"My Lover, My Brother!" by Abraxas 2010-12-28
Sango found a man. That could not be denied. She found him - and who or what ever it was, it was not him!
Miroku agonized. It was not supposed to be this way. Was it Naraku's last, demented curse?
The monk was tormented by the possibility. Yet, again and again, the only reality was that he had been rejected. Yet he was supposed to be the lover! After Naraku's defeat, were they not fated to be together?
Was the Universe mistaken?
Alas, she found love within the arms of another. There could be no other explanation for why she would not look at him. A shame of depth unfathomable crippled her being whenever they were around each other. Her voice trembled, her body shivered, her attention, once keen, now unfocused, always uneasy about matters of the present. Rather, there was an obsession about leaving - soon, quickly - and she did not leave with anyone but Kirara. And she did not speak of where she went and what she did. Who she met.
One day Sango arrived from that unspoken and mysterious location.
"Did you find anything?" Inuyasha asked.
The slayer removed her mask and replied: "No."
Inuyasha covered his face with his sleeve.
"Nothing but dead ends here," Miroku added.
In time the monk, too, averted his eyes from the sight of the woman.
Inuyasha stepped away, unable to tolerate the scent of cleome that exuded from Sango.
"It hasn't been a month since Naraku's defeat," Miroku said. "Leads should be fresh. There must be a trail, a trace. Even..."
"I told you, everything about that monster was illusion." Inuyasha, free of the effect of the odor, crossed his arms while he addressed the humans. "We don't know where, exactly, he placed that castle."
Sango sighed.
"Kohaku will not survive," she spoke, as if confessing.
A tear streaked along Sango's cheek - Miroku caught its glimmer but could not speak beyond a gulp.
Inuyasha was optimistic: "It's possible he's strong enough to live without the shard. Maybe another demon - including Sesshoumaru - could have saved him. Or he could be looking for us."
Kirara meowed; day by day, the cat was as distressed as the woman.
"Miroku."
By the edge of the river, the demon approached the monk.
"Inuyasha."
Under the light of the moon, the human gazed into the Universe.
How can something so perfect be so wrong?
"You've noticed how Sango is drenched with that scent?"
"Cleome. Yes, I noticed."
"Every time she returns that scent strengthens."
There was a pause; there were ideas but words could not express them.
"It's unlike her. It's..."
"As if she were disguising another scent."
Embarrassed for his friend, Inuyasha retreated into the forest.
Who could it be? What could it be? Sango's lover.
Miroku, gripped by jealousy, wondered...
Sitting by the fire, he prepared for another summer night. Kirara curled upon his lap: or she was overwhelmed by the cleome or she preferred the company of the discarded.
"If only you spoke," he whispered while petting the animal.
Sango must have found the man while searching for Kohaku. The man was either familiar or different. Different such that it would have been shameful to be lovers. But he rejected the idea it was a stranger. She was a very careful and thoughtful woman. She would not have been mixed up in such business. Therefore, he reasoned, the man was familiar. Somebody everybody knew. Especially Inuyasha - the scent was meant to mask the identity.
It could have been Koga. But since Kagome's passing the rivalry between Koga and Inuyasha ended. And would it be so unusual as to be suspicious if a wolf helped track a human? No. It could have been Sesshoumaru. Yes! Inuyasha brought up the name; Inuyasha looked away, ashamed when he fled into the wilderness. Was it so because he sensed it despite the layers of that other odor?
Wait - he caught his breath and forced himself to be calm. He was finding motives and agendas in places where they did not belong. It was the hallmark of envy and he cursed that could be that weak.
Inuyasha could not face him because it was not his nature to be expressive of emotion. He was concerned about his friends - and that was that - and his point about his brother was valid though unlikely. Of course, Sesshoumaru would not consort with a human. Especially a slayer of demons.
That next evening Shippo and Souten appeared with a box for Sango. From afar Miroku watched the item exchange hands. Then the woman reached the cat. Then, together, they flew away.
"Was that a fragrance?"
The fox nodded.
"Where did you get it?"
"Jinenji. He grows the arrowhead she wanted."
Arrowhead? The monk was confused. What kind of love could it be?
"She was, hurried, I guess. She wanted it quickly and only he had it."
Miroku withdrew silently.
Arrowhead - was not a fragrance - but what did it matter? After all, it was her life. Hers to live or die as she wished.
That next morning Kirara's tongue was upon Miroku's cheek. The cat was upset and he got the message: she was in trouble. Without hesitation - without calling to Inuyasha or Shippo - he mounted the animal and together they soared through the air.
The beast smelled of that toxic weed but otherwise did not suffer its effect. Yet it was anxious and nervous. The monk was moved by the concern. Moment by moment he, too, grew as afraid. And he wondered, almost paralyzed by the possibilities, of what awaited at the other end of that trip.
The two reached a cliff whose base was beaten by the ocean. Along its rough and jagged exterior was what seemed to be the mouth of a cave. It was dark, shadowy. An atmosphere of gloom oppressed its interior. It was frigid, utterly, like hell.
"Is this her lover's lair?" he asked the cat. "It's - like a tomb."
The animal inched back away from the man.
Miroku peered into the passageway beyond the entrance of the alcove. A single, dim torch burned within the interior of an antechamber. He covered his face with his sleeve - for the scent of the arrowhead was dense - and again without pause ventured into the vault.
At its center was a pit. It was a bed that had been fashioned of straw. Walking as if lurching through a dream, he approached the structure. It was occupied. The curves of the figure's back revealed it to be Sango.
He touched her shoulder. Although terror was not a stranger, never before did it come in such a familiar and intimate visage. Crying, he turned her - she was Sango - she was dead. Naked and dead. But that was only the beginning of the horror for what lay beneath her made him scream and stagger aback.
The hair. The eyes. The lips. The face. Piece by piece, the realization trickled into his mind and it defied understanding. He wondered if it was easier to die than to live with that image. Yet it could not be denied!
The corpse of the boy who died at the dawn of manhood was Kohaku! He was her lover. Her bother! She kept his body clean and moist enough that though dead he seemed to be alive. Even his penis was erect though it had been induced involuntarily by the decay that advanced despite the frigidity of that cave.
The body would not last and Sango could not bear to be without Kohaku again, forever - so - she joined with him. As Miroku watched, as the fumes of the arrowhead swirled, the boy's youth faded, the body's flesh assumed a rancid and leathery complexion. Slowly then rapidly, like an avalanche, the corpse melted into a pool of putrid rot.
The monk fled the chamber. The cave. Upon Kirara, he raced away from the calamity. Since they met their relationship was doomed but it took until that moment, that instant for him to understand. He could not be the man of her dreams. Never. Never! Her heart was consumed by a love for the dead and he - alive - could not compete with the memory of Kohaku.
END