Chapter 36: Ash and Bone


Kurama flinched as the door of his prison room opened, the sound echoing in his sensitive ears like a struck gong. As he had become accustomed to silence, it was a nasty shock. He sat up as his captor stalked into the room. Rui's face was set into an ugly mask of fury. Kurama thought that she looked like a tiger whose tail had been pulled. Something must have gone very wrong for her. Kurama couldn't help but feel vindictively pleased about that. It gave him hope that his plan might possibly have succeeded.

But this could also be very bad for him. He was in no position to defend himself against Rui's wrath.

Kurama watched warily as the woman paced, her eyes occasionally flicking to him, then away.

Minutes passed in this manner. Kurama began to run through possible escape scenarios in his mind. If only she'd open the cage…

"I should have killed you straight away," she snarled.

Kurama's breath caught in his throat. He remembered the blood splattered all over the library floor. The smell of it filling his nose. How it had seemed to stick to his paws, the scent lingering long after he'd left the library.

He was a god. He couldn't die.

But Koto had been a goddess and she had died.

Rui stopped and stared at him, her eyes narrowed into hateful slits. "I will have to kill you now," she said. "I can't let you go."

Kurama's first impulse was to protest but as he took in the expression on the mortal woman's face, he realised that it wouldn't do any good. Perhaps if she had never killed before, he might have been able to talk her into another course of action.

But she had killed before, without consequences.

Instead, Kurama tried a different strategy.

"You can't kill me," he said. "Not while I am in this cage. Even though my power cannot touch you through these bars, I am still immortal."

A perfectly reasonable argument, in his opinion. The bars separating him from Rui protected her from his powers, but they also likely protected him from hers, whatever they were.

Rui laughed derisively. "You don't know how easy it is to strip you of that immortality. Do you realise that the entire time you were a fox, you were mortal? All I have to do is put the ritual back in place." She smiled coldly at him. "I kept it stored away, just in case you proved to be too much trouble."

Kurama wished that he could stand up. He felt as small as a mouse in this cage. He watched as Rui's hand slipped out of the folds of her kimono. The light of the lantern flickered along the blade she held in thin, pale fingers. Kurama recoiled instinctively from her, though she hadn't made a move toward him yet.

"What is that?" he asked, struggling to appear composed. The dagger was certainly not of mortal make.

"This dagger contains the power of the deities I have killed," Rui said, a cruel smile twisting her face. That, combined with the light of her lantern, made her look particularly monstrous. "And the power to return you to mortal form," she continued.

Kurama's throat went dry with fear. How could such a thing exist? How could something so small contain a deity's power? How could the knowledge of such weapons have been kept from the deities?

But no one else knew about Hiei's rituals, and Kottashima was so isolated…

"How is that possible?" Kurama protested. "A god's power can't be transferred to an object."

But he thought of the scroll Hiei had possessed. There were more of them. Who knew what they contained? Who knew what was truly possible?

Secret knowledge transcribed by a diligent hand, kept in ancient places of worship, waiting for a curious mind like Hiei's to find it. Or a malicious one, such as Rui's.

Rui studied him, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It isn't worth taking your power," she said eventually. "It would not suit me."

Kurama bristled. It was petty to be irritated because his question had been ignored, but he was, all the same. This woman was far too used to getting her own way.

Had Hiei actually saved Keiko? Was that why Rui had decided to kill him? Kurama wished that he could warn Hiei, but he had no way of doing that.

Rui stepped toward him, tall and imposing. The stone wall pressed into Kurama's back as a deep, paralysing chill swept through his veins. He tried to reach for his power but all he could feel was ice.

So, her power could reach through the bars. Kurama silently cursed his ignorance of the mortal's abilities. He was at a severe disadvantage.

"You're afraid of fire, aren't you, Lord Kurama? That would clean things up nicely."

Words were the only weapon Kurama had left, but they lodged themselves in his throat, barred by his fear. His cage wasn't large enough for him to escape the dagger's reach. If he could just get to his power past the chill…

Rui slid the dagger between the bars of the cage. Kurama cringed, expecting her to dig it into his flesh, but instead the cold blade pressed to his shoulder. Kurama could feel the pressure of it through the thin fabric of his clothing.

Kurama's breath left his lungs in a harsh gasp. Pain flared behind his eyes and then everything went as black as a moonless night.


Kurama groaned weakly as he woke. His body twitched, then spasmed. Too many legs. Too much hair. No, it wasn't hair. Kurama whimpered. Fur. He was a fox again.

Pain lanced across his side and Kurama let out a shriek. Blindly, he tried to get up and move away from the source of the pain, but as he staggered on weak legs, the pain followed him.

Burning. Licking along his body. Eating away his fur.

Fire. It was fire. The scent of smoke overwhelmed his senses. He couldn't see anything. Couldn't hear anything…

His shoulder slammed into the hard bars of his cage. His paws scrabbled across the floor, dislodging burning cloth as Kurama desperately sought escape.

But there was no escape. Not from the smoke, or the pain. This was his worst nightmare made real.

The sensitive pads of Kurama's paws felt as though they were dissolving. His screams echoed around the small room as he thrashed in terror, going around and around, blindly searching for an escape that didn't exist.

And then Kurama's mind fell into a dark, bottomless lake of pain and panic.


Kurama drifted in darkness like a leaf on the wind. The pain was a phantom child playing on the edges of his mind, though the fire had long since burned itself out.

Kurama was grateful for the darkness as it hid the ruins that the fire had left behind.

The fox's body was unrecognisable, burned to ash and bone on the stone floor of the cage. Kurama tried not to think about it. It wasn't his body, after all. Just one he'd borrowed for a little while. Telling himself that made it a little easier to bear, though that didn't change the fact that he was still dead.

Something closed around him. Something warm and comforting. Something that felt familiar.

Karasu?

"Hello, Kurama."

The voice was familiar and evoked feelings of nostalgia in Kurama's mind.

Kurama curled willingly into the god's warmth, regrets lingering in his heart. What would Hiei think when he learned that Kurama had died? Would he think that Kurama was a fool? That he'd made a mistake in pursuing a relationship with Kurama?

Kurama wished that he had given Hiei more of a chance. Though he was now safe in Karasu's hands, he still felt alone. The memories of the time he'd spent with past lovers were too distant to provide him any comfort.

Kurama wasn't sure when or even how they made the transition to Karasu's realm, but the abrupt change in his surroundings startled him. He found himself held against Karasu's body, the god's arms supporting him.

"Kurama?" Karasu asked.

Kurama retreated, his bare feet fumbling for footing on the rock beneath him. He looked up into Karasu's face. The deity looked… regretful? His eyes were warmer than Kurama had ever seen them.

"Karasu," he said. He pressed one hand to his throat, rubbing gently. He coughed, his throat feeling dry and clogged.

He looked down at himself, taking stock of his appearance. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on before, although his scarf was gone. He plucked at the fabric, wondering if they were real or not.

"They're incorporeal," Karasu informed him. "As incorporeal as you are."

Kurama gave him a startled look, eyes widening.

Karasu shrugged in return. "Most ask," he said. "Though I don't see why it matters."

"I don't feel incorporeal," Kurama informed him, prodding at the stone experimentally with one toe.

"Incorporeal beings don't," Karasu said dryly.

As Kurama glowered at him from beneath his red bangs, Karasu reached underneath his kimono and drew out something small and glowing.

It drew Kurama's eyes like a fish to a lure. The glow of the smooth, red surface pulsed like a heartbeat.

"My soul," Kurama said. He wanted to reach out and touch it. He actually raised his hand to do just that, but Karasu foiled his attempt by slipping it back to its previous place of safe-keeping, out of Kurama's sight. Kurama shook his head, trying to shake off his disorientation.

"Does everyone's soul look the same?" Kurama asked, after having regained his bearings.

"Not really," Karasu responded. "They are all of a similar size but that is the only thing they all have in common."

Kurama wondered if it would be rude to ask about what Koto's soul had looked like. Now that he'd seen his own and felt that strong, possessive attraction, he thought that maybe it might be. He'd feel a little violated if anyone else asked what his looked like.

Kurama turned his back on Karasu, curious about his surroundings despite his situation. Finally, he would know what awaited mortals when they died. How many gods ever got that chance?

Not that it was anything to be grateful for.

Kurama stared out across the vast, endless landscape before him, his mind unable to fully grasp what he was seeing.

Sickly yellow clouds covered the sky. The earth below was barren, stretching out clear to the horizon. There was not a single plant or tree in sight. The only features of the barren ground worth noting were the black stains of ash that covered the earth like bruises. Ash drifted lazily past Kurama and his host.

Kurama's stomach churned with unease. This was too unnatural. It felt like he shouldn't be here. Like no one should be here. Like this world had died and should be left to waste away like a corpse buried beneath a grassy field.

Karasu stood beside him, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword, his eyes surveying the scene above thinned lips. The wind tugged lightly at the strands of his long black hair and his clothing.

"What is this?" Kurama asked weakly. His voice sounded small in the vast emptiness. High above them, a black crow cawed as it soared through the sky, wings spread wide on the wind. That was the only sign of life Kurama could see, other than Karasu himself. Kurama no longer counted himself among the living.

Karasu remained silent for half a minute. When he did answer, his voice was matter-of-fact.

"This is the realm of the dead," Karasu said. "The place where souls come after death."

"It is… dismal," Kurama said. He'd expected… what? Something more than this, anyway. Something more than a desolate, burnt landscape.

As if he'd read Kurama's mind, Karasu responded. "What did you expect? A palace?"

Like Koenma's. The words were unspoken, but Kurama filled them in anyway, well aware of Karasu's dislike of the other deity and his proclivity for extravagant displays.

Kurama would have bristled, but his thoughts were too full for Karasu's slim barb to properly penetrate.

"I don't know," Kurama said helplessly.

Karasu turned and began to walk along the stone path behind them. As if pulled by a leash, Kurama floated along in his wake, a ship carried by the tide.

With his soul tucked in Karasu's kimono, Kurama suspected that he could not wander far.

To think, his long life — his entire being and existence — was now nothing larger than a seed. Everything he'd done, everything he'd seen, everything he was, all condensed into something that could fit in the palm of someone's hand.

Like this world's atmosphere, that was another concept that Kurama couldn't quite wrap his head around.

He was dead. A fate that he thought would never be his.

Karasu led Kurama between rocky outcrops, the path curving down into a valley. He paused at the spot where the path opened out, allowing Kurama to take in the view.

This valley was not barren. It was a garden. Of sorts.

The plants grew wild, spindly, sharp branches battling each other for space. The leaves lacked the vibrant green of the mortal realm's plants. Instead, they were shades of grey and black. There were trees, too. Stunted, brittle things, their growth smothering the plants twined in their roots.

Karasu resumed his trek, moving through the garden at a slow pace.

Kurama looked down, noticing how dry the soil looked. How could anything grow here?

"Karasu?" he asked anxiously.

"What?" Karasu asked, his tone bland.

"Is this a garden?"

"I suppose," Karasu responded, giving him a brief glance that Kurama couldn't read.

Kurama fell silent, sensing that he would have to wait for Karasu to explain the situation to him.

Well, he was dead. He knew that much. And this was, apparently, the realm that Karasu ruled over, if that was the right way to phrase it. Maybe Karasu was more like a caretaker.

But this garden did not offer Kurama any clues as to what actually happened to a mortal's soul after they died.

In the distance, a tall, dark form loomed, growing closer and closer with each step Karasu took. It was a tree, taller and thicker than any Kurama had seen so far.

Kurama observed it carefully as Karasu stopped at the edge of the clearing it nested in. Unlike the other plants and trees, this one had fat fruit littered amongst its branches. Each was pale pink or red, and glowed with a faint inner light. Though the tree's leaves were still grey, it looked much healthier than the other plants.

Kurama directed his eyes down to the mass of roots tangled before his feet. The sight sickened him.

The roots were not normal tree roots, just as the tree wasn't a normal tree. The roots were twisting, writhing things, reminiscent of thick tentacles. They were a mottled grey colour with lumps protruding from them.

"I believe this tree was not always here." Karasu offered the information with a bothered frown.

Kurama was thoroughly lost now. Nothing was making any sense.

"I don't understand," he said, giving voice to his confusion and hoping — for once — for a clear explanation from Karasu.

And — for once — he got it.

"This garden is where souls are born — and where they are brought when they die," Karasu explained to his incorporeal companion. "When a mortal dies, its soul is buried in the soil where it serves as nourishment for the plants that create new souls."

Kurama felt like laughing — a hysterical kind of laughter born out of incredulity and disbelief.

"Souls are… fertiliser?" he asked.

"I suppose so," Karasu said. "If you want to think of it that way. Certain plants grow better when fed certain souls."

Which was where the sorting came in.

"But… this tree," Kurama said.

The tree certainly didn't look right. But, more than that, it also didn't feel right. Kurama had the sense that it did not quite belong in this place — that it should not be here.

Kurama had always known that plants were alive. That they had, in their own limited form, a sense of identity. He would never call them intelligent, but they were intuitive, at least.

This tree did feel intelligent, in a malevolent, malignant way. Kurama felt as though the tree were reaching for him, trying to pull him near, worming its way into his mind and corrupting him.

How could Karasu stand to be near it? Had he merely become accustomed to it to the point where it no longer bothered him?

"This tree bears a different sort of soul," Karasu responded. His next words sent cold fingers skating down Kurama's spine. "Deity souls."

"May I assume that it prefers to be nourished with deity souls as well?" Kurama asked weakly, hoping for a negative answer.

"It certainly seems so."

Karasu's eyes rested on Kurama's form, their light depths holding sympathy.

That terrified Kurama.

"No," he said. He would prefer to be left to simply fade away into nothing, rather than be fed to that greedy monstrosity. It was choking this garden like a selfish parasite.

"You don't have a choice."

Karasu reached into his kimono and his hand slipped out, Kurama's soul between his fingers. The pretty round thing radiated the warmth of Kurama's spirit.

Kurama fumbled for words. Anything to convince Karasu to change his mind. Maybe he could stall for more time.

But he was also well aware of Karasu's devotion to his duty. He might not like what he had to do, but he'd do it anyway. The balance of the world was a delicate thing. If Karasu bent the rules for him, what damage could that do? Would there be consequences that Kurama wasn't aware of?

Still, the tree repelled Kurama in a subconscious, primal way that left him nauseous. Surely there had to be some alternative available…

"Karasu."

Kurama froze at the sound of the feminine voice that summoned the death god's attention. Then relief flooded him.

He considered taking the opportunity to flee. But, realistically, that was no longer an option. His chance to run from his fate had vanished like smoke in the wind the moment Karasu had grasped his soul.

Karasu turned to stare at the newcomer, his posture stiffening as he realised who it was. Curious, Kurama turned as well.

To see a familiar, though startling form.

Oru stood on the path behind them, looking like a dove amongst ravens. She wore her long white dress beneath a black cloak, her long hair loose over her shoulders.

"There is the matter of a debt between us," she said, her voice sounding as fresh as spring rain to Kurama's ears.

"Not now," Karasu returned irritably.

"Now," Oru said firmly. "Return Kurama's soul to his body."

Kurama gaped in surprise. Was she serious? Was that even possible?

Karasu glowered at her. "That was not our deal," he retorted. "Kurama is a deity. You asked for a mortal soul, not a god's."

Oru looked unconvinced, her expression remaining serene. Kurama allowed the smallest seed of hope to burgeon in his mind.

"He was mortal when he died," Oru informed Karasu.

"Naturally," Karasu answered, his voice sour. Kurama watched as Karasu played idly with his soul between his fingers as his face took on a contemplative expression. He turned to look at the tree.

Kurama wondered if he should say something, something that might sway Karasu into doing what Oru asked, but he knew Karasu well enough to realise that could backfire on him.

It seemed like eternity before Karasu's eyes left the tree and he turned to face Oru once again.

"All right," he said.

Kurama almost cried with relief. He wouldn't be fed to that monstrous tree. He would return to the mortal realm and his life as a deity.

And his garden. Nothing like this wretched, hopeless place.

Oru smiled and the world seemed brighter to Kurama.

"I knew you would see things my way," she said.

Karasu did not respond. Instead, he began to walk, passing by her without a glance. Kurama followed, a kite on a string, his soul once again tucked warmly beneath Karasu's kimono.

"Most don't get a second chance, Kurama," Karasu warned him as they made their way along the winding path. "Be more careful in the future."

"I will," Kurama agreed meekly. He turned back, searching for Oru's form, but the goddess was gone. Only the tree loomed above like a dark umbrella, seeming to mock Kurama with its spread branches. Kurama could almost hear it whisper cruelly, "I will have you eventually."

He faced forward again, the straight form of Karasu's body a much kinder place to rest his eyes. He'd have to find some way to thank Oru properly for this.


Kurama woke, shivering on the cold stone floor of his prison. He levered himself to his feet, anxious to see the damage. He twisted his body, fox eyes straining in the darkness, his senses alert for the flash of pain that would indicate injury.

But there didn't seem to be any damage. His fox form appeared to be intact. Kurama tested his limbs, flexing his muscles and assessing his senses. No pain flared up to assault his nerves.

He was okay. He was fine. He was alive.

The door creaked open slowly, as if it were reluctant to admit a visitor. Panic sent Kurama edging back into the corner of his cage. It had to be his captor, probably returning to dispose of his body. Oru had provided him with a reprieve once. She could not do so again.

But Rui never appeared. Instead, it was Yukina's smaller form who slipped around the door, her eyes wide and desperate. With her she carried a lantern, a blessed sight to Kurama's eyes.

"Oh, you're alive!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy. She darted forward. On her heels followed another familiar form. He radiated a cold, hard fury that Kurama had never felt before. And, beneath that fury, a dark undercurrent of fear.

Hiei. Kurama felt like laughing in relief. Hiei had found him, just as Kurama had hoped he would. His plan hadn't entirely failed.

The fire god was short, blood-eyed and a most welcome sight. He shoved past Yukina and pulled open the door of the cage. Kurama realised that, while the door had been pushed shut, it had not been fastened properly. Of course. Why would Rui bother to close it when the occupant was a corpse?

"Kurama," Hiei said, his voice tight. "Are you okay?"

Kurama slipped out of the cage. He eagerly pushed himself on Hiei, relishing the feel of warm, calloused hands in his fur. He didn't even care that Hiei's energy prickled along his fur, causing the strands to stand up.

He was alive!

Kurama turned his head to look back into the cage. All that remained were the blackened scraps of cloth and ash on the floor, along with the lingering scent of smoke.

"Kurama," Hiei whispered, drawing Kurama's attention back to him. Kurama shoved his nose into Hiei's chest.

Equally small hands joined Hiei's.

"I'm so glad you're all right, Lord Kurama," Yukina said, her voice lighter than Kurama had ever heard it. "I'm so sorry."

It was time to end this, Kurama decided firmly. He backed off from Hiei and Yukina. Hiei started forward, but Kurama gave a low noise of warning. Startled and confused, Hiei hovered in place, looking lost. Kurama felt a little sorry for him. Hiei might have taken his action as a rejection.

But he could rectify that properly very soon.

Kurama concentrated on his power, teasing it out until he could use it to break the ritual. He was more than done with being a fox. He wanted to be himself again. Immortal again.

Just like the first time, his vision turned black and he fell into unconsciousness. But this time a feeling of release carried him into the darkness.