AN: Ok now it should be much easier to understand the Inuyasha connection. The prologue was far from it, but I didn't want to give anything away... just yet at least. Oh and just on a random note of no consequence... I try not to leave any spelling mistakes but somehow my computer misses minor ones and I can only read over this so many times at once, but I usually find most of them (after I've posted it and made myself look foolish), but if not please alert me of them so I may correct them! Thank you! And now on with the story...
Chapter 1- Meager Beginnings
He hacked away endlessly at the thick soil as if hoping to beat it to life. Thick channels melded up into little hills of cleaved earth. It was dry and parched, scorched by the unforgiving sun that hung low and foreboding in the western sky. He shifted the hoe from one hand to the other flexing tired muscles generously as he reached the end of the current row. This life of scraping a meager existence off this hell forsaken land would not have been so bad, if only... he shot a despairing glance over his shoulder.
The earth curled beneath his boots grasping at the smooth dearskin as he made his way to the well. It sat dissolutely at the edge of his property, sunk between the valley of two hills. Scooping up the bucket he let it slide effortlessly down the length of the rope into the bleak depths of the stone prison. He stared out into the sunset as he raised it, and then taking a swift drink of the cool liquid he cursed softly beneath his breath. The dark shape of a castle, its spires rising up to pierce the sky, smeared the glorious pinks, tarnished the golden hues and beckoned with outstretched palms at the peaks of its towers to the night. It stood a constant reminder of the heavy taxes, the overbearing laws, and the unethical system of justice. Within its depths the haughty king sat, perhaps counting his gold, perhaps deciding which prisoners to hang on the morrow.
A lump formed in his throat that not even the gulps of soothing water could dislodge. He turned away from the slipping rays of warmth and the cold stone that blocked them from their full potential and stocked back to his hoe. Hefting it easily he strode off across the lawn towards the farm house that sat in the crook of a small dip in the land. It's thatched roof glimmered in the failing light, its usual welcome to his tired limbs.
Within its sturdy walls youth and innocence were lost, as its windows had weathered every storm, its hearth every dark and painful night, so had its table wept when barely dined upon and its carpets mourned for they were old and tattered their once beautiful displays of hillocks and sweeping knolls tarnished with age. It was all at once grim and peaceful, its own opponent of warmth and cool indifference. He smiled, a lean grin that thinned his lips and curved the skin of his brow in deep furrows. It was a lost comfort to adore ones own house as his home. The days of man's ownership had long since passed with the coming of their king.
He made his way toward it his footsteps slowly drifting in the direction of the stables. The soft neighing of the white stallion and the dapple mare was soothing in the dimming hours of daylight. He strode over to their gate purposefully, patting the stallion's muzzle with a practiced touch receiving a stout whinny of approval. The mare was harder to please her large eyes silent wary orbs that gazed at him intently. She seemed bent on indifference and neither made a sound of assent nor stirred to his hand. The scent of them pervaded the evening air and wafted about on dust motes in the sparse sunlight that shone through the cracked wooden slats. They stood farther apart now that the summer months were upon them. In the winter they were often wont to sidle up to one another for warmth and comfort, but now they clung to the edges of the stiff doorway hugging them opposed to each other. He'd marveled once at their calmness around each other, no other horse could stand the white stallion and in the same manner he tolerated few riders. He stroked the broad strip between her eyes, thankful for her allowance towards the rowdy horse that stood beside her. He patted her gently checking to be sure their store of grain and hay had not yet receded into nothingness. An ample enough pile sat demurely in their tray next to a half full trough of water. Gently whispering a good bye he strode off, back in the direction of his dwelling. He reached its comforting entranceway in a few strides and already felt the breath of its welcome.
He shifted gently placing the hoe by the doorposts and entered slowly his soft boots making a barely audible shush along the floorboards. The door let itself fall inwards slowly, latched closed without the thunder of slamming. The wind was light this night and not enough to carry through the thick logs that spanned the walls.
Hardened muscles bent as he pulled a chair out from a table that centered itself within the confines of the room. He sat down softly and reached for a hard chunk of rye. It flaked easily in his rough palms and he signed visibly, sinking deeper into the hard oak of the chair elbows resting intently on the tabletop. The night rustled gently outside as he let his thoughts wander as they often did, ut he kept them reigned in this evening lest they wander too far.
The fields were sparse this year he reflected just as he remembered the way the trees had hung, their leaves a deep green from the constant sheen of sunlight. The summer sun had spent its wrath assaulting the once vibrant greenery. It sunk into them and fed upon their parched veins in search of the very water they themselves required. The autumn months were approaching with their usual earnest and yet the rains would not yet grace the land with their blessing. Each year they came later in the season and the summer seemed to last longer and longer holding them off with an iron will of heat and striking resistance. The roots of long prosperous trees were retreating from the soil bending their strong roots in a more lateral span to encompass a terrain of sickly earth hunting for sustenance as the season of heat progressed.
Not so many years ago a great river, the Rimathran, had included this very plot of soil in its deep flood plain, its estuaries clinging to the edges of his orchards, soaking the dregs of his fields. A frosty gleam slid across his vacant eyes as he thought back on it. He'd been young and impetuous, fearless to accede to the king's wish that the great river be diverted to his own planned course. Thrust into responsibility for the agrarian countryside that encompassed large portions of the river and her profit at such a young age he'd not only been a foolhardy lad willing to please the obviously unsatisfied ruler, but also unaware of the heavy consequences. At the time none of them had been. They'd let him ground up the earth and lead their water source to his own underground aquifer, to satisfy his own needs as well as to give aid to his already offensive wealth. No one had suspected ulterior motive, never before having witnessed a king that cared for anything above the welfare of his people they were easily herded to his cause. Now they payed a heavy tax for water they could not get on their own. He was lucky, he reflected, few people had access to their own water source as he did with his well. They payed dearly for lack of it, and their king pulled so easily at their meager earnings that many were barren and dehydrated just as the fruitless land.
Scowling he stood up slowly from the rough wooden chair and denied the rest of the thoughts that threatened to smother his already seething mind. It was an infuriating predicament their country was in, and so much of it had only just begun.
In the early shades of dawn the sound of lowing cattle separated the bonds of sleep from their ever present companion, night. Their calls awoke the strapping youth as they always did, rising him from a night of blissful rest; the kind that carried with it a sense of accomplishment and worth in exchange for a hard days work. Stealing a glance towards his bedside mirror Inuyasha flung the sheets up from his body. Stepping off from the bed he brought his unbridled main of unruly hair into a tight knot at the nape of his neck. Tightening it with thick yet skilled fingers he rose and dressed in silence letting the sounds of the morning rush over him, the crisp summer air filling his lungs. He went about his duties for the day without care for anything but the work that lay ahead of him.
As the sun rose the noontide found him bare backed and sweating chopping feverishly at blocks of wood. It was not the effort of the ax's swing that drove him to such over zealous pursuits but a strange sense of urgency had engulfed him and he strove to gain a pile worthy of an inferno. He cracked the ax handle up and down, muscles bulging as his knuckles paled in exertion. The stack grew at an alarming rate towering over his bulky form in mere minutes, but not until it was a wide and staggering mass of thorns and ranging brambles did he check himself. He stepped back from his work of art regarding it wryly.
How long had he been tending to the cows before he'd sensed her? No, he shook his head he had not sensed her, for he had never sensed anyone before. It was more of a sudden understanding of her presence, the acknowledgment of her standing beside him where there had only been the glint of dew and heat before. Her faint words addled him now that the task she had commanded was all but finished. Reaching into his trouser pocket he pulled out a slab of flint and from his side belt he tightly gripped his steel knife. He speculated her vague words and the thrum of some unknown power that had coursed though each syllable.
Never had such a strange specter appeared on his land. He cursed the memory of his demon brother, the only cause for such an occurrence he could define. He had not seen the foul Sesshoumaru in over a decade, but to an extent it was as if he'd never left. The remnants of his departure had ruptured the quiet countryside with its vile impudence. Storming off into the night so long ago he'd left behind an orphaned brother, alone to tend to the fires of their ramshackled barn as well as the flames of their father's death. From the corner of his eye he caught the tired woodworking that bent and swayed in the tiniest of breaths, its frail structure naught but a dim recollection of its past glory. Once, he pulled the image from deep within his fuzzing memory, their had been parties and celebrations of the grandest kind held in that barn. But then it had been the largest building for miles and with any gathering it was a coveted site. Red and welcoming its stiff boarded walls had been a comfort, a strong shelter, and the crucible of his family. It held so many memories, so many happy moments. Gritting his teeth sharply, Inuyasha turned his head, pulling his peripheral vision away from the rotting poles and the recollection of smoldering wood. For an instant the scent of its burning fumed within his nostrils and flared within his lungs.
His brother was the cause of this tragedy, the ill-omened appearance of this wraith. Nothing else could have warranted a brush with the devil's servant. Cringing he jerked the knife from his belt and in swift movements he knelt and lit the tower of lumber. Its quick catch and the rapid spread of fire caught his breath and he seethed with the idea that once again fire would rekindle the old hatreds, the old wounds that had been devoid of this land. The flames peaked and hugged the logs closely until the blaze licked the sky above it hungrily. And then, he felt again her presence beside him.
"Yes," she crooned gently, a mischievous smile playing across her lips. In the fading light he caught the hint of laughter that swelled in the corner of her eyes, and danced rhythmically across the pale skin of her collar bone. "This is fair enough a flame to bring them in for miles." The words slid from her mouth luscious and enticing, and yet not a one had implied the impression that clung to him with their swift and subtle fall from her tongue.
As if she had felt his eyes upon her she suddenly turned to regard him. Her smile deepened and she looked him up and down. Something in her mannerisms differed from when she'd approached him that morning. Then, she'd seemed frail and shy, a stuttering child when she'd beseeched him this ridiculous task. Now in stark contrast she stood before him a woman well aware of the way her clothes clung to her body in the most convenient of places, strong willed, and capable. He watched as she brought her hand up to his cheek bone tracing it with her delicate fingers. He grimaced unwillingly repulsed by her clammy touch.
She sighed noticing this, "If only for youth." Extravagantly dramatic she clapped a hand to her forehead and swooned over his rugged physic. Her eyes roved over his toned muscles expressively not missing an inch of his honed flesh and tempting posturing. He gaped at her openly, surprised by the shameless flaunting of her stares. But he was not given the opportunity to discern the motivation behind them for in an instant she had dissolved to a mere glimmer of evening mist alight upon the wind.
Ripples floundered over the rough stones as they spread from her fingertips. Lolling her hand to over the rim of the bobbing skiff, she awaited the other priestesses to join her. They were returning to their temple at the center of the lake, and yet still despite their duty to the island gods many of them lagged sorely behind. On a short mission of healing they'd been summoned to an outcrop just off the shore. A village had once again been attacked. It seemed that as of late their leader had been unsatisfied with the tithes his people applied him, as was his custom in the extreme heat of the season They were poor souls, the ravaged heart of their small empire being taxed out of house and home.
The priestesses lingered for but a day and a night to nurture the wounded, many who would undoubtedly never recover from the wounds they had sustained. Severed limbs were not an uncommon sight as the king became anxious. This was the second raid of the season. The first of them had started in late winter, but months ago had never alluded to the harshness with which he carried out his threats now. They had been simple stuttering attempts to reign in a flighty mountain province, and very unsuccessful. Apparently their king had been smart enough to learn from such mistakes. Now with his insignia appropriately affixed to every village gate for leagues in all directions he was ready and willing to squeeze a tribute out of them.
Shifting gently over the coarse wooden seat of the thin boat she raised her palm from the glassy surface of the lake and ran it smoothly across her brow. In the waning months of summer the heat was enough to squelch the very blood in a mans veins. The boat swayed gently over the smooth current, its shift of water coming to rest as tiny hands grasping at the rocky beach; they clung with earnest, almost eager to lay waste to the pebbles set before them. She sighed inwardly as she scanned the tree line for a sign of her returning companions. Scattered throughout the village to where they were most needed she had not seen them since they had split up the day before. They had been late on returning to a afore decided meeting place before, so she did not worry herself over their absences, merely frustrated her already frazzled nerves over the need to return to their island.
She stared across the waters of the frigid lake, its tide was light and airy and carried with it the debris of leaves and thin twigs that had been swept along the shore. Raising her eyes from the depths she shielded them from the unforgiving sun, her smoldering gaze locked on the charred earth, and made out the shape of swaying trees. The Carean forest stood tall and foreboding a black smear of wavering shadows even at such a distance and yet in comparison to the carnage and brutality she had only just witnessed the trees seemed to extend an odd welcome. She imagined their gnarled trunks reaching up into strong limbs of twisted oak and beech that beckoned her back into their arms after the sallow days she had spent caring for the attacked villagers. Their wide leaves would soak up the sun and let their sweet smell linger in the fragrant air that circulated in tiny breezes that puffed and coaxed her hair into rivulets of black curls about her shoulders. She smiled gently at natures smooth tranquility as she let her self sink into the hard wood of the slats.
Reality was a much harder master to serve than even the gods she waited on. Demanding and unrelenting it pressed in ever closer, and ever neared the presence of mortality with the growing ferocity of their tyrant king. Staring down at her unscarred white palms she could not suppress the urge that rose like bile in her throat. Even her teachings of peace could not have kept the hatred that crept into her soul and gouged at her heart at the very thought of his injustices. He ruled with an steel fist, a harsh grasp that never relinquished its captured people to the freedom that stood just beyond his cage of fingers. Such a foul creature he had never been so deranged when his rulership had began, and she severely doubted that it would ever return to the monotony it had once been. The changing between one king and the next had never struck her with much importance until now, when this new king threatened everything that their country, that Galmaed, had stood for; threatened it with the cruelty and icy grip of a heartless despot.
A great sigh erupted from the confines of her chest as she saw them approaching. Yuka smiled at her sweetly although she could already see the stains of fresh blood that covered her tunic. Eri and Ayumi trailed after her, their steps more focused and sure. She eyed the three of them with a stout eye, waiting for their own assumptions of this new raid before asserting her own. They entered the tiny skiff slowly and quietly nodding gently in acknowledgment. Kagome smiled back at them her own blood encrusted cloak hidden beneath her very seat; the time would come later to show them it and to expose what else lie folded within its depths. But as even she did not understand its meaning, so she could not yet reveal it to them. Something, something powerful kept her from bringing it to their attention; something that curled its icy strains of power about her arms and held her back all but sucking the life out of her frozen lungs as it searched to goad her into understanding.
She shook herself visibly but her companions if they had noticed made no sign, only continued to stare off into the horizon marking the blur of the island in the distance as the oars pumped away in the grip of her white-knuckled hands.
She grasped endlessly at the thin strips of fabric that littered the floor beside her. Around and around she wrapped them, an endless twisting and turning, the sharp consistent circling of her wrists coinciding with the pain that engulfed her forearm. A thick slice had separated the flesh down its length and it burned as she battled with another wound that bled just as fiercely.
They'd entered the village together and split up in all directions. The fires that burned deep and angry along the cliffs above the northern shore had brought them here , they warned of a battle, an attack by the king's own soldiers. The warning had alluded only to that, and now as she worked feverishly to stop the flow of blood that churned and bubbled in a pool about her knees where they bent neatly beneath her she cursed the kings soldiers that had not yet abandoned their prey.
Arriving in the midst of blood and a flurry of swords she witnessed the scuffle of soldiers and poorly armed Caräklan citizens. A curve of swaggering men had greeted her and when she first fell to the aid of the man lying before her now they had objected vehemently, one even daring to grab at her cloak and thrust her away. As she staggered back the same one that had tossed her away began to hack unceremoniously at the injured man's torso. Throwing caution to the winds she rushed once again to his aid and earned herself the cut that now ravaged down the smooth skin of her right forearm.
Without retreating she glared at the soldier as he and his men finally decided to leave shouting out a warning of further attacks if their ruler did not get what was due him the next time they came for tribute. Tumbling to her knees she tore the fallen mans shirt into a hundred meager strips of cloth that bloodstained and torn fell away easily crouching hungrily at her side.
And now once again she was caught in the motion of it, grasping, panting, tightening again and again in a sweaty mess of expended flesh tirelessly extended to a failing task. She gripped each strip of cloth with weakening hands but her grip somehow remained strong and invariably tight as she stretched it across the faltering flesh that melted into itself as she worked. It was an effortless repetition of motion round and round that bloodied torso, the slick sheen of insides gleaming in the failing light.
Nothing could have saved him now with so much blood swirling in the growing puddle around them. They both knew it, she realized as he grabbed her sharply by the wrist. His even smile surprised her, brave to say the least and yet it held no sense of courage within it, only hope and something that seemed almost like exultation etched in his still features. He brought her captured limb to his chest his other hand struggling with something in his pocket. When finally he managed to recover it the hand that held his to his chest had already grown weaker, colder. He secured it again though with a firm if feebler grip as he surrounded with his other hand.
A cool stone surface pressed into her palm, felt as if it were pressing through her palm with the force it managed to entrap in its small area. It radiated a hot power and yet it felt frozen within her slight hand. He covered it with her faint fingers and closed his hand about hers, keeping it there until the life drained from his face and his limbs fell stiff to his sides.
The cool stone shone back at her from his eyes cold and lifeless, just as it pulsated cold and deadly in her hand, burning away the flesh with its searing frozen heat.
"Kagome." Its crystal coat shone brightly, almost with an inner longing, a concealed intelligence. It vibrated calm and steady as it called to her burning her again and again. "Kagome." The pain ran up her arm, deep as the bone it curled about her bones and stung with each whispered sound. "Kagome." And now it was screaming, striking her across the face with its blatant energy, a furious force that sought her out in the shadows and called her to the light.
"Kagome. Kagome, are you alright?" She awoke sharply to Ayumi's voice. It's soft undertones brought her back slowly and soothingly but her hand remained firmly curved about the jewel nestled in the folds of her tunic.
"Were you having a nightmare? You were screaming something terrible, and your arm..." She assisted Kagome in raising herself up, handing the head priestess a cup of tea. As she reached her hand out to accept it Ayumi saw the stain of fresh blood that had crept out onto the fabric of her sleeve crawling across its white clarity to mar it with red tears, red heat, red life. She rushed to stop the bleeding unsure of where such a gash would have come from
Quelling it with a slight tourniquet just to hold out for as long as it took to wrap the wound, she stared at Kagome's calm expression. Such a cut would have brought Ayumi herself to hysterics and yet in her fellow priestess there was not even a sign of fright; a lone tear did not grace her still features which themselves were not contorted with the pain that her companion felt for her as she set a light poultice to the wound and bound it.
"Where did you get this?"
AN: I realize so far the chapters don't appear quite long, but they should lengthen after some time, as I get more into the flow of the story... hopefully because I hate short chapters just as much as the next person. Anyways I'll be off to start on the next chapter...