InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Ukime no Sekisetsu ❯ Arise ( Chapter 2 )

Ukime no Sekisetsu: Part II - Arise

 

When it was easy, I should have left.

 

Kagome stared out the open door of her small hut, and watched the running children roll over each other and lay flat on their backs while the dust cleared. The early summer sun was bright and clear, and the wind was strong today. Flecks of thatch were blown out of her roof and fell down through the cracks, glinting golden as long as they were suspended in the light. She found herself wishing it would rain, so that darkness would cloud the sky, blot out the sun.

 

Maybe then I could sleep.

 

How many weeks had it been, since she had been left alone in the darkness? She had thought the nightmare days were long behind her.

 

If I could sleep during the day, would I still dream? Or would the sun blind those memories, scatter them like sand in the wind?

 

The dream remained the same. She had seen it all before, hadn't she? At the end, just before she woke, there was a voice that was not the same. “Look at me!” A howl, almost. A wail…but so quiet. She wondered at it, trying to place it. In her thoughts, she was shaken; there had been no one there to make that cry, no one left alive.

The summer nights took their time coming, but when they came a sheet of navy darkness clotted the sky. The wind of the day became a breeze that raised the hairs on sweaty skin. Kagome turned on her futon, seeking the touch of that cooling breeze on her face. Shards of moonlight snuck through the thatch and printed themselves on her cheeks. She dreamed.

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This house is silent and dark.

 

He did not remember that it had been this way in the old days, and it did not make sense. The lamps were lit, and the tingling sound of harp and koto blended in his ears.

 

It is because she is not here.

 

That was why he had left. The empty hallways; the empty echoes. Too much remembered laughter was no longer present. As he stood there, alone, waiting for scent and power to announce him, he listened. It was the sound of the koto that faltered first, and then faded. He heard footsteps, soft but quick, and the opening of several screens.

“Sesshomaru-sama. Welcome…home.”

He lifted his eyes.

“I see you still prefer the old instruments, Shippou.”

The kitsune was nearly as tall as he was, now, and his face was distracted, troubled. Something familiar and impossible was prodding at him like a knife in the back.

“The koto is more comfortable in my hands, lord. Tell me, where have you traveled?”

Sesshomaru turned and walked out across the hall that Shippou had come from.

“South. I traveled south.”

“And what did you find?”

He lifted his sleeve to his nose, and sniffed gently.

 

Yes…that is what disturbs him. Her scent lingers.

 

Distance crossed his eyes.

“A memory. I found…a memory.”

He did not want to share her with Shippou, though most certainly she belonged more to the kitsune than to himself. If he opened the path between them, he could no longer tread it himself. It would be a path to old days, and he had not walked it then. His hand reached out, and stopped Shippou, who followed him.

“I must go back. Wait here - I will return soon.”

As he was walking away, he heard the sounds of harp and koto resume, with a muffled conversation drifting above the strings.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

This is a dream. But…how do I know that it is a dream?

 

Her hands moved, and she saw the arrow rise in her fingers and lay across the string. Swiftly, with strength, she drew back the string, and the arrow exploded from her like a burning spear and not an arrow.

 

Naraku!

 

Her arrow sheared off from the edge of his barrier, cracking it. Another arrow was in her fingers before she had time to think, and it, too, cracked the barrier. Like a pane of glass giving steadily under the pressure of some great hammer, a spider's web of thin lines showed across the glowing sphere that protected their enemy. A tusk of energy blew forward, shattering the rock at her feet, sending Shippou through the air. She heard his yelp of pain but could no longer see him.

There was a yowl above her, a battle-cry from Sango and Kilala combined into one sound. Hiraikotsu flung forward at the brilliant shield, and then sprang back. Kagome turned away from the sight of them, and felt her fingers stringing another arrow, firing, watching this time as the light spread out in a glowing wave, shooting past Miroku, incinerating a dozen youkai. The serious expression on Miroku's face hardened, and he uncovered the Kazaana. Behind him, Naraku smiled and opened his hand - the hive of the Saimyoshou bounced to the ground, full of an eerie drone, and then burst open.

 

Miroku!

 

Her voice had no sound to warn him. Sango's did - her cry turned him around to face the danger, and with a curse he closed his hand. The wind died. For a moment, everything flickered into a red and glowing silence. The red was tetsusaiga. Inuyasha leapt over her right shoulder, sword high and gleaming. A thousand bolts of lightning, stark with whiteness, blew upwards from where the sword intersected Naraku's barrier. Behind them, trees shook, screamed, and toppled.

There came a dull thud which seemed like it should be much louder. Devoid of his first and most powerful protection, Naraku loomed in front of her, half-hidden by Inuyasha and his sword. No one spoke, but she could hear Inuyasha's thoughts as clearly as if he had shouted - `It's over now'.

Tetsusaiga swung, the glaring blast of the Kaze no Kizu. Her own arrow fitted itself to the flight of that golden energy, turning it violet, turning it violent. She stood still, staring, fighting herself for the power to move that would never come.

 

This is a dream.

 

Naraku was no longer in the path of their destruction; he was seeking her life, a darting blade of deformed flesh moving at her faster than the wind. She could not see it, but she knew. Then, Sango. Diving, rolling forward over Kirara's neck, seeking to block with Hiraikotsu. The noise of the puncture was like a burst of cloudless thunder. Hiraikotsu cracked along the edges of the hole, and split in two. The bolt of Naraku's flesh continued on, spearing her, lifting her, shaking her.

“Sango! No, Sango, no!”

 

Miroku…I am still sorry, Miroku.

 

Sango fell, and did not move. Blood poured from that single wound, filling the emptiness where her heart had been. Already, her eyes were dim. She had only made one sound, one tiny gasp of surprise.

“Kagome, move!”

Her feet were taking her out of the way, the only motions allowed to her the ones she had already made. She gritted her teeth, and reached to string another arrow.

 

But where is he?

 

She had not known - perhaps she never would know - how he came towards her for the blow that she thought would end her. This time, it was the force of wind that pulled Naraku away, and she saw her enemy looking back over his shoulder, seeing the fierce determination on Miroku's face. He had not expected to be threatened by his own curse.

The saimyoshou were not droning any more, they were howling, and she knew it was Naraku's will that poured them in a flood towards that mighty wind.

“Miroku! Miroku!”

It was her voice, snatched out of her mouth and disassembled into a scream. His hand and arm were already purple, and swiftly turning black. She could hear his breath from across the field, a shuddering `uuooh…uuooh', as his throat swelled and cut off his air. The poison worked swiftly; then there was silence.

She released her arrow, feeling grief rise in her, choke her, wrap a million tiny fingers of guilt into her soul.

 

It was for me…

 

The blast of light was more blue than violet, a purer power. A screech of many demons came from Naraku's mouth, and she saw when the light passed that she had opened a hole into his true self. A chunk of his flesh and his right arm were gone, and in the hollows they had left behind squirmed demons, serpents and oni wrapped over each other and crushed into darkness.

Instead of blood, the wounds spewed miasma, black and viscous, thicker than poison. The ground was burnt by it; the air grew hazy and dark with evil energies and the promise of rot. Squinting against the feeling of acid in her eyes, she shot another arrow. The clean light gathered the darkness behind it and pulled, until there was none left. Though wounded, Naraku held out his other hand, and laughed.

 

Why must I dream this dream?

 

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I thought she meant to leave this place, but she has stayed. Is it because she wishes for me to return?

 

Perhaps he should have brought the kitsune. Shippou would be able to reach in and soothe her - and this was important. The single moment of a smile he had gleaned from her, that laughter like silk - that was important, too. He felt guilty, as though somehow he had stolen more than a life from this miko, even though she still lived. If he had fought the way he was meant to fight, would his brother still live?

 

Unless I chose to kill him.

 

The moment of regret was overcome by a red memory.

 

I cannot wipe it away…I cannot wash it clean.

 

The miko had noticed that he wore black. This thought made him scowl into the wind, and his feet passed a little faster over the ground.

 

It could be too soon.

 

There was nothing for him to say to her, until she remembered…if she could remember. It seemed impossible that the one memory he could not let go of, the memory that had filled his life to the brim with red, would not make impression on her. The trees shook in a cold wind, but only the heights felt it. The air near the ground was dim and still; his breath moved more than the breeze.

This was the forest where he had found her, the last time. The hour was not yet come when she would wake and come out, seeking solitude. As he did, when he was alone and yet not alone, so he knew she would do. The moon did not yet touch the highest curve of the sky. He would wait.

In his thoughts, he replayed his last meeting with her. The wind that night had been soft and cool with the breath of leaves, and the moon had only been a sliver of its present self…though it still was waning, now. Her scent - it lingered in his sleeves, like an aura to remind him. It was not bad. Sometimes he was haunted by the scent of death, the scent of blood. This was pleasant.

He could recall each word that had passed between them, the angles of surprise on her face when he stepped out of the shadows. `Do not make me wait another season' she had said, but looking around he saw that he had. Summer was preening itself among the branches and the leaves, and the green buds of spring were long opened.

 

Soon it will be autumn again. And then…winter.

 

He shuddered. He did not like thinking of winter. Part of him was taunted by the thought of returning to snow country, to the long white expanse of freezing cold. Eventually, the biting wind would cleave to his skin and change him, and with the change his pain would leave him. An unworthy thought. He leaned into the listening silence of the night, and then back. The memories filled him with darkness, but there had been a time when there was light.

 

When I am near the miko, I am returned to myself.

 

He was filled with an impossible urge to laugh. At the end of it all, to be restored by his brother's miko. Would her cure work on a demon?

 

What is her cure? I…want it.

 

“You want her, don't you? And you don't want to share.”

The voice came out of the dark trees like an echo of his own thoughts, and Sesshomaru was glad he had not laughed. Shippou stepped forward, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You are so much like Inuyasha. The two of you, always so much alike!”

It was too much! Even for the sake of that promise, he could not continue to allow such insolence! But…that promise. Claws that had tensed tighter and more deadly than steel relaxed, and he allowed his head to fall forward, hiding his expression.

“You should not be so insolent, fox. This is not your concern.”

They were the wrong words, and he knew it as soon as they were out of his mouth. “You will not stop me, Sesshomaru-sama. She was…like my mother.”

Sesshomaru shook his head, but did not lift his eyes.

“She has not changed Shippou, and yet…she is changed. You will not like what you see.”

Shippou shook his head, hearing but not listening. In his thoughts, had he not imagined this reunion a hundred, a thousand times over, believing each time that it was impossible?

“Did you think I would have forgotten her scent, Sesshomaru?

Sesshomaru shook his head. Shippou stalked off through the trees, following the promise of that scent on light feet.

 

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I don't want to watch this again!

 

As though she were chained to the seat of a chair in some grotesque opera, she had no choice in the matter. This was a dream - but it was also a memory. Already, she could hear last words, echoing in her head, but the time for them had not yet come. Naraku still dodged around Inuyasha's attempts at Kaze no Kizu, but she saw the distraction of his flight, saw the gathering of power without having to turn her eyes.

“Inuyasha!”

 

And now it begins…

 

Arrow after arrow, she was suddenly firing to no avail. Naraku and Inuyasha were lost in a dark mist. Was it more miasma? It was not as thick, but it felt like her lungs were on fire. Or was that because she was crying? She was, she knew it, her sobs ragged like the torn edges of a wound. It was not fair! - she must turn her face away, so as not to wet her string - why should she lose them? - another arrow, and then another arrow.

The mist cleared, and she saw Inuyasha, staggering. It was obvious he was bleeding, but she did not know how badly. He came back to her side, and then she saw. A bloody gouge had been dug into the flesh of his whole body, like a great, scorching tongue had wrapped around him, covered in thorns. Only his hands were firm, holding tightly to tetsusaiga's hilt. His eyes were bright with blood, and his very soul seemed to be panting.

“Naraku…”

 

And the blood on his sword is black…but the blood on Naraku's hands is red. All red.

 

Naraku stepped forward, and she swallowed thickly. Whatever Inuyasha had done, its effect had been terrifying. Half of Naraku looked like a man, and half of him was exposed, even the flesh of his face gone now. That dark coiling of demons looked ready to burst free, but a glowing eye, round, yellow, peered from the mass that had once been a face, and leered at them.

“Come, come to your death, Inuyasha…”

Inuyasha leapt. Tetsusaiga howled before him, the brightest and most shining wind…and it recoiled. Naraku screamed his glee, yowled it, clawed the air with it. Inuyasha fell, and fell, and did not rise from the broken ground. She heard a scream, a thin, wailing noise, and clasped her hands at her throat.

 

It is me, it is me making that noise…Inuyasha!

 

From nowhere, a blank flight of gold streamed out and then back. It was followed by blue, a dragon of power and lightning that flashed through Naraku with boiling heat. The howl of victory that lingered in his features was extinguished, and a fountain of black miasma and youkai leapt up and outwards from a plunging wound. The youkai were obliterated in another sweep of golden light. Poison rained out of the sky like water.

There was another howl, deeper, fuller. Against the lead-footed weight of her dream, against the pressure of her own memories, she focused on the movements in the corner of her eye, shifting her attention from the agony in front of her.

 

It was Sesshomaru.

 

Behind them, how long had he been watching? Had he just come, and seen the moment of his brother's death as the proper time for his own entrance…had he watched them all die? She turned, and her eyes absorbed new horror. Her friends were not the only ones that suffered.

The rain of poison had not reached her own feet, but great burning bolts of it had thrummed into Sesshomaru, who shook them off like sparks. In his arms, though sheltered by him, the girl had not been protected. Blood spilled from Rin's mouth, flowed out of her opened chest like a red blossom. The orange and white checks of her kimono were washed out in the crimson flood. Blank eyed, frozen, Sesshomaru watched the black emptiness fill her eyes.

Paralyzed, Kagome felt the approach of those final, brittle moments, and her eyes were torn from the bloody girl. Her hands moved without thought, pulling the last arrow from her quiver. Where was her bow? Her eyes focused on the ground, the bow, and she remembered the strain that had come over her, how hard it was to keep her attention away from all the bloody bundles on the ground.

She held the arrow tightly, watching Naraku smile and approach her.

 

You came closer, Naraku.

 

She remembered now - she was nearing the moment when she had been complete for the last time - the moment when spirits rose to touch her. Naraku came, and she spread her arms wide as if to embrace him. A smile ached on her face.

She felt the power come from behind her, a great, swelling presence of love, and grief, and emptiness.

 

But - this is…Sesshomaru!

 

How long had it taken to remember, to notice that he was there? Hadn't she gone over this battle in her head a thousand times? She had thought it was the lingering power of those who had died for her, that Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, even little Shippou had filled the darkness inside of her and come out in this blazing arrow.

 

It was…Sesshomaru.

 

She could feel it flowing from him, this power, a black and golden aura of flames. It fed her with its piercing grief, sharpening the point of her arrow, strengthening her will. Suddenly, the smile ceased to ache.

 

But this is a dream!

 

Her hands moved along the remembered path. The arrow in her fist channeled all of her remarkable power, all of Sesshomaru's fury, all the sorrow that lapped through the air like an unceasing tide. The arrow sheared through what had been restored to Naraku's barrier, and she felt it pierce the amalgam of his flesh, a thousand demons suddenly freed, and then purified.

The aftermath was a wind that washed her thoughts clean, and immersed her in black darkness.

 

Kagome sat up in bed, and her hands flew up to cover her eyes. Sobs ran through her like electricity on a wire. She had asked him…she had asked him!

“So…horrible.”

She still could not imagine why he looked so guilty, so broken after a hundred years. The girl had not died to save him, had not spent her life for something worthless. After all…hadn't she only been a human girl? A smile touched her at the thought of remembered cruelty, the harshness of words that was now lost. It twisted her face.

There had been no bodies when she woke, only graves - and tetsusaiga, a lone marker, saying here, here lies Inuyasha…

 

It must have been Sesshomaru who buried them.

 

Those first ten years, in the village, she had visited those graves every day.

“I wonder…where he buried the girl?”

Her voice startled her in the darkness. She stood, and dressed, and was almost outside before she paused to let a shiver run down her back.

“Sesshomaru.”

It was a whisper. She had to find him, now that she knew. How could he have wandered this way for so long, without letting go? Could she make him?

 

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Sesshomaru did not let Shippou get far. His thoughts were preoccupied, but he did not think it would be a good shock - and didn't the kitsune realize how much he had changed? She would not recognize him; she would not believe he was not dead.

 

How long will it take her?

 

How long would it be until she remembered - would she even try? Her eyes, the soft voice that had followed him said she would…slowly, his feet paced out the long distance through the trees.

The forest sang in its full green, delighting in the night, and the clear yellow moonlight sparkled on him. His awareness tingled under the light, and his senses reached out with a clarity he had not known in decades.

 

The miko has come out into the night. Did he find her?

 

As he thought it he knew that his own foresight would not be shared with Shippou, that until he found her, the kitsune would not find her. It was a grace. His feet remembered the path to the little house on the edge of the wood, and guided him there without pause. He stopped, quickly, drawn up by the sight of her, reaching blindly through the trees. She was hindered by tears and thick emotions. Swiftly, he caught hold of her, and she ceased her stumbling and fell against his body.

He held her, stiffly, caught completely off guard, and felt her hands climb his shoulders, touch his face.

“Sesshomaru.”

Not even his mother had ever touched him this way, and Rin had kept a respectful distance, always acknowledging the life-debt she owed.

 

What is this miko?

 

He could not push her away. That would require a thought, an action, a reaction to something which could not even be.

Her fingers slipped along his temples, curled into a caress that was faint on his cheek. Without a thought, he leaned into that caress. It was good to be touched…good to feel this small miko, who cried for him, good to breathe the warm air of her breath.

Pale, shining tears leaked from her closed eyes, and the air between them became tinted with salt. The edge of her scent that was cooled by sadness tasted like ocean, like distance.

She let out a quick breath, a noise that broke the stillness, and his own eyes opened. The miko's hand was no longer touching his cheek; it was his lips, touching her cheek; even as he recognized it, he moved, following the trail of one drop, avoiding the moment when one of them would speak.

 

Just another moment, and I could kiss her.

 

His lips lingered at the corner of her mouth. A raw silence flowed around them, between them, rushing in the space of a moment, a millimeter. With a judgment of supreme control, Sesshomaru stepped back.

“Someone else has come to see you, Kagome.”

She swayed, and opened her eyes. Her hands floated up to press against her cheeks, and she shook her head.

“What? Sesshomaru…there is no one else who would come see me. You know…they are all dead.”

With an air of great nonchalance, he turned away.

 

If she sees my effort, it is all for nothing.

 

“You had a kitsune. Shippou. He has been under my care…since that day. It was we who believed you were dead, Kagome. He…is here, now.”

She stood still, and her eyes followed him away.

“Kagome! Kagome!”

He ignored the shout, and disappeared between the reaching trunks and their draped greenery. There was a new flame blooming on the embers of fury that had remained stilled in him for so long. He desired blood, desired an ending that had already come. Would that Naraku might breathe again, so he could drench him death!

 

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If life keeps on this way, I will die of it. It will not take an enemy, or a thousand years!

 

If this was Shippou, she did not understand it. Three times, she reminded herself that a century had passed, a century of great changes, many battles, long journeys. If she had not changed, that was only because she was accursedly blessed with an unchanging form and the shikon no tama's power.

He did not seem to care, so excited was he, almost delirious with merely being in her presence. The kit she remembered had grown taller than her, and his hair hung in a long braid. She supposed it was Sesshomaru who gave him the armor - it looked like the armor Sesshomaru himself had worn.

“Kagome? Kagome?”

She shook her head, and smiled, and then looked up so he could see it.

“I…I'm sorry Shippou. I thought you were dead, I thought that day, that battle, when Naraku…”

She could not say any more than that, but it was not necessary. His bright, shining smile thinned, and dimmed. Darkness flecked the angles of his face, and he looked away.

“It took me three weeks to wake up. Sesshomaru brought me away from the battlefield, and when he returned he buried the dead that he could find.”

For a moment, his voice was shaky.

“We always thought that you and Naraku were consumed, together with the jewel. That you dissolved into nothing. The place…where you were was burnt, badly…it looked like a star had fallen.”

Kagome shook her head.

 

Is this how easy it is to lose those you love? I have never needed to be alone…

 

A shutter slid open over the darkness that brooded in her.

“I am sorry, Shippou. I should never have let you onto that battlefield.”

He smiled again, and reached over to touch her arm, light as a feather.

“Don't you remember, Kagome? I begged and begged not to be left behind. I promised I would follow you alone if you left me.”

She gripped his fingers, and they were deadly and cool in her hands.

“It will always be my fault, Shippou…all of it. I will never forget that it was me who broke the jewel…and that it was me they died to protect. I am well punished, Shippou.”

She held her hands over her chest, and closed her eyes.

“The shikon no tama is inside me, where it started. Now…my miko touches it, and it is awake, infecting my blood with agelessness. I have not changed, Shippou. You see that.”

It was true, and he did not need to say anything. A long silence fell between them, and the sun rose in the east of them like a leaping spear of light. Shippou looked across at Kagome, seeing a halo behind her as the sun grew higher in the sky, inch by inch. When the light touched her eyes, his smile softened. She was sleeping, and her face was at ease now as it had been on the long nights in their past.

He lifted her easily and gently, and lay her on the futon in the corner of the room. He did not know why her sleep had been interrupted, or why she had run out into the night, but it didn't matter. He would wait.

Kagome slept a few hours of dark, dreamless sleep. Her dreams had been exhausted by the nights potential, and when she blinked and opened her eyes, there was a moment of surprise before she remembered the earliest morning.

 

Shippou…I am not alone.

 

There were other thing she needed, though. Other memories, other smiles, other moments. Shippou was good. Shippou would help.

She sat up, and ran her hands through her hair. He had been sitting with his back to her, but now he turned and watched her stand and shake out her clothes.

“Shippou, where is Sesshomaru now?”

He blinked. That was not one of the questions he had expected her to ask. Smoothly, he stood and walked to the door. Sesshomaru's own scent was thicker near them than he expected it to be. Had he missed…something? Kagome's face held no clues.

“I could find him, if I followed his scent. He promised he would go back to the house…but I do not know if he really meant it.”

His eyes slid over her at an angle she remembered from his childhood.

“Yesterday was the first time he has come there in twenty years…and before that, it was another twenty, if not more. He has wandered over the whole of Japan, and across the water to the west.”

Kagome came up behind him, and he followed the urging of her presence out the door. Behind him, he heard a rough clatter, and the corner of his eye caught her stringing her bow, slinging the quiver over her back. Her smile was taut, but the tones of her voice pled.

“Will you take me to him, Shippou? Sesshomaru…I do not understand Sesshomaru.”

Shippou laughed, shortly, but turned his nose to the task. She was Kagome - he could not deny her.

“No one understands Sesshomaru, Kagome. Not even him.”

 

I am close, Shippou, but I will not tell you how close. There was a reason…he left before you came.

She closed her eyes, and swallowed. Shippou was the past, the past that had come for her, but Sesshomaru merged the old with the new. They had all changed, becoming more complex, fitting together in strange ways.

 

In strange ways…yes.

 

Her hand came up to the corner of her mouth, and stayed there.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

By the time the first night fell, Sesshomaru knew he was being followed. Like twin streams of teasing energy, the presence of Shippou and the miko reached out to him. The miko was a blurred, tense line.

 

Kagome.

 

He knew it was not by Shippou's initiation that they were following his path. His miko was not happy that he had left her behind, and the kitsune would do anything to make her happy.

 

And I know she will not tell him why.

 

He had not meant to lure her after him - or had he? Where Kagome was concerned, intentions and possibilities became skewed. As though it were a candle, he could see the cure she held out for him, the salve for century-old wounds. It seemed so simple; she touched him and the ache was less. When he turned away, pains and guilt returned.

He would have to find a way to keep her near him, until the last throb was silenced. If she followed him, that made it easier. In one thing only, Shippou had been right.

 

I do not want to share her.

 

It was not really up to him at all. The miko would do what she wanted to do, and he would be lucky if she did not disappear entirely. The winter just past had frightened him, the long wander as spring approached, trying to find her again.

 

I must lead her somewhere…through the wilderness, she may tire of the chase. She is…not youkai.

 

It was impossible to think of her as human; the smoothness of her skin, the grace of her movement was something else. She did not even smell human any more - her scent was full of petals, shadows, stars. Abruptly, he stopped. The grass moved around his feet, damp with dew that was already collecting for the dawn.

 

If I take her…home?

 

It was not far, west and north of this place. And he had promised Shippou…he would return there.

 

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“This is the place?”

Shippou nodded.

“I told you it was not far. I cannot believe he actually came back here. Perhaps it was not for me, after all.”

Kagome's eyes questioned him, while they darted back and forth, taking in all the details of this place. He did not elaborate.

“It's beautiful, Shippou. I'm glad…you were taken care of.”

She shook her head, and sighed. Watching, Shippou's eyes glittered, and a few harsh words formed on his lips and shot at her with a guttural depth.

“I was alone here, except for…”

He paused, and licked his lips. Whatever he had been about to say, he suddenly changed his mind.

“Except for those times Sesshomaru chose to visit…and that was not often.”

“Are you berating me, kitsune? I might have left you to die in the blood on that battlefield.”

It was Sesshomaru, standing in the doorway, and a fountain of relief bubbled in Kagome's chest and rose up into her smile.

“But you didn't, Sesshomaru.”

He looked at her, and was struck dumb by the brilliance of that smile, the brightness of her eyes. When she turned away, he blinked, feeling a tingle even in his fingertips. While these feelings drifted across his face, Shippou watched, his eyes narrow, his gaze fierce.

“Shall we go inside, Sesshomaru-sama? Shall we see what welcome awaits us?”

Sesshomaru turned away, and held out his hand for Kagome. She had expected it, not knowing why, for there was nothing in her memory that made sense of it. The dark wood floors were smooth and cool under her feet, and Sesshomaru led her with a gentle hand through the polished hallways and past many shadowed doors.

The sound of a well-played harp strung itself around her ears, and she stopped outside the door where it was strongest, a tingle of light plucking notes that ran into her ears like rain. Sesshomaru's tug on her hand was pliant, and she was not afraid to tug back.

“Who is playing, Sesshomaru?”

His fingers slid away from her, and his eyes sharpened, peering through the silk-screened door.

“Someone else…that I saved.”

He took a step forward, and slid open the screen. His eyes were deep dark now, hiding interpretation. It took an instant for her to apply recognition, another instant for the player to look up and meet her eyes in the doorway. In the third instant, palpable power trembled along the length of her arrow, the string of her bow thrummed with it, her eyes blazing with memories.

“Tell me why she is here, Sesshomaru, before I kill her.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

He had expected her anger, her power, but not the murderous desire that flickered behind her eyes.

 

She is guilty. Why? She had her vengeance, and I…

 

It was not time for those thoughts. Grieving, anger, rotted desires must be put away for another moment, when his miko would tell him why, and how. He did not consider that she, too, might not know.

“She is here because I made a promise.”

The arrow began to drop on the string, no longer aimed but still dangerous.

“A…promise?”

Kagome's eyes lifted from her target and strung themselves over Sesshomaru for a moment of appraisal.

“To Rin.”

She watched the name drag over him, illuminating even as it bloodied his thoughts. The memory of her dream bolted through her chest. It was not yet time to confront him with it. The sound of her name already contorted him - she did not have anything in her thoughts to encompass the future of his pain. Not now. Not yet.

“What was this promise, Sesshomaru?”

Her voice called him back out of the darkness, and he saw that she knew this.

“I promised…to protect them. There were others…but…I came too late.”

 

There was even you, miko. Kagome. She liked you best.

 

He turned away, left her alone even as the bow was dropping from her fingers to the floor. He heard Kagome's footsteps, slow, and her voice, low and uncertain.

“Hello…Kanna.”

He paused, waiting for the lisp that would answer her.

“You are the miko who killed him. Thank you, miko-sama. Thank you for my freedom.”

There was a long, still silence. Kagome's voice snuck through it like waves beneath the water.

“You…play very well, Kanna. Will you play for me?”

Sesshomaru turned away, satisfied. Even as he was walking away, an angry huff passed near him, moving swiftly. With turning or pausing in his footsteps, Sesshomaru stopped the motion of that anger with simple words.

“You do not remember this miko very well, Shippou. She was never one with a grudge, never one to carry vengeance close to her. She is not like us.”

“But - Kanna!”

He stopped then, and Shippou could not see the expression on his face.

“Kanna is a child. She will never be anything but a child, emptying everything she touches, unless she chooses to make it so. She is not Naraku, Shippou.”

 

Yes…she is not Naraku. But she does not laugh.