Disclaimer: This story is based on "Inuyasha," copyrighted by Rumiko Takahashi. No infringement of copyright intended or implied.
To Relieve Suffering
She could make herself do nothing. Though her body had long since healed, she could not find the will, let alone the desire, to do even the least of her duties. No matter how often Kaede begged her, or the headman Yasuo urged her, she could not make herself don the white and red robes of her profession; could not make herself leave the hut to bless a newborn child; could not make herself attend an injured farmer; could not reach for the bow and quiver, to take on a youkai ravaging the south fields.
Oh, she tried. Tried to go farther than simply lifting the lid to the wicker box holding the new clothes the village had provided. She tried to open the bag that held her medical herbs. Tried to walk to the corner where her unstrung bow rested, waiting for her touch.
She failed. Every time, the dark, deep despair that held her surged with a tide of utter darkness. She could not fight it, able only to collapse to the floor and weep, her tears nearly unending.
The part of her not totally absorbed in the darkness felt shame. That she, who had thought she was so strong, so resolute, so stubborn, could let herself become so weak, so useless.
The part of her not totally absorbed in the darkness also felt hate. Self-hate. She had failed. At everything. At protecting the jewel. At protecting herself.
At saving him.
He had died, shattered and broken.
She had let him die.
... ... ...
Miyatsu had recognized, surprisingly early, that he was a fortunate boy. The youngest son of a wealthy, powerful family, no needs and few desires remained unmet. With so many healthy, strong, ambitious older brothers, no one minded if his interests turned to mastering intellectual challenges, rather than physical ones. When his interests coincided with evidence of spiritual powers, his parents ungrudgingly sent him to a Buddhist temple of much renown.
He studied long and hard. But, as he grew in knowledge and in power, he also grew discontent. He was eager to use his gifts to relieve suffering. And, yet, he realized, he was not sure that he understood suffering. Oh, he understood pain-as any active boy, he had acquired scrapes and bruises; even a broken arm. But, true suffering? He had never really even seen it in another, let alone experience it himself. So, eventually, he realized that staying within the temple precincts, studying and chanting the sutras, lending his power to the greater works of the temple, would not advance his approach to Nirvana. After much meditation, much discussion, and persuasion, the abbot agreed that his path would lead-for the time, at least-away from the temple, as a mendicant monk, wandering the paths of Nippon, to learn and to succor.
And he did. He saw much suffering, enough at times to rend his heart with pain. He gave of his gifts, unstintingly.
If women seemed to obtain more of his gifts than men, well, was it his fault that he found so many women comely, and that they were so appreciative of his efforts?
... ... ...
Miyatsu strode along the dusty path, reveling in the utter beauty of the crisp, fall day, yet conscious of a tension within, composed equally of anticipation and dread.
For the better part of a year, he had been hearing rumors about a certain miko, and a jewel which she had been entrusted, which, in the wrong hands, could grant a power so vast that it could make its possessor lord over all he, she, or it surveyed.
The rumors were irresistible, but Miyatsu had little success in learning the location of the fabled miko. Only in the last moon, had he encountered someone with anything more substantial than vague stories, and that, only third hand. But, what that peddler had said, had given more urgency to Miyatsu's desire to encounter this priestess. For the miko had been struck down in late spring, left alive, but apparently witless, or nearly so. There had been some great battle, the villagers claimed, but no one had details, save for the fact that she had been sorely wounded, near to death, and that the jewel had vanished.
The peddler had been able to tell him which direction in which to travel. Over the last several moon-quarters, he had spoken with more travelers, and then with occupants of several villages, who knew of whom he sought, even to her name. Kikyo, they said. Unmatched in spiritual power, peerless with her bow, a cool-eyed, unsmiling paragon of virtue.
Until she had been struck down.
Something had happened.
And no one knew what.
Miyatsu found his pace increasing, the rings on his staff ringing, and forced himself to patience and a slower stride. He was close, if he had interpreted the last village's headman's directions correctly. It would not do appear to be in a hurry. If he could do anything for this mysterious miko, it would not be something that depended on how fast he traveled. Not this many moons after she had been brought down.
He came to the crest of a hill and started down. Rice paddies spread out in the valley below him, now sere with the dusty-brown stubble of the harvested grain. Miyatsu paused, surveying the fields and the village visible below him. In his years of travel, he had discovered an ability to quickly assess the state of a village, if prosperous or failing, if he would be greeted with smiles, desperate pleading, or even hostility. The first glance suggested the village was peaceful, reasonably self-sufficient if not well off. But, scanning the valley, he saw signs of chaos: half-harvested fields, leafless and shattered trees, upended bushes. Concentrating, he sensed jyaki. Not very strong, and mostly at near the signs of chaos, but a clear sign that the village had no one keeping the village's borders free from the taint.
But there was more. Nothing physical, that he could point to, nor any specific aura he could pinpoint with his own spiritual powers. But it was there, like some invisible fog. Despair. Sorrow.
Miyatsu repressed a shiver as the air suddenly seemed much colder. He breathed deep, telling himself to not be affected by what he thought he felt. He was a thoroughly trained monk, and he was almost never unsuccessful in his tasks. Smacking the end of his staff against the ground, once, to make the rings jingle, he started down, chanting one of his favorite sutras under his breath, smiling a small smile. He was here to help, here to relieve suffering. All would go well; of that, he was certain.
The villagers were openly relieved to see him. The headman met him almost before he was within the environs of the village itself. The older man's face revealed much less of his reaction than the others, but the tone of his voice made his own relief clear. "Greetings, houshi-sama," he said formally, bowing. "I am the headman, Yasuo. I welcome you to our village, and ask how we may serve."
Miyatsu bowed in turn. "I would not turn away food and shelter, Yasuo-dono," he said with a smile, tilting his conical, straw hat back as he straightened. "But, I sense that there is need in this village, which I may serve in turn. I have seen signs of youkai attacks, to the south and east. I offer my services to banish these youkai, if is it desired."
Yasuo's shoulders sagged perceptively. "We would be most grateful for any assistance, houshi-sama," he said with another bow. "The attacks have been mostly a nuisance, thus far, but..." He paused, then shook his head, once. "Do you need anything from us, houshi-sama?"
Miyatsu quickly took charge, long accustomed to his role. Leaving his small pack at the headman's house, save for a few items removed from it and tucked up his sleeves, he journeyed to the first of the trouble spots with a several well-armed farmers. The banishment was simple for one of his skill and power. He discovered worn, faded warding spells and renewed them. By the time the sun began to set, he had covered perhaps half of the sites. Conscientious about his task, he had refrained from asking questions. But, he was vaguely disappointed, that the good headman had apparently chosen the most taciturn, tight-lipped men in the village.
Yasuo's wife was a good but not outstanding cook. Miyatsu and the headman ate alone, which somewhat surprised the monk, since, in many villages, his first evening meal usually included the elders of the village, as well as the headman. He had his suspicions for why that was. When the meal was cleared away, he was not surprised when the headman gave him a look that was not guarded, but full of worry.
"Houshi-sama, forgive my bluntness, but I must ask-what do you know of healing injuries not of the body?"
Miyatsu blinked once, then considered the question. "I know a person may be possessed by some types of youkai, which can make them act against their nature, and I know how to remove such possession. I have read-but not seen-that some youkai, or even powerful magic, can wrest the soul from the body. It is said, if the soul can be located and freed, it will strive to return to the current body."
Yasuo shook her head. "She is not soulless. I am certain."
"She?"
The older man grimaced a little, as if he had let something slip. He looked away. "Our miko ... was attacked last spring. By what, we don't know, though there were signs of a-battle. We found her, gravely wounded, collapsed over the body of a hanyo who had lingered about the village, supposedly helping her fight the youkai who attacked her. We greatly feared that she would die, but she did not. She has healed, on the outside, but, although it has been over three moons, she-will not return to her duties. I have tried to talk with her, persuade her that we need her, but she does not answer. Her sister tries to defend her, but admits that she does little but sit or lay down, staring at nothing, or crying. I-have thought, that perhaps we should send her to a temple, that perhaps she could be helped there, but... just the journey, and turning her over to others ... I feel we owe her, houshi-sama. She was the protector of the Shikon no Tama: we chose not to push her out of the village when the taijiya gave her that duty. She repaid us-protected the village from attacks, healed our injuries, purified our fields, taught and watched over our children. But, now ... we don't know what to do. If you can do anything to help her, houshi-sama ... please..."
... ... ...
When she closed her eyes, she saw red. The vibrant red of his suikan. The dark, sickening red of his blood. Her blood. Youkai blood.
Part of her wanted to die. Felt she deserved to die. She had failed. Everything? A few, vagrant thoughts occasionally crept across the abyss in her mind, of how it might be done. A knife. Certain potions, properly prepared from herbs. Except, the dullness in her mind, the heaviness in her body, was too great. She couldn't act. Couldn't decide. Thoughts slipped away, returned, did nothing.
And a little whisper, on occasion, that said death wasn't allowed.
She had failed.
She must suffer.
A small hand shook her shoulder. She made out a familiar voice, begging her to sit up. Kaede.
A vagrant thought-she had to try, for her sister. Somehow, she found the resolve to move, and the strength to sit up. A shallow bowl filled with soup approached her face. She accepted Kaede's help, sipped the broth, then managed to take the bowl in her own hand, accept a pair of chopsticks. But, the effort of eating increased with every bite. The bowl became heavier, not lighter. Her hands sank, and the gray emptiness blanketed her thoughts.
Time passed. Noise, words outside the hut came to her ears, but she could not find the strength to wonder.
A hand cupped her chin, lifted it. Blinking, she tried to focus her eyes. A face swam into view; a face beneath a shaved skull. A stranger's face. "Kikyo." The voice was a stranger, and male. "Kikyo. Look at me. My name is Miyatsu. I want to help you."
A sudden pang speared through the grayness. Help? A sharper, strong flash-of shame. No! Somehow, she pulled away, fell onto her side, voice croaking something, curling up as the tears began to fall, as the gray dullness and loathing vied for dominance.
She didn't deserve to be helped. She didn't...
... ... ...
Miyatsu stared in horror at the wreck of the woman lying on her side, tears dripping silently across her face. She had been beautiful, once, he was sure, but there was no beauty in the long, uncombed, greasy locks of hair, in the gaunt face, colorless save for the dark shadows and reddened eyes. Her yukata was soiled, and clung closely enough to reveal how thin she was.
He wanted to help her, but how? She wasn't soulless-that, he was positive, from the single moment her eyes had met his. A soul consumed with sorrow and shame, but not lost.
Not yet.
"Knew he couldn't help her."
Miyatsu ignored the muttered comment from the girl. Closing his eyes, he sank into a light trance, dismissing the complaints on his nose about the general level of unwashed human effluvia, ignoring his ears and the ache in his heart. An unvoiced chant focused his vision to what was normally unseen.
And, despite the trance, he shuddered. The miko was the locus of the miasma of sorrow and despair hanging over the village. Her spiritual power, dimmed and darkened, seeped out, uncontrolled, and not entirely unwilled. Her soul was a vast, throbbing darkness of grief and pain, at the center of a slowly moving spiral of energy.
Energy that was not completely hers. Miyatsu strained to 'see.' A foggy image undulated about the spiral, whispering, death, death, death. Studied, it seemed to be a snake, white-scaled, yet with black malice at its heart, powered by spiritual power, tainted and stinking. He tried to 'see' further, but it slipped from his vision, with the faintest suggestion of laughter.
He kept himself from trying to pursue the thing, knowing he must ensure that he 'saw' everything to be seen. He studied the darkness swirling around the soul, and made out items even fainter than the 'snake'. Not youkai. Not yet. But, youkai are born of human despair, human nightmares. If he did not break the priestess out of her despair, youkai might well be born of that despair. And if that happened, with the spiritual power of a priestess to feed its birth...
Miyatsu believed he had seen enough. He started to close his spirit 'eyes', preparing to leave trance. And then, a spark caught his eye. A spark of gold...
... ... ...
The abyss of apathy could not survive the shock of cold water.
Kikyo yelped, tried to gather her legs under her, and fell back into the water. She blinked, trying to see through dazzled eyes, and felt hands holding her shoulders. "Let go! What-are you doing?"
"Well, well, so the houshi knows something, after all."
Something shifted, cutting off the dazzle that was blinding her. Continuing to blink, Kikyo looked up at the source of the voice. "A-amaya-baa-chan?" she muttered, voice hoarse. "What-?"
The seamed face of the old herbalist was barely visible in the deep shadow. "We're cleaning you up, Kikyo. Shouldn't have left if all to Kaede-chan: our fault; don't know why we weren't thinking. Now, close your eyes-"
"Wha-" Kikyo yelped again as cold water descended over her head. "S-s-s-stop it! Can-I can wash myself!"
"You've been sick all summer, Kikyo-chan," said a voice behind her: Yasuo's wife. "You're weak: just let us do it."
"But-ow!" Fingers raked her scalp, catching in snarls. "Stop it!"
"I'm just trying to clean your hair, Kikyo-sama," said the third woman.
"Sister, please let them help you. I-I tried to keep you clean, but I-I just, I couldn't-"
"Kaede?" Kikyo looked around, moving just her eyes, blinking against the bright reflections of the water. Someone moved, cutting off some more of the painful reflections, and then Kaede was there, ignoring the water soaking her clothes, grabbing her hand.
"You've been so sick, sister!" The single eye brimmed with tears. "You couldn't do anything, except sit, and cry, all summer! There's a monk; he's trying to help, he did a purification, but he needs to do more, and he says you needed to be bathed first."
Monk? Purification? For what? Why? Kikyo's eyes were caught by the patch over Kaede's right eye. A memory stabbed her, hard and deep-Kaede trying to help fight the swarm. Kaede shrieking in pain, her own arrow taking out the youkai that had wounded her sister. Her sister, looking up, trying to insist that she was all right, even as blood poured between the fingers of her hand covering her ruined eye.
Grief. Despair. They were weights, pulling her down, and there was a gray mist rising. A mist that would hide the searing grief, the despair. She wanted-
"Kikyo, no! Don't leave me!"
Her sister's voice jolted her. Kaede needed her. With an effort, Kikyo focused her eyes, trying to shove away the emotions and the grayness. Kaede's expression was desperate and pleading. Her own heart ached, and she reached for any strength in her. Kaede needs me. She found a little strength from somewhere. Two small hands were tight around her own; she tried to squeeze her fingers in return. She gasped for breath. "Little sister." Relief washed over Kaede's face. "I'm trying."
... ... ...
Miyatsu watched the two men carrying the miko into the grassy field behind the shrine. Bathed, her hair combed out and tied into a simple tail, dressed in a clean, undyed yukata, Kikyo looked much better than she at their first meeting.
He had worked a purification spell to banish the incipient youkai and 'snake', which he was fairly certain was a curse. He had hoped it would be enough to cure the woman's apathy. It hadn't, though it had lessened the miasma of despair on the village. But, her emotions were still fueling the darkness around her: he had to find a way to stop that before the miasma deepened again, and before the roiling emotions once again started to engender yet more youkai.
It had taken him much conversation and several days to plan an approach. And then, another day to meditate, to rid himself of his reaction to what the miko's sister, under much persuasion, and a promise not to tell, had admitted. Her belief that her sister loved the hanyo who had died.
The thought had revolted him. A woman-any woman, least of all a miko-falling for a mixed-blood abomination? If he hadn't already given his word to do what he could help her... He had to spend more time with the girl, trying to learn more about this hanyo and the miko's relationship to him. It had been unsettling to realize that the girl also cared about the hanyo, to the point of unintentionally revealing that she'd imagined him her 'big brother.' He had given her an intense scrutiny, then. To his surprise, he had realized that her soul was untainted by her relationship to the hanyo. And it a matter of simple innocence taken in by a clever mask. That soul, was, in fact, glimmering in its sleeping depths with the wisdom of many incarnations.
He was grateful for that, for it gave him the leverage he needed to put aside his revulsion. It had taken more mediation than he liked; but what he was attempting to do required care and deep caring, for all-living, and dead-that were involved in this problem.
The men settled Kikyo into a kneeling position on the folded cloth, then left when Miyatsu gave them a curt nod. He tried not to glower as the girl settled beside her older sister. Old soul or not, he would have preferred she not be part of this. But, she was more stubborn than he, insisting that she wasn't about to leave her sister alone with him. He'd actually come to wonder if she hadn't somehow picked up on his supposed weakness, though how-! He'd been so busy worrying about how to resolve this problem, he hadn't had time to even really look at the other women, let alone find one who needed that set of skills! Surely, it was simply because she was so worried about her sister, the only family she had. Still...
Dismissing the thoughts, Miyatsu rose. A large square had been marked off, with prayer flags on three sides. Now, he closed the wards, chanting under his breath, closing off the square with a new length of sacred rope knotted with the folded papers marked inside with his inscriptions. Finishing, he returned to his position and kneeled.
He looked at Kikyo, and met her eyes. They were not steady, but Miyatsu could sense her struggling against the darkness, could see how she clenched her sister's hand as a rallying point. The darkness about her was still less than he had first seen, and it was still clear, save for that single, golden spark. With a long breath, Miyatsu closed his eyes, checking his own self. He was a Buddhist monk. Part of his calling was to deal with death, and all that came with it. Here, the life struggling with all the negative emotions death could invoke ...
Miyatsu fixed his eyes on Kikyo. "Kikyo-sama," he said quietly but forcefully, commanding her attention. "Last spring, you were nearly killed, and another died. From that, and for other reasons, although you clung to life, you fell into an illness of despair. I am here to help you find a way out of this despair." She tried to look away: he refused to let her. "But, before I can do that, I need your help."
She blinked. "Help?" she whispered.
Without looking away from her, Miyatsu fumbled the top off the basket next to him, and removed its contents. Using both hands, he brought the object up between them. Kikyo's eyes widened as she stared at the urn.
"There is a ghost we need to lay to rest," he told her. "A ghost that has been hovering around you for months. A ghost that won't leave you. Because it loves you. Because it fears for you." Her face had blanched. Slowly, gently, he set the urn down onto a large piece of inscribed paper.
"Tell me about Inuyasha," he told her. "Tell me how he died."
... ... ...
She had no warning before the claws ripped through her, throwing her down, the Shikon no Tama just beyond her fingertips. A bare foot ground into her reaching hand, and a familiar voice laughed at her, mocking. Stunned, shocked, something within her shattering, Kikyo stared up at the red-clad figure. But before the anger could pour through her, before she could gather the wit enough to truly realize, there was an interruption.
A second red-garbed figure charged into the meadow. Howling in utter rage, golden claws flashed out, tearing into the first figure. That one shrieked as the claws scored through chest and arms. But, it didn't fall in bloody ruin. Instead, it writhed and changed, dozens of youkai splitting off to head towards the second figure.
She watched unable to move, as bloody battle between hanyo and abominable fusion of youkai and human erupted. His aura bright with his rage, Inuyasha was a whirlwind of claws slicing effortlessly through the stream of individuals which unwound from the fusion. She saw the central figure, now a wild medley of tentacles and spider legs, attempt to flee, and saw the hanyo leap and bring it down. It fought back, then, viciously, and with all it had. Blood and flesh flew.
It ended when Inuyasha's claws sank into the thing's middle, and emerged clenching something that might have been a heart. With a final shriek, the merge convulsed, then collapsed, more youkai writhing away from the merge, seeking now escape, the rest shimmering into fading mist. Inuyasha staggered to his feet, wavering as he walked towards her. His body was rent and torn, from tattered ears to bleeding feet. His clothes were rags, showing gaping wounds in his torso that would have already killed a human. Coming up to her, he crumpled to his hands and knees. Coughing once, every limb trembling with the effort to keep him up, he reached with one hand, and picked up the Shikon no Tama. Placing it in her palm, he gently folded her fingers over it.
He gave her a smile that was no less gentle, for all the frothy blood dripping from his mouth. "I won't need that wish, Kikyo."
The realization shot through her. "No!" she protested. "I'll-"
A red-coated finger pressed her lips closed. Golden eyes stared into hers for a long moment, then closed with a grimace of pain. His hand slid away from her face as he half lay, half fell. She saw the darkening streaks of poison in his skin, heard his hitching breath. Her mind screamed in grief, but before she could form a thought, his eyes opened, and his hand was on her face, thumb over her mouth.
"You said ... selfless ... wish," he gasped. "Wrong ... you know ... my wish ... was ... selfish." Somehow, he managed another smile. "Know ... what I want ... ? Just want ... save you ... tell it ... go away ... then ... then just live ... and ... be ... ha..."
His body jerked. His hand flexed spasmodically, two claws slashing through her cheek. She barely felt it, her eyes fastened on his face as the light in his eyes died and a final, sighing breath left his body.
She screamed, inside. Somehow, she forced herself upright, and stared down at the glittering jewel clenched in her hand. She could bring him back. The jewel could bring him back. She only had to wish. And she could feel it, urging her to wish-
Damn it, wench! Don't you dare!
Kikyo flung up her head, and saw his soul glimmering in the air above his body. Baka, I just want you to get rid of that thing, and have a long, happy life!
She felt the tears stream down her cheeks. "But, I love you!"
So? You never did explain what would happen if you made a selfish wish.
She froze at that. She didn't really know, she realized. Except, it would not be good. "Inuyasha..."
Keh. I'll wait, you know. I'll tell the kami I ain't gonna come back, but that I get to find you, next time around.
Next time. "As a human?"
Feh. Who cares?
Did it really matter, if he were reborn human, hanyo or youkai? If she were born alike, or different? Another chance, another choice ... but only if she made this one... She stared at the glowing sphere. Was it pure enough to wish on? A curious thought came to her. Did it matter?
She concentrated her will, trying to shut out the pain, and grief. "Shikon no Tama," she whispered, voice shaking. "I wish ... I wish you to disappear. Forever."
Time froze itself, for a mere moment.
And then, the jewel exploded into light.
And she fell away from that light, and remembered nothing more.
... ... ...
Miyatsu watched Kikyo crying her heart out, her head buried in her sister's lap, while the girl bent protectively over her. His own heart ached for her, and he wished he could be the one to console her.
But that was not his fate. He glanced at the bright spark of soul dancing in the air above the urn, and fancied he felt that soul glowering at him.
Kikyo, he had come to realize, was a very special woman. And, no doubt, beautiful. She was everything he could want in a woman; had perhaps, unknowingly, been trying to find, with all his roving eyes and his flirting smiles and ways. Equal in power, equal-or better-in courage. Strong-willed, strong-minded, a woman who would not be flattered or seduced ...
A woman he could love.
But, she was not for him. Not now, and probably never. A hanyo-no, a man-had died to save her: how could he compare with that?
No.
He would do all that was within him to help her overcome the despair that had sickened her. He would do it because he cared, because he truly wanted to help relieve her suffering.
And if he learned the suffering of unrequited affection ...
It was a path he would tread without flinching.
Author's Note: This was originally written for the WiltedRose community on LiveJournal, for the prompt Alternate Pairing. It was originally posted on April 27, 2010. This version has been edited.