Of A Separate Character

Thinking of the Tsumi he'd seen behind Sesshomaru's barrier, InuYasha cringed. Compared to the girl he'd met in that ramshackle village, she was nearly a ghost. Maybe it had been the cast of the weather, but her eyes, though sometimes tired and sad, now looked just plain empty; her overlarge kimono had been replaced, and her movement in this new one had looked restricted and uncharacteristic – she had grace, now, but it was born of confinement and discomfort.

"What are you thinking about?" Kagome's voice took a moment or two to break InuYasha out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," he murmured, feeling fatigued for the first time in a while. But in his peripheral vision, he saw Kagome fix him with a knowing stare, so he relented. "I was just thinking about Tsumi, and how much she's changed."

"What do you mean?" Kagome inquired. She had noticed some change in InuYasha, as well.

"I don't really know how to describe it," he said, reluctant. It was tough, picking and choosing what particulars to unveil. "When I saw her, she just looked so...exhausted, and sad." Swiveling his eyes around a little, he noticed that Shippo was listening in on their conversation. "She smelled different, too."

"How can a person change their smell?" asked the kitsune, giving himself away.

"I don't know!" InuYasha snapped. "But before, she smelled all mild, and when I ran into her at the base of Sesshomaru's barrier, she smelled...like, like burnt firewood, or an oncoming storm." He knew these comparisons were all but useless to his human companions, but Shippo would understand what he was getting at. Again, he left out the lingering aroma of blood. This new smell, though, he thought to himself, it's kinda' nice...

"That's not normal," Shippo said, crossing his arms. "Scent is the thing that tells us who we are!" he declared.

Miroku, who had been listening diligently to each and every detail, decided to put his two cents in for consideration. "If Shippo speaks the truth, that signifies a change in Tsumi's very person," he said tellingly. Clearly, he was still clinging to the Tetsusaiga-Puppet theory. "When we were searching for her, I noticed that her pure aura was weakening. To me, that suggests –"

"We didn't make a mistake, okay?" InuYasha interrupted.

"I don't know, InuYasha. I still feel bad about this – I feel like we've abandoned Tsumi." Sango bored into him with her steady gaze.

"Look, I don't exactly like the idea of leaving her with Sesshomaru, but we made the right decision. Taking down Naraku is the best way to ensure everybody's safety." While everyone grumbled amongst themselves, InuYasha admitted abjectly to himself that it would eventually come back to Kikyo. If I want them to believe that I know what I'm talking about, I'll have to tell them what she told me – and that she's the one who told me. This thought was not an appealing one.

That night, as a small dinner of even smaller fish roasted under an open sky, InuYasha decided it was time. Gathering all his courage, he cleared his throat with a barking cough and said, "I know Naraku is the one going after Tsumi. He wants to use her, and he's using Sesshomaru, too. In the end, he'll use Tsumi to try and kill us off, and I don't like the outcome of that no matter how you look at it." When he looked up, InuYasha was met with four pairs of wide eyes; they weren't used to him being serious like this. "And I know it's true, because Kikyo told me everything."

There was a diminutive gasp to his left, and Kagome grabbed his arm. "But InuYasha! How can you trust Kikyo?" she asked. There was no bitterness in her voice, but her eyes were growing watery. When InuYasha didn't answer, looking confused, she elaborated, "How can you trust her about this when she doesn't know anything about Tsumi?"

He sighed with relief: her worries weren't what he'd dreaded they were. "She seemed to know a lot, actually." He really hated that the one thing he couldn't admit was that Kikyo had gotten her information from Kagura – trying to explain his way out of that would take more time and patience than he really had.

"That's more worrisome than it is reassuring, InuYasha." Miroku's eyes were narrowed and his face was hardened in the firelight. I can't believe he would keep this from us! he thought angrily. "The fact that she appeared to know so much is troublesome – what are her sources? Certainly not us. What are her motives?"

Beside him, Sango nodded slowly. "I don't like it much, either," she said. Of course, her memories of Kikyo being what they were, how could she?

"Not for the first time, I'll say that I think Kikyo is working against us," Miroku stated solemnly.

"No!" InuYasha got to his feet and leaned over the fire at Miroku, who showed no sign of fear. "Kikyo would never, ever endanger someone in Tsumi's position!" he growled, claws gleaming menacingly over the crackling flames. "Kikyo may not be on our side, who knows? But she sure as hell is on Tsumi's side!"

"And what makes you so certain?" Miroku asked calmly. He didn't much care for the hole he'd just dug for himself and didn't enjoy the idea of being on the receiving end of InuYasha's claws. But he had to make sure it wasn't his friend's bias talking.

"Because Kikyo was in a similar position when – when –!" InuYasha couldn't bear to say it. His mind's eye was flooded with memories of Kikyo as she had been then, of the hopeful woman he had once known, and yet of her somber heart, so weighed down by its own purpose. Just then, he was pulled to the ground by two caring, soft hands; he found himself in Kagome's arms, simultaneously comforted and subdued. He glared at Miroku from under his silver fringe. "We're doing right by Tsumi by hunting down that bastard, Naraku," he asserted. "That's that."

With InuYasha shaking in her arms, Kagome had his words on repeat in her head. He sees them in a similar light, she thought, Kikyo and Tsumi...what does that mean?

oOo

Kanna had wandered around the perimeter of Sesshomaru's barrier long enough. She could sense the dead priestess in the shadows nearby, but there was no threat. And if one should arise, she thought dispassionately, I will be ready. In her hands, she caressed her precious mirror; it seemed to gleam happily back at her.

From her place in the trees, Kikyo had observed Naraku's most mysterious incarnation for a day and a half. Now, here they both were, back to the beginning – for Kikyo – and hopefully, at the end – for Kanna. Kikyo watched intently as the pale, silent girl roamed around the barrier's edge, cocking her head this way and that, observing.

She is trying to find a way through it, thought the priestess. Overhead, her soul collectors loomed, restless and wary. Is she here to collect the girl? Why doesn't Sesshomaru let her pass through? There were numerous implications to this, but one in particular struck Kikyo as painfully, hilariously ironic. Perhaps he will only allow her to be pried away once he takes her for himself, she theorized, which would render her useless to Naraku. Does he know?

She watched as Kanna tried to enter the barrier. Unlike InuYasha, she was not thrown backwards, but rather, she pulled her hand back sharply. She didn't cry out, but watched as her palm smoldered for a moment before returning to normal.

Satisfied, Kikyo turned and began to walk away. Gradually, her soul collectors gathered around her once more, fulfilling their duty. My part here is done, she decided. Do what you will, Sesshomaru.

Meanwhile, Kanna stood still before the singing barrier; its light ebbed and surged alternatively. She glanced at her singed hand. The burn was already beginning to fade, and yet... Demonic energy does not manifest in this way, she reasoned, studying the obstacle quietly. If InuYasha's Tetsusaiga could not diminish this barrier, then it belongs not to Sesshomaru, she realized, but to Tsumi.

So Sesshomaru was drawing on Tsumi's own power, was he? What a mistake. Kanna reviewed the visions she had seen in her mirror: so often was Sesshomaru degrading himself before the human girl that any day now, he was sure to shatter the one thing delaying his own progress. These demons, thought Kanna, reminded of Sesshomaru, and of Naraku and Kagura, and even InuYasha, so intent are they on the smallest of their hearts' desires that they are willing to destroy themselves. This of course, was none of her concern. Reaching out once more, she passed her hand through the barrier like one might play in an ocean wave. This time, she managed to get an entire forearm through before the heat became too much to bear, and she pulled back. The texture is softening, she noted, and the sound that the barrier emitted was less clear – more of a buzzing hum. This barrier is weakening. It won't be long, now.

And so that was how Kanna came to settle in the grass at the base of the hill, to wait.

oOo

The dry, withered petals stared back at her, unshaken. The cactus flower had stayed in its place: on her vanity, where she had left it. It had originally come to her, cradled amongst a large bouquet of camellia. This display inspired both awe and disgust.

At least he is honest, she thought, if not preposterously forward.

But it was more complicated than that. It was only too easy to be disgusted with Sesshomaru: his behavior, his obvious contradictions, and above all, his arrogance were things that grated on Tsumi. But there was something deeper and closer that clawed at her insides: disgust for herself, as it would be a lie to say Sesshomaru's favors weren't received with a degree of flattery and – worst of all – compensation, however private.

What have I become, but a lowly hypocrite? she thought. How can I stand to entertain these...these fantasies!

Could it not be said that, buried beneath her anger, there was another kind of flame? Anger, after all, was something she had allowed to slip between the cracks from time to time, but this other heat...this noxious, toxic smoke that coursed through her veins whenever her thoughts turned to Sesshomaru – whenever she was in his presence...it was worst when she heard his voice. That cool, cunning voice ignited forest fires within her now, to her own despair and shame.

It might be difficult to say yes, she thought, but it is getting even more difficult to say no. But she must persevere! There was no way she could allow herself to be dragged in by that cruel, malevolent, terrible...

Her door slid open, and in came Rin, arms cradling the Chinou cups. Tsumi could hear the stones rattling around inside. Rin discarded the cups on the floor and sat at Tsumi's side. She watched with baleful eyes as Tsumi tried to bury her glare and failed.

"I don't understand..." murmured the child. "What is it that you hate about Lord Sesshomaru, Tsumi-san? I don't understand. He is so kind and patient with you, and yet the two of you are always fighting." Rin's eyes were wet and it hurt Tsumi to see her little friend so distressed. She tried to pat Rin's hair, but the girl flinched away from her. "He goes out of his way for you, Tsumi-san, you know?"

Tsumi sat back on her haunches and chewed the inside of her cheek. What cold she say? How was she supposed to supply Rin with the answer she desired? How was she to explain to Sesshomaru's loyal charge that his reasons for caring for Tsumi were different? That, equally as distasteful, he was trying to seduce her, and yet with every intention of making good on his awful bargain with Naraku? No, these things could not and would not be said to Rin.

She shrugged. "Sesshomaru-sama and I disagree on a lot of things," she stated evenly.

But Rin could see the hateful glint in Tsumi's eyes still, and she did not like it. "That's too bad, Tsumi-san," she said, "because I think Lord Sesshomaru cares about you, even when he disagrees with you." She crossed her arms and turned her face away, turning red. Perhaps, she had just given away something that wasn't hers to give.

The thought stirred all new feelings around in Tsumi's gut, but it was easiest to concentrate on anger. She turned her gaze back on the belligerent flower, which now seemed to taunt her from its spot. It hatefully reminded her of the nights she spent awake, fantasizing about Sesshomaru as much as she reviled him. "If you don't mind, Rin," she said gently, "I'd like to be alone for a while."

Huffing, Rin left, leaving the cups and scattered stones behind.

Outside, Jaken was dutifully presenting Sesshomaru with the order from the demon smith. "Here you are, my lord," he handed the box, wrapped in its yellow sash to his master. "Just as you requested." The imp watched as Sesshomaru undid the graceful bow, the silk falling in a suspended waterfall over his open palm. He lifted the lid and examined the piece: the delicate gold chain glistened in the sunlight, its clasp perfect and round. Sesshomaru brushed the dainty thing with his thumb, careful to use the utmost tenderness. In the lid of the square box, there was a hidden compartment, which when slid upward revealed the charm – a small, blue crescent, attachable to the chain at the owners' whim.

"This satisfies me, Jaken," he said, closing the box and tying up the sash. It took all of Jaken's willpower not to scoff at the loaded remark. "Do not lose this."

The kappa was unpleasantly surprised at finding the box being pushed back into his hands, and more so by his instructions, for losing it was exactly what he had intended to do. "But, my lord –!" he objected.

"None of that, Jaken," he chided evenly. "Not now."

Jaken squirmed at the unpleasantness of it all. "Oh, why did you have to go and have your family mark forged into a charm as well?" he demanded, practically jumping up and down on the spot.

Sesshomaru reached out a hand and swatted Jaken to the ground, where he remained. "I had it made purely out of propriety," he told his servant. "How would it look to have the chain made without the usual intended promise? I don't need word getting around, now, do I."

Despite its rhetorical nature, Jaken had an answer. "Perhaps you had it made out of precaution, rather than propriety."

Sesshomaru frowned at the imp, silencing him. "That's enough out of you for one day, Jaken." He stood then, and produced a large, cloth parcel from the depths of his haori. Jaken watched him enter the house, shaking his head in silent misery.

Tsumi's door was not closed all the way, and this time, Sesshomaru did not hesitate. "How are you feeling?" he asked her, though the answer wasn't terribly important. He sniffed the air tenuously. No more blood, he noticed.

As if to accentuate this point, Tsumi sat on the floor and in full dress. Her face was painted with so many feelings unspoken; she refused to meet his gaze, still fuming from her first disagreement with Rin. More meaningfully, she did not give him an answer, other than to turn her back on him.

This was a mistake. Setting his parcel on the floor, he turned around deftly and slid her door shut, not quite slamming it but not simply closing it either. When he turned around again, Tsumi was staring at him wide-eyed, trying to gage what would happen next. "It would seem I have your attention, now," he said without fuss. "You are incredibly rude."

Tsumi's eyes narrowed now. Gathering up her kimono, she stood as ungracefully as was humanly possible, bunching the fabric around herself defensively. She glowered at Sesshomaru. "I'm rude?" she spat. "I'm the rude one? You're rude," she accused, pointing, "not only for kidnapping me, but for trying to woo me with your gifts under the circumstances!"

Still maintaining his cool, Sesshomaru glided toward her, stopping mere inches away. "You should be grateful," he told her, "in fact, you should be honored that I can even get past how human you are. You are beneath me, Tsumi. Far, far beneath me."

Her cheeks were blossoming ugly red patches and her eyes seethed with the anger that had been suppressed for nineteen years. "I suppose," she snapped, "you believe I ought to feel indebted to you, then!" Yet even now, all that anger could not disguise what other yearnings lay untouched. It showed all over her face, in the way her eyes searched him up and down, in the way her hands trembled, fighting with one another as to what to do first: throw a punch or stroke his face.

Sesshomaru took this into consideration before saying, quite bluntly, "I do." The sheer scale of his nerve had reduced her to shocked, ashy silence. "I have clothed you in fabrics your station doesn't deserve; I have fed you proper food at the expense of my dignity; I have provided you with a human dwelling instead of forcing you to sleep outside, instead of making you endure the elements and constant travel I am accustomed to." He felt a satisfying lurch inside his gut at the sight of her stricken face. "I have even gone so far as to offer you my company, when it would be so much easier to ignore you. And despite all of this, you still believe that you aren't indebted to me." He could feel an avalanche of criticism pushing its way through his throat, and now that he had started, he wasn't sure he could stop. "Tell me, Tsumi, what you did with your pathetic life before all of this."

She didn't answer him, not out of defiance, but of inability.

"You did nothing. You caged yourself in, making yourself miserable and unattainable by cowering from the pain of human desire."

"What are you talking about?" Tsumi's words had suddenly come back to her, awakened by his accusations. "What do you mean, 'I caged myself in'?"

Sesshomaru had hoped it wouldn't come to this, that she would realize it on her own, but it would seem that he would have to be the bearer of bad news. No matter, he thought, waving it off. "Did you truly believe that you were absolutely pure, like some devout miko or pristine spirit? Perhaps the time for entertaining such ridiculous imaginings is over." He grabbed her wrists in his as he had the night she'd attacked him, bringing his face as close to hers as possible. "Everybody is born 'pure.' But haven't you ever wondered why infants will cry on end, seemingly without reason? It is because as children, we must learn to accept the pain of what we want, what we hate, what we need." His hot breath ghosted over her face and his grip tightened around her fragile wrists. "You avoided that pain. You were terrified of it," he told her. "You shied away from that acceptance, and as a result, everything you could have had in life was pushed outward. Every loss you have suffered, every night of loneliness, every hurtful allegation – it's all your own fault. That's the price we pay for cowardice."

"But," she tried, her voice breaking. If he's right, she thought, then...then...no! He can't be right! He just can't be!

"At least now, you can do something with yourself." He threw her back, and she stumbled onto the bed. "Thanks to me, you've been given another chance." It was his turn now, to turn his back on her. They stood in mutual silence, frozen while this heavy weight of horror settled onto Tsumi's shoulders.

Everything is my fault...

"These," Sesshomaru nudged the cloth parcel with a booted foot. "These are for you. Another gift." He spared her a glance over his shoulder: she looked broken and weepy. "They're good whether you're alone," he paused, "or with company."

She watched him walk away, his mokomoko sweeping behind him and disappearing around the corner. Forcing back her tears, she knelt on the floor in front of the gift and began undoing the neat knot of fabric. There was a jumbled mass of vials and casks, all of different colors and shapes. She picked one up and unstoppered it, inhaling the sweet scent that drifted into her nose. It was provocative and potent – she couldn't put a name to it. She sloshed the liquid around inside, and then finally realized that what he had given her was soap.

Haphazardly, she wrapped the soaps back up and dumped them onto the vanity with the dried up cactus flower. Or with company, she groused, crossing her arms.

Comments and feedback are always welcome, lovely readers.