InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Metamorphosis 2: Legacies ❯ Missing ( Chapter 9 )

"So . . . you want to retrieve a kimono that your mother gave you because some guy stole it," Jirou said as he followed along behind Kiri, ducking his head to avoid a low-hanging branch since Kiri stubbornly refused to use the perfectly good road to travel.

She paused long enough to cast him a withering glance over her shoulder before moving on once more.  "It's a special kimono," she insisted haughtily, "and it was my mother's, which is why I have to get it back."

Jirou sighed since he really hated to be the one to point out what should have been obvious.  Still . . . "If it was stolen a couple years ago, what makes you think you'll be able to get it back, assuming that whoever stole it even still has it?  And even if he does still have it, how are you going to find the guy, anyway?"

She snorted indelicately, but didn't miss a step.  "Idokaezan is easy to find," she grumbled.  "Getting inside his castle is going to be the tricky part."

"Castle?" he echoed dubiously.  "A thief that owns a castle?"

"I didn't say he was a thief."

Raising an eyebrow, Jirou shook his head.  "But you said he stole the kimono."

"He did!"

"So, he's not a thief, but he stole your mother's kimono . . .?"

“Yes,” she maintained.  “Anyway, I’m going to get it back.”

“But it’s just a kimono,” he pointed out in what he hoped was a reasonable tone.

It was the wrong thing to say.  “How would you know?” she growled, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  “That kimono was all I had left of my mother, and even then, it’s mine!  My mother—” Biting off her words with a vicious sort of ruthlessness, she quickly shook her head.  “It’s the very last thing I had,” she said once more, only this time, there was a vulnerability in her words, a sadness in her aura, that touched him.  After all, if he were her, if Kagome had died when he was a pup, wouldn’t he have held onto whatever he’d been left with of hers . . . .?

“Listen, I didn’t mean it like that,” he told her.  “I only meant, would your mother really want you to put yourself into any kind of danger, just to retrieve her kimono?”

She didn’t respond to that right away, but he could feel the tension slowly, slowly ebbing away from her, too.They walked awhile in silence, but it was far more comfortable.  She seemed to be lost in thought, and Jirou contented himself with scanning the forest, making sure that there were no dangers lurking just out of view.  The skies overhead were hazy, overcast, still saturated with rain that had yet to fall, and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that they probably should start looking for somewhere to shelter in case the rain decided to break loose.

It also occurred to him that he hadn’t told anyone where he was going, either, since he’d fully intended on just returning home after seeing Marisaiko back to her village.  There was a good chance that he was going to catch seven kinds of hell once he returned home when all was said and done.

He frowned.  Maybe he wouldn’t.  After all, it wasn’t like he was still a pup, and Kagome might well be upset that he hadn’t informed them of his plans, he also knew well enough that she always tried to give both him and Ai a measure of independence, too.  Besides, he had a feeling that Kagome herself would be of the opinion that he should follow Kiri, if, for no other reason, than to make sure that the girl didn’t find herself in a situation she couldn’t control.  No, if anyone would say anything to him about it, it would be InuYasha, and only because of the worry he’d undoubtedly cause his mother . . .

Even then, he had no real inkling as to how long he’d be gone.  If Kiri would let Jirou carry her, they’d get where they were going a hell of a lot faster than they would if they continued to plod along, but at least at the moment, he figured that there wasn't any way she'd agree to that at all . . .

“My father gave it to her, the kimono,” she admitted quietly, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen.  “He said it would keep her safe . . . She never wore it, but . . . But she’d hold it sometimes at night, after she thought that I’d fallen asleep.  She . . . She’d hold it and cry.  Well, maybe not cry, but she’d have these tears running down her cheeks . . .”

He digested that for a long moment before letting out a deep breath and slowly shaking his head.  The sadness of her quiet statement dug at him deep.  He could kind of understand why her mother might have done that, and he had little doubt that Kiri understood, too, at least, now, but as a child?  How much had Kiri really understood?  And, given such a memory, then he supposed he could understand why she’d want the garment back so desperately.  “Okay, then,” he stated.  “We’ll get it back, but how did this Idokaezan get it in the first place?”

Heaving a sigh, Kiri stopped abruptly, pivoting on her heel—no small feat in the geta sandals she wore—to pin him with a longsuffering sort of look.  "It's a long story," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as she swung around again and stomped away.

"We've got time," he pointed out in what he hoped was a neutral tone of voice.

He couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to.  The irritation at his statement fairly radiated from her, and for a moment, he didn't think she was going to bother to answer.  In the end, she uttered a curt growl of frustration instead.  "He owns this spot near the water," she said.  "I mean, I didn't know it at the time.  It isn't fenced in or anything, so I caught a fish, and I was trying to cook it when his soldiers found me, and they dragged me into the castle and accused me of stealing it.  They said I cut down a tree, too, which was entirely stupid because I didn't have anything on me that I could have done that, in the first place, and everyone knows that green wood doesn't burn, anyway.  Then Idokaezan demanded that I pay him for the fish and tree . . ."

Jirou nodded slowly.  "So he took your mother's kimono as payment."

She sighed again and rather miserably shook her head.  "He did say that he'd sell it back to me," she muttered, the hint of irritation in her voice blossoming into an impotent growl.

“Sell it back?” he repeated dubiously.  “Then you have the money?”

He didn’t miss the slight stiffening in her back and shoulders—just a momentary flash of indecision.  “I have a little bit,” she admitted.

He scowled at her response, unsure exactly what to make of it.  “How much more do you need?”

She sighed.  “He didn’t really say how much,” she replied in such a way that implied he ought to have realized that much.  “Anyway, I’ll figure it out.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Considering your idea of figuring stuff out usually involves stealing from shrines or hapless travelers, I’m not so sure I should ‘not worry about it’.”

She wasn’t impressed with his off the cuff retort, and the baleful glower she cast over her shoulder at him said as much.  “I didn’t ask you to come along,” she reminded him hotly,  “so if you’re only going to insult me and treat me like I’m stupid, then just go away.  I was fine before I met you, and I’ll be fine when you’re gone, too.”

For some reason, her statement bothered Jirou more than he wanted to admit, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why that was.

‘Probably because she’s right,’ the voice in his head pointed out in a rather philosophical tone.  ‘She actually told you to go away, and you ignored her.  You might think that she’s too weak to be left to her own devices, but don’t forget: if her mother died when she was a child, she’s managed to take care of herself without any help from you or anyone else for years already.’

He made a face and brushed off the statement.  “All right, Kiri-chan,” he relented, deliberately ignoring the questions that stirred in the back of his mind.  “We’ll do it your way.”

“So he’s cursed?”

Miroku nodded slowly as he stretched out on the futon, leaning up on his elbow as he idly watched Sango as she moved quietly, efficiently, around the small bedroom.  Her form, hidden demurely within the soft folds of the simple white kimono, took on a warm glow from the frail light from the lantern suspended near the doorway.  InuYasha and Kagome had helped to build this house, and many of Kagome’s sensibilities from her modern life had influenced the structure.  Miroku didn’t mind at all, given that the extra privacy was a welcome thing, in his estimation . . . “Yes,” he replied.  “I was able to temporarily lessen the effect.  He still needs to find the miko who cursed him originally to have her remove it, if she will, and soon, but . . .”

Sinking down on the futon beside him, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them as she considered her husband’s words.  “But isn’t that dangerous?”

Miroku made a face since Sango, being one of the smartest people he’d ever known and by far, the most perceptive, hadn’t taken long to figure out the drawbacks of what he’d done, too.  “It can be,” he allowed.  “I discussed it all with Kuro before I performed the rites.  He still wanted to do it.”

Sango nodded slowly but said nothing.  She was right, of course, and that was the rub.

“I need to tell you a few things before we try to help you,” Miroku said as Kuro winced and rubbed at his shoulder where he still sat, submerged in the small pool of the healing hot spring.

“If it will help, then I don’t care,” Kuro stated flatly.

“Hold on.  You need to hear me out,” Miroku insisted.  “I cannot undo the curse, you understand.  I can attempt to lessen it, but if you cannot find the miko that cursed you to start with, then you’ll regress—worse than you are now—and it will only go downhill from there until . . .”

Kuro considered that for a long moment, worrying at his lower lip as he considered the repercussions that Miroku had just spelled out.  “How long before it starts to worsen?”

This time, Miroku sighed.   “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.  He wasn’t entirely sure that Kuro actually appreciated exactly what Miroku was telling him, and considering the consequences could be dire, then he owed it to the young man to make absolutely certain that Kuro truly understood.  “I’ll basically just be buying you time to find the miko and to get her to undo the curse.  If you cannot find her—if you cannot get her to undo the curse—you must know exactly how bad it could get.”

"Bad enough to kill me.  That’s what you're saying, right?"

Slowly, Miroku nodded.  "The curse itself wouldn't kill you, but the end result could easily be death if you cannot control your body."

A strange sort of expression slowly surfaced on Kuro’s face: a stubborn sort of determination that surprised Miroku, though he couldn’t rightfully say why that was.  “I’ll find her,” he stated quietly, a darkness entering his gaze as he stared out over the surface of the water.  “I’ll find her, and she will remove the curse.”

Sango sighed, breaking through Miroku’s reverie.  “Why didn’t you tell Marisaiko about all of this?”

Miroku shrugged.  “He asked me not to.  I mean, it’s only a big deal if he cannot find the miko or if she won’t remove the curse, but he said that the other lord paid her to do it, so it wasn’t a personal vendetta or anything.  Chances are good that she'd remove it . . .”

Sango rolled her eyes.  “And you don’t think that our daughter might well suspect something tomorrow morning when he’s suddenly able to stay on his feet without tripping?  You forget who Marisaiko really is.”

"Oh, I know who she is well enough," Miroku said with a chuckle since he’d thought as much himself.  “But it’s Kuro’s story to tell,” he maintained.  “Marisaiko would have figured it out herself easily enough if she possessed first-hand  knowledge of curses.”

Sango nodded slowly.  “Well, I guess it’s for the best,” she allowed, her eyes igniting with a very amused glimmer.  “At least I can sleep tonight without worrying that he’s going to roll into the fire pit or something.”

She couldn’t sleep.

It was late, she could tell.  The hut had grown silent hours ago, so silent that she could hear herself blinking in the darkness.

It just didn’t make sense.  Her first thought was that Kuro was just suffering a severe bout of nerves, but as the training session had progressed, he had gotten worse, and honestly, she was more than a little afraid that he was going to end up maimed or dead if he kept insisting on the lessons . . .

Heaving a sigh, Marisaiko sat up, figuring that the idea of actually sleeping tonight was just not going to happen.

Grimacing in the darkness, she slowly shook her head.  The real problem, she thought, was that she dreaded the morning, dreaded telling Kuro that she really didn’t think she could train him, at all.  The poor man was going to end up being killed or at least seriously maimed if they kept trying when he couldn’t even keep his feet under him in the best of times.

And she hated that, she had to admit.  She hated to have to admit that she couldn’t do something.  It grated on her nerves, on her pride, far more than she wanted to allow.

It was hard, wasn’t it?  Growing up around Ai and Jirou . . . As much as she adored them, as much as she considered them to be siblings, even if they weren’t really . . . It was difficult, watching them accomplish things that she would never be able to do.  If she had to admit it, at least to herself, she’d say that the two of them had driven her much more than she’d ever inspired them.  Because they were hanyou, things were easier for them.  They were better, faster, stronger, and Marisaiko had always fought to keep up, to be as good, as fast, as strong, as smart . . . It was that feeling of being somehow inferior that drove her beyond her own limits at times, that stilled her tongue when she felt like complaining, especially on days when she felt like she was forever seeing the two of them, slowly widening the distance between their abilities.

It wasn’t as bad years ago.  She was older than them, she was more advanced than they were, and she was the one that the twins had always looked up to.  It seemed like forever ago that they were chasing after her, trying to get her to show them how to do this or that.  As they’d all grown older, though . . .

Which was probably why she’d agreed to train Kuro, in the first place . . .

Damn her pride, anyway.

Tossing aside the thin blanket, Marisaiko stood up.  Sometimes if she couldn’t sleep, she’d get a head start on making a simple rice porridge for breakfast, even if it would be hours before dawn finally broke.  Either way, she’d found that it was oftentimes better to keep her mind occupied than not, especially when she wasn’t particularly proud of the thoughts that were keeping her from resting, and she couldn’t help the acute shame that seemed to take a physical form, that chased behind her as she cross the wood floor to the mat that covered the doorway.  She loved both Ai and Jirou, and feeling jealous of them, for any reason and for any amount of time, felt entirely dishonorable to her . . .

Letting the mat that covered her door fall behind her as she stepped out of the room, Marisaiko frowned.  The mat that she’d given Kuro just before retiring for the night sat off to the side, still folded with a thin blanket atop it, but the young man was nowhere to be seen.  Maybe he’d decided that learning how to fight wasn’t really something he could do . . . Maybe he’d decided to sneak away in the middle of the night?

That thought made her bite her bottom lip as she grimaced inwardly.  As clumsy as he was, she couldn’t help but to worry that he was going to go out there, trip over something, and end up gravely injured.

But there wasn’t really anything she could do about it, was there?  After all, she barely knew him, didn’t actually know much about him, either, aside from the fact that he couldn’t quite keep himself from stumbling over his own feet, and she really had no idea just when he’d left, either.  He could still be in the village or he could be pretty far, if he’d left just after she’d gone to bed.

And still, she couldn’t quite help the guilty pang that shot through her, either.  She hadn’t meant to discourage him or humiliate him to the point that he’d skulk off in the middle of the night.  When she figured that she’d tell him that she couldn’t train him, she’d thought to try to do so in such a way as to spare as much of the poor man's pride as she possibly could, and now . . .

Well, maybe it really was for the best.  It was entirely possible that he'd finally listened to what she said earlier.  She only hoped that he'd be able to find something that he was capable of doing, something that would help him to forget the idea of training, anyway . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she strode over and swiped up the empty water bucket.  Normally, she’d have filled it before bed, but she had forgotten, which was just as well.

Sparing a moment to slip on her shoes, Marisaiko pushed the bamboo mat aside and stepped out of the hut, only to make a face as the rain hit her, full-on.She had been so deep in her own thoughts that she hadn’t realized that it was raining.

There really was no help for it, though, and she pulled the edges of her kimono together and hurried toward the corner of the hut, fully intending to head for the small well.

A flash of lightning split the night, and Marisaiko stopped in her tracks as the training yard was illuminated for a few moments.  Standing there in the same area where she’d tried to train him earlier that day was Kuro.  He stood, holding one of the bokken in his hands.  In the staggered flashes of light, she watched as he swung the weapon a few times, as though he were practicing.  But his motions were strangely efficient, even rather skilled, and oddly enough, he didn’t seem clumsy at all, either.

All in all, he reminded Marisaiko of a video that Jirou had showed her once on his phone—a movie, he'd called it—about a samurai who had opted to turn against his life of violence and war and had tried to lead a simple life.  At one point in the movie, the man had stood, alone, practicing with a sword in much the same manner as Kuro was now.  It was . . . "Remarkable," she breathed, ignoring the rain that soaked her to the skin.

As though he sensed her presence, his head snapped to the side.  When he saw her, the bokken dropped harmlessly to his side . . .

Staring out of the mouth of the cave, listening to the dull patter of the falling rain, Kiri stifled a sigh as she let her chin fall onto her crossed arms.  She hated nights like this, nights when she was left alone with nothing but the thoughts that constantly tumbled through her head—memories or dreams or things she simply didn’t understand.  Some of the things seemed like they could be memories, but they were so odd that she knew in her heart that they couldn’t possibly be.  Even so, those things . . .

The golden dragon, scales such a deep gold that it almost seemed to glow in the moonlight, silently slipping through the sky overhead, twisting and turning into itself, through the hoops created by its serpentine body, as she heard the vague whispers that she was entirely too young to understand, but the dragon, as fierce as it looked, made her giggle, even as it stretched its wings, mid-air, even as it reared back and unleashed a ball of fire as bright as the sunshine in the noon-day sky . . .

“Here.”

Kiri started, jerking back slightly as Jirou shoved a well-roasted and very fragrant fish under her nose.  “Oh, uh . . . Thank you,” she replied as she took the stick.

If he noticed her preoccupation, he didn’t comment as he hunkered down beside her and took a small bite out of his fish.  “It’s raining even harder now,” he remarked, lifting his gaze as he scowled thoughtfully at the falling drops.

She nibbled at the fish since it was still too hot to manage much more.  “Do you think it’ll stop by morning?”

He shrugged.  “Maybe . . . You don’t like traveling in the rain?”

Snorting indelicately, she took a big bite, blinking fast as the heat nearly scalded her tongue.  “Hardly,” she shot back once she’d managed to swallow.  “Figured you’d hate it though . . . Dog ears, you know.”  To emphasize her point, she used her free hand , balling up her fist and extending her index finger as she held it up to her head where her ear might have been if she were inu-hanyou like him.  Then she wiggled her finger for good measure.

He rolled his eyes but chuckled.  “Okay, it is kind of a pain when I get water down in them, but that doesn’t happen too often,” he remarked.  Suddenly, though, he shot her a puzzled look.  “Are you . . .?  Are you teasing me?”

Kiri blinked, letting her hand fall away from her head as she realized that she was, indeed, teasing him.  Had she ever done that before with anyone?

‘Don’t answer that,’ she told herself sternly.

“No, I'm just . . . just making small talk,” she muttered, turning her attention back to her fish once more, glad that it was dark enough that the warmth that filtered into her cheeks would go unnoticed.

"When I was a pup, I use to hate storms," he admitted, ignoring her brusque answer as a hint of wistfulness crept into his tone.  "Ai used to tease me all the time, especially when I . . . When I'd go hide next to baa-chan . . ."

"Storms don't bother Ai?"

"Back then, I didn't think she was ever afraid of anything," he said, and in the flash of lightning, Kiri saw the pensiveness that stole over his features.  "But I think . . ." Trailing off for a moment, he shook his head as he gathered his thoughts.  "Well, jii-chan said that sometimes, people who are afraid of something will try to hide it by acting like they're not afraid of anything."

She frowned as she considered that theory, as a sudden surge of indignation rose up from somewhere deep inside.  "And that's what you think I'm doing, right?  That’s the point of your stupid story?"

"Wh—?  I—No," he insisted.  He even managed to sound duly perplexed, entirely confused.

She wasn't buying his feigned innocence; not by a long shot.  "You think I'm scared?  Of what?  You?"

She thought maybe he sighed, but she wasn’t sure.  “I’m not really your enemy, you know,” he pointed out reasonably—almost too reasonably.

“Then what are you?” she countered.  She hadn’t meant to inflict as much hostility into her tone as she had, and she grimaced inwardly.  It was second nature, she supposed.  Over the years, she’d learned well enough that no one really wanted her around.  Jirou . . . He wasn’t any different, was he?

Her question, however, seemed to give him pause.  Finally, though, he sighed and gave a little shrug.  “Well . . . we could be friends,” he ventured.  “Not yet, I guess, but eventually.”

She snorted.  “Friends?” she scoffed, even as a strange kind of prickle erupted behind her eyelids.  “What does that mean?”

She could feel him staring at her, even though she stubbornly refused to look at him, to verify it.  “You don’t know what a friend is?” he asked slowly.

“I know what one is,” she growled, her irritation spiraling higher faster and faster.  “What I don’t know is why you’d say that to me!  You said it yourself, didn’t you?  I’m a thief, right? Just a thief who steals from shrines, and—”

“I’m sorry,” he cut in calmly, as though he were completely oblivious to her rapidly escalating temper.  “If I were you—if I’d had to deal with everything that you’ve had to—”

“I don’t want your pity,” she ground out, clenching her jaw so tightly that her teeth hurt, “and I don’t need you or your help, so why don’t you just run home to your mama and papa and leave me alone!”

“Maybe I should,” he agreed easily enough.  “If I pitied you, then I guess I would do that—just pack it all up and go home.  But I don’t pity you.  I want to help you; that’s all.”

Something about his words, about the strange look on his face, stopped her tirade. Eyes glowing even in the semi-dark, he stared at her in such a way that she wondered for a fleeting moment if he could see inside her head.  It made no sense at all to her, and yet, she couldn’t force herself to break the eye contact, either.  She wasn’t sure why, nor did she understand the sudden warmth that opened up deep in her belly.  It wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was entirely unsettling, just the same.  “You . . . You really do?  Want to help me?” she repeated almost incredulously.

“Yes,” he assured her.  “I do.”

She stared at him for several long moments.  She couldn’t quite help it, could she?  No one had ever said that they wanted to help her before, and even though common sense told her that she couldn’t—couldn’t—simply trust someone, especially someone she’d just met, there was something about Jirou—almost a feeling of familiarity, though why that would be, she couldn’t begin to understand, and as much as she didn’t want to admit as much, it was there, wasn’t it?

That old feeling that she thought she had outgrown or killed off a long time ago in that part of her that was still that lonely, desperate little girl . . . It was back with a vengeance: that desire to belong somewhere with someone, and maybe Jirou . . .

Maybe she could belong with him.