-X-
A soul wreathed by grief unfathomable; anchored and leaden and thrown into a deathless Hell-borne pit. A hopelessly deep grave, carved into a blood-caked battle ground furrowed by enemies greater than ourselves. With wounds sewn into her delicate flesh made perpetual; done by the very hands of her own family. A soul formally un-corruptible, broken and shattered and remade again by distraught desire for vengeance; akin to a mirror sloppily pieced back together-
...Sango. If only such a fate hasn't befallen you. But I suppose, you're a warrior; gilded and primed for hardship. And such a lifestyle begets such circumstances. And yet it could only mean what lies ahead for not just you, but for us all-
...Its an ominous sign, if any.
Miroku observed tersely, weighing the worth of the 'weeping' woman in front of him. Well, silently weeping; in an prideful, somewhat stuffy, obscured, almost Inuyasha-like way. She lamented her losses in an self-imposed reverie, internalizing her pain in a way that couldn't possibly be healthy.
The girl was a walking travesty in some ways, a beautiful oddity whose throes banged furiously against his sense of honor and dignity. A once pristine pillar once thought to be made of diamond had crumbled into dust the day her family was taken from her; as if made instead from splintered shale. However, her new purpose to set out for damning vengeance had put a new anchor into Sango; building her back to the woman she was in some respects.
Still, her inner torment only made the monk loath Naraku all the more for it.
To despise someone so heatedly, so powerfully, that it beguiled the spirit in such an ugly, tormented, mortal manner only reminded Miroku why he could never lay down his life as a true disciple of Buddha. It was hatred at its most base, rancid, most poisonous core; damning in every respect. Grudges of this caliber made man a natural sinner by nature; but he felt sometimes that he was especially suspect to its vices. Licentious tendencies aside.
Sango was such a powerful whirlwind force to be reckoned; a heaven-sent storm of endless gray skies shrieking and split asunder with gale-force tempests. A kamikaze of emotions; loud in every action, in every burst of movement. Holding a fragile, isolated calm at the center; beholding an illusionary semblance of peace before the said storm rips that too asunder. Sango was nature incarnate; buffeting and forceful and proud in every aspect of the word. And here he thought Inuyasha was quite the blow-hard. He couldn't hold a candle to Sango in some ways. The woman damn near kicked his ass not so long ago.
And yet all that bluster was brought to heel by Naraku's despicable evils; prompting the monk to grit his his teeth in righteous indignation.
Sango distrusted her allies in some part, seeing how new she was new to the party. Thankfully, she's come out of her slump in some part while they rested at the taijiya village initially. The woman wasn't well enough to move until a week or so after; but by then Sango expressed a profound desire to vacate these now quiet buildings. As thanks for their care of her health though, Sango did tell them about the Shikon no Tama, and it reaffirmed the resolve the party needed to go after Naraku anew.
So, whilst they traveled to where Naraku's last known location, Sango and Kagome connected almost immediately. Although every smile Sango made was tight, some were a touch more genuine whenever Kagome was involved. Sometimes Shippo tried to make her day too, by sharing his snacks with her and Kirara. Inuyasha left her alone to recuperate; never badgering the taijiya more than needed. He didn't insult her or rush her as Miroku had expected, although he grumbled to himself at times about the group moving so slowly when he figured no one was listening. He gruffly but gracefully accepted (for his standards anyways) whatever apology the demon slayer rendered him for their previous scuffle.
Sango seemed earnestly surprised by the hanyou's assurance too, seeing how she found within him a sort of match for her own demeanor. But his gesture actually earned a soft-hearted, subtle smirk on her end; as if it removed some of the invisible, tangible weight bogging her down. Miroku still couldn't help but feel that she and Inuyasha were very much alike in some mannerisms: He observed as the two gave each other a wide berth borne from not agitated posturing, but a true innate sense of respect of personal space. They never shared more than few, meaningful words; communicating in like-minded ways. They were also very quick in getting to the point when it needed to be addressed; Kagome had thought they were insulting each other at first because of their word-delivery.
Over time, the stunted, fleeting curl of her coral-colored lips turned into a warmer expanse of color and happiness. Her cheeks dimpled cutely, and Miroku couldn't help but feel hyper-aware of just how amazing this warrior woman looked. It left him in reverent awe; so much so, he'd forgotten his customary "Will you bear my children?" pick-up line even after she's healed. For him, that was nothing short of astounding.
Still, it didn't mean he couldn't try a little 'polite' flirting once she'd recovered enough.
The group had taken to waiting for the girl's God-awful wounds to heal over during the last week despite their wanderings; slowing the party if minutely. It was something Miroku hasn't kept track that well, but he didn't mind. Kagome tended to Sango's wounds in professional fashion and sped along her recovery; the taijiya getting up and on her feet quicker than anyone expected. Inuyasha certainly didn't complain; but Kagome urged Sango to try to take it easy. After all, the group was searching for Naraku's castle; but it proved elusive due to Sango's lack of memory. They were all -especially Sango- eager to find the place.
No such luck, but at the least the group were able to stop long enough to get a breather from their mad rush of pursuit. Kagome even laid out a delightful dinner that night, trying to encourage Sango into trying some of the stranger foods from her time. Her initial reactions towards Kagome's various stuffs were a tad amusing at first, but no less expected. She even watched as Miroku once again offered his aid in Kagome's homework; her eyes widening at the sight of the boggling array of mathematics. Her questions were rare; usually employing observation to learn what piqued her intrigue. Kagome still tried to get the taijiya to not feel so shy about asking; but Sango was reclusive and secretive in nature. She wasn't timid by any means, but she was about as forthcoming as their hanyou companion.
In the meantime, after delivering a horrid pinch to Miroku's wandering hands (threatening to smack him around next time he tried something; and it be the first of many more to come), Sango settled beside Kagome in contemplative peace. She stroked Kirara in silence, her smile tentative and soft as a flower petal's caress. Miroku felt himself staring; but he couldn't help his eyes and where they drifted off to at times.
They're worse than my damned hands, he's told himself unconvincingly. Although he knew that neither were better than the other; seeing how eyes and hands could beget the same hostile reactions.
After finishing her homework, Kagome jovially conversed with Sango up until she was tired enough to slip into her bag. Once she began to nod off (as indicated by Inuyasha's suddenly increased, stolen glances), Sango curled into some modest bedding herself; supplied by Kagome from her time. She offered Miroku a 'sleeping bag' when they first met, but he declined the gesture politely and told her he didn't feel right with Kagome carrying it all day during their journey. Still, she'd given the spare bag to Sango in an effort to make her comfortable in a variety of ways. Miroku credited the middle-schooler for her reasoning in it:
One: Kagome was obviously freely offering a gesture of ease of comfort for Sango's recovery. The slayer needed something to rest on that wasn't the cold, hard ground or floor when her wounds had been so bad before.
Two: Kagome burdening herself with an extra sleeping bag throughout the day had humbled Sango into trusting her quite swiftly; and the fact that the former had bought it certainly wasn't lost on the ladder. Although Inuyasha had complained about at first, his protests were voiced only where Kagome could hear; not Sango so much.
Three: Kagome wanted to encourage Sango into making some new friends; seeing how the slayer was very much alone in the world with the exception of her demonic feline companion.
For now, Sango wordlessly continued to stroke Kirara as if to distract her meandering thoughts; in a way meant to anchor her to the now instead. There's a quality in her expression that bespoke of her inner turmoil despite her outward contentedness. Miroku had a huge, almost obscene desire to merely speak with her; but over what and why eluded him. Anything, any excuse just to get her talking; to get her to betray her swirling, secretive thoughts. She was just so fascinating to him; more so than any other woman he's ever met.
But why?
As if she sensed his treacherous eyes, Sango said, without having to ever look up, "Got nothing better to stare at? You've been doing this all damn day."
I suppose I wasn't as subtle as I believed, he noted. Miroku still winced no less; her words were certainly barbed. But he supposed, in a way, the gods had answered his strange prayers.
"I apologize," he opted for quickly. "I couldn't help feeling that something has been weighing you down as of late." Which is quite obvious, he mentally included in lame fashion; knowing that the girl was still enduring from losing her entire home.
Sango said nothing to that but snorted in an rather unfeminine manner. Her plain expression was a cautious, neutral mask. There wasn't even a shrug of indifference from her some unknown stretch of minutes, she seemed to settle her thoughts to a topic that seemed safe enough to broach. She looked up at Miroku and blinked, her tone steady, "About Naraku-"
Miroku felt his expression darken.
"He's... well, I get that he's after the Shikon jewel, and I understand that Kagome here has the power to find the shards-" She stopped here, trying to find a way to best word her following queries. "-But I need to know more about him. Just look at the facts: He's obviously beyond the realm of what's considered "normal", even for malicious demon nature. I've seen some rather wicked, horrible, vicious, conniving youkai during my jobs, but Naraku-" She spat and scoffed, "He's the absolute worse creature I've ever had the misfortune to run into. I think I've met centipedes with more honest intentions than he."
Miroku's lips bracketed wryly, "Now that's truly an understatement, my dear taijiya. At the very least, a centipede would rather simply eat you and finish the fight. Naraku however..."
Sango sniffed and ejaculated with a pointed, if not sardonic bitterness evident in her voice, "-He probably gets off on torturing innocent souls all the damn time. I can't find any reason for any demon, with the exception of a succubus, to do this otherwise."
"-'Less it be for jewel shards."
She then went on to say, "-All things considered, could you tell me more about him? I mean, what he's done to all of you in order to garner such an odd variety of enemies? Look at what he has tailing him-" She ticked it off with obvious confusion here, "A reincarnated shrine miko whose clearly not of this world, whose arrows could potentially kill in one strike given the training. A cursed monk willing to side with demons; a hot-tempered hanyou with a vendetta fatal enough to both he and his few, existing enemies. An orphan fox kit, who feels the need to involve himself in violence whereas kitsune avoid said conflict..."
She stopped, and then added in a small, but level tenor, "-And then there's me... A demon slayer whose got quite literally nothing else left to lose. I mean, I know why I'm here, but you all..." She shook her head, her expression a muddled array of confusion and ill-gotten humor of some kind.
Miroku couldn't help but chuckle at the picture she painted; one that he now took the time to admire with some stark, perverted mirth. "Ah," he smiled, his mala beads clacking softly as he placed his arms on his crossed knees. "I suppose our little traveling party does seem a touch unusual."
"Now that's putting it mildly," Sango sighed, her expression lighter than its been most of the night.
The monk leaned against the tree some, folding his hands together in thought. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in a little disclosure. However, Inuyasha's business is his to give, whether or not he'd feel up for mentioning it... Or you learn about this directly from Lady Kagome, which seems likely."
He chuckled vaguely, but knew Sango would know in due course anyways thanks to their interactions with the resurrected Kikyo. He did however recall that Inuyasha was indeed still awake, and apprehensively lifted his gaze to the branches that loomed above Kagome's bedding. Thankfully, said hanyou seemed to be 'dozing'- just enough to be resting but somehow alert for any sound that could be amiss.
At least he's not awake enough to note what I've said.
He sighed and stared back a their fire, contemplative. He remembered where he left off and glanced at where the future-born girl slept. The minuscule wad of russet and green and blue curled against her chest snoozed away soundly; for all intents and purposes dead to the world.
He went on in a softer voice, "As for Shippo, he was orphaned by some rogue demons killing his father for his shards. Its no secret, but its not mentioned a lot for a reason. He looks to Kagome as family now, but I've no doubt Naraku would've hunted down his father himself should these 'Thunder Brothers' haven't interfered."
Again, Sango nodded; her hands gingerly ceaselessly caressing the fire cat as he continued.
"-And as you've seen, Lady Kagome stays with us because she can find the shards; but has she not told you how the jewel has come apart in the first place? No?" Her sudden head shaking baffled him. "Ah, well, I'm sure she'll say something about it if you bring it up with her. Kagome has never felt inclined to lie or omit such things when I've asked."
"And you? Why do you chase Naraku?" Her eyes swiftly darted to his right arm; fast enough for the monk to nearly miss.
And so we come to what's been really bothering her this whole evening. Naraku is just one thing-
His following smile was a wane, terse thing that prompted the taijiya to withdraw into herself somewhat. He lifted said arm and fussed with the beads, tightening them (as by habit) as he replied, "You've seen me use this but once, correct?"
"Against my Hiraikotsu, yes."
Her wine-red gaze stayed arrested on his hand, her expression wary. To Miroku, her eye-color bordered the cheery chestnut Kagome had, sitting just in-between a sultry crimson and a warm mahogany. To the casual observer, it was a simple and unassuming brownish; but in this dim firelight he couldn't help but note just how interesting the play of color was. It was a distracting detail he appreciated internally.
Nonetheless, Miroku nodded and settled again, his tone calm and modulated. "The Wind Tunnel," he began, knowing full-well that Sango would most likely ask or know in due time. He might as well lay it out blandly while she felt as inclined as he; no matter how reluctant he felt. His expression fell as he explained, "-Its a curse that's plagued my family the last three generations; and has successfully taken the life of every individual born into the family. It takes time to do so, but the wicked winds grow ever more violent each year I've lived. As you've no doubt surmise, Naraku's responsible for it."
Sango's face fell; a contrite expression that tugged at the monk's heart. He'd felt bad for saying it this way, but the truth wasn't pretty. Nor was it ever meant to be.
He went on, "My only hope is the defeat Naraku. My master Mushin, grandfather, and father alike has tried varying methods of cleansing, purification, and so forth in order to remove it in years past. However, Naraku's trickery is never something that could be easily dispelled." He felt his eyes wander to their meager fire, and then he tossed some logs into it without further comment. Sango patiently waited for him to continue in this lapse, her hands ceaselessly stroking the small bundle of creamy, purring fur in her lap.
After a pensive moment in this manner he added, "I set out as soon as my training as a monk was finished, hoping to find Naraku whereas my father and grandfather failed. Mushin also warned me to not use it so carelessly; seeing how even simple lacerations will widen the curse and speed along its course-"
A strange choking noise stopped his words, "So even a basic, clumsy wound could mean your death sentence-?!" Sango sputtered incredulously, her eyes brightening in stark worry. The beautiful curl that was her lovely mouth pursed in anger as she absorbed this information.
It seemed to Miroku that she was more upset about it than he was.
"...To devastating effect I'm afraid," Miroku confirmed, wondering why in the blue Hell he decided to tell the slayer this little portent of information in the first place. "As it is, its not the only thing that can affect the curse either. So its either a misplaced scratch could widen the kazaana, or the poison from Naraku's Saimyousho would do the job. Or maybe, time will see to what neither can do."
Sango hissed; not unlike an angry cat. Kirara glanced up at her once and then curled up again. "So those insects I saw during that battle with Naraku's puppet..."
"-Were the Hell-born insects themselves, yes."
Her eyes locked onto Miroku briefly, but then migrated back to their campfire and flashed with a inhumane menace that could freeze the blood of any great tai-youkai. "That gods-thrice-damned, worm-eaten, scum-sucking, hideous, son of a troll-fucked mountain witch," she snarled with a near-animistic churn of lips and teeth, inadvertently shocking the monk.
...Great Buddha... And its no wonder she and Inuyasha get along so well... such language. He flinched at the curses and did his best to put it behind him. But I suppose its to be expected; her own wounds are yet so fresh still. To learn this so soon after its happened-
Miroku coughed lightly, hoping to break away Sango's murderous musings. "Worry not," he told her, his lips curving in an enlightening promise. He was smiling fully by the time he finished, "I can't help but notice that the more shards we find, the closer to Naraku we come. If anything, I've come closer to him than any of my forefathers collectively ever had."
Sango settled, but her face contained a skeptical note in it. "You sound confident," she tried.
"Hmm, maybe," was his semi-resigned response. "I'm no optimist; Kagome has that role filled. However, I can't help feeling confident that with us altogether, I'd stand a better chance at finding Naraku and surviving the curse. Roving about as a solitary man hasn't done my father or grandfather any favors... And I've actually had more interactions with Naraku when Inuyasha and Kagome are by my side than I've ever had on my own."
Kirara yawned lazily and flipped her tails around to her other side, her ruby stare resting on Sango briefly whilst the slayer weighed his words. She nuzzled the unmoving hands; Sango having stopped at some point during the monk's speech. Noticing the suddenly restless nekomata, Sango gingerly giggled and resumed her stroking.
"I... I can't help but wonder," she tried with some evident hesitance, her voice contrite. "Do you... I mean... Have you any idea when-?"
When she didn't finish, Miroku realized two things: One was Sango's obvious distaste in asking the very question he himself never considered; letting him know that she didn't want to ask, but she needed to know even if it was rude. Why? That he couldn't figure. The second however told him that she cared about whether he lived or died, despite their brief acquaintance. It warmed him, and he couldn't help but give the slayer a more genuine smile.
For the moment, he decided to allay her suddenly apparent embarrassment; noting that when she'd asked, he'd fallen silent as if in indignation. "Don't think about it," he told her with a detached sense of calm, but keeping his earlier smile as to relay that she's caused no offense. "I certainly don't."
She shook her head, "I'm sorry. Its thoughtless and-"
He held an open palm up to stop her from continuing, "Peace, Sango. I'm not offended. I understand you merely wanted a definitive answer for the incentive of finding Naraku sooner rather later, am I wrong?"
Her mouth thinned, and eyes became even more guarded; although the monk didn't think it was possible. On the side, it didn't stop the shame from flashing fleetingly into view.
Miroku held his smirk, her silence somehow speaking more than her words. Very much like a certain hanyou I know, he couldn't help but muse.
Eventually, the slayer seemed to relax, but her shoulders stubbornly held that squared look. She leaned against the tree opposite Miroku's; her eyes staring into places unknown to the monk. "I can't help but think," she began, her voice pensive. "How long is it going to take for us to find all the shards and beat Naraku? Have you any ideas?"
A sigh; and then, "I wonder that myself." Miroku let the idea swim around, weighing it and the violence yet to come. "Then again, I haven't been with Inuyasha and Kagome-chan very long, and I've seen Naraku often enough. Perhaps this is a good omen, in some ways."
Sango blinked, retaining her semi-troubled expression. She didn't seem convinced, but neither was he.
Eventually, the duo decided it was time to sleep. The conversation had done run its course, and Miroku didn't feel the need to push it. He was certain the slayer was measuring the words quite heavily, her expression almost haunted. He partially wished he omitted some of the things said about his curse, but Sango would've known about it anyways. Besides, he didn't want her caught off guard about it: who knows when the wind tunnel would one day enact upon its own wicked nature, and potentially draw in the people around him? He didn't want his only, few friends caught unawares.
Other than that, telling her this allows us no secrets between us. Mayhaps she'll feel more inclined to trust us.
Miroku laid on his side on his meager pallet, his mind roving over the future and what lay in store for them in the morn.
-X-
The rather blithe, halcyon light of the following day was a sharp contrast to the moody feel of the monk's inner disquiet.
They've finally found where the castle of Kagawaki was; a former lord Sango believed slain and impersonated by Naraku as part of his ruse to deceive the taijiya. Still, the grounds were a dusty, miasma choked plain with some light evidence of cultivation; albeit no castle in sight. There wasn't even any birds or insects amidst the land, and the unerring silence was its own tangible pall that darkened the moods of the group.
Sango however braved the soiled grounds undaunted, her eyes a focused sheen of hard scrutiny. She moved around the rises of soil and occasionally crouched down as to search for something, her stare waxing into something yet darker.
"I don't get it," she finally said. "I could've swore it was here-? The path that lead here was familiar enough..."
"It seems Naraku's proven to be even trickier than we've believed," Miroku tried, his tone firm but sounding almost exhausted by the thought itself. "If he's capable of making an entire mansion and its subjects vanish in such a short amount of time, then it means he has adequate defenses against our search." He tossed their hanyou friend and his female companion a dry look, "I've no doubt he'll know how to hide his scent from even Inuyasha's nose, and somehow obscure the glow of his jewel shards in some manner too."
Kagome passed an uncertain glance at Inuyasha, her warm, sunlit-umber eyes wary. Shippo's lip trembled somewhat, the kit sitting tense in the girl's arms.
"You really think he can do that?" Kagome inquired with dread.
Miroku let his eyes lower to the colorless terrain around his feet. "I'm not certain," he tried instead. "Merely speculation."
"I believe it educated," Sango agreed. Her eyes stayed glued to the soil she sifted through her fingertips, her lips puckering out in a way that betrayed her consternation. "I wouldn't think Naraku wouldn't have done what he did without consideration of his enemies."
She rose to her full height and moved to another corner of the plain, her expression suddenly grim.
"What is it?" Miroku asked.
She ignored him, her face shifting between stricken and shocked. She practically tip-toed to a certain spot that did stick out as rather peculiar to the monk; one hand moving to her heart as if to stop the influx of sorrow clenching at it. And then, with a rapid, sudden abandon that seemed to violently compel her, she was on her knees and digging furiously.
"Sango?" Kagome gathered her wits and went to her, Miroku by her side.
"No..." She breathed, her gaze distant. "It can't be-" Sango finally paused as soon as her hands had touched something, Kirara moving to settle beside her with a pensive mew.
Just as the group gathered, they saw it as soon as they smelled it; Inuyasha having contorted his expression briefly as the odor clawed at his too-sensitive nose: A body was lying just beneath the surface; the grave cruelly shallow and unattended. Armor was stuck to the deteriorating cadaver, much like Sango's in appearance despite the dirt and unmentionable sludge clinging to it. And if Sango's bereaved expression and muffled gasp was any indicator; said body must've belonged to one of her own people.
Maybe her father, was Miroku's following thought.
His suspicions were confirmed as Kirara seemed to weigh the mess of filth in a most human manner, tentatively brushing her head against Sango's leg next. The slayer however was hardly responsive, lost in her wailing sorrows as she was. She muttered something akin to "chichi-ue" and dipped her head, her beautiful face suddenly losing the remnants of its usual, albeit brittle composure.
"This," she began, her tone hard and chipped. Her next words were sloppy, her lament palpable, "-This confirms it. This was... this place is where the castle was."
Kagome's hand freed itself from its placement as one of Shippo's support, the girl nearly jamming it into her mouth in a choked attempt to stop her empathetic sob. She always seemed to latch onto the feelings of the people around her; and it showed clearly when even Inuyasha broke his scowl in favor of a flat mask. He picked up on the girl's emotions far too easily; but tried to not react to it but guarding his gaze into something no one person could read. Miroku always found it an odd trait for the hanyou to have.
At any rate, Miroku couldn't help but feel his inner disquiet shift into something base; venomous even. His innate anger towards Naraku grew darker still, but he kept his face schooled. He then approached Sango while unraveling his kesa, laying it out beside her.
"Miroku-?" Kagome started.
"We can't leave your chichi-ue and everyone else in a place so befouled by the breath of evil," Miroku quickly explained while his voice betrayed its gentle finality. He knelt beside Sango next, moving to excavate the remains.
"Houshi-sama," Sango's eyes widened as she watched Miroku begin his tedious and grizzly task, the woman at a temporary loss for words.
Miroku continued as if he didn't hear her, "We'll take them to a more appropriate place, and give them a proper burial there. Is that okay with you, Sango?"
He knew Sango wouldn't disagree; seeing as the monk was already knee-deep in the grave and upending it before the woman could so much as protest. Even so, Sango could do no more than utter a tentative "Thank you" next, her eyes transforming from rueful to gingerly surprised and gracious.
And that's how the party spent their whole afternoon; gently assisting the saddened slayer in the attempt to bury what remains of her past. Inuyasha didn't breathe a word in complaint, Shippo withheld his tongue in respectful silence, Kagome sniffled for Sango, Kirara didn't even mew a single time that night. As for Miroku, he was the one who gave these slayers their parting prayers, helping dispelling the malice and taint that cling to them while the group mosied their way far from this horrid land. Needless to say, it was a long walk up that mountain that day, and Miroku learned just how deeply his hatred of Naraku ran.
And even though no man of Buddha would, should, or could never, ever say it, Miroku abhorrently cursed Naraku with every fiber of his immortal soul. It didn't matter that it was a taboo for a man of his cloth to do, Miroku couldn't help that seering burn soiling his spirit as he weighed the dreaded task before him.
-No more, Sango. No more. I refuse to let a woman like yourself to suffer needlessly. My own soul be damned, he promised. I shall show Naraku what the true definition of what Hell really is. Even if I can't somehow beat this curse that shadows me, the least I can do is try to bring that monster down.
Or die trying.