InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Sentencing ( Chapter 64 )

~~Chapter 64~~

~Sentencing~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Kurt stared dubiously at the wooden sword that the big one—Bas—had handed him as he tried to understand exactly what had happened.

 

He'd been pretty positive when he'd been locked in the almost barren but not even close to uncomfortable room last evening that he would be dead by this time today. Somehow, he should have known that it wasn't going to be nearly as easy as that. Having spent the night alone in a darkened room with his hands caught behind his back, bound by the restraints that they'd clapped around his wrists before escorting him out of the library, he could only groan when Bas had unfastened them this morning.

 

Then the strangest thing had happened. The silver haired one that had poked his head into the room yesterday to tell them that Samantha wanted to see Kurt had strode in with a tray of food that they'd left on the desk near the windows, and damned if it hadn't smelled good. Scrambled eggs with sausage patties that were still steaming hot, light, flaky biscuits, and a small carafe of black coffee along with sugar and creamer and a very delicate white porcelain mug with pink flowers hand-painted on it . . . sterling silver salt and pepper shakers and a fresh, crisp, white linen napkin . . .

 

It hadn't made sense at the time, had it? He'd thought that maybe it was his final meal or something to that effect, and damned if he hadn't eaten it, too . . .

 

They were going to kill him slowly, or so he figured. The one in charge—Cain—had told him shortly after the sun rose that he was going to . . . insist . . . that Kurt stay with them for awhile, and that they'd be more than happy to see that he was, in his words, `properly trained'. Kurt wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it hadn't sounded good at the time . . .

 

`Properly trained . . .'

 

Staring at the wooden sword that looked like little better than a child's plaything, he stifled the urge to sigh. The last thing that he wanted to do was to take part in whatever `training' they had in mind for him. He was still ungodly sore from yesterday, and he grimaced. `Okay,' he conceded with an inward wince. `So sore is a little bit of an understatement . . .'

 

Kurt glanced around at the others, who stood off to the side; the same ones as yesterday, with the exception of the little demon's father, who was conspicuously absent.

 

The unsettling peal of menacing laughter cut through Kurt's otherwise bleak thoughts with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. “Sleep good, sunshine?”

 

Kurt frowned. It was the twin—her uncle—and in his hands was one very menacing-looking sword . . . Kurt said nothing as he scowled at the demon—and at his weapon, too.

 

As though he could feel Kurt's reticence, his already nasty little smirk got a little nastier. “I am Izayoi Ryomaru, and this—“, he held up the sword, “—is Ryoteishuseishu,” he stated loudly, squaring his stance, drawing his shoulders back arrogantly, puffing out his chest a little. “I am the son of the hanyou of legend, InuYasha; the nephew of the powerful Sesshoumaru. I am the grandson of the scourge of Japan, the fierce and terrible Inu no Taisho.”

 

“The what of Japan?” InuYasha snorted.

 

“Quiet, old man! You'll mess me up!” Ryomaru growled before turning back to face Kurt once more. “I am a warrior who cut my teeth on better than you, and I have trained most of those here to do the same. I will be your opponent. Youkai tremble at the mere mention of my name! Bow to my might and prowess! Prepare to face my wrath!”

 

One of the men standing nearby, watching the debacle unfold, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Oi, old man! What the hell kind of bullshit was that?” he hollered.

 

“Shut up, Morio,” Ryomaru called back without taking his gaze off Kurt. “It's called intimidation.”

 

Morio snorted indelicately. “Keh! It's called something, all right . . .” he muttered.

 

The black haired one—Gunnar?—cocked an eyebrow and leaned toward the huge one, Bas. “Fifty bucks says he practiced that speech all night.”

 

Bas just nodded. “Probably.”

 

“Can I do this now?” Ryomaru snarled, glowering at the others.

 

Morio grinned unrepentantly. “Go right ahead, oh great warrior. Maybe you should take your shirt off. Your nipple stud is even more intimidating, you know.”

 

“Shut it, pup, or I'll come after you next.”

 

Either this Morio was really stupid or he just wasn't afraid of that threat because his grin widened almost ridiculously.

 

“Oi, Drevin,” Ryomaru called out.

 

Kurt blinked and stared at him.

 

Ryomaru chuckled unpleasantly. “You'd better get that sword up or I'll hack you to bits.”

 

“I . . . I don't know what I'm doing,” he confessed since he'd never touched anything like that in his life.

 

“Aww, it's not that tough, taijya,” he sneered, deliberately using the word that Samantha had used for him during her incarceration. “Just make sure I don't hit anything vital.”

 

And that didn't sound like it boded well for Kurt, either; not really.

 

Bas sighed and shook his head as he watched the human fumble with the sword. “I don't think there's a damn bit of sport to this,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“It's not about sport,” Cain replied quietly without taking his eyes off the goings on. “All this is about is letting everyone get their frustration out—the frustration of not being able to find her.”

 

Bas' gaze narrowed. He could see that, he figured. After all, their hands had all been tied the moment Samantha had decided that he was her mate, and while Bas wasn't entirely sure that he bought into the idea, he also wasn't sure that he agreed with Kichiro's stance that it was all because of the idea that he might have been somewhat more decent to her than the damned researchers had been, but . . .

 

But that wasn't nearly enough to fool her youkai voice, either, was it? And he'd seen the conviction in her eyes, himself; had understood that whatever she felt, she truly believed that this man was her mate, so even if they could kill him, well . . . they couldn't, not without taking a chance that no one was willing to risk.

 

Ryomaru started to stalk around Drevin, though, tossing his taunts as he did little more than lunge and jab at the human, smacking him with the flat side of his blade instead of going for blood.

 

“Where's Kich?” Bas asked.

 

Gunnar sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking entirely put out that he was here instead of doing something that he considered to be of more use. “He took Aunt Belle and Sam to Isabelle's house. Sam was having a fit because no one would let her in to see that bastard, and he thought it'd be better to remove her from the situation—at least for now.”

 

“Not to mention that there's no way he could possibly face off with Drevin,” Morio put in thoughtfully. “Hell, he wants to kill him . . . not that I blame him for that . . .”

 

No, Bas supposed, he couldn't either. If someone had done what he'd done to Bas' child . . . Yeah, he figured he'd want blood, too.

 

Ryomaru took a swing at Drevin, cleaving his sword in a wide arc that whistled through the air as it made its descent. The human didn't get out of the way nearly fast enough, and with a sharp hiss as the blade connected, he hit the ground hard flat on his back. Morio grimaced and sucked in his breath. “Kami . . . that had to hurt . . .”

 

Bas was inclined to agree. He remembered being on the receiving end of a hit like that all too well . . . That particular move hurt—a lot . . .

 

Advancing, Ryomaru swung his sword again. Drevin managed to bring his up to block though he didn't get far. The forward momentum carried him forward, and with a loud grunt as he fought to stop it, the blade smashed against Drevin's shoulder. The bokuto flew out of his hand, landing about twenty feet away in the grass. Drevin dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder as he gritted his teeth, but he didn't make a sound aside from the audible harshness of his breathing . . .

 

Bas shook his head. The man had to be hurting still from the beating he'd endured yesterday, didn't he? Yet he still forced himself to his feet and retrieved the bokuto he'd dropped, and though he swayed slightly, he stubbornly refused to back down. One of his eyes was completely swollen closed, his split lip was fat. He leaned to the side to spit out a mouthful of blood. All in all, he looked like hell warmed over. Still . . . He was either very brave or very stupid. Bas couldn't decide which . . .

 

Sparing a glance at his father, he grimaced. Cain didn't look pleased—Bas figured it had a lot to do with the idea that Drevin simply wasn't even attempting to fight back. Cain's sense of fair play was being sorely tested, wasn't it, even if he did believe that Drevin should have to pay for what he did to Samantha . . .

 

“Kind of like shooting fish in a barrel, isn't it?” he muttered.

 

Cain nodded, his gaze darkening.

 

Bas sucked in his cheek as he watched the unfolding carnage. Even Ryomaru was starting to look more than a little bothered, and no small wonder. There was the honor in such a battle, even if it really wasn't a serious contest, and honor was something that they all understood.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Umm . . . what in the world is Ryomaru talking about . . .?”

 

Nezumi shook her head and sipped the cup of coffee she'd just made, hiding a small smile behind the rim of the mug. “Oh, you know Ryo . . .” she hedged.

 

“. . . The scourge of Japan . . .?” Gin echoed with an incredulous shake of her head.

 

Nezumi's grin widened. “That part was my idea.”

 

“It was?”

 

She nodded. “Well, considering he had something or other written down about the `gnarly white beast', I figured that it might sound better . . .”

 

“Gnarly white . . . oh, my . . .”

 

“Yeah, he was up all night, practicing that stupid speech. It was either help him or let him pace around all night.”

 

Gin stifled a little giggle with the back of her hand. “I'm sorry,” she apologized.

 

“Don't be,” Nezumi said. “You don't have to sleep with the baka.”

 

Meara heaved a little sigh and shook her head slowly. “And that is my father-in-law . . .”

 

“Don't complain,” Nezumi muttered. “I married him . . .”

 

“It sounds kind of familiar,” Gin remarked at length, a puzzled frown on her face as she listened to the rest of her brother's cheesy speech.

 

Nezumi rolled her eyes. “He watched The Princess Bride the other night.”

 

“The Princess Bride?”

 

“Yeah . . . you know the part with the guy who is trying to avenge his father? That . . .”

 

“You watched The Princess Bride?” Gin asked, looking clearly surprised. “But I thought you hated movies like that.”

 

“I do. He downloaded it,” she went on. “I sure as hell didn't choose it.”

 

Meara smiled indulgently as she stared out the window. “I suppose there's no question about where Morio gets his weirdness . . .”

 

Gin sucked in a sharp breath when Ryomaru smacked Kurt hard with the broadside of his sword. “Oh, that looked painful, didn't it?”

 

“He's not very good,” Meara mused.

 

“That's kind of an understatement . . .”

 

“Oh, he's bleeding . . .”

 

“Urgh.”

 

“Are you okay, Nezumi?” Gin asked, casting her friend a worried glance.

 

Nezumi waved her hand dismissively. She'd certainly gotten better about dealing with the sight of blood over the years, but she couldn't say that she was much of a fan of it, anyway . . . “I'm fine.”

 

“That's just so wrong,” Gin went on with a sigh.

 

“Morio said that they're just trying to make him understand that they don't appreciate what he did to Samantha,” Meara pointed out.

 

Gin shook her head quickly without taking her gaze off the combatants. “Not that,” she said, her voice a little distracted. “It's just wrong that he's barely putting up a fight. He hasn't earned the right to bleed yet!”

 

That statement earned her a couple of strange looks. She didn't see them as she went on, “I mean, come on! Be a man!” she yelled out the window. “Get up! Stop being a baby and fight him back!”

 

The men stopped long enough to glance at the women who were watching the one-sided fight. Cain shook his head slowly, as though he wasn't at all surprised at his wife's outburst. Bas muttered something to his father, and Cain shot him a look.

 

“Gin!” Kagome chided as she wandered into the kitchen. “What in the world are you yelling for?”

 

Gin shot her mother a rather nervous glance then wrinkled her nose. “He's not even trying to fight back,” she complained.

 

Kagome wandered over to the others and glanced outside then winced. “Oh, that doesn't look good, does it?”

 

“Nope,” Nezumi said.

 

“Still, after what he did to Samantha . . .” Meara hedged.

 

Kagome nodded. “As true as that might be, Samantha still insists that he's her mate. She tried to come back last night, but Kichiro wouldn't let her . . .”

 

Gin sighed. “Cain said that they won't kill him,” she said slowly. “But I can't help but think that it's really not that fair. I mean, according to Samantha, he never actually hurt her, and he brought her food . . .”

 

“But he's the reason she was there, in the first place,” Nezumi pointed out.

 

Gin bit her lip. Certainly, she could see their reasoning; of course she could. What had happened to Sam was, according to Cain, one of the vilest things that he'd ever seen, and while she wasn't entirely certain that she wanted specifics, she also knew well enough that Samantha wasn't the kind of girl who would say things lightly. No, she really did believe that he was her mate, didn't she? And even then . . . if she could forgive the man for everything, then what could anyone really say to that?

 

She grimaced again when the man was sent flying once more. At least that time, he'd tried to fight back, but he'd swung the bokuto like it was a baseball bat. It was glaringly obvious that he really didn't have a clue what he was doing, and that really wasn't an honorable fight, at all. A minute later, Ryomaru jammed the tip of Ryoteishuseishu into the ground and shook his head. “Keh!” he scoffed, his voice carrying to the women. “How the fuck did you manage to capture Sami, in the first place?” he demanded. When the man struggled to get to his feet but dropped face-down in the dirt, heaving to draw breath, the hanyou turned on his heel, yanking his sword free and stomping away.

 

“He looks a little irked, doesn't he?” Meara remarked with a frown.

 

Gin sighed. “Of course he is,” she said. “That guy didn't even give a token fight, after all.”

 

They watched in silence as Bas strode over to pull the poor man to his feet. A minute later, Morio stepped over to help, and with one on either side, they pretty well dragged the nearly unconscious human inside, up the stairs, and down the long hallway toward the unused wing of the mansion where they'd decided he was safest kept.

 

In all actuality, though, Gin figured that Cain really was making allowances. If he really thought that the human were a threat, he certainly wouldn't have him kept here under any circumstances. If all else failed, they still had the secured quarters under the youkai special crimes building where Myrna had lived for years following her arrest. Cain might not have said it out loud, but he wasn't about to ignore Samantha's claims, either.

 

Gin sighed and turned away from the window, hurrying over instead to retrieve the huge first aid kit she kept under the kitchen sink. The men might want their retribution, sure, but how much of a victory was it, really, when the human didn't have a clue about what he was doing? And even if he did, there was another problem, wasn't there? Unlike youkai or hanyous, he didn't have the ability to heal so quickly, either, which meant he was going to be at a permanent disadvantage, in the first place.

 

She shook her head. The men might well think that he should be left alone, but she wasn't about to agree. He needed some help, didn't he, and while Gin might not like what he'd done, she'd never demean herself by behaving as badly as those humans who had confined Samantha for so long, either. What would it prove, anyway?

 

`Nothing,' she told herself firmly as she shouldered the large canvas bag and strode purposefully out of the room. `It wouldn't prove a thing except that we're no better than they were . . .'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Samantha gasped and froze with one leg tossed over the windowsill. Slowly turning to glance over her shoulder at the scowling bear-youkai who leaned in the doorway, watching her, she gave what she hoped was a casual shrug and stifled a sigh. She was so close, damn it . . .

 

“I . . . I just wanted to go on a walk,” she lied, hoping that Griffin wouldn't see right through her.

 

He considered that then nodded. “So you weren't thinking of heading back to Bevelle.”

 

The sigh she'd stifled slipped out, anyway, and she pulled her leg back inside and plopped onto the wide sill. “Well, it's not a complete lie,” she hedged.

 

Griffin snorted. “So where were you walking to?”

 

She couldn't even look him in the eye. “Uh . . . n-n-nowhere . . .”

 

“Is that right?”

 

Samantha was caught, and she knew it. Blast Griffin for showing up before she could manage her escape, anyway . . . “He's not a bad person,” she muttered, “and it isn't fair that no one is listening.”

 

Griffin pushed himself away from the doorway and lumbered into the room, his dark eyes shrouded in shadows as he lowered his chin to stare at her. “Your family won't like it if you go running around by yourself in the middle of the night,” he pointed out with a shake of his head, sending his shaggy brown hair into his face with the motion.

 

“I just want to see him,” she admitted quietly. “That's all . . . I just . . . he came all the way here for me, and . . . and he's my mate.”

 

“You sure about that?” Griffin challenged though not unkindly.

 

Samantha sighed. “Yes, I'm sure,” she maintained with a shake of her head. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

 

He leveled a look at her that bespoke his belief that she really ought to know why they'd question it.

 

She shook her head and gave a little shrug, staring at her hands as she tried to figure out a way to explain her feelings. It wasn't easy. “You know . . . the first time I saw him, when I woke up in the room where he'd taken me . . . I felt like he was familiar to me.” Uttering a sad little laugh, she shook her head, her ears drooping slightly. “I know, I didn't know anything about him, and I probably should have been afraid of him, but . . . but I wasn't. I just . . . wasn't . . .”

 

“Familiar,” Griffin repeated with a frown. She knew that expression well enough. He wasn't disagreeing with her; not at all. No, he was listening, wasn't he? The first person who actually had . . . “Your father thinks that it's that—that Stockholm Syndrome or whatever he calls it. Says you identify with him because he wasn't as bad to you as the others were.”

 

“I know what he thinks,” she grumbled, her gaze shifting out the window. “That's not true, you know. There're a lot of things about him that people don't know, but . . . but it's not my place to tell anyone, either. It's his story, right?”

 

Griffin rubbed his forehead and shook his head. “You know, I can't just let you leave,” he told her as he heaved a heavy sigh. “Your parents would be worried sick.”

 

Samantha let out a deep breath. She'd figured that he'd say something like that, and even though she knew that he wasn't really trying to take sides, it certainly felt that way. She just didn't have a better way to explain her feelings, did she? Saying how she felt . . . no one was really listening to her, and even though a part of her understood their collective concern, it still bothered her. Since her return, they'd all been behaving as though they didn't really trust her to make her own decisions, treated her as though they honestly thought that she might break if she were pushed too hard.

 

The only thing that hadn't been completely right was the marked lack of him—of the taijya—of Kurt. Now that he had come for her . . .

 

It was infuriating, really. Now that he was here, she ought to be concentrating on other things: things like getting to know him even better than she already did, helping him to realize that those things that had happened to him so long ago shouldn't make him feel like giving up. She wanted him to know that; wanted him to understand that there was so much more to life that he had yet to realize . . .

 

And she wanted to show him these things—wanted to make him laugh, wanted to help him realize that the dawning of the sun every morning was a beautiful thing, after all . . . All those things that he'd forgotten if he'd known them in the beginning . . . those were the things that she wanted to give him . . .

 

It was a fine line to walk, wasn't it? She loved her family, absolutely, unconditionally, and she understood just how worried, how scared they'd been in the months when they couldn't find her. She'd been scared, too, even if Kurt had managed to keep that fear from destroying her. The last thing—the very last thing—she wanted to do was to hurt any of them, especially her parents . . .

 

But . . .

 

She missed Kurt, too, though, and while her family would always be her family, would always love her, even if they didn't like it and didn't understand it . . .

 

The truth of it was that Kurt was her future, and she knew it. On some level, he had to know it, too, even if he didn't quite understand the why of it or the how. He'd come for her, and that was enough to convince her that she really was right about him.

 

She felt as though she were balancing on the edge of a great chasm and was getting ready to jump. If she didn't jump far enough, she'd fall in, but . . .

 

But on the other side of that chasm was Kurt and the beautiful meadow where he was waiting beside that tree, beside that stream . . . and that was where she wanted to go, and as frightening as the great wide void between them looked, the potential reward that she could see even if she couldn't quite reach it yet . . . Wasn't that worth the jump?

 

Griffin sighed again, his face scrunching up in an entirely thoughtful sort of way. He cleared his throat and let out a deep breath, and she could tell by the way he kept shuffling his feet that he was trying to decide whether or not to say what was on his mind. “Don't suppose they could be too upset with you if you didn't go alone,” he ventured at length.

 

Samantha blinked, her chin snapping up as she stared at him. “You'd . . . you'd take me over there?”

 

He didn't look entirely pleased, but he nodded once. “Considering you'll hop out that window the second I leave you alone in here? Yeah, I think I would.”

 

She hopped up and started to dash over to hug him. He grunted, cheeks reddening as he quickly shook his head. “Oh, no, none of that,” he grumbled. “That woman I married will kill me when she finds out.”

 

Samantha blinked quickly, staving back the tears that threatened to spill over, her heart hammering wildly at the mere thought of seeing him once more. “Thank you,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back and smiling up at Griffin, her hero.

 

His reply was a very loud sigh as he stomped over to the window and crawled through it.

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~= ~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

Ryoteishuseishu: Both Lawful Blade, Righteous Blade. It is actually two swords that lock together into one. The Seishuwas forged from Sesshoumaru's fang. The Teishuwas forged from InuYasha's fang. When needed, Ryo can unlock the swords into two separate swords that are easier to wield with one hand.

Bokuto: Wooden Japanese sword used for training.

The Princess Bride: 1987 film directed by Rob Reiner. Copyright 20th Century Fox.

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Final Thought from Kurt:

…This is worse than death…

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~