Chapter Three
Acceptance
The silence forced Miroku to wonder if she would answer his question, or if she herself knew. Her eyes were hidden by that domino of amber. Her lips were unmoving. He presumed she was contemplating, which was progress, he thought. Kitsunu would have refused to tell him, a few hours ago, maybe even a few minutes ago. He did not know when that had changed, but apparently, it had. He didn't expect that the change had extended much past mere consideration. But she defied his expectations again, uttering with bitterness and a basic need to remove the taint of his influence, the name of the hanyou who had stained all the world. Naraku. Such a world, such a promise in that name, though the monster himself was an infidel to his word (unless he was swearing treason and dissent and destruction). She might have been promising that nothing more would pass her lips. Naraku had always been the final word, the final vow, the final mark of an unfair, but somehow necessary death.
Miroku pursed his lips, a question languishing on the tip of his tongue. Then, before he could quench his curiosity (as though that would ever happen), he asked her one, last question that she would most definitely leave untouched: "Why?" An inexhaustible question, because Miroku was a wise man stealing answers.
Why? The houshi was searching for another piece of that key, a piece that was too big for him to see –yet- and Kitsunu closed her fist around it walking away from him, ignoring his calls as she dissipated into the shadows. The woman had no choice but to slip into the darkness, the answers… they were boundless. The question was planted in the form of a seed, and as it was watered, the answers developed, only to bloom out of control and engulf the very garden the question had been planted in, burdening the gardener with more weeding and weaving. "As you mentioned before, it grows late." It was her only alternative. Kitsunu had no other excuse or defense. Miroku was planting seeds that couldn't grow in the current season, no matter how pampered they were, they simply would not bloom. Why? Why indeed. The simplest answer that led to an infinite amount of inquiry to follow was merely: Kitsunu had been born. That was her crime. One whose sin is simply being birthed… can regret being brought into life, very easily. Kitsunu had so long tried to grasp the optimism her mother had… but it never lasted. After that day her mother's optimism died, Kitsunu could never muster the will or desire to love being alive. The woman had tried and struggled so vainly to find an answer to what exactly she did long for… and the answer had been made, very clear.A dismissal. He had gained enough for that, for her to brush him aside, though not so coldly as she once had. Perhaps, she should have pushed him right from her life, but she could not do that, so long as they both owed Naraku death. The hanyou would always ensure that he entangled the threads of fate, created a web, so that he could move between his victims with the ease of the arachnid that he masqueraded as. He infected each and slipped away with nothing more than a trail leading to someone else. It was doubtless a simple task, to commit such foul deeds that none would be spared. The houshi shook his head of the morbid thoughts and turned his mind to Kitsunu's words. It had long been late, but that was of little consequence. He nodded, accepting her excuse, though she had needed none, because he had accepted that she would say nothing long before she had answered. "Yes, Kitsunu-sama, it does. Thank you." Miroku's words were somewhat ambiguous and he could already see her pushing them away, but he meant them. She had told him, herself (in a way) that she trusted him, perhaps more than she let on. Though, he did not think that meant she would remove the divider, but he felt he must certainly be getting that far in her good graces, at least.
Kitsunu tucked the necklace back under her yukata as she stared up at the gray light that had started to leak into the room and bully shadows further into corners, where they would soon be forgotten. As her head tilted downward still her eyelids fell down halfway over her eyes, and the optics, such a bittersweet ocher, carried a terrible gleam. A gleam, she couldn't have marked even if she could see them, a combination of the gray light and the secrets she was burdened with. Her bangs casted a blackness that consumed the glitter of her optics, and it was soon forgotten. How much longer will I endanger his life…? If I don't leave… he'll die, he'll die at my hand, and the blood will never go away… never. Her eyebrows formed a tight knot as her contemplation started to provoke emotions Kitsunu was always flicking from her mind. Her lip curved but just as quick as it had changed, it flattened again. I have to leave.
Once the first dawn light spilled across his features, Miroku was awake, as though propelled from sleep by a foreign source (perhaps, the sometimes-dream-like-sometimes-nightmarish visions that came to him in sleep). It was the emptiness in the air, though, that shook the dazed remnants of unconsciousness from his mind and body, as he sought Kitsunu in the room. But she was gone and the houshi, rising, felt his heart sink. She was gone. Rationality told him that she could be within the house - it was so large - but instinct told him that she was not. Instinct told him that she had left long ago. It hurt a little, though he knew she had not been motivated by disgust with him (he was wonderful, after all). Probably, Kitsunu had left to 'protect' him; she would have thought that Miroku needed protection. But she did not know him and her perceptions were skewed by her own ability and the subsequent, very subtle arrogance. She reminded him of Sesshoumaru in that respect and Kikyou, though he connected her with the miko more than he did with Inuyasha's full-youkai brother. The houshi shook his head; there was no time to contemplate the attributes of Kitsunu's personality, or her appearance either. Without another thought, Miroku opened the shoji screen and turned to the first maid he saw. She was young and pretty and the houshi was tempted to ask her to bear his child, but he refrained, asking instead about his companion.
She would have been so promising, too. Miroku mused, but he had to leave directly, if he intended to catch up with Kitsunu. He didn't even know which direction she was traveling in. Leaving his compliments for the master of the house and taking the food offered him (sufficient for his journey), Miroku set off. He could barely believe her abandonment of him, though it was characteristic of her (probably).
Miroku was sure that she kind of liked him too (but then, what woman could resist his charms?). He sighed, if only she hadn't believed she would bring about his death, everything would be fine…Where was Hachi when he was needed, anyway? The houshi placed a hand at the back of his neck, realizing that Hachi was indeed the only solution to his problems, unless he attempted to rejoin InuYasha, Kagome, Sango, Shippo, and Kirara (he would eventually, but preferably after Kitsunu realized that he was the man-of-her-dreams and bore him a son). Deciding that it was a better route than any other, the houshi walked to the nearest house in the village and raised his hand to knock.
Before Miroku could lay a single wrap on the door, there was quite a pandemonium from the opposite part of town, which had been almost silent moments ago. There was panic, people gasping, and a few silent snickers here and there. Such a commotion would draw the attention of anyone who gave a shit about anything, and this was no exception for the houshi (though Kitsunu might have failed to look). The view was rather curious, considering there were four men carrying a single cot, which held a man who seemed to have endured the most painful moment of his life quite recently. He was an ugly man with pompous hamster-like cheeks and a wrinkled forehead, companied by a horribly unevenly tan complexion. He seemed to resemble a pill-bug in ways that he appeared he could roll his obese body into a full circle, complete with crinkles in his fat, and also in the ways his eyes resembled little dots of coal, much like a typical bug. The man appeared drunken with riches, as each of his cubby fingers adorned with a golden ring, and his maple-colored attire only finest material. His black hair was a ratty mess and he was making more noise himself then the crowd around him. A tyrant, one who lent out loan as favors and then demanded money back when it was most convenient for him, and this usually gained him property, since many people could barely afford to eat, let alone pay absurd taxes.
"Yami-Cho! Yami-Cho! The youkai struck again!" One of the scrawny men holding the corner pole of the cot called out, a synchronized gasp rang out in the crowd, followed by a chorus of gossipy whispers. Finally the men ran wobbly up to the door that the houshi was stationed front of, and the tallest and palest of the bunch, screamed out an arrogant 'Get out of the way, baka houshi!' and Miroku was kind in moving, since his curiosity was greater then his affront to the demand. One of the dirtier looking men carrying the pill-bug looking man was trying to hush the man he carried, for he was still babbling, "Yami-cho… was so beautiful, it almost numbs the pain, the eyes were so cold, and her movements so graceful… so much.. pain, oh she could only be a vengeful goddess," and his babbling never did seem to cease. The door was slammed behind them and in the houshi's face, and all the village people were murmuring, whispering, gossiping.
'Oh,
its about time the Daikan was punished,'
'I heard Yami-Cho
was moving eastward, always towards the rising sun they say,'
'I've been told she's a shadow youkai, and can kill armies without even blinking'
'Then I wonder why she spared him?''I admire Yami-Cho, whether youkai or not, its about time someone did something about the Daikan'
'But
what if it was just a senseless attack?'
'I heard she is only
human by day, and a beautiful alluring succubus by night'
'Really? I've heard Yami-Cho basks in immortality through the use of children's souls'
'Oohh! That's rweeally scrawee!'
The people were fussing and coming from their shops and stands to talk of the events. No one much liked the Daikan, for he was simply unfair, and if he should die from his wounds – which seemed likely considering he was a wimp and those wounds looked serious, though none inflicted by weapons- there was very little care among the townspeople. For the appearance of Yami-Cho was far more interesting then the life-or-death situation of the Daikan, Yutaki.
Yami-Cho.
Dark Butterfly
Miroku forgot to wonder how such thin men could manage the palanquin of such a corpulent individual when he heard the words 'Yami-Cho' uttered. Kitsunu had appeared to him to be very much like a butterfly, and she was touched with darkness, she had to be. He had seen it with his own midnight eyes. Yami-Cho described her perfectly and the words that followed held whispers of her indescribable beauty. Immediately, he began moving through the stilled crowd, ceasing the whispers that threaded through the multitude of people. Eastward. Spared Daikan. Senseless attack. Succubus (he almost wished it, sometimes). Immortal. The name they had given her was tainted with lies, but Miroku had no time to attempt to clear it. He already knew it would be futile and, at least, her true name was protected from such slurs.
He had heard all he needed to, and his only intention was to find Kitsunu again. She was beautiful (and he was sure she was growing fond of him) and she seemed to be…lonely, as InuYasha had been. The houshi's brows furrowed as he thought of his friends. They were elsewhere in the region, following Naraku's trail. They would rejoin one another eventually; he would send a message to them soon, somehow. At the moment, he had to find Kitsunu, before she traveled too far for him to regain her trail. His good fortune would not last forever.
"Excuse me, good man!" Miroku called to a cart-driver. The man looked up.
"Would you be willing to take me some distance eastward?"
The man looked reluctant.
"Not too far. I wouldn't want to run into…Yami-Cho." He said, after a pause. But that was exactly what he wanted, among other things.
The man seemed to experience a change of heart and he allowed Miroku a ride.
The woman was currently trying to get some of the blood from her cloak, but it simply wouldn't disappear. Walking down a highway like she was currently was rather dangerous for someone with such a title. Though, her description was rather obscured… the fast-paced media gave her that much leeway. At the moment a bag was slung over her shoulder that hadn't been their prior. It was a light blue silk-bag, with white dragons stitched into it. Kitsunu sighed again, realizing the blood would have to be scrubbed out the next chance she had to wash up again, and that was a pity, for she had already bathed his morning. What a waste of effort… for a Daikan his caravan was barely carrying anything of value, almost no food, and only 100 ryo. That won't last long. It was only a matter of time before news spread to the next town of a 'Yami-Cho spotting' and thus, those people would be skeptical… out looking for a youkai-eyed, raven-haired, beauty. Her brows furrowed, that meant she would be camping alone for the next week or so… Damn Daikan,
Kitsunu had been walking, down the path, minding her own business when it had happened -she wanted to get as far away from the village as possible, that way the houshi wouldn't be able to trail her- but of course… A caravan filled more with the plump Daikan then with supplies had stopped next to her, along with six –dare say- samurai.
"Ohh.. There be a pretty little lass, get her, I'm sure she could fetch a good 50 ryo at the whore house." And two samurai had went to retrieve her, and from there… well. Kitsunu never fancied being a piece of 'property' and the concept angered her enough to do more damage then usual. The attack had been in vain to everything but her quick-fading satisfaction. More word of Yami-Cho and her… 'queer deeds'. Sometimes it was almost amusing to listen of the rumors of herself… but some of the rumors had been born without any knowledge but held truth, and that somewhat bothered her.
With a steady pace 'Yami-Cho' continued, ignoring the few looks she was getting, since she was patched here and there with blood, and as those people continued up the highway, they would soon notice a destroyed caravan and a few corpses. Ah, well… they had no honor to die with regardless, for they had tried to run, the bastards. If one cannot die with grace, one does not deserve the graces of death.
The driver had stopped when they first smelled baking corpses and death, at the first dead body. Miroku had thanked him and tipped him, though not handsomely. The man had been disgruntled, but not much, and the houshi was on his way. He was moving at a jogging pace, somehow managing despite the robes that swathed his lean form; they were loose enough to allow free movement, and he had worn them all his life. He wondered how near she was, smelling the death-decay, as he passed. He considered pausing to pray for them, as a houshi, he should have done it, but they were servants of the Daikan, and if their master did not care enough for their souls to send his own houshi and miko, Miroku would not stop for them. There was a reason Kitsunu had ended their lives, though it might have been a fit of rage, but she did not seem inclined to those. She was always very controlled, perhaps too much so, though it might also have been necessary. He murmured a few words for them and their repose, though, because he could not forget his duties (even if his teachings came from the drunkard womanizer, Mushin, he had been taught well). He also sent a prayer that he would find Kitsunu, hoping she was not far. Years of exercise and recent months of it without rest had toned his muscles, it was true, and he was strong and fit enough to continue in that manner for a couple hours, but not without immense strain to his muscles. If she wasn't close, he would be useless once their paths met again.
He did not know how long he had been jogging, but sweat was beading his forehead, and his heart was beating fast. The rings of his shakujou had stopped rattling, after a time, as though they too had become tired, though his pace might simply have slowed. He thought he saw her (not too far away, though too far for his tired body) and breathlessly he called her name, "Kitsunu-sama?"
Kitsunu had sensed him… but it wasn't enough motivation to elude him any longer. He had followed…? Why? Was he truly concerned enough for him to follow her out this far…? But it wasn't a matter of his concern, it was a matter that he would die. Though her mind and whatever logic held a care for him was telling her to run… something else was telling her to stop, an instinct… she had long forgotten. Kitsunu stopped, hearing her name… the respect attached to it that she was still trying to get used to. The houshi's voice was so smooth and gentle, and it held a masculine tranquility that she had never known. Her head turned ever slightly, offering the houshi a profile view of her face, and then as the wind picked up and tangled her tresses around her, Kitsunu's body turned to face him. Her youkai eyes were steady and unwavering and they held on his form for all the while after he had called out to her. Waiting patiently as he walked to her, the wind only animated her hair further.
"You followed…" she stated blankly her voice trailing as she was not sure of what to make of the fact. Miroku had followed her, there was no gain to him, and she had warned him of certain death on so many occasions… but still he followed. Perhaps, he could be spared honor, or perhaps he was a womanizing fool, but as much sense that might have made on the surface, it would have been easy for him to move on to a less complex woman.. and yet. Once again she wished not to elaborate, she was always putting it off. Whether out of lack of interest or whether she believed she would rather not find a definite answer, she wasn't sure. Adjusting the pale aqua colored bag slung over her shoulder, she turned again. The houshi was at her side, and it seemed he was quite out of breath. "We have a lot of traveling today."
She seemed surprised, words uttered without that frigid inflection of hers, and left at the mercy of the wind. She would not have expected it, of course. Kitsunu would not have understood his reasoning; she was too strong, in her own right, to hear promises of protection, and she knew that he was aware of her ability. The truth would discomfit her and it would be somewhat difficult to explain, so he declared, with all of his usual gallantry, and a wide, charming grin, "Of course, Kitsunu-sama, and I would follow you to the ends of Japan." He did not seem fazed by the fact that they had a lot of traveling to do, simply grateful that she had not rejected his efforts again (how could she have done so, truly, especially since she had threatened to kill him herself? And, of course, the obvious fact that he was the greatest man alive.) Miroku knew that this was her acceptance of him into her life and he felt happiness for it, as he reached out to touch her alluring bottom. He had missed that, though he had groped it only once…
After the second fondle had registered the slightest shade of pink spread across the bridge of her nose and to each of her cheeks. That's the last time I listen to that instinct… Turning abruptly the brightly colored bag slung over her shoulder was flung into the air where it hit the houshi directly in the face, knocking him over. "Well, lets go then…" she mumbled trying to regain whatever dignity she possibly had. Anyone who knew her as 'Yami-Cho' certainly would have been baffled… but then again, she wasn't Yami-Cho, that was an icon of fear that was buried in her shell. She was Kitsunu, a life that had been forgotten and a story that was hidden away- though a determined houshi was still trying to know her as Kitsunu and not the Yami-Cho that villagers obsessed with. The movement that had struck the houshi been with enough momentum that the houshi was on the ground again, twitching with a huge red mark across his face. Sighing she started walking away from 'the greatest man alive'. He'd catch up after he stopped seeing stars and knowing his persistence, Kitsunu was assured that wouldn't take more then a few seconds.