? Did that mean Inuyasha would never be allowed to wake up? That he'd never be allowed to live, to be free?

No! It couldn't happen! Her big sister would never allow that to happen! She'd find a way to turn Inuyasha back! She would.

But how? Kaede tried to remember if anything like such a change had ever come up in her lessons. She couldn't think of anything. Of course, her sister was much older and wiser than herself. She would surely know something that could subdue the `monster' and bring back the real Inuyasha. There had to be something. The kami would surely not let Inuyasha stay sealed! It wouldn't be fair--! Not to him or her sister! There had to be a way—

She blinked, as a memory drifted across her mind. A night when something had woken her up…

* * * * *

Kikyo smiled at her sister: an open, loving smile, as Kaede put the rosary in her hands. Miyatsu firmly suppressed a surge of envy, of wanting to have that smile turned on him. “I still think you are wrong, Kikyo-sama,” he said stiffly. “That is a youkai you sealed with your arrow. There was no humanity in the creature I watched kill Tsubaki. You've admitted yourself, that if you hadn't sealed him, he would probably have slaughtered everyone in the village.”

Her smile vanished as she turned to face him. Dark, expressionless eyes met his. “I know what I am doing, houshi-sama,” she replied coolly. “I have meditated in the shrine and asked for the kamis' wisdom. I have strengthened the subduing spell in the necklace, and placed a spell of purification into my knife. I will return Inuyasha to what he was, and if I fail that, I will purify him.”

“Tsubaki thought she could kill him,” he pointed out crossly, for not the first time.

“She wanted to steal his youki. I do not.”

“And if you are wrong? If you fail?”

There was no glimmer of emotion in her pale face. “Then your barrier will hold him long enough, for your ofuda to destroy him.”

Miyatsu tried to hide his scowl. They had had the same argument repeatedly over the past five days, since they had woken up, two days after the hanyo had turned youkai. The miko had refused to be swayed by his arguments. He had toyed with the thought of speaking with the villagers and trying to rouse them against her plan. But he had, reluctantly, decided against it. He was her senior in age and in experience. He was a man, and she was but a woman. But, she was someone he did not want as a foe, and not entirely because he could see her beauty. An effort to turn people against her might easily backfire, and he was going to need to depend on the villagers' good graces for supplies, when he was ready to travel back to his temple. Furthermore, her power was quite likely a match for his, and there was a chance that she might well be correct, and able to save the hanyo.

Though he doubted it.

With a long sigh, he shook his head and turned away. Kikyo was already mounted on the lead horse of the pair. He let his gaze linger for a long moment on the occupant of the litter slung between the two horses. The arrow jutting from the hanyo's chest blazed as brightly to his inner sight as the fire-rat robes did to his outer sight in the early morning sun. The red eyes were still just barely open; the mouth yet frozen in the beginning of a snarl, the oversized fangs exposed. Miyatsu let his eyes drift to the long claws tipping each finger, and hid a shudder at the memory of what they had done to both youkai and human. Turning away, he touched the set of ofuda hidden in his robes, infused with the deadliest spells he could create. He had brought down his share of powerful youkai, but the power he had sensed from the transformed hanyo was more than a match for any of them. How a hanyo could manage that, he had no idea, but the thought of facing him made him uneasy. And not just because fighting him would mean he had watched the monster destroy Kikyo.

* * * * *

Kikyo accepted Miyatsu's assistance, ignoring the pain in her broken leg as she knelt facing Inuyasha. At her insistence, the hanyo was propped up against Goshinbuko. The one point she and the monk had agreed on from the beginning, that their work should take place away from the village. Her first thought had been to use the upper meadow, where she had first talked with Inuyasha, and where the merge-demon Naraku had fatally wounded her in the guise of Inuyasha. But, in her meditations and in her dreams, the massive Tree of Ages kept reappearing. That had puzzled her a little, even concerned her, knowing that Inuyasha had been `betrayed' by the fake `Kikyo' under its branches. But, as she took a deep breath, concentrating on dismissing the pain from her awareness, she felt a sense of peace seeping into her. She glanced up at the branches, still bearing a few flowers from its blooming. Something inside her relaxed a trifle, as if something was assuring her, that her plan would work.

“This … tree …” Lowering her gaze, she saw Miyatsu touch the bark, his face a study in bewilderment. “I feel a power about this tree. It's not youkai, nor purely spirit—what is it?”

“The Tree of Ages,” she answered. “Legends say it `remembers' everything that has ever happened, or ever will happen, under its branches. That if you knew how, by touching the tree, you could see what it sees: past, present, future.” He hastily pulled his hand away; Kikyo held back a smile of amusement. “If I went searching for Inuyasha, this was where I often found him.” Her amusement faded. “From something he said once, I think he even sleeps in the trees. Because it isn't safe, for him, on the ground.”

The dark, storm-blue eyes met hers for a long moment. And then he looked away with a sigh. “My promise was to help you free him,” he said.

“To help free him from Tsubaki, which you did,” she responded. “Your promise is already fulfilled, houshi-sama. Your help today—you have all of my thanks, no matter what happens. Miyatsu.”

He met her gaze again, his face still and unreadable. “I will erect the barrier.”

She looked towards the ground as he turned away. Slowly, she unfolded the packet of cloth before her knees. The circlet of beads she placed to her left hand, the knife to her right. Closing her eyes, she breathed slowly, letting her thoughts concentrate on Inuyasha—the Inuyasha she had fallen in love with, not the red-eyed youkai she had sealed. She remembered his strong arms catching her as she tripped and would have fallen, and that first shy, hesitant kiss. She remembered his pained, fearful expression as he pulled her into his arms a second time, moments after she had tried to kill him. She remembered him falling asleep on her shoulder, in wordless trust that she would protect him. She remembered him refusing to run away, even when she had told him to go. She remembered that stark courage behind that refusal, the desperate refusal to give into his heart-breaking fear. How could she answer that courage with anything less than the willingness to risk her own life, to free him of whatever had caused his transformation?

“Miko-sama.” The voice came from behind her. “The barrier is up. I am ready.”

She opened her eyes. “Thank-you, houshi-sama.” Gathering the strand of sutra beads in the fingers of her left hand, Kikyo leaned forward, to grasp the arrow just in front of its fletching. The power of the sealing spell thrummed against her skin as she took hold. Willing the spell to break, she began to pull…

* * * * *

The woman had challenged him to kill her. He had laughed and run at her, anticipating the feel of fragile human flesh parting beneath his claws. Something had struck him, and he had suddenly been unable to move. Puzzlement had filled him, and a tiny flash of relief (which he did not understand) as the world ground to a halt—

And abruptly began again.

Instinct sent him bolting up to his feet and leaping away as the stench of the woman who had killed him filled his nose. He whirled, staring at the miko kneeling on the ground, an arrow beside her, a knife in her hand. He snarled, half in anger, half in contempt, as vague memories of another miko and another knife flickered through his brain. “You think that little knife can kill me, miko?” he jeered.

She met his gaze without any indication of fear. A slight sense of puzzlement at her lack of fear might have drifted through the youkai mind, but it was smothered in blissful anticipation. Smirking, he slowly cracked his knuckles. It would be easy to avoid that little knife. It would be easy to kill the woman. And he wanted to do it. He wanted blood. He wanted to kill. He wanted to feel more of that bliss—

“Be still.”

* * * * *

Inuyasha found himself face down on the ground, his nose buried in loam, his mouth tasting of dirt, his head filled with a fading, wordless howl. Startled and afraid, he tried to move, and failed. Fear exploded, as memories flashed through his awareness of other, recent times when he could not move. Panicking, he began to struggle mindlessly. The paralysis lifted, and he thrashed to his feet, off balance and stumbling. He fell against something that burned. He bounced away from that, stumbled to his hands and knees, scrambled up, tried to jump, and slammed into the burning wall again. The terror vaulted still higher as he once again scrambled to his feet, tried to run, and hit something that burned him and threw him back. Crying out, consumed with terror, he lunged to his feet, and tried again to run. And again.

“Be still!”

Something grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him face-first into the ground. Half-stunned and dazed, Inuyasha went limp, too out of breath to even whimper. After some unknown length of time, his nose registered a change in smells. A familiar set of smells. As his lungs began to work again, he sniffed deeply. “Ki-kyo…”

Someone sighed above, a long exhalation. “Inuyasha,” said Kikyo's voice. “You're back.”

Something slid out from in front of his nose. Fingers touched his ear. Inuyasha flinched, then jerked backwards, pushing himself into his familiar seated squat. Eyes wide with the fear still flooding him, he stared at Kikyo. She met his gaze, slowly sinking back onto her knees from a four-point position. There was a look of relief on her face. His Kikyo? He sniffed, smelling the mingled complexity that the puppet couldn't match. His Kikyo. But what was she doing with that knife in her hand? That knife that screamed of miko power? And what was the picture in his head, hazed with red, of her pointing an arrow at him? She'd pointed a lot of arrows at him, but that had been moons ago, why did his mind insist it had just happened? And, and, why was there that memory, that feeling of something sharp and burning slamming into his chest, of everything fading to black?

“Inuyasha?” Her voice was soft, questioning.

“What are you doing to me?” he blurted, starting to shake as more confusing fragments of memory filled his mind. “What's that knife for? Why do I keep running into a wall? Why did you grab my neck and throw me to the ground? And why do I - why do I remember you - you - you shot me!” His voice was rising. “I—I remember! I was running towards you and you shot me!”

“Inuyasha, please, listen to me.” Letting the knife drop to the ground, she leaned forward. “I don't know what you remember. Do you remember the meadow? Remember attacking Tsubaki, after Kaede led the villagers in an attack? You failed; she gutted you with that magic knife of hers; you fell. I thought you were dead.”

He jerked as spasm of memory slammed through him. For a split second, he seemed to feel the terrible agony of his opened belly. A strangled whine came out his throat, as he remembered. He remembered the power reaching for his center even as he fell into darkness, the last flickers of thought, of satisfaction, and an angry, furious denial. The darkness had reached to surround him—

And then everything turned red.

“Something happened to you, Inuyasha.” Panting, he forced his attention back to the miko. “You—transformed. You stood up—and it wasn't—you. It was youkai. Completely youkai—I couldn't sense any human in your aura at all. That youkai killed Tsubaki with a single blow. And it laughed.”

Inuyasha felt something within him give a jolt. Something in the back of his mind pulsed in red fire. Red fire. He had fallen in it, the darkness overwhelmed as fire answered his last flicker of rage. He remembered the fire—a laughing, overwhelming force of desire—and something more—roaring through him, swallowing him. It had smothered him, soaked through every part of him. He had felt—pleasure. Bliss. Only bliss. Until he had heard her voice, and then seen her, pointing a glowing, sacred arrow at his heart. But he didn't remember killing Tsubaki—how could he not remember killing Tsubaki?

“I don't—remember,” he whispered, staring at the ground, at his claws sinking into the ground. “Don't. Remember. You. Shot me.”

“Some of the villagers panicked when your youkai self killed Tsubaki,” he heard her say. “They ran, and that attracted its attention. It went after them—it was going to kill them.”

Kill? Villagers? He tried to imagine doing it, wanting to do it, and failed. “No. I wouldn't.”

“It wasn't you, Inuyasha. When I used the mind-call spell to draw the youkai to me, I felt it. Nothing but a desire to kill. I challenged it to come kill me, and when it did—I used a sealing spell on the arrow. It worked, but your body was still transformed. I had a rosary with a subjection spell on it; I worked to make it stronger, strong enough—I hoped—to undo the transformation. We brought you out to Goshinboku, Miyatsu erected a barrier, in case things went wrong. I broke the sealing spell, put the rosary on you and invoked the spell, and it worked. You're back.”

`Back.' Inuyasha closed his eyes, panting, shivering. Words, phrases, echoed in his mind. `Transformed.' `Youkai'. `Mindless'. “I—was youkai,” he whispered, his throat tightening.

“That's what it felt like, looked like,” she told him. “Your aura changed. Your body—changed. Your eyes—they were red, with blue pupils. You had jagged, blue streaks down your cheekbones. You claws and fangs lengthened. And you healed—by the time the youkai ran towards me, there wasn't even a scar on his stomach.”

“Killer youkai.”

A pause, this time. “Yes.”

“No!” With a scream of denial, he pulled his claws free, then slammed his fists into the ground as one of his oldest dreams bent and broke. “No!” He whispered the denial this time, before gritting his teeth against the hot tears that wanted to come. How long had he dreamed of turning youkai, of believing that finding a way to gain the full-blooded power of his father would be the solution to all his problems? Yes, he had decided to give up the dream, to become human for Kikyo's sake. But it wasn't—it didn't mean—! He'd always `known,' just `known', that when he found a way to turn youkai, he would be like Sesshomaru—a better Sesshomaru, who didn't disdain everything and everyone with less power than him. He'd be a youkai that even Sesshomaru would acknowledge as his equal.

But this? He'd turned into a monster, a youkai filled with nothing but blood-lust, a desire to kill? A thing that would have slaughtered the villagers, and even Kikyo? No, no, no!

Yet he couldn't deny the truth in her voice, in her scent. And he could almost remember, a feeling of bliss, a fire-red emotion that left room for nothing else, and when her face had appeared in his eyesight, the desire for blood. Her blood. He had wanted to rip his claws through her, tear her apart, lap her blood off his claws, and laugh.

He was a monster.

A hand slid across his shoulder. “Inuyasha—“

He reacted without thinking, one hand lashing out even as he lurched backwards. He slammed into the barrier, bounced forward onto hands and knees, then flung himself to a half-upright position as a cries smote his ears and blood-scent filled his nose. A sense of horror raking through him, he looked around with staring eyes, which settled on Kikyo, who was holding her arm. Blood leaked out between her fingers.

“Kikyo!” Roared a man's voice. “Get down!” Inuyasha snapped his head around, and saw a monk, standing just beyond the glow that marked the barrier, one hand filled with paper strips that seemed almost to smoke with the powerful spells they contained. Black eyes stared straight at him, and something in Inuyasha both quailed in fear and screamed in rage. The monk was chanting, the papers glowing, and the hanyo knew what the monk intended. This was no average monk who wandered the countryside, exorcising minor youkai on occasion, whose ofuda might burn his skin for a few days. This one was powerful. He had already trapped him inside the barrier, there was no escape from the death promised in those small slips of paper.

The red fire in the back of his mind screamed defiant rage. He didn't want to die, didn't want to be killed at the hands of a mere human monk who only saw him as a monster.

But the fire, at least in that moment, could not fight despair.

He was a monster.

He had hurt his beloved.

He had transformed into a mindless killing beast.

She had brought him back from that state, but how long would that last? When he could feel the fire at the back of his mind, at the edge of his blood, waiting for another chance? The next time she might not be able to stop him. She might not be able to save his soul. He would kill her and never know.

He lowered his head, eyelids closing as two heated tears slid down his cheeks. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I'm sorry…” The barrier shifted around him, and he felt the energies gathering about the monk. He felt the fire burning hotter, and told it, `no.' He would not transform again. The monster he could become would die with him. Never again. Never again—

“Miyatsu, no!” Something slammed into him, sending Inuyasha onto his back. “He didn't mean to hurt me—it was an accident!” Hands dug through the short strands of hair on his temples. “Inuyasha! Inuyasha, look at me! Look at me!”

He opened his eyes, to stare up into the beautiful face of the woman he loved. “You didn't mean to hurt me,” she repeated, looking down at him with a fierce concern in her eyes. “Did you?”

He wanted to touch her face with the back of his fingers. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go. But all he could do was whisper a faint `no.'

She nodded. “I shouldn't have touched you without warning—after everything Tsubaki must have put you through…” One hand released his hair, and slowly, gently, wiped the tear track from one cheek. “I don't know what Tsubaki did to you, to make you transform like that. But the rosary turned you back. And we'll find a way to keep you from transforming again. I'm sure of that.”

“Rosary?”

“On your neck.” Her hand traced down to his neck, and he felt the beads against his skin, faintly tingling with power. She looked away, cheeks pinking ever so slightly. “I made the rosary, back when you said you were going to give me a gift. I—I didn't trust you—I was afraid it was a trick. But when you gave me that shell, that had been your mother's … I knew I'd been so wrong about you.” Her eyes moved back to meet his. “I'm sorry I had to use it, though I'm not sorry it worked.” She returned her fingers to his cheek. “I promise you, I'll never use the rosary, except to stop your transformation. And I'll take it off, when we find the answer. I promise. Beloved.”

He slid a hand between them in time to keep her from kissing him. Looking away from her saddened eyes, he shifted position and brought them both to a seated position. Avoiding her eyes, he took her bleeding arm and examined it. “It's nothing,” she murmured. But it wasn't nothing. Two claws had ripped through her skin down her forearm. Both cuts were bleeding heavily. Setting the arm down in her lap, he pulled up the outer sleeve, and used claws and teeth to rip strips from the off-white, inner kimono. As gently as he knew how, he wrapped the strips around her bleeding arm. Tying the strips off, he positioned her arm so that it was supported by her sash, her hand and wrist inside the outer flap of her kimono. Still not looking at her, he gathered her in his arms, and slowly stood up.

She wrapped her good arm around his neck, pressing her face against his chest. Inuyasha fought not to shudder at the touch, at the whisperings of pain and humiliation the simple contact brought. For a long moment, he stood there, holding her, his inner self crying in despair.

He wanted to stay with her. Wanted to believe that they could find an answer.

But he knew better.

He couldn't risk transforming again. Not near her. Not near the villagers, who had dared to offer him even a bit of trust and friendship. He couldn't risk letting the monster in him getting out. Not anywhere near them.

He didn't deserve what they had offered, anyway. He was only a hanyo, a hanyo with a monster inside him.

“Ask the houshi to lower the barrier,” he finally made himself say.

“Inuyasha?” He didn't try to answer her unspoken query. “Miyatsu,” he heard her call out, “please lower the barrier.”

“Kikyo …” the man huffed a sigh. “You're sure it's safe?”

“Yes,” she replied, with an edge in her voice. “I trust Inuyasha.”

Another sigh, and the barrier came down. Turning a bit, Inuyasha walked directly towards the monk. Raising his eyes, he met the man's wary gaze. He came to a stop directly in front of the man, so close that Kikyo could easily have touched him. “Take her,” Inuyasha said.

The black eyes narrowed in suspicion, fingers tightening on the deadly ofuda. “This is a trick.”

Inuyasha met his gaze. “She can't walk,” he said simply.

“Inuyasha, what--?”

Both men ignored the question, staring at each other. Finally, the monk sighed and nodded, tucking the papers back inside his clothing.

Kikyo protested. “Inuyasha, what are you doing? You know I—“

He stopped her with a clawed finger against her lips, then finally managed to look back up and meet her gaze. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, resisting with all of his might the urge to touch his lips to hers, fighting the want, the need to stay with her. He couldn't. He didn't dare. “I'm sorry,” he repeated.

Then, before he could change his mind, he spun and bolted away.

* * * * *

Kikyo stared in shock as Inuyasha ran. Why? Why was he running away now? She'd rescued him, brought him back from the monstrous state, promised to help him find a more permanent answer. Why was he running away?!

“Do you want me to track him down?” asked Miyatsu. “It would take time, but his aura - either one - would be easy enough to follow.”

She stared up at him. “And do what?” she demanded. “Bind him and drag him back? Kill him?”

His expression became grim. “He's not safe, Kikyo. That's why he fled. He knows he's not safe, he doesn't want to harm you or the villagers.”

“But he is safe!” she denied. “You saw—the rosary subdued him, changed him back!”

“And if he transformed while you were asleep, or unconscious?” he countered. Kikyo gasped a little, feeling her face pale. Miyatsu's face changed as well, becoming thoughtful. “There may be another reason, as well,” he said quietly. She blinked at him. “He's been controlled by spells, tortured, by that dark priestess. We don't know what all she did to him. But, even though he's free of her … he's not free. Not of the rosary. Not of your simple whim—“

“I'd never use the rosary against him,” she snapped, indignant. “I promised him!”

“I know. But we're all just human, Kikyo. You could say the words by accident, or you could forget your promise in a moment of anger. You might even use it, thinking to protect him from danger outside of himself. Do you think he wants that?”

She stared at him a moment longer, then turned her head away, fighting tears. “No,” she whispered. “But there wasn't a choice.”

“No,” he agreed with a sigh. He held her in silence, then sighed. “We might was well go back to the village,” he told her. “There's nothing more we can do now.”

Back to the village. Her heart wrenched. Back to the eyes that would be watching her, to the questions, to the thin walls. To the place where she was the miko, the woman who had put an arrow through the heart of one she had tended and cared for and tried to rescue. The place with thin walls and few secrets. And her heart was breaking.

“Let me down, please,” she whispered.

“Kikyo?”

“I—I just want to meditate under the tree,” she lied, keeping her face turned away, fighting the tears. “I—please go back to the village and send Kaede.” Kaede was her sister, her family. Kaede would understand, would never tell. “Please—just do it? I—need time alone.”

A heavy sigh answered her. “I'll leave the horses, and set a ward,” he replied reluctantly. “Be back before sundown, or I'll bring a party.”

She didn't answer him, placing one cheek against the bark of the tree as soon as he set her down. Her hand joined her contact with the ancient tree as she heard Miyatsu set wards, as he set her bow and quiver beside her. She waited, clinging to the tree, as she waited for Miyatsu's steps to fade away.

She let the miko's mask shatter then, her tears falling as they had never done before. Inuyasha, please come back! Her beloved was gone, too afraid to stay. She had tried to rescue him from Tsubaki's hands, and she had not succeeded.

Tsubaki was dead.

But her evil, her curse, was not. She had tortured and broken her beloved's soul, and only the kami knew if that soul would ever mend.

It might not have been the revenge Tsubaki had intended.

But it probably pleased her, if she knew.

**** The End ***