InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Seven Feudal Fairy Tales ❯ Wrath of a God ( Chapter 20 )

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi and other associated companies.

 

 

Chapter Twenty: Wrath of a God

 

 

Sesshoumaru knelt down in front of the battered, but sturdy work bench, its surface both smooth and split from years of naked exposure to the elements. Carefully, he surveyed the delicate piece of carved wood sitting before him, his focused, amber eyes pouring over the youthful tan grain starkly contrasting with the dark, muted umber of the table beneath it. His brow creased as he concentrated and a slight breeze ruffled his bangs, occasionally eclipsing the navy, crescent moon upon his forehead.

 

With a satisfied grunt, the youkai lord stood up again, retrieving a tarnished, metal chisel resting on the bench. Steadily, he raised the tool above the unfinished, wooden bowl and with a sudden, deft movement, he brought it down. The thin, silvery edge neatly sliced through the sloped, concave surface within the mortar, cleaving away a thin peel of wood in its wake. He struck several more blows, giving a slight nod of satisfaction after each resulting nick.

 

Twirling the chisel absently in his hand, the tai youkai looked over his handiwork, searching for any more imperfections that had failed to catch his attention. On the ground, at his heels and strewn haphazardly about were the broken remnants of less fortunate attempts and the irreparably bent chisels that often accompanied them. Woodcarving was not a skill that had ever interested him, but it was at the very least, challenging and even more so with only one hand.

 

Gently, the demon bent over and blew away the fragile curls of wood shavings resting in the bowl, sending them fluttering to the ground. He picked up a large, swollen, cloth bag and dipped his hand in through its opening. Casually, he scooped up a portion of its contents, sifting it through his fingers until he was satisfied with the amount and then began to pour it into the roughly-shaped mortar. The sand, which he had procured from the banks of a nearby creek, fell in a steady stream, their fine grains piling into a perfect mound in the bottom of the bowl.

 

Using his knuckles, the youkai lord ground the sand into the mortar, polishing away the jags and notches with an even, gentle pressure. With each careful, grating motion, he felt the surface resist less and less to his touch. Eventually, he returned the silt to the bag and examined the bowl and its smooth, buffed interior. A small smile graced his lips at his success only to be whisked away with the passing breeze. He set the mortar into the bag and gathered a handful of sand, rubbing it over the outside of the bowl and the passable stand he had whittled beneath it.

 

“I have to admit, I'm impressed,” whispered a deep voice.

 

“Why are we hiding?” answered an equally quiet, but more feminine voice.

 

“I do not care to distract him from his work.”

 

“But, can't he hear us?”

 

“I believe we are whispering, young one.”

 

“But—“

 

“Whispering,” the voice sang softly, swiftly quieting the other voice before returning to its previous tone. “I am deeply honored by his effort. The other pups were so unskilled in comparison. Do you think he'll paint it?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Do you require my services, Shiro-sama?” Sesshoumaru spoke up, his irritation hidden from his voice, but not from the furrowed expression of his brow or the angry glare he quickly cast towards the corner of the house which hid the two interlopers.

 

“I believe you have revealed us, Kagome-san.”

 

“What?!” the feminine voice answered shrilly, followed by grumbling frustration.

 

“No, my pup,” Shiro replied confidently, stepping out from behind the hovel and casually strolled over to the work bench and the waiting youkai lord. “You are doing all that is required. All that duty asks for from a loyal member of my clan.”

 

“Then I would ask to be left to my work without interruption,” he answered, returning his attention once more to the mortar, scooping the sand over the rough burrs that still remained.

 

“It is true that I am not present in this moment to ask more of you,” the great-grandsire quickly remarked as he stopped to lean against the wall next to the bench, easily ignoring his great-grandpup's stiffening posture. “I am here in case you have anything you wish to ask of me.”

 

“There is nothing I wish from you except your kind absence at this time.”

 

“Harsh words,” Shiro responded with a slight smile.

 

“Truthful words and ones not intended to disrespect.”

 

“So, it would seem,” he commented absently while smoothing away a crease from his worn robe. “Then if I may be truthful as well, I must admit that my bloodline fascinates me more every time.” The sand filtered through Sesshoumaru's idle hand until it was empty. Eyes widened, he looked up at his great-grandsire, whose lips had since spread into a soft, fleeting grin as he briefly relished in his pup's newly founded attention.

 

“The human emperor spoke something very similar.”

 

“Did he? That man always did have a loose tongue.”

 

“He was speaking of you?”

 

“Yes,” he replied with a nod.

 

“Then, are you the reason that I was given one scroll and the other to my half brother? That we were given such dangerous relics without a word of their nature?”

 

“It is more complicated than what you have said, but yes.”

 

“Then, please enlighten, this Sesshoumaru,” the tai youkai spoke coldly, setting the finished mortar down. The great-grandsire sighed lightly, gathering his thoughts under the hard stare of his distant pup. They were always so angry and so very broken.

 

“Fifteen hundred years ago,” he began, his tongue already aching at the tale that had been told once too often, “I offended a simple, filthy human, drunk on sake and his own self pity. His slovenly, pathetic presence repulsed me and since I am not one to keep such opinions private, I was quick to tell him so. I have many times thought on what I had spoken in that moment, but in the end I believe it was my disgust and disrespect which enraged him. He declared that he was a god fallen from the heavens and that one day he would return. And in the instant he wielded power again he would take revenge on my insult. I scoffed at his words and went on my way, his ilk too foul to soil my claws.

 

Then one bright, summer day, while I traveled my lands assuring all was well, a strange magic overcame me. It was like a vaporous mist, cold and damp, overwhelming my strength and subduing my senses. It strangled my voice and my body and brought me helplessly to my knees. Then, I, one of the greatest of the tai youkai to walk this world was trapped as I vanished into nothingness almost as if I had never existed.

 

Shortly, I awoke here, in this dying world of eternal autumn, gray and faded, waiting for the final, shuddering breath of winter that will never come. I was reduced to a mere dog, my form of old and doomed to the story of my birth. Fated, I was to relive my torturous death countless times until I am so ancient that I can remember nothing else.

 

The lonely years ground by as each painful day I was given away by the ignorant hand of the old man and slain cruelly by the desperate hand of the neighbor. They felt it too, the unending cycle of pointless violence, for even illusions know when they are abused. They however had no choice but to continue and I was too proud to try to escape my destiny, no matter how often the shovel fell, splitting my head. Honor after all, offered me only one path.

 

Then one strange day, the magic changed and I felt my old strength restored, despite my feeble body. It though, was not the only thing that was altered. The old couple who foolishly time after time handed me to the neighbor, paused in their actions and debated vigorously over the ethics of lending me to a man who would inevitably kill me. Unable to neither reason with the man nor barter with him, they had little choice but to allow me my grave future.

 

Upon death, my youkai body was returned to me and I swiftly sought out my unsuccessful, but well-meaning saviors. After some artful introductions, I learned that they were human monks who had found a pair of scrolls hidden away in a storeroom of a pagoda they were cleaning. Hapless to his actions, one read the scroll's words and trapped himself and his fellow holy man into this world where they had since made their way through two of the fairy tales, hoping that finishing the final seventh one would bring an end to their nightmare.

 

They spoke of burning the scrolls after they escaped, but I warned them of Susanou's wrath and pleaded with them to instead offer them to my clan in the west. Unfortunately, after their departure, my body of old and the indifferent touch of the previous elderly couple returned and my life and death as it were, went on like before.

 

It did not last, for soon the welcome embrace of two of my sons found me in the forms of the old couple. One of the monks had found them deep in my lands and had told them of my imprisonment. They were not quick to let me go to my fate, for they loved me too much to see me hurt, but one cannot fight the unavoidable. Again, I became a youkai after my death and told them much the same story I am now telling you.”

 

Sesshoumaru looked on the old lord in silence, the words of his great-grandsire slowly trickling through his mind. Satisfied with the softened expression of his great-grandpup and the seeming lack of questions, Shiro continued.

 

“Despite their desire to do otherwise, there was nothing they could do for me. My power had not faded since it had returned to me after the first visitors from outside this realm. If, I, at my full strength could not break the magic of a god, there was no way my pups could either. However my responsibilities to my clan still ached at me, demanding my endless sacrifices to be put to use. To die a good death for nothing everyday ate at my warrior core. Then a single thought bore into my mind, a way to guide my few, wayward pups into understanding what my first and only meaningful death had meant.”

 

“And so pups of the clan were sent into the realm of the scroll to learn of our history,” Sesshoumaru interrupted, stealing the great-grandsire's words before he could speak them.

 

“The Clan of Shiro is an unusual one in its growth,” the old lord went on with a nod. “Not different in how every youkai comes into this world. The new blood as they are known, were once simple white dogs cherished by their compassionate owners and who died protecting them from the cruel intent of their fellow humans. If their old masters truly honored them in death and their desire to guard and reward them spurred their spirit to become a youkai, then into my clan they were born.”

 

“My mother.”

 

“As I have been told,” Shiro remarked cryptically, eliciting an odd look from the tai youkai. “New blood suffers little from the prejudice of ignorant demon tongues and actions. They were dogs first and proud of what they died for, no matter what those outside the clan may believe. However, pups birthed into the clan have no past or pride to fall back on under those same words of ill-intent. Instead they lay exposed, their heart scarring with resentment and confusion as the cuts of every unbidden insult and assault to their station and person tears into their flesh.

 

What connects us as a clan is our blood and our history. It would be a fallacy if I were to allow such hate to brew, corroding our bonds as a pack. I died once for the love and honor of my former masters and once was enough. Now I die for you and other pups like you, if for nothing more than to show you what my first sacrifice truly meant and to guide you into understanding your own true nature. I die now to give you the pride in your heritage that you sorely deserve.”

 

The rustling sound of the thin ribbons of dried grass fluttering in the wind filled the empty air. Both youkai stared at each other in silence, one waiting in the advent of more questions and the other unsure of the answers he had already received.

 

“As you spoke earlier, it is not that simple,” Sesshoumaru finally said, his jaw setting and his softened expression growing hard once more. “This deceptive tradition does not inspire my trust and a few elegant words do not erase five hundred years of insult and hate.”

 

“If you knew the intent of the scrolls, would you have allowed yourself to be trapped here? Would you have come of your own free will to hear my words?” The young, youkai lord remained quiet and the great-grandsire nodded knowingly. “It is that same hate that blinds you, pup.”

 

“If this hate does blind me then it was your own foolish devotion to unworthy humans who betrayed you and wasted your gifts that has made it so, my lord.”

 

“Do you truly believe I was betrayed?”

 

“Ignorance of their neighbor's intent may spare them your death,” the tai youkai spoke icily, “But, they sought no justice for your sacrifice and they insulted your spirit when they so easily gave away your gifts out of kindness for the same man who killed you.”

 

“Indeed, goodwill was their failing and they paid dearly for it. No gold or fortune would ever replace the son they found in the great, white dog that warmed himself by their fire. And each time they celebrated my life after my passing, it was torn away from them by the evil whims of an envious man. Their foolishness though, was not malice. Would you have me go so far as to reward those who respect and honor me with punishment instead.”

 

“I am finished with your mortar. Find another to give it away,” Sesshoumaru bit out, before pivoting away from the work bench and his great-grandsire, making his way through the waist-high grass and soon his silver and red form was out of sight.

 

“How far would you go to reward those who respect and honor you, Sesshoumaru?” Shiro called out. “How far would you go? To another country? To another world? To the very depths of hell itself?”

 

“Will he be okay?” a meek voice asked softly behind the old lord and the wary figure of the school girl stepped out from the shelter of the corner of the house.

 

“He was right about one thing,” the great-grandsire answered gently, resting a welcoming hand on her shoulder. “Five hundred years of hate is not so easily erased.”