Crossover Fan Fiction / InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Journey to the City of Endless Night ❯ Chapter Forty-Six ( Chapter 46 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Chapter Forty-Six

Miroku's horse trotted behind the thief's as they descended down a hill towards the city of Rakand. The monk had volunteered to journey with Silk in an effort to distance himself from Sango. It wasn't that Miroku hadn't enjoyed the kisses he shared with Sango; it was quite the opposite. Miroku was certain if he had stayed behind he would have committed a few more infractions that, by the light of day, the demon slayer would not forgive him for. It was why when the old man had asked for members of their traveling party to venture into the city that Miroku had agreed to accompany the spy. He did not want to feel Sango's wrath for what he'd done the night before or create new reasons for her to test her weapons on his skull. Besides, the monk wanted to see if he could find any leads to what Naraku's plans were or why they traversed this strange new land.

As Miroku continued to follow the thief he allowed his mind to wander. He could remember the feel of Sango's lips against his. They'd been just as he had always imagined them to be: soft, warm, and inviting. Her willingness to open up to him had surprised Miroku. As soon as he'd brushed his lips against hers, the monk had expected her palm to connect with his cheek. Instead, Sango had kissed him forcefully and hungrily. She had fisted her hands into his hair, only heightening his arousal. The skin of her neck had tasted wonderful as well and he could remember the feel of her rapid heart beat as he had circled her pulse with his tongue.

If it hadn't been for Shippo's rude interruption, Miroku couldn't tell how far he would have gone with Sango. He knew he owed the young fox child an apology for his behavior the night before. There had been no excuse for the violence Miroku had displayed. It was uncharacteristic of him to hit Shippo, but when he'd heard the kit start to ask why Sango smelled like him, the monk had felt something inside him snap. He certainly hadn't wanted Sango to hear Shippo finish the question. Miroku certainly would've felt her wrath if she had. He shouldn't have let his anger get the best of him as he knew that the child couldn't possibly understand what he and Sango had shared.

A smile spread across his face as he thought again about Sango's sensual tongue dueling with his. It had twisted and pulled on his and as many times as he had grabbed at her lush posterior, it hadn't felt as good as the velvet of her tongue sliding into his waiting mouth. What had surprised him the most was the soft moans that had escaped her throat. He had never heard anything as exquisite as the pleading mewls that had graced his ears. Miroku had never wanted her more than he had at that moment. After they had returned to the tent, it had taken all of his strength to resist the urges growing within his body. He was also thankful for the robes he wore, for if Sango had seen how aroused he had been she would have smote his cheek rather than kiss it. Miroku believed that it would have disgusted her and that she had only let her guard down for one brief moment. He sighed, knowing that it would most likely never happen again.

Shaking his head, Miroku tried to clear the thoughts from his mind. It was the very reason he now crossed the country side with a spy and some rotting furs that turned his stomach. Miroku knew he had to find a way to temper his attraction to the demon slayer. As much as he had enjoyed the kisses, he wasn't entirely certain how Sango felt now that it was daylight. Perhaps spending the day apart would benefit them both. It would certainly spare his cheek or skull from her wrath if he wasn't near her. The stench of rotting skin infiltrated his nose again and it distracted him from his interior musings. Miroku coughed, thankful that he didn't possess Inuyasha or Sesshomaru's powerful sense of smell. Nonetheless, he had to admit he wasn't looking forward to wearing the furs for any length of time. If it would, however, provide some answers as to what Naraku's plots were, he would willingly do it.

Silk jarred him completely out of his thoughts when he stopped his horse. He said, “Alright, monk, you need to change clothes so we can go into the city.” His large nose twitched in disgust as he looked at the untreated rabbit fur tethered to his horse. “Why Karands love being filthy so much is beyond me.” He slid down from his horse and knelt down. He caked dirt onto his brown tunic. “We have to be inconspicuous otherwise they might not be willing to talk in front of us. Change and do the same.”

Miroku stopped his horse and dismounted. He grabbed the package of clothes the spy had handed him before they had departed from camp. If it was the only way to convince the locals they were harmless he'd do it. He stepped a few paces away behind a rock and undressed. Once his robes were off and away, Miroku pulled the hose on to his legs slowly and the tunic around his torso. He fumbled with the ties a few times before tying it shut. It felt odd to not have the comfort of his robes about him. Miroku slipped the half-boots onto his feet, feeling them pinch his toes. Now he understood exactly why Inuyasha loathed shoes of any kind. He would have preferred his sandals over this. The monk dusted the front of his tunic off and stepped out from behind the rock. He asked, “How does this look?”

“Perfect. Now get dirty.” The spy was smearing liberal amounts of mud across his face. His dark eyes snapped with glee. “How do I look?”

“Filthy.” He nodded, folding his robes up. Miroku strapped them onto his horse and knelt down next to Silk, scooping up some mud as well. He smeared it across the chest of his tunic. He shook his head. Miroku couldn't believe he was actually dirtying his clothing on purpose. He patted more dirt onto his arms before he rubbed it over his face. “Am I dirty enough?”

“Yeah. That'll do. Now for the really nasty part.” The thief narrowed his eyes. “Disgusting.” He draped one of the rabbit skins around his shoulders. “Tie one around your waist. I refuse to wear it like a hat.”

Miroku nodded. He pulled one of the rabbit skins Inuyasha had provided, tethering it around his waist with some rope. He couldn't find any other way to keep the repulsive thing around him. “Alright, this good enough?”

“It'll do. I can't say why Karands wear that type of thing, but they do.” He pulled some sack cloth leggings from his pack. Silk tied them to his calves. “Here, do the same.”

Miroku followed his directions. He wondered if he looked as shabby as the spy. “I feel disgusting.

“Here we go.” Silk winked. “It won't be so bad when we're not the only ones in style. Let's go make a fashion statement, shall we?” He tilted his head towards the road. “We're almost there.”

“What about our horses?” Miroku looked over the two animals.

“We'll tie them here. It'd be best not to attract attention to ourselves. Men on horseback might do that.” The spy let the repugnance slide off of his face and his body slacken. He seemed to be slipping into a role. “Come on, the sooner we get this over with the sooner we can dispose of these offensive furs.”

Miroku took a stake from another pack, driving it into the ground. He then tied his horse to it. The spy followed suit. He asked, “Just what will we see?”

“A pathetic excuse for a city. Karands have barely discovered fire and the wheel, I think.” Silk smirked. “You might like it.”

They continued down the Imperial highway until the city came into view. The houses were made of logs slapped together haphazardly. The streets had no direction or reason and were muddy. Pigs roamed freely through them, snorting at the errant garbage. They passed several people dressed in a similar fashion, furs wrapped around their bodies or draped over their shoulders. It was obvious that the spy hadn't lied about the skills of the Karands. The primitive attempts at tanning had left several of the furs rotting from their clothes and others hadn't made any effort at all.. A large altar made of logs and human skulls rose to greet them as they entered. It stood empty and Miroku was grateful. He shuddered to think what type of rites were performed atop it. Hopefully they would find out what they needed to know before they could witness the dark rituals the locals performed atop the grotesque surmount of bones.

Miroku asked, a morbid curiosity filling him, “What is that awful altar for? Where on earth did they get all those skulls?”

“Demon worship. It's where the magician calls upon the demon he wants the town to worship. I hope to avoid seeing anything. Without Belgarath here, I can't really do anything if they should be successful at raising a demon.” Silk shuffled on down the crooked street. “As for the skulls, Karands are head hunters. There isn't anyone buried within the seven kingdoms to actually have their head, I'm sure.” He led Miroku towards a long log structure situated roughly in the middle. “We'll try the tavern. I suggest you not drink anything. I doubt they've checked their stills for anything that might be floating in it lately. Belar only knows what is flavoring their ale this week. We'll buy something to drink, but fake it.”

They entered the tavern. The city reeked enough, but the inside of this tavern nearly made the monk reel from its odor. He held his hand up to his mouth to cover his cough. Miroku instinctively held his breath, trying to keep the putrid stench from infiltrating his nose. It was a good thing they had left both dog demon brothers behind. This place would have certainly overwhelmed their sensitive noses. The floor hadn't been swept, as far as Miroku could tell, ever, and the straw covering it rotted in corners with spilt ale and vomit caking it. He followed the spy to an open table near the center. Miroku resisted the urge to wipe the seat clean. The spy plopped down onto the bench, smacking his hand against the table, which gained the attention of the tavern keeper.

Before he could ask the thief anything, Miroku felt something nudge his leg. He looked down, blinking in surprise. A large pig nuzzled him. It snorted a few times and he wanted to push it away. A conversation distracted him from the filthy animal pressing against him. Miroku shoved the amorous sow away with his cursed hand as he listened.“You know Maladis, I can't say I'm all that thrilled with this Naraku. So far he's demanded us to follow both his teachings and those of those blasted Grolims. I thought he was supposed to liberate us from that awful knife.”

“I can't say I agree with you, Kvastan. Lord Naraku has managed to liberate us from the Grolims who control Mal Yaska. Sure, he asks for some sacrifices from time to time, but look at the demons he's blessed our villages with? I think he's done more for us than anyone has in freeing Karanda from Mal Zeth or Mal Yaska's control.”

The two men sat not far away from Miroku and Silk. A tankard of some foul smelling liquid Miroku supposed to be ale was set down in front of him. He was thankful he had taken the spy's advice. Only Buddha knew what was really in the sludge that passed for ale. The love-struck swine butted her head against his knee and Miroku jerked away in disgust. He attempted to focus on the conversation at hand. Between the unwanted attentions of the pig and the offensive reek of the ale before him the monk found it difficult to concentrate.

Silk raised his tankard to his lips, making a show of drinking. He set it back down and asked for another, repeating the procedure. Miroku wondered what the spy could be scheming. As the rat-faced man continued to fake at drinking his ale quickly, the more he acted inebriated. Silk swayed more in his spot on the bench, and he spilled more from his tankard onto his tunic and fur. Finally, Silk whirled on the two men holding the conversation. He asked, his voice slurred, “What's this about Lord Naraku?”

The two conversing men looked over with suspicion. “Who wants to know? I don't know you.” Kvastan leered towards Silk. He wore a red tunic with a poorly tanned fur hat. Kvastan's face was caked with mud. His lips pulled back into a sneer, revealing blackened teeth. He narrowed his eyes, asking, “Where you from?”

“I'm Saldas from Jenno and this is my companion Devet. What is going on with the liberator?” Silk lurched forward. He sloshed more ale onto the front of his tunic, coating the rabbit fur. Some also splashed onto the floor. “We haven't had the chance to find anything out yet.”

“I hear he's preparing to march his army to the south and wipe out Mal Yaska and then Mal Zeth. He's taken over Cthol Mishrak and has all of Karanda behind him. We're loyal followers of Lord Naraku. He has given Rakand freedom from the Grolims,” Maladis said. He was dirtier than Kvastan. His dark hair was matted to his skull. The shirt he wore had so many stains that its color was indistinguishable. The furs wrapped around his waist were so poorly tanned, if they had been at all, that they had rotted away, leaving bare spots in places. The Karand continued, “He may ask us to continue the sacrifice to Torak as well as himself, but we of Karanda will do it willingly to overthrow Urvon's control.”

Kvastan said, “He's also gained Lord Nahaz as an ally. I could do without the sacrifices to Torak, though.”

Miroku wondered exactly who this Nahaz was. Could it be another demon of some sort? The persistent attentions of the sow made Miroku ward her away with his hands absentmindedly. He kept his concentration on the talk at hand, carefully phrasing his questions in his mind. Miroku leaned closer, pushing aside his revulsions. He asked, “Lord Nahaz has sided with Lord Naraku? I have not heard this yet. When did this happen?”

“Lord Nahaz allied himself with Lord Naraku about two months ago. He told us he would raise a demon army that would liberate Karanda from Malloreon control. For now he'll keep the Grolims happy by continuing with the sacrifices to Torak, but I heard Lord Naraku only wants that because he wants to make the Grolims complacent so they'll worship him eventually. If he can break Mal Yaska, they might not have a choice,” Maladis replied, before guzzling down some of the putrid ale. It dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and he raised a dirty hand to wipe it away.

Silk tottered on his bench. He asked, blinking in feigned astonishment,“Grolims worship someone else other than Torak? Why would they do that? They've spent so many years stopping us from worshiping Lord Nahaz.”

“I can't really say except that the ones I've heard preach alongside some of our magicians say that Lord Naraku will be the new Dark God and shall rule over all. They say it will come to pass before the year is out,” Kvastan said. “If you go down the street a little you'll come across the Grolim temple. They've set up an altar for Torak and one for Lord Naraku. You'll know what I mean when you see it.”

Miroku pursed his lips. He rubbed his hand over his dirtied face. Leaning over towards Silk, he said only for the spy to hear, “We should visit the temple and see what there is to find out.” The pig pushed her snout into his thigh, brown eyes filled with unabashed adoration. Miroku rolled his eyes, becoming frustrated with her relentless devotion.

Silk's dark eyes snapped with glee. He whispered, “I agree, although I suggest we not stay long.” He lurched forward, raising his voice. “We thank you for your information, Maladis and Kvastan. Maybe we will go see the temple before we continue on our way towards Dorikan.” He stumbled on his feet a few times, heading towards the door.

Miroku followed close behind. Once they were outside, the monk drew in a large breath. It still smelled foul outside of the tavern, but it was a vast improvement over the stale, stifling air inside. He said, “These sacrifices, will they be like the ones done in that grove when we were traveling to Mal Zeth?” As he took another deep breath, Miroku jumped in surprise as he felt something nudge his calf. He blinked, astonished that the pig had followed them into the mucky street. She snorted, brushing her snout against his hand. “What do you want? Go on! Get!” Miroku pushed the sow away.

Silk snickered, his hooked nose twitching. “I think you've got a pursuer, my spiritual friend.” The thief glanced around the dirty alley. “As for the sacrifices, you've got it. Grolims take their rituals very seriously so I'm surprised they've been swayed by Naraku. He must have said something right to get them to side with him. Grolims were told thousands of years ago to stamp out demon worship. Torak told them this Himself. He may be dead, but He's still their God. Besides, Grolims are persistent and stubborn, sort of like your swinish admirer.” Silk winked before he shuffled down the street, dramatically putting on a show at being drunk. Miroku wondered why he would deliberately draw attention to himself, but realized no one noticed the spy. In fact, they seemed to ignore him. Miroku imitated the thief, swaying on his feet. He stumbled through the crooked, dirty alley after Silk. He heard the sow follow, snuffling through the littered street behind him. Just what had he done to gain the swine's adoration? He rolled his eyes as he saw Silk grin at his predicament.

As they made their way further into the revolting city of the Karands, the only building that seemed to have any architecture loomed before them. It was black and had massive nail-studded doors. Up above them hung two masks. One was a hideous face of polished steel. The expression displayed malice, brooding over them as they approached. Yet, through the horrific representation of the face was a strange beauty. The other mask struck dread into Miroku. It was a replica of Naraku's visage, painted in intricate detail. His red eyes bore straight into Miroku and his lips were upturned into a vicious sneer. His pale face was framed by billowing black hair, contrasting with the steel mask next to it. Miroku felt unable to look away from its sinister grace. He shuddered, pulling his eyes away with some effort from the ominous effigy of his most hated enemy. The pig nudged him again looking up at him with liquid love in her eyes. Miroku actually felt gratitude towards the pesky animal for distracting him from Naraku's menacing image.

Silk said, “Welcome to the House of Torak. The mask of polished steel is a replica of Torak Himself. For someone who had half their face melted off and one eye boiling for eternity, He sure loved images of Himself. He put a steel mask on to cover that and it eventually fused with His face. I suspect the other mask is this Naraku. I can't say he's that much of an improvement over Torak.” Silk winked. “I don't think it's wise to enter. Not without Belgarath or Polgara. You had your fill of Rakand yet or were you getting acquainted with your new love?”

Miroku glared at the rat-faced man. “Very funny.” He pushed the friendly sow away. A stern expression crossed his face and he said, “Go on, get!” The pig looked up at him before she butted her head against his thigh. “No! Go!” Miroku sighed. “I've seen enough of this wretched place. I don't see any other reason to stay much longer.” Miroku kept his eyes averted from both masks. The sooner they left this miserable town behind the better. It was filthy, disgusting, and unpleasant. He wanted to get the foul furs off of his body and back into decent clothing. He needed to distance himself from his new found follower. “We should get back. The others should know of Naraku's plans.”

Silk nodded. “I agree. There's no real reason to go inside and we already heard pretty much the major news hitting this region of Karanda. I have a funny feeling the further east one travels the news stays much the same. What ever Naraku did has gotten them riled up. I would not want to be a Grolim in the opposition if he can control Nahaz.”

“Who is Nahaz, anyways?”Miroku had wanted an answer when he'd pried more information from the two in the tavern. He warded the sow away again, thrusting his hands in front of him.

“He's a Demon Lord from Hell. He's basically the Demon Lord the Karands have chosen to worship. There are seven kingdoms of Karanda and they all collectively worship Nahaz. Several of the magicians will raise smaller and lesser demons from Hell for worship, but Nahaz basically is a God to the Karands.” Silk snorted. “I have never understood demon worship myself. It seems to be rooted in too much superstition for my taste. Then there is the fact that if you can't control them they tend to rip human flesh apart.” He shuddered. “Well, let's go. I will be happy if I never have to step foot into another Karandese city again.”

They retraced their steps back out of the city and past the tavern. As they continued, they passed the log and skull altar as well. It was occupied by a man who was tattooed from head to toe. He wore feathers in his hair and he held a staff topped with a human skull and more feathers in one hand. Three-hundred people stood around the altar, listening to the man make strange incantations. He finished his spell and tapped the butt of his staff onto another skull. Miroku wondered what he could be doing with all of the chants when he felt Silk tug on his arm, dragging him through the crowd. Finally they lost the pig in the expanse of the horde. He asked, “What is going on?”

“We have to get out of here----now. He's trying to raise a demon and if he's successful, I for one, do not want to be any where near it.” He pulled the monk back out of the crowd. Silk walked casually down the road leading away from the city.

Miroku followed, glancing over his shoulder once. He saw panic rise in the man chanting. Apparently what ever he was trying to do was failing. It was something Miroku was thankful for, indeed. He did not want to face a demon from Hell without the rest of the group there to help. Once they crested the small hill blocking their view of the city, Miroku broke into a sprint to keep up with the spy. Angry shouts could be heard behind them as it became apparent that the magician had failed in his attempts to call upon a demon. They had to get away from the city soon before a major riot happened.

Miroku panted as they finally reached the horses they had staked that afternoon. He glanced up, realizing that it was nearing sunset. It would be dark by the time they reached the camp. He sighed before untying the knots on the fur around his waist. Miroku tossed the filthy garment aside. All that remained was to change back into his robes, but he wouldn't do that until he had taken a very thorough bath. Quickly, Miroku uprooted the post holding his horse. He tossed it into a pack before launching himself into the saddle. Miroku kicked the sides of his horse. The spy galloped next to him and they fled the city of Rakand before they could get mired in the dealings of a riot. He didn't look back as he drove his horse to sprint faster. Miroku was thankful that camp was a good three hours or so away from the city. It would keep everyone else away from the trouble brewing in the filthy city of the demon worshipers.