Author's Note: A short chapter and no Sesshoumaru. I figured I was trashing him enough; it was time to bother Rin. Enjoy! Inspiration comes from my old Star Wars fanfics, and comics. Auden's poems and Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock helps too.
Chapter Three: Four Creeks
In its glory days, Four Creeks had been the nerve center of the entire province. It had been craved out of a deep forest early on, long before the wars. Fresh water flowing in from four streams was enough to sustain a population of five hundred natives with two hundred travelers gracing the streets at any given time. This had given birth a new type of city: a self-policed, totally self-sufficient heart. It was a market-center, a capital and a haven for lost travelers all in one. It was Four Creeks, and everyone who knew it loved it as a second home.
Then the wars came, and as with the nation as a whole, Four Creeks suffered. One of the streams dried up, cursed it was rumored, by a Youkai. Another river had become irreparably tainted by the blood of fallen soldiers from a main battle that had been fought somewhere up stream. Without half of its bloodlines, Four Creeks waned. Five hundred people became a mere two hundred: mainly those too old or too young to move to more fertile grounds. Four Creeks was still situated near the main traveling routes, allowing for periods of relative success and relative peace and quiet.
A prefect whetting stone.
It had been Ryuhoji's gift to Sesshoumaru. There had been no real reason; no birthday, or rite of passage. It had been a gift to a loved one. Ryuhoji never had any use for weapons or means of war. He was a poet, a bard. The youngest son of the Wild Packs, but with no real taste for blood. He preferred stories, or mythos or pondering the greater meanings of a life that could-if nurtured-stretch into infinity. Ryuhoji had a taste for Godhood, and wished to ensure his place in a greater journey unto somewhere.
Sesshoumaru never had his patience. He was one of war, groomed and conceived for such a purpose. Sesshoumaru was the prefect tyrant: beautiful, graceful and deadly. He was everything Ryuhoji adored, but without any compassion or mercy. A dark God.
Ryuhoji's intentions were shaded, even to this day. If pressed to be honest, Sesshoumaru would have admitted that he never lent much thought to such a queer gift. Ryuhoji was as reasonable and predictable as the wind. He had merely taken the gift out of courtesy and would have dismissed it.
Had it not been for Tama and Tajomaru.
Sesshoumaru turned the gift over in his hands, arching a brow as the blade's cold steel touched his fingertips. The sword was masterfully forged; a blade so tuned that when tapped it sang, and a hilt gleaming of gold and blue and gray. There was an inscription on the blade; his story: Sesshoumaru, son of Inutaisho out of Sensoumi.
A blade of history; not made for blood.
"Like your birthright." Tama grinned.
Sesshoumaru was still examining the blade. He never bothered to look up. "Hm."
"There's talk of the old hound leaving you his Tensaiga." Tajomaru continued. He was staring at his fingernails disdainfully. They had been on campaign for two weeks now: far too long to be without women. "Maybe you could use it as hair shears."
"Or keeping the monsters from under my bed." Tama laughed, he leaned over to Sesshoumaru, so close that the young prince could smell the wine on the Fox's breath. "And I know you do so covet being near my bed."
"There's no room for me." Sesshoumaru idled. "Your mother takes up the space.""
"You wound me!"
"I tried. Ryuhoji wouldn't let me."
Ryuhoji shook his head sadly and poked the fire. "It wasn't meant for this." He whispered. "Not at all."
Sesshoumaru looked up, smiling coolly. "Oh come, little one, we were only teasing."
"Yeah, it's not even sharp."
"Not sharp?" Sesshoumaru said suddenly standing. The fresh air assaulted him, making him slightly dizzy. "It's sharp enough for my needs."
Tajomaru looked up, his features darkening slightly. Tama looked hungry. Ryuhoji seemed to shrink deeper into the darkness. Tama spoke first. "And what are your needs, Fluffy?"
"Not sharp enough to rend Youkai flesh no," Sesshoumaru said idly, his eyes catching the gleam of the blade. "But humans…are softer."
Two hundred souls.
Rin's hand rested on the painted figure of her Lord. Sesshoumaru's face was turned from her, his sword blooded and pointed to the floor, in surrender. The fine scrawl that told the story still making tears sting her small eyes. Two hundred souls, it said, with a blunt sword. Rin knew little of swordplay, but she was learning from watching and mimicking Sesshoumaru. She knew a blunt sword must have taken hours.
Two hundred souls.
Sesshoumaru's golden eyes were gleaming. He had both arms in the picture. One holding his sword, the other pointing to its counterpart: Tama. Tama's figure was bowing, with a realistic grin painted onto his face. Rin thought she saw Sesshoumaru's smile in the mural. She stayed with her hand over the mural for a long time, as silent as the tomb. Reading the same inscription over and over again till when she blinked she could see it in the darkness.
Two hundred souls, to prove a sword was sharp enough. She found herself thinking of his swords: the Tokijin and Tensaiga. She had never seen him raise either one carelessly and never in jest.
Two hundred souls...
On a dare.
Rin felt a hand on her shoulder but she never flinched. Her eyes stopped. She let her vision blur to dismiss the terrible mural from her mind. She felt the hand squeeze slightly: a feeble attempt of comfort. Jomei had been better at it.
"I'm sorry, milady." Zen's voice was dull, like water. She felt his hand withdrew and immediately missed it. Rin turned a little, to stare into his seaweed colored eyes. Eyes he now threw down but shimmered nonetheless. "I just had to…"
"Why?" Rin asked. Her small body was aching like she couldn't keep it all in. Her head was throbbing. She felt like her heart was going to break from her chest and she suddenly felt very alone. "Why did I have to know?"
Zen blinks. "Because you're human…"
"You were too!" She shouted, putting distance between her, the painting and Zen. She didn't want to be anywhere near this place. She wanted the outside again, the cold winds and silent journeys; she wanted to know her Sesshoumaru. The painted figure that wore his face was wholly unrecognizable to her. "You belong to Tama, and you aren't mad! Why don't you do something?"
"I have." Zen whispered, his eyes still pacing the floor. "I tried to save you."
Rin felt her mouth open and close like a fish.
"You don't understand?" Zen asked, tilting his head. "When I first saw you…I knew you were so alive. So much like I was once." He made a helpless motion around him. "I now serve a Master that despises the very core of what I was. I wanted to save you from that. I wanted to make sure you could be happy…"
"I was happy."
"You were ignorant." Zen rebuked. "And Sesshoumaru would have kept you in darkness."
"He's my Lord! I have to…"
"I know." He cut her off. "You have to obey him. You have to trust him. You have to follow him around, always in his shadows!" He took another step closer to her. "Rin, you're a child. I'm not. I may have this guise but I can promise you, I have existed in this state long before your parents were your age, and I have seen creatures as lovely as you fade to nothingness in the shadows of Youkai Lords." He reached to take her hands but thought better of it. "Do not let this be your fate…there has been too much sorrow to live a half-life. And any life lived in the service of a Youkai Lord will be one wasted."
"You don't know me."
"I know those eyes. There's
pain and lost in your eyes." Zen blushed, "And I would not wish that that lost
goes unremembered." He could see the struggle in her eyes and took another step
closer. He took Rin's hands into his, surprised she never struggled. "You were
not spared to waste your life."
"Lord Sesshoumaru…" Rin began softly but began to trail off. She turned away as her face darkened into a cloud of doubt and suspicion.
Zen sensed her counter. "Go on," He cajoled, softly. "Say he loves you, if you believe it."
Rin flinched, and looked up. For a moment, she looked challenged to believe it but then pulled away from him and ran from the room. She never made a sound as she disappeared; not even her feet touching the floor. Zen would have thought she flew.
Jaken jumped when Rin burst into the room; her eyes wet and body shaking. He watched the whole thing in mute; shocked at first but well aware his young charge made no sound as she went. But he would have known her pain in silence as acutely as he would have if she had screamed with all the power in her frail frame. Rin collapsed before him, arms wrapping about his lap and locking his legs in her grip. Her small face was buried in his lap. And there, she cried; mute whole-body sobs that ripped through him even without a sound.
Quietly, Jaken reached his small hand to her back, finding her spine, and dutifully beginning to stroke it. His movement was slow, methodical, and without any other. He was there. Even in silence, he was there.
