InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Metamorphosis 2: Legacies ❯ Hubris ( Chapter 4 )

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

Reclining against the stout trunk in the lower branches of the ash tree, Jirou scowled down through the thickening foliage at the two near the fire.  Marisaiko had spread out the blankets that she'd toted along—always prepared, even though this little venture wasn't supposed to have taken this long and certainly shouldn't have become an overnight outing, either.  Talking in hushed tones to the rabbit thief—Kiri, she'd said her name was—Marisaiko seemed to have completely forgotten that Jirou even existed, which was fine—sort of.

What did bother him was the idea that Marisaiko was making friends with her.  After all, that girl had stolen from the shrine and from them, as well, and if she did that, then it stood to reason that she'd stolen a lot of stuff from other people and places, too, didn't it?

'And yet, that doesn't bother you nearly as much as Kiri herself does.'

Scowl shifting into a more irritated, near-pout, Jirou wasn't entirely sure he ought to answer that, either.

Anger alone had compelled him to drag her back to the campsite—anger and the thought that she should be made to fess up to the village headman.  Sure, he'd noticed, even without being able to properly see her, that her arm was painfully skinny, almost to the point of emaciation, really, and he'd realized, too, in that cave, that she wasn't much more than a tiny slip of a girl, even shorter than Ai.  It didn't feel like there was much of anything between her skin and bones as he'd gripped her wrist and dragged her along behind him back to the camp.

Even so, what had surprised him was when he'd finally gotten a good look at her within the circle of light of the dancing fire.  She was tiny—damned if she wasn't—barely standing even with his chest, actually.  He could easily rest his chin on the top of her head if he wanted to.  Everything about her was tiny, though, and that was what had surprised him.  Painfully thin, really, as though she hadn't had a decent meal in weeks—maybe ever—to the point that the brownish leggings and yellow happi that were obviously made for a man larger than her hung off her diminutive frame in a rather sad kind of way.  The happi, in fact, was long enough that it reached the girl's knees, though it bore no crest on the back—nothing to answer the question as to who, exactly, Kiri really was.

But it was her eyes that had given him pause.  Large, sky blue eyes, that middle shade between noon and afternoon, framed by the darkest black lashes—eyes that, for a moment, were enough to make him forget that she really was so damn small.  He'd never seen eyes that color before, not even in magazines or on television.  Most blue eyes were either polluted with color that dulled their vibrancy, watered down with the grayish shades that dimmed the color entirely, or were achieved through the use of contact lenses, but in this time, this era, those tricks weren't possible, and Kiri's eyes . . .

He snorted to himself, still not willing to completely forgive her for stealing his dinner, for stealing offerings from a holy shrine.  Even children knew better, knew that stealing from such a place would be simply inexcusable.  That she would stoop to such a thing . . .

'Or maybe you're simply taking things a little too literally.  After all, you grew up in a shrine—well, partially, anyway.  She didn't, and you've seen for yourself: she's alone, and she's young.  If you were her, what would you do to survive . . .?'

Making a face at the voice in the back of his mind, Jirou crossed his arms tighter against his chest.  True, he had been raised in the shrine, to a point.  He had learned the rituals and proper etiquette, to the point that it was pretty well second nature to him.  Jii-chan, when he had still been alive, had always insisted that he learn everything, even while he complained about 'that temperamental hanyou'.  Jirou hadn't bothered to remind jii-chan that he, too, was hanyou, mostly because he figured that the old man was more put out by the 'temperamental' part, anyway.

But what if he hadn't been, or more to the point, what would his upbringing have mattered if he were faced with the idea of having to fend for himself?  He scowled as a voice that sounded entirely too much like his mother whispered to him.  As much as he hated to admit as much, she wasn't like him.  If he were in her position, he would still be able to hunt his own food, to protect himself if need be.  This girl?

Narrowing his eyes as he leaned slightly to the side, just far enough to get a better view of the girl in question, he sighed.  Still speaking to Marisaiko—or, to be more precise, listening as Marisaiko spoke—she had polished off the half of the rabbit in short order, attesting to the fact that she really had been hungry—and he knew well enough that she didn't actually have anything, either.  If she had, she'd have said something when he'd dragged her out of the cave, and that was more than enough to prick at his conscience, too, even as he wondered vaguely if she had anywhere she considered home.  Something about the way she kept glancing around, as though she expected something to jump out of the shadows at her, bothered him.

She wasn't that old.  He didn't know exactly how old she was, no, but she couldn't be older than seventeen, eighteen, tops.   From where he sat, he could see as she quickly, almost nervously, shook her head, ducking her chin, hiding her face in the stark shadows of the long, reddish-golden hair that hung loose, almost to her waist.  Pulled back on the right side and held in place by a strangely ornate hana kanzashi, her hair curled slightly, stirred in the evening breeze that rippled over the clearing.  Judging from her hair and eye color, she had to have foreign roots, as well, and just how much of a disadvantage did that put her in, to start with, too . . .? Given that the people in the area weren't exactly known for their acceptance of foreigners, their general distrust of anyone or anything that they perceived to be different, was it really any wonder why she was alone?

Even so, there was something about her that unsettled him, even if he would be hard-pressed to know why that was.  He didn't feel threatened by her, but there was something else there, something that he didn't quite understand, that he couldn't quite put his finger on.  Somehow, he felt as though there was something about her, something that was just outside of his comprehension.

'Why am I even thinking about her?' he wondered, golden gaze clouding over as he slowly shook his head, as he idly lifted his hand to toy with the fang that hung around his neck: his father's fang that he'd had for longer than he could remember.  Ai had one, too.  Totosai had created them, and, from what he'd been told, the talismans hid their hanyou features in the present day, but not here in the past.  He didn't know how they worked, but no one outside of their family seemed to think anything about them, so he supposed they did what they were supposed to do.  InuYasha had said before that they also allowed him to know when either he or Ai were in trouble as pups, and, though they didn't really need that kind of protection anymore, neither of them had bothered to take them off.

He scowled.  His family, his people, the ones who created a place where he belonged . . . And Kiri?  Did she have such a place?  Had she ever had that . . .?

Heaving a sigh, he leaned back, let his head fall against the tree trunk.  What did it matter, anyway?  Tomorrow, they were going to take the girl to the village and they'd let the headman figure out what to do with her, and then he would go home and get back to the life he knew.


Sailing over the tops of the trees that lined the forest road between the two villages, InuYasha heaved a sigh.  After having rushed back to the taijya settlement, he couldn't help but feel as though he'd wasted his time, and that was a feeling that had never sat well with him.

The gate keepers could only say that the two were most definitely youkai, but they couldn't rightfully identify them.  In the years that had passed since Kagome had purified the Shikon no Tama, it wasn't unheard-of for people to travel to visit the cave, and occasionally, the taijya would allow them, but no youkai had ever been granted access, mostly because the cave entrance was inside the village walls, and the taijya discouraged visitors.  There were too many secrets in there, remains of lesser youkai that were used for various things, from weapons to armor, and the barrier that Miroku kept over the village to protect it from those who would do them harm couldn't be breeched.  If a youkai bore a grudge against the taijya, if they used Midoriko's cave as a cover for their attempts to infiltrate the village, the carnage they could perpetrate would potentially be catastrophic.  The art of being a taijya was a sacred thing steeped in ancient tradition, and even those who sought to learn the arts, to settle in the village, were only granted full access after proving their worth.  Even so, it wasn't that the taijya refused to allow people to visit Midoriko's now-dormant cave, to pay homage to her sacrifice and even to offer their own prayers for her soul, it was more just the simple fact that, in order to do so, visitors would have to make their way straight through the heart of the village.

Letting out a deep breath, he pushed off the ground again, impatient to get home, to see Kagome.  Besides, Jirou ought to be home soon enough, and it had occurred to InuYasha as they'd traveled to the taijya village that he should probably try to encourage Jirou to devote a little more time to training.  It wasn't that Jirou didn't try.  In his own way, he tried twice as hard as Ai, but he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't noticed the same things that Kagome had when it came to his son.  The real trouble was, InuYasha wasn't entirely sure that there was anything he could do about it, either.

'Or if there's anything I should do about it,' he thought with a scowl.

That was the real crux of it, wasn't it?  Kagome might well notice that there was something going on with Jirou, but InuYasha . . . He had a feeling that had more to do with a sense of just not being good enough, which was stupid, in his opinion, but then, he wasn't Jirou, either, and it wouldn't really matter if InuYasha tried to tell him differently, the boy had always tried so hard to do the things, to be the things, that he perceived that his father wanted him to be, even if nothing really could be further from the truth.

And it had been there all along, ever since the pup had learned how to walk after Ai had accomplished it.  Then he'd learned to talk, but Ai had done that first, too.  Then there were the lessons in fighting and tracking and hunting, and all the while, Jirou had always lagged just a little bit behind his sister.  It didn't make InuYasha any less proud of his son, but he'd always sensed the frustration on Jirou's part, had seen the doubt in his gaze whenever he thought that his parents weren't looking.  To that end, InuYasha had always tried to show Jirou that he was just as good as Ai, even if it was in a completely different way.  True enough, Ai might well be faster or more natural with fighting, but . . . But the truth of it was that InuYasha tended to worry less about Jirou, mostly because Jirou had always possessed a more methodical mind, was less likely to act impulsively, was more likely to keep his composure, and the worse the situation was, the more level-headed Jirou tended to be.

Glancing down at the path below, InuYasha's scowl darkened, and he erupted in a low growl as the scent filtered to him, and he dropped out of the sky and directly in the road in front of Sesshoumaru.

"This is my forest, bastard," he said without bothering with any pleasantries.

"Out of my way, InuYasha."

"What are you doing here?"

His question earned him a momentary glance but little more as the stoic youkai kept moving.

"Have it your way," InuYasha growled, drawing Tetsusaiga and leveling it at his brother.

Sesshoumaru finally stopped and pivoted on his heel, his expression remaining stony, blank, as he stared at his half-brother.  "If you must know, I'm searching for someone," he admitted at length.

Satisfied that he'd made his point, InuYasha dropped the sword back into the scabbard once more, opting instead to cross his arms over his chest as he fell in step beside Sesshoumaru.  "You wanna just say who so I can say that I ain't seen 'em, you can ignore me, then I can get moving again?"

Uttering a sound that was suspiciously close to a sigh, even though InuYasha would have been hard-pressed to call it that, Sesshoumaru kept moving.  "Kagura," he finally said at about the time that InuYasha was giving up on actually getting an answer out of the stubborn youkai.

"Kagura?" InuYasha echoed with a marked scowl.  "Actually, I really ain't see her," he admitted.  "You want I should tell her anything if I do?"

"No," Sesshoumaru replied bluntly.  "Now, go away, ignorant half-breed."

Stifling a snort, InuYasha shook his head and started to run.  "Any time, bastard!" he called over his shoulder before pushing off the ground and into the sky once more.

His scowl didn't dissipate, though, as he scanned the forest below.  'Lookin' for Kagura, huh?' he mused.  It wasn't as though he actually expected to spot the woman, no, but if Sesshoumaru was looking for her here, of all places, then there was little doubt in InuYasha's mind that she had to either be here or was here recently, anyway.  'Keh!  And he thinks I'm ignorant . . .'

To be honest, he still didn't really get it.  He'd thought that everything was going to be fine when Kagome had used the Shikon no Tama to bring the wind sorceress back to life twenty years ago after Hisadaicho had used her in an attempt to destroy Sesshoumaru.  It wasn't until later that they'd discovered that Kagura had flat-out refused to go back home with Sesshoumaru.  InuYasha never really had understood that, though Kagome sort of did.  She'd said that it wasn't surprising, all things considered,  She'd said that, given what had happened, maybe Kagura didn't feel as though she deserved to do so, but that was dumb, in his opinion.

In any case, it didn't really matter.  The two were still together in Kagome's time, and that was enough for InuYasha.  He'd given up trying to figure out the intricacies of the entire thing long ago.  Because the well was left open to connect the two eras, Kagome had worried at first that there would be strange repercussions, but Sesshoumaru had said that his memories of the past were clouded, as though parts of it were unclear, and he could remember vague parts of it, but it was always a little subdued—at least, the parts that concerned InuYasha and his family, anyway.  He'd gone on to say that, as time passed, more things solidified in his mind, and his conclusion was that, since InuYasha and Kagome and their family were still passing through the well, thereby existing in both places at the same time, that they were writing their own current history in the past.

In the end, Miroku had considered it, too, and his deductions made the most sense.  The ex-monk believed that the open time slip had created a paradox, of sorts, that could only be repaired by Kagome and InuYasha actually living out their lives in real time, so if something hadn't happened that concerned them yet, of course Sesshoumaru in the future couldn't remember it because the future was always subject to change.  Sesshoumaru didn't remember the birth of the twins, for example, until after it had happened twenty years ago, and he could remember things about his past dealings with InuYasha now that he couldn't remember before, too.  Miroku had gone on to say that maybe it was the only way that the universe could reconcile itself with something that, by rights, shouldn't happen.

Not that any of it made a damn bit of sense to InuYasha.  It didn't, and he figured it didn't really matter that much.  It wasn't like he and Sesshoumaru ever had sat down and compared stories, anyway, and it wasn't really an issue, either . . .

Heaving a sigh, InuYasha shook his head.  It didn't matter, anyway.  Things would work out the way they were supposed to be.  Funny how he hadn't realized that when he was younger.

Now, however, he was anxious to get home, back to the village, and if he were lucky, Kagome would have a nice, hot bowl of ninja food ready and waiting for him, too . . .


Striding ahead, Jirou stubbornly refused to slow down, refused to even turn and look over his shoulder.  Almost home, and he couldn't wait to get there, either.

He heard the giggles behind him and rolled his eyes heavenward, ears twitching as he reigned in the urge to growl.

How did it happen?  Just how in the hell had it happened?  Somewhere between the time that he'd marched Kiri into the camp with the proof of her theft right there in his hands and this morning when Marisaiko had doused the fire with a heap of dirt, she'd apparently gone and lost her freaking mind.

"Ready?" Marisaiko called up to where he was still reclining.

Jirou dropped out of the tree and nodded, but when he'd headed off toward the village to deliver the deviant to the headman, Marisaiko had stopped him.  "Where are you going?" she called after him.

He stopped and turned to face her.  "Where are you going?" he countered instead since it looked to him like she was heading in the opposite direction with Kiri.

"Kiri's coming with me," she said as she slung the bedroll over her shoulder.

"Going with you?" Jirou echoed, eyes widening.  "Back to your village?"

She nodded.  "Yes."

Darting forward, planting  himself in the middle of the path, he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Marisaiko.  "She's a thief," he pointed out hotly.  "And what about the headman?  You're just going to take off without telling him we caught her?"

"She's coming with me," Marisaiko stated once more.  "Besides, he thought that there was a youkai, and there wasn't.  Mystery solved."

He snorted as the memory faded away.  He supposed that he shouldn't really care.  Common sense told him that Kiri would be dumb to try to rip off anyone in the taijya village, and he figured that Marisaiko was aware of that, too, and okay, so maybe he was being harsh on the girl.  Even so . . .

Even so, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was more to Kiri than met the eye, which was kind of stupid, considering he'd just met her last night.  But it was that feeling that made him feel entirely unsettled, wasn't it  . . .?

Lifting his face, drawing in a deep breath, Jirou sighed.  The smell of InuYasha's Forest was enough to take the edge of his raw nerves.  He'd spent the better part of his lifetime, wandering these woods.  They were less than five minutes from his home, and that was good enough for him.  Without another word to his traveling companions, he took off at a sprint.  Besides, Marisaiko knew the way.

Breaking through the trees—he'd skirted around the village—Jirou dropped to a walk as he approached the welcoming house.  Pushing the mat aside, he ducked through the doorway and wiped his feet on the small mat that Kagome left there since neither he nor InuYasha bothered with shoes.

Glancing up from some herbs she was bundling to hang up to dry, Kagome smiled at him.  "How was it?" she asked, setting aside her work as she got to her feet.  "Where's Marisaiko?"

"She'll be here in a minute," he replied, leaning down so that she could kiss his cheek.  "There wasn't a youkai."

"Oh, that's good," Kagome said, hurrying over to make tea for him.  "Are you hungry?  I have a few onigiri . . ."

"I'm fine," he told her.  "Where's Papa?"

She waved a hand dismissively.  "Well, he went to the taijya village with Miroku and Sango, but he just got home a bit ago.  Then Uta-san came by and asked if he could get rid of a badger youkai that has been holing up under the water trough near her hut, though I imagine he should be back shortly."

"A badger youkai?" he echoed, a grin surfacing on his features.  "Bet he loves that."

"I can't believe you took off," Marisaiko complained as she stepped into the hut.  "Thanks a lot, Jirou-kun."

He rolled his eyes.  "It wasn't like you'd get lost or anything," he replied.

"Who's this?"

Glancing over his shoulder as Kiri let the mat fall closed behind herself, Jirou snorted.  "The shrine thief," he said simply.

"The—" Kagome's eyes widened as she shot Jirou a scolding glance.  "Jirou, I don't think—"

"I'm Kiri," the girl in question said quickly, cheeks blossoming in embarrassed color.  "I . . . I didn't mean to steal . . ."

"She's alone," Marisaiko added.  "Jirou's just mad because she helped herself to the rabbit he caught last night; that's all."

Kagome didn't look any less confused, but she smiled at the girl and offered her a low bow.  "Hajimemashite douzou yoroshiku."

Kiri shifted from foot to foot as she slipped off her geta and stepped up onto the wooden floor.  "H-Hajimemashite," she echoed, quickly ducking in a quick bow.

Jirou scowled at the perceived rudeness of the gesture, but Kagome only smiled.  "Kiri, is it?  What a pretty name!  Would you girls like some tea?"

Kiri's discomfort only seemed to escalate as she hesitantly followed Marisaiko past Jirou to kneel near the fire.  Letting out a deep breath Jirou joined them, though he sank down on the opposite side of the pit in the center of the floor.

"Where are you from, Kiri-san?" Kagome asked, handing each of the girls a cup of tea from the ornately carved wooden tray that InuYasha had made her years ago for her birthday.

Kiri shrugged then shook her head.  "I'm not sure," she replied at length, her gaze taking on a hint of confusion.  "I-I mean, I don't really know . . . My mother and I were traveling a lot.  I guess that's kind of what I remember."

Kagome handed Jirou a cup and sank down beside him, clutching the tray to her chest as she frowned at Kiri.  "Did something happen to her?  Your mother?"

Pursing her lips, Kiri made a face.  "She died."

Her matter-of-fact reply bothered Jirou.  Sipping the tea, Kiri could have just been talking about the weather or something equally unimportant and not the untimely death of a loved one.  The shadows that lingered in her eyes, however, bespoke something else entirely.

"I'm so sorry," Kagome said quietly.  "What about your father?"

"He died just after I was born, I think."

"Oh . . . I'm . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

"It was a long time ago," Kiri said, her voice barely a whisper.

It wasn't surprising when, a moment later, the unmistakable scent of Kagome's tears hit Jirou hard, and he gritted his teeth.

"Kiri-chan's coming home with me," Marisaiko stated.

The miko sniffled loudly and forced a brilliant smile.  "I'm sure your parents will love to have her!  Of course, you're welcome here, too, Kiri-san.  We have a daughter, too—Jirou's twin sister, Ai."

"Twin?" she echoed, her gaze shifting to Jirou momentarily before she quickly looked away again.

"Don't worry," Marisaiko assured her.  "Ai's nothing like him."

Reigning in the urge to snort at Marisaiko's very blatant chiding, Jirou slowly shook his head.

If Kagome sensed the slight tension in the air, she didn't comment on it.  "Well, you'll both stay here tonight at least," she insisted.  "Jirou can escort you both home tomorrow."

Jirou stifled a sigh.  Somehow, it wasn't really surprising, was it?  Kagome had a tendency to warm up to people in record time.  He'd had seen it himself too often to count.

'So do you,' the voice in his head reminded him.  'Usually, anyway.'

'I don't,' he argued almost absently.  Wrapping a long strand of hair around her finger over and over again, Kiri scrunched up her shoulders, almost like she was trying to make herself even smaller.

'She's not used to being around someone like your mother, is she?'

He ignored that comment.

Silence fell, thick and wide, as though no one really knew what to say.  Frowning as he drank his tea, Jirou couldn't brush aside the unwelcome feeling of sympathy that gnawed at him.  How long ago was 'a long time', anyway?  To have lost both of her parents that early?  And just what would his life have been if he'd lost either of his own parents . . .? Try as he might, he couldn't even imagine that, and, to be honest, he didn't really want to.