Elementals
By: Vampire-Elf
Mizu
A thick curtain of haze hung in the air, the palpable sheen of humidity that always came around on those long summer days. Through the glimmering screen, Miroku could make out the tantalizing gleam of the pond he was crouched beside, the way it winked at him provocatively, begging him to slip into its depths. The cool water, seductress of the summer, called to him, its allure causing the sweat beads accumulating across his forehead to become all the more noticeable. A few lone droplets ran down his cheeks into the corners of his dry lips, causing him to instinctively lick them, collecting all the moisture he could.
Oh, yes... it was so tempting... But he had to resist temptation...
The monk's eyes fell upon the wooden bucket that lay beside him, a reminder of why he had emerged from the depths of Kaede's hut in the first place. He had a job to do...
Sighing forlornly, Miroku picked up the container and plunged it just under the cool liquid's surface, jerking his hand back almost instantly, lest he forget himself and stay there and further emerge himself in the physical manifestation of bliss. His needs had to be forgotten for the moment, for he had a much more important task to do than cool himself down...
Slowly, he stood, and turned to walk back to the wooden hut. The water on his hand had evaporated and returned back to the atmosphere by the time he'd taken five steps down the dirt path.
.....................
"Remind me again why it's you doing this..." Sango growled wearily, frowning at the situation she found herself in.
She was sitting down, leaned against the wall so her chest was against the wood and her back faced Miroku, who knelt behind her. The green wrap she usually wore over her yukata was tied around her waist to act as a skirt of sorts; a few grimy bandages that had long needed changing were tied sloppily around her torso, barely covering her back and, more importantly, her breasts. (Even though she was leaning against the wall, her breasts hidden from the lecherous monk, she still felt uncomfortable with the situation, unsure as to how he would act: would he be a gentleman or amorous, as was his usual behavior?) Beside them was a pile of fresh, pristine bandages given to them by Kagome, a token from the future, the time she came from.
Miroku simply shrugged in response –though the demon slayer couldn't see him—and picked up a few white strips from the pile. "Perhaps," he stated slowly, "someone else could have tended to your wounds, had not you put off reminding us until Kagome and Inuyasha were otherwise occupied in her time, and Shippou was off with Kaede, making her rounds in the village..."
Sango rolled her eyes in annoyance at his condescending, "I told you so" tone of voice.
"Though," Miroku continued, oblivious to her heat-heightened agitation, "I don't see why you mind being so... ah... exposed in my presence, seeing as how I would eventually see you in this state of undress anyway... since we are betrothed..."
Sango's cheeks reddened at the insinuation, and it took all of her self- control not to whirl around and slap the man for his perverse comment. "Eventually," she retorted through gritted teeth, "is not now, Houishi- sama, so I would appreciate it if you would keep your... plans for the future to yourself."
Miroku nodded, 'fair enough', and reached forward to begin unwinding her disgustingly filthy bandages. With as much care as possible, he untied the knot next to her waist and slowly worked his way up; ever mindful of how close he was in proximity to the bare flesh of the battle goddess, wounded and in her purest form. He felt his usual lustful instincts begin to tug at his mind, and had to concentrate profusely to not brush his hands against her bosom and label it an "accident".
He took hold of the end of the strand, brought his hand around from the left to rest in front of her, where he then paused for the briefest of moments, transferring the bandage to his right hand when his left would reach no further safely; he brought his right hand around her back to the left, where the process started over again. For such a small amount of bandaging, it sure seemed to take an eternity to unwind them, though his methodical behavior wasn't without merit... After all, she was... so... very... close... Miroku gulped nervously and searched for any means to distract himself.
"So..." he mumbled uncertainly.
"Mmmh?" Sango mumbled as a reply, snapped out of a daze of sorts that had fallen over her. "Did you say something?"
Miroku sighed, "Not really. I was just... I was wondering if the wounds still pained you greatly or if the hurt had subsided some over this past week..."
Sango shrugged, careful to move just enough to convey her message, but not enough to accidentally touch the houishi. "I... I've felt so much pain over the years... I forget it's there after a while..." she admitted. "It's... I guess you could say it's not something meaningful in my life... or it's so meaningful that..." Her voice –already a whisper- trailed off into nothingness, and she shrugged again for good measure. "I suppose if you want a straightforward answer, it would be 'No, I'm fine.'"
Miroku smiled at her paradoxical way of speaking, slightly happier for the briefest of moments, until the last of the filthy bandages had been removed, and her comment about pain took on a whole new meaning for him...
Miroku, being the hormonally-driven man that he was, had often gone to spy upon the female members of the group whilst they were bathing, taking pleasure in viewing the curves and contours of their figures, the way trails of water would fall down their bodies... Yet, never, in his many times of observing Sango at the hot springs, had he noticed the spider's web of scars that crisscrossed her back: dozens of long, white, pearly markings, mementos of her days as a demon slayer, her death and rebirth, and... and her latest set, oozing blood and pus and only half-healed, a memento of their latest crusade... his foolhardy behavior and delusions of grandeur...
The day had been unusually cold for July; a great contrast to this day's stifling weather. Sheets of rain had fallen from the sky, blown sideways by the torrential winds. Voluminous black clouds filled the heavens, blocking any and all light emitted by the summer sun. Even sitting indoors, you could not escape this miserable downpour: the rain, blown horizontally, found its way through windows and the bamboo screens that served as doors. Still, escaping into warm corners, hidden from the world by blankets, was a much better alternative to traveling from town to town, which was what Inuyasha, the hanyou, Kagome Higurashi, the priestess from the future, Sango, a demon slayer, Miroku, an amorous monk, Shippou, a young orphaned fox demon, and Kirara, Sango's fire cat demon, found themselves doing that dreary day. Kaede, the priestess from what could be considered "their village", had needed some supplies, and, being too old to make the distance in the time required, the mismatched group had volunteered to go in her stead.
The town they meant to visit was a good day's travel away providing one took the most direct route, the trail marked by worn roads, thick patches of impassable foliage, and an unbelievably large river –enormous in both depth and width—that could, if one was not careful, block their path in an instant and delay any journey. With a challenge that simultaneously excited and disheartened the companions, they set out, making their way along the nearly-invisible pathway.
For a while, they made good time, avoiding the forest areas with their sharp, snagging plants, keeping an eye on the river but not leaving the trail to –foolhardily—attempt at crossing it; the weather, though dreadful, didn't hamper them as much as it could have... Of course, upon realizing this, the group knew things would inevitably take a turn for the worse- which they did. A couple more miles of travel, and not even Inuyasha, who had the keenest of senses, could see his hand an inch away from his face. The wind howled a piteous song, making conversation impossible. Yet somehow, attached to a breeze, a call for help reached the travelers' ears...
The village, which turned out to be closer than they had thought, rested not even a mile away from the river's banks. Flooding, while appreciated in towns with rice fields and other growing vegetation, was not something to smile about in an all-industrial sort of town. Being a village of an industrial economy, the rain had panicked the townspeople so greatly they were all but rioting. To save the villagers and stop the frenzied behavior, all able-bodied men and boys had been sent to try and dam up an area just downriver from the village, hoping to divert the flood to elsewhere. However, due to a lack of planning and preparation, the most any man had been able to do was get himself washed away in the rapids. First one young boy, too careless for his own good, had, while playing around, slipped off the bank and into the water, where he was almost instantly dragged under. A middle-aged man –cousin to the head of the village—came next, and then in an accident eight more, leaving the rest frightened and lost in the throes of despair. All got down on their knees, bowing to the powerful element and begging whatever god controlled it for mercy.
That was what Inuyasha and company had heard upon the howling breeze, compelling them to abandon the road and help those asking for it, as was the proper thing to do. (Or so Kagome, Miroku, Sango, and Shippou said, coaxing Inuyasha into agreeing with them.)
They made their way fairly quickly to the despondent group upon the banks of the raging river, who were kneeling in water that was practically up to their necks. Inuyasha, being a half-demon and therefore faster than the other occupants of the group –except the two demons, though they were too tired or young to keep up—was the first to arrive on the scene, startling the village men, who, upon seeing this fearsome beast with his glimmering golden eyes, unusual silvery locks, and otherworldly dog ears, bowed even lower in the quickly-rising river. Startled at their reaction, he had shouted at them to rise, which they hurriedly did, still under the belief they were in the presence of a god. (Even though his brash, crude demeanor suggested that he was anything but.)
Soon after, the other members of the "divine" group arrived, just in time to hear another anguished cry as the log half of the men had been standing on spilt in two, sending most of the men on it careening into the river and downstream, save those who were standing on its edge and fell backwards onto the bank.
Inuyasha was the first to dive into the river after them, his "hero instinct" already kicking in. Miroku, being the only other grown male, felt it his duty to follow after, and did so, with Kagome and Sango at his heels. They all reached the water at approximately the same time, plunging into its depths with no hesitation whatsoever- except Sango, who was riding her fire cat and chose to fly over the waters instead. There were about twenty men being pulled downstream in total, six of which Inuyasha had grabbed a hold of and pulled out in under one minute. Miroku, believing he could manage a good few, grabbed the robes of three men and tried in vain to swim his way back to shore, realizing one second too late that he was exceedingly weighed-down with the bodies of the men he was trying to save, and would most definitely sink if he didn't let go of at least one. But, as with most situations in life, there was something to lose when guaranteeing his personal safety. The men in his arms, too weak to even move anymore, would instantly be swept away were he to so much as even loosen his grip. And so, putting their lives before his own, Miroku determinedly continued to kick towards the shore, ignoring the facts that his head was underwater, his lungs were already strained from his exerting himself so much whilst fighting the current, and were now all but on fire from lack of air, and one of the men was beginning to slip from his grasp... The pain of a fragment of the log hitting his head didn't even register, so intent was he on simply making it to the shore; never once did it occur to him that Inuyasha or Sango could have aided him, had he accidentally –or even purposefully—let go. No, he had a one-track mind that was taking a break from its usual perverse thoughts to set itself on saving these three helpless villagers, no matter the cost.
It is said that hubris is the downfall of all heroes.
He kicked, kicked, and kicked again, digging his toes into the loose soil at the bottom of the river to hold his ground and not be dragged further downstream to his doom... Miroku continued to inch across the river, still battling the current, until his robe snagged on the thorns of a bush that grew on the riverbank. Thrusting the men forward until they were lying, practically unconscious, on the shore, Miroku found himself content to float by the bush –since he was safe, now, after all—, stuck in the calming cool of the rapids, the swift, frigid flow somehow soothing... mesmerizing... so that he didn't notice the unbelievably large, jagged hunk of wood coming towards him until the last moment, when, out of nowhere a blur of orange flame came hurtling towards him, singing his arm as the fire cat demon, Kirara, flew past, her mistress leaping off her back and towards Miroku, pushing him out of the way of the obscenely large piece of driftwood.
"Sango!" he cried, suddenly awake, desperately trying to pull the demon slayer onto the bank with him, out of the way of the lethal piece of wood. Yet his reaction came seconds too late, and Sango was only half out of the way when the chunk came hurtling past, its jagged edges digging into her back, shredding her flesh like it was nothing and sending rivulets of blood into the rapids, staining the water red. "Sango!!!"
And so, because of him, Sango had been wounded, almost mortally so, and he had been plagued with guilt ever since. Every time she cried out in her sleep because she'd accidentally rolled over onto her back, Miroku would awaken, hating himself more and more for causing her such pain. Of course, he'd forgotten –or perhaps he didn't realize—that Sango had felt many such wounds over the passing of time, though even if he had known or remembered, that piece of information would have done little to console him.
"There are so many..." he noted quietly to himself, forgetting for a moment that Sango was there, listening to him, feeling his fingers stop their work for a moment and gently trace the road map of her life, twisted and tangled on her back.
Sango nodded lightly, turning her head slightly to catch the movement of his hands out of the corner of her eyes. He gently worked his way up her back, starting at her most recent set of scars, causing her to gasp at his touch, not so much in pain as surprise at the tickling tingling sensation of his fingers tracing the red-tinted skin on the outskirts of her wounds, or just in surprise at his actions in general. Then he moved up slightly, observing a small scar just above the hollow of the small of her back, just below her prominent shoulder blades.
"Kohaku..." she whispered, the raw emotion in her voice so clear Miroku didn't even have to ask as to what she referred to. He had no doubts that this was the wound that, despite its small size, had hurt her the most of all.
"Did it heal quickly?" he asked, trying to force her mind from the memories she was re-experiencing, he with her as he watched them, reflected in her glimmering eyes.
He abruptly ended his probing investigation of her back, and quickly cleaned her wound with the cool water and re-wrapped her torso, ending the bandaging session. Then he turned modestly turned away so she could dress herself, and was prepared to leave when she answered.
"No, no it didn't... it still hasn't healed, and its hurt drowns out all other pains, even that of the gashes that tree gave me," she said, somewhat wryly, but still weighed down with sorrow.
And then she did something Miroku would have least expected: she launched herself at him, nearly tackling him as she pulled him into a bone-breaking hug, wrapping her arms around him and melting into his chest, ignoring the pain she obviously felt as he lightly wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands at the small of her back –possibly relishing the pain, and how it drowned out every other sensation—and ignoring the fact she was barely clothed, still only clad in her green wrap and the fresh bandages Miroku had wrapped around her, already beginning to soak in blood. And Miroku just let her take out her feelings on him, squeezing him until he thought his ribs would crack and shatter, soaking the front of his clothing with salty pools of tears she was trying so hard to fight, though the battle had already become futile. And then, when she was finished, she stepped away and grabbed her yukata –which signaled Miroku to turn around—and slipped into it, adjusting her appearance until she looked no different then she normally did. And then, Sango turned and walked away, outside of the hut, as if nothing had happened, disappearing into the shimmer in the air like a ghost in the night, leaving Miroku to stand and stare at the last of the water in the bucket, evaporating before his eyes.
A/N: Okay, sorry for the long delay (glances nervously at Aamalie) but I've been busy. Pining after your love is a full-time job, as is reading a summer booklist the school decided to send to you a few weeks before school started, instead at the beginning of summer. Anyway, look for the next chapter soon, since I'm going to try my hardest to get it out in time to be a birthday present for a certain person I beta for... Why not read her fics and review, if you haven't already? I recommend Love me Not, which was recently completed, and Sweet Tooth, which is... in the process of being completed... (Both by Aamalie) Anyway, I'm hurrying up to post this (glances even MORE nervously at Aamalie) so I'm just going to say thanks for the reviews, and please continue your wonderfulness and review this chapter. Yeah, that lovely little button. Click it. Now. Ja ne!