Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did.
Slip of Fate
"Fate leads the willing, and drags along the reluctant." Seneca
She walked in the dark with a thin piece of cloth over her eyes. She smelled medicinal herbs. The cloth had been used many times before. It was smell she loved.
Kikyou grasped her mother's hand tightly, the little fingers safely woven into those more experienced. She was not frightened of the dark. Her imagination bloomed heavily, under the perfumed thoughts of the snow that was falling all around them. The drifts of snow that melted into the crown of her head or into the material around her feet was a crisp alertness. The cold made her aware of her own heat, the beating of her own heart. She felt connected to everything.
Maybe this is how birth is. Maybe this is how the dead feel.
How was she, a child, to know that she was to discover the truth about the dead. Or the divided truth…
Now she imagined feeling every little flake that nestled into her skin, imagined the tracks of the animals she was covering. A snowflake landed upon her nose. At first she was a wolf. But finding the skin not to her liking, she became a deer, searching for the blades of grass buried beneath the ice.
Her mother added pressure to her hand. They had stopped.
The fabric around her eyes was loosening, falling like a web, and she could see again, more than ever before. She breathed in the frost and exhaled excitement. She shook in anticipation, looking at her mother with unhindered eagerness in her grey eyes.
Her mother, a dark haired woman with a moon face, tightened her lips. Her head tilted up with authority. There was a look Kikyou had not seen before dancing below the surface, an eagerness of a different measure.
"I have taught you everything I know."
Her mother's hands had changed as well. The knuckles stood out as she gripped her bow heavily. Those hands shook.
If anyone had told Tamiko that her daughter would die young and violently, she wouldn't have disagreed.
Her child's eyes were always reflective, like she could hear the whispers of the gods already, and held too much innocence that would not be condoned in this world. The pale child, with a curved small, pink mouth, did not like to talk, and the villagers that had watched her grow thrived on talk.
Yet it wasn't the fragile and unbreakable silent ways of the small being that disquieted the older inhabitants, who still feared the dark in their huts because of what could be there, who still struggled onward to exist and sometimes laughing when they meant to cry and crying when they meant to laugh.
It was an instinctive something that could not be conveyed in human language. Her mother knew more…knew more of the language of the monokes and spirits. She knew the language that beat within her own breast against her own child born from her. This small being terrified her.
Her child could see. Her child could see death.
In the darkened room of a dying lord, she had been summoned to fight death away with her knowledge. In her shadow she brought her only daughter into a room stripped of mirrors and full of sickness. The mirrors had frightened the old man who had screamed of the old demons looking at him. The moon had not even reached its journey across the sky when the last breath had fled from its imprisonment.
Kikyou still whispered in an undeveloped voice.
Where are you taking him? Where are you from?
The small hand of fear clutched her heart and had never let go. The love of a mother for her child had become riddled with thorns and burrs. The love was still there. Perhaps that was why Tamiko had become a ghost of her former self, why she could not sleep, and why she look constantly at her daughter then turn away. She was in the state in between, going in circles. The voices of the spirits she used to hear left, burned by the impure thoughts she could not wash away though tears.
An unhindered revulsion grew through her fear of the unknown, of something that touched her daughter. It was not as if she didn't believe in the spirits of nature and the gods, she had seen demons, fought the demons. She had spent her life devoted to hearing such a Voice, and Tamiko had been envied herself by others for being so close to spirituality. That night in the castle never left Tamiko. It became a haunting memory; it would fade but still stalk her, as if wanting to tell her a secret. She was good…her nature was good. Yet something more had touched her, from the outside. Then the answer came to her in her dreams. Purification through decay…she must change her child in order to cleanse herself.
Kikyou felt her mother change, heard her mother change in the room heavy with illness. A gasp as the one she knew died and the other took her place. She did not understand.
"Fate," the other behind her mother's eyes uttered. "I used to hide behind this word. It was just a word. But now I know the error I have made. It was my own existence I meant. Then you came from me…"
The miko closed her eyes and the lashes flutter briefly. Kikyou who was gifted in reading the facial expressions of her mother like a second language was at a lost. It was as if her mother was wearing a Noh mask.
"We have no control, my child. We can be tossed in the wind like leaves but never…never shall we cut the string of fate. Your fate is your own tonight. If you find your way back, you are to become a miko. If you are unable to, your way has departed from mine."
Kikyou did not speak. Her life was in two, her heart whispered. Yet no tinge of panic clouded her mind as the burden settled readily unto her small shoulders. Something in her made her face flush. To let fate be realized in her made her feel her existence. She drank her excitement in with flourish. Kikyou had been a part of her mother; now she would be able to dig up what has been growing inside her…herself that she had eyed warily and curiously as the shapes of kanji she would trace with her fingers.
What shall my fate be?
Tamiko's mind darkened to blackest of ink as she noticed the joy that the child's eyes seemed to dance with, a grey fire heightened to blue. Her arm rose to strike the young girl, to make that look of anguish, of earth, to come into that face. Instead she used the motion to turn and walk away, not looking back at all.
Kikyou, who had never been alone in her eight years of living, began to dance. She heard the spirits in the leaves and in the trees and they were dancing as well. The sound of the snow beneath her feet made her jump harder as she raced the opposite way from her mother. She spread her fingers wide to allow the air to race through her hands. Thoughts of demons and wolves did not reach to slow her steps. She had her bow. She had her arrows. She had her imagination.
Kikyou slowed her pace, watching with interest the shape her bow left in its wake. She sat to make her own designs in the snow. Kikyou found herself tracing her mother's eyes as they used to be. After scratching these eyes out, she drew her own with a smile.
The cold began to carve its way through the bundle of cloth she had over her. The fur was plastered down in such a way it could not be lifted up. Her face was numb. The first uneasiness entered through an unfamiliar door in her mind. Kikyou looked at the unforgiving woods warily.
She didn't know when she had fallen to sleep, curled up like a small bird under its mother's wing, when a sound awoke her. It had been shrill and sudden but lost as she struggled to open her eyes. Sparks flew in the air beyond the grasping branches weighed down by their burdens. A fire was not too far away.
Kikyou's body felt heavy, almost as if she was being held down, and her eyes glazed at the sight of the massive, endless trees. Stories by the fire, food by the fire, warmth by the fire…she drug herself towards the light.
Laughter radiated through the trees, echoing through the wind like a blessing. She smiled once more. The men in her village had always laughed like that, full and free. They patted her head and taught her the proper way to tie strings. They used picked her up and danced around as she twirled in the air even though this occurrence was rare now. They weren't as harsh as the women. Happy…she was so happy. Kikyou hurried faster now, laughing a little herself.
She was ten steps away from entering upon them when the screaming stopped her. It was harsh and full of pain. It grew and welled up then sank down upon her, past her, inside of whatever it had come from. Sobbing came next, an empty sound. Empty.
Kikyou stilled her breaths and leaned to get a better view.
A young girl, a few years older than herself, lay battered and bleeding upon a stained blanket. One of her strained brown eyes gazed at her captors, feral and predatorily aware. The other was closed to block the bleeding from the cut on her temple. Her arms were trapped behind her back, tied tightly, and her clothes were torn. A bearded man loomed over her, a rusted dagger gripped in his hand. He was smiling. She could see it but felt his smile as if it was herself that laid there. A bigger, older man with an eye patch growled.
"You've had enough time with her, it's my turn!" he said though the gaps of his teeth.
The pack was in rags, mismatched and thrown together, with pieces of broken armor over their chests. Their hands were gnarled and calloused and withered. The men in her village had their hair tied back. They had manes of tangled hair and teeth kept in a permanent, searing grimace in the form of a smile. It was a divided pack.
The older men gathered around the girl, seeming to delight in her expression and reaching out to steal from her. The younger men of small stature and straighter shoulders uncovered despite the weather, in spite of the cold, had another taking their attention. Kikyou's eyes shifted.
Unclean eyes…
It was his eyes that drew her in. Dark and daring and thick. Unfocused. She wished she had a thistle to guard against his eyes, to pierce. His hands were tangled together, his knuckles white with pressure. He sat there, by the fire, so close he could have gotten burned. His chest was bare, the armor place meticulously by his side. Blood stained down into the white around him, pooling at his feet. A horrible sound…so horrible she felt the wetness of her face before she was conscious of it. She reached to cover her ears and dug her fingers into the side of her head, gathering her hair painfully.
A rainstorm of red dashed in and out of her sight, into the fire. The glint of a dagger would appear around his back then disappear.
They're cutting him!
The artist was in frenzy, slicing into his subject like a thought, but the subject remained…unspeakable calm, almost bored. The mass of gaping onlookers waited on bated breaths for his screams, for his moans, and for his grimace. They were astounded and as deep as she was into the morbid dance. Aware of his power over them, he laughed, the master who had woven them together in the huddle.
"Make me feel it. Make it real," he spoke, as monotone as his expression. A voice where something lurked underneath the currents…she had uncovered her ears just to hear him speak and regretted it.
The men reacted, some laughing and slapping each other's backs. Some merely stared, a slight drift of disbelief and trepidation on their ragged features. Some drew back and stumbled away, as if sensing something beyond them.
The artist dug deeper, with a fury one would have carving a statue from stone. She heard it again. His skin mixed in with the blood now. He stared out beyond the trees, at the stars, head leaned back to see them clearly. He seemed to be searching for something, wide-eyed.
The next tool was a coal from the fire. The long, white-haired freckled hand reached and plucked the ashamed thing expertly. Now the few men who had laughed stopped, the sound catching in the back of their throats. The older men abandoned the girl to watch. The girl with one eye watched, forgetting herself.
The smell hit her. Blood, flesh, hair burning…she covered her mouth to stop the feeling from her stomach to her throat. Sealing the wound, the blood started to ebb. The freckled, short haired man stood, revealing himself and reveling in his work. He tossed the stone back into the fire with a grin bubbling from his eyes. He had all his teeth and smiled a bold smile.
"Anyone else?" he said cheerfully.
All eyes were on the connected strands of blood seeping into the earth. No one responded. The subject stretched lazily as if awaking from a dream. His long hair fell in front of his face. He was the most wild…she could taste it even, the sense of fear bleeding into her mind. She shook, the tears gliding like a river down her face.
Mother...
His grin…made the freckled man frown and tilt his head in observation...upon a sudden thought that occurred to him that he had missed in his frenzy. In his frenzy, he had not noticed the man had not even flinched.
The bandit walked boldly towards the older of the pack, his eyes drifting towards the girl.
"She not all used up, is she? I'm in the mood now," he said lazily. The knife bearer glared dangerously. This seemed to make the scarred man more excited, his eyes showing more emotion than previously.
As young as she was, Kikyou realized this man thrived on pain.
Suddenly, the girl was dead. Like that, in an instant, he was on top of her. Kikyo did not understand what was happening, just that the screams grew louder and then stopped midway with a snap. He had broken her neck.
The older man jumped up and began to curse.
"She was boring," the scarred man answered mildly as if it was an obvious truth, wiping his mouth. "She didn't even struggle."
Kikyou moved. She moved to turn. She moved to go back to her mother. She needed her mother. Her heart screamed for her mother.
Somehow he heard her.
His eyes darted toward her in the dark, finding her without effort. She was gone before he kicked the body away and collected his armor, snapping the straps back into place. She had fled past the big tree before he moved slowly away from the camp, leaving the older man to cover the girl and the younger to look after him in awe. She had tripped by the time he started running.
She fell hard over something she could not see. The snow had covered the root and she had discovered it. Her mouth hit the stones underneath and she cried out. She hadn't felt much pain before but now, especially now, she felt pain. Her heart beat like a caged bird. Her arrows flew out from her quiver, burrowing themselves in fear. Her frail body pushed itself up. Her foot hurt and stung and bit. She leaned against the bow uneasily for support.
"What have we here?" he whispered from behind her, hand already woven into her hair.
She screamed. She screamed for her mother. She hit at his hands.
"That's it, fight me," he purred and pushed her up against the bark of the tree. "Make it real."
He kissed her hard, pushing her lips open with his. He bit and scraped his teeth against her lips. She tasted him and felt herself fall. Her fate…he was her fate. She was not going to come home to the fire.
Suddenly he was gone, his body against hers was gone, and the warmth was gone, and she fell to her knees.
The white haired man, the one with the knife, had accepted the challenge and had followed the hunter into the woods. The scarred one was down, being kicked, and Kikyo curled up into a ball.
"BASTARD! THAT WAS MY WOMAN! I'LL CARVE YOUR HEART OUT, YOU!"
The onslaught was violent. The man never cried out. Never once. Kikyou buried her face into her hands, covering her eyes. The trembling blindness made her remember, the lines in her palm made her remember. She clawed her way to her feet.
Suddenly the knife switched hands and found itself in a wrinkled throat.
Kikyou ran. She ran past her pain. She ran and he gave chase, leaving a pool of blood in his wake. He made a grab for her. The air hit her head, forming claws.
"NO! NOT TONIGHT! NOT NOW!" she shouted, not knowing her words.
He ripped the tie out of her hair and tripped himself. She heard his shouts fall behind.
"FIND You and…"
She didn't look back as her hair flowed out behind her. She wished the screaming would stop. Eventually it did.
The sun found her in the rice field near her village with her throat raw and clothes torn. Kikyou had no memory of finding her way back. Just sound. Just sounds drifting from her mouth and hands at her back. And lips against hers, taking her taste.
The men found her and she almost went mad, scratching at their faces. It took her mother to gather her. It took her mother to bathe her and dress her in her new clothing, one of the miko.
Her mother's fingers readily made the fabric hold together, making her a new tie for her hair.
"Tomorrow I'll teach you the Fuuin no Ya. Then perhaps the Kagura dance."
Her mother lovingly held her daughter as the girl clung to her. The child's eyes had become brown once more, wary, searching, and afraid. Shrouded.
"Of earth," Tamiko whispered to herself and thanked whatever force that had caused this change in her Kikyou.
Author notes: Okay, I had such a hard time with Kikyou's mother's name. I thought about Midori which means green but then Midoriko came to mind and that bothered me. So I chose Tamiko which means "Child of the People" or "abundance child" and that kinda made sense…even though it had miko in it. There is actually more to this story but I like the end here. I didn't really know what to rate this story so I played it safe.
Please review.