HER HEART'S DESIRES

by

Nana

CHAPTER III

The Dreammaster

Sango could not believe what she was seeing, until Miroku started coughing and he blinked his eyes.

Quick as a flash, she tore herself away. Surprise, dismay and embarrassment rushed in, making her face burn. Behind her, Miroku continued choking.

"Sango," he coughed, seeking to rise.

"No, don't-your wound," Sango said, moving back. Relief was washing through her, a thrilling wave of pleasure.

He lay back, wincing. "How long?" he asked. "Where-?"

"Just-just a night. Sshh…don't talk…we're here in Oshou-sama's temple…"

He looked back at her with glazed eyes. "Mushin-sama? What about Inu Yasha? Kagome-sama?"

"I don't know. When I woke up, I only found you."

He let out a groan. "Listen, Sango-" he stopped when he felt something wet drop on his cheek. It took a moment before he realized what it was.

He stared at her as more tears came. He slowly moved his hand up, wiping her cheek gently. "You're crying," he said, as if puzzled.

"B-baka!" Sango cried. "I thought you were going to die!"

Sobbing with relief, she allowed him to take hold of her hand, twining his fingers through hers.

"Sango-gomenasai," he said, somberly. "I had you worried, didn't I?"

Sango wiped her face, suddenly embarrassed. "You-you shielded me from…from whatever it was, didn't you?"

Miroku nodded. "I didn't see what it was, though. I just felt it when it came-out of nowhere."

"I didn't feel its presence at all," said Sango, slowly.

Miroku closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. "Naraku," he said, "how could he possibly have grown this strong?"

Sango stared back at his face helplessly, longingly.

He had drifted back to sleep.

"So very easy," sighed the figure, its tone almost bored. It shook its head gently. "Can this really be the great Taijiya my master feared would be a nuisance?"

Miroku glared at it, then stared back at the huge mirror apprehensively as Sango knelt at his supposedly sleeping form. The real Sango's body was lying a few feet away from him, fast asleep.

That isn't me, Sango! He wanted to shout. Wake up!

But it wouldn't have done any good. He had been shouting for hours. Sango was trapped in her own dream.

"You've been keeping to the shadows long enough," he snapped at the obscure figure. "Why don't you show yourself?"

But he was dreading it. Especially when its voice was so familiar. It spoke in Sango's voice.

"Oh, Houshi-sama," it said, at last moving onto Miroku's range of vision. "You really don't mean to say you don't know me?"

There stood Sango, face arranged in lines evoking how deeply hurt she was.

Miroku frowned. Beyond a doubt, this was a creature formed from Naraku. He could feel its youki as surely as if he were feeling the life force of its evil master.

"How is it," Miroku found himself asking, "that I only sensed your youki when you struck?"

"Sango" laughed. "It makes sense, as I have no form until I latch onto my prey-in this case, your partner. I draw my youki from the deepest secrets of the human heart. I am, after all, Yumemeijin. So long as the heart holds shadows, I can live."

It gestured to the sleeping Sango. "She really is disappointing. I was expecting at least a struggle, but she was practically falling asleep as you walked. From there, getting into her heart and her dreams was easy."

Bargaining for time, Miroku said harshly, "Yumemeijin-a dream master! You can control a person's heart by controlling dreams!"

"Oh yes," it said conversationally. "You're pretty fast, Houshi-sama. I can drive a person insane by the sheer force of nightmares, or make him sleep forever in a perfect, futile dream of happiness. Whichever way, I specialize in destroying minds."

It smirked at Miroku. "I suggest you sit back and see what her dream has to tell you. I have arranged for it to mirror her heart's desires. It is very interesting… you get to have a particular place in her heart's shadows. Apparently, you have caused her a great deal of pain. Still, she seems to think of you very often-the fool."

The sweet, mocking laughter that issued from those familiar lips was unnerving. Miroku's hand clenched abruptly on his staff.

Light glinted off the Yumemeijin's eyes. "Yes," it said, softly, "attack me. Disrupt the houriki you have enveloped upon yourself."

Miroku stopped himself in time. He watched as the Yumemeijin paced around him.

"I knew you wouldn't be so stupid," it said. "The only thing that's keeping you alive right now is that cursed houriki of yours. But in as much as I cannot get to you, you also cannot breach your protective barrier and use your Kazaana on me, can you?"

Miroku kept his silence.

"Not even to reach out to poor Sango," it continued. "I really wonder just how long you'd last, Houshi-sama, especially with my youki all around you."

True enough, unable to penetrate his houriki, the dream master had released a vicious, poisonous aura around him just in case he let his guard down.

It turned its attention back to the mirror. "In the meantime, this should help you make up your mind. You'll have to give in sooner or later-for Sango's sake."

The hours ticked by. Sango sat beside the sleeping monk, mending her torn yukata with a needle and some thread she had found in one of the rooms in the temple.

She sighed, feeling herself relax in the balmy atmosphere of the early afternoon. Outside, the small waterfall continued its merry chuckle and the crickets were starting their song.

Sango half closed her eyes. She felt as though she had come home. Back in those days when her village had stood indomitable, how many happy, idle afternoons had she spent playing with Kohaku and Kirara in a sunlit room in her own house? Or the many breezy afternoons, as light as the white, fluffy clouds in the sky, that she had spent idly picking flowers in a field?

Whatever happened to those days?

She felt something swell inside her heart-sorrow, anger, fear-all mixed together to form a gigantic wave, threatening to spill over in a torrent of tears.

She stopped herself.

No use thinking about things like that, she thought, letting out a shaky sigh. The wave inside her slowly subsided.

She glanced at her companion's sleeping face.

So long as somebody needs you like this, she thought, so long as you have unfinished business to take care of, you cannot let your emotions rule over you…

Her gaze over the sleeping houshi softened.

How many times, she thought, a rueful smile starting at the corners of her mouth, had she imagined herself playing this role? Playing the dutiful nurse to an injured houshi who cannot use his hands for any hanky-panky?

She sighed again, heavily. The problem with Houshi-sama was normally he's so self-sufficient and independent he would never think to ask her for anything. And in those rare instances when he did, he was usually well enough to grab at her, so what was the point in lending any assistance?

She let her sewing down for a minute, wondering what the young priest was dreaming about.

The Yumemeijin-Sango shook its head in disgust. It turned to a stunned Miroku and lifted a brow, mockingly.

"Caught every thought, did you? Can you imagine anything more insipid?" It said sarcastically. "She's doing a great job deluding herself about her "ideal" you, isn't she? "

It raised a hand and silvery, threadlike wisps of smoke started an intricate dance on its palm. "This is rapidly going nowhere," it muttered. "I can't believe that having you helpless is all that she dreams about!"

At long last, Sango felt Miroku stir.

She saw him open clouded, violet eyes, and felt her heart leap in a familiar, alarming way.

"Sango…"

How could a mere whisper like that send thrills through her? How?

Somehow, though, with the Houshi awake, Sango could feel herself distancing, closing up like a fan. It was surprising, but it was the most natural thing that came to her, sharpened by experience. In a way, it was the most important lesson she had ever learned.

"How are you feeling?" She sounded all right to herself. Calm, but not so distant.

"Dizzy," he said.

"It must be the drug," she said, looking at the pot beside her. "By the way, you need to take some of it now. Can you manage?"

"Only if it can be given mouth-to-mouth," he said, totally serious.

Yeah, I bet, she thought wryly, giving him a half-lidded, knowing look. It certainly looked like the houshi was nearly back to normal.

She pushed a steaming bowl toward him and edged away, suddenly embarrassed. After all, he did catch her administering the drug to him…that way.

So what? her mind hissed. It's not like we're intentionally kissing or anything. Who does he think is going to do it? Hachi?

As if he could read her mind, she saw his lips slide up in a teasing smirk, warm malice dancing in his eyes.

"What's the matter, Sango?" he asked, softly. "Lost your nerve?"

She jumped as she felt his hand slide teasingly up her arm in a feather-light brush.

Sango could feel her color rising, and felt the familiar tug-of-war between irritation and being totally disarmed.

What's the matter with you? Her mind screamed. Disarmed? You can bet your Hiraikotsu he's going to make you look like a fool!

Automatically, she swatted at his hand.

And because Sango was too shaken to think of a snappy comeback, she did the only thing that came to mind. Change the subject. Fast.

"You can lie there and waste as much time as you like," she growled, "but we don't have much of it! Think about Kagome-chan and Inu Yasha!"

That shut him up. For a minute, his face looked blank. Sango thought grimly it felt good to have the last word, for once. But…

I…I can't believe he hasn't thought of Kagome-chan and Inu Yasha…about our strange circumstances here-

Suddenly, though, a spasm of pain crossed the houshi's features. Wincing, he tried to lift his hand to his head, only to drop it down midway.

"Houshi-sama!" Sango cried, alarmed.

He was unconscious again.

Vocabulary:

Yumemeijin- from "Yume" (dream) and "Meijin" (a famous person of his craft/ expert/master). Forgive the author as she took certain liberties in the translation, which may prove to be inaccurate or inappropriate. J