12/17/05--Authpress's notes: I still don't own Inuyasha or the Inuyasha universe blah blah Rumiko Takahashi does blah blah blah Shichinintai. :)
Wayward Ransom, chapter 4.
He turned his head over to the ferryman. He tried to bring his free left arm underneath himself, hoping he could raise himself to at least one knee to confront him. But the horrible tendrils that attached him to the deck remained in the way.
There was only one option: break them. Just like he broke the filaments attached to his legs. This was no simple task, as breaking the ones attached to his legs were excruciating. He did have some slight satisfaction once the pain was over, he would feel a return of energy...but it came at a price. He was losing a lot of blood quickly from the gashes, which ran like like sword cuts, on his legs from pulling the tendrils out.
However, it was greatly unfortunate that there was no way the ferryman would allow him to peacefully explore both shores. He intended to put him somewhere from which he could not voluntarily return, and that gave him the notion that the ferryman could not be trusted...even if he had every good intention of dropping him off at Paradise's shore...and even if his brothers were already there.
Bankotsu gritted his teeth even harder...and, keeping both eyes locked on the seemingly harmless ferryman, began to bring his left arm across himself, angled his torso, and wilfully pull up on the threads. Two more popped before he unconsiously had to cry out, stop pulling, and rest his brow on his still bound right forearm.
The ferryman still kept himself stoic. Bankotsu found something in himself that could almost be called respect for him; the ferryman seemd to know his place, and the inevitability of the conflict that was to occur, whether his prisoner was fully bound or not. He seemed to be an experienced warrior, just like himself, and that gave him all the more reason to use the utmost caution.
The last three threads snapped. Soon most of the back of his white gi would be red. Agony and relief intermingled again.
He was up on one knee, still with one hand chained to the floor. He tried breaking the shackle again, but to no avail. The connection between shackle and post on the other wrist must have been a lucky fluke. Whoever wanted him on that opposite shore was prepared for him. He braced the spear-topped staff in his right hand, hunched over at the ready.Not prepared enough, though..., he thought.
The ferryman figured he avoided the issue long enough. It was too pressing and the prisoner needed to be disabled and dropped off at the shore. He poled one last time, after which he hooked the pole onto a support so it wouldn't fall into the hellish water. He drew his right hand around his front and under his cloak...
His katana flashing red and white with the two different lights of the shores at play on the raft, he struck out faster than lightning at Bankotsu, and the spear blocking his strike broke in a thousand pieces.
The ferryman struck again.
With a spark of electricity, it was blocked by the only thing left that could stop it...the cuff still encircling Bankotsu's left wrist. The ferryman struck at Bankotsu a few more times, but all of them were blocked with a flash of fire. All the while he continually yanked on the damned stubborn cuff that wouldn't budge.
The ferryman was getting frustrated, which was most distracting. He swiped again and did manage to cut the prisoner on the shoulder, and more of Bankotsu's once pure white gi was now turning red. Thinking he could take out his prisoner's legs before he took out his eyes, he decided to swipe low, just grazing the boards beneath the blade. Bankotsu dodged and the blade hit the small metal projection coming out of the floor of the raft.
Sensing a huge opening in the ferryman's offense, he slid his right leg under the handle of the blade, where it was held by the old man. He kicked up with such force the katana went spinning straight up in the air. The ferryman's eyes opened wide and, due to his previous experience, could start to see the writing on his own tombstone. He had no time to even consider his well-broken hand.
Not losing an instant, Bankotsu threw his free fist into the ferryman's wide-eyed face. This stunned the old warrior further, and he started to teeter backward, holding his now much-broken face in his still intact left hand.
The blade came down, and Bankotsu's hand was ready to catch it, with the blade upward and away from the thumb side of his hand.
The young man gave a mighty slash around and forward, deftly rending the ferryman's innards all over himself. After an instant, the ferryman dropped to the floor of the raft, and laid there, dead, a panting but still alive Bankotsu one one knee, pausing as he held the blade still after striking. He relaxed and let the blade drop to the floor of the raft for now.
Bankotsu rooted around on his body for the keys, and after locating them, gladly removed his raw right wrist from one cuff and in turn removing the cuff from his other wrist. He kicked his opponent's body over board, and it hissed and melted and gave off a reeking stench as it disappeared in the liquid.
He desperately started poling over to the heavenly shore himself, happy to simply see his friend Jakotsu again.
He poled up to within an inch of the shore...and in fact right in front of Jakotsu.
He desparately wanted to throw an arm around his buddy. He desperately wanted to join his brothers, his clan, his family, but decided not to step on the shore right now due to the fables he heard about this place. "Jakotsu!" he said right in front of his friend with a smile, and relief in his eyes.
Jakotsu simply wasn't answering him.
Bankotsu stood in amazed silence. "Jakotsu?"
Jakotsu, even more oblivious than he ever was in life, continued scanning the shoreline, not acknowledging the presence of his mentor.
"You...can't see or hear me...can you...Jakotsu."
No he couldn't. That was the reason no one ever left this place. There was a sort of barrier, like Mount Hakurei...dividing the hellish Sanzu from the heavenly community past the shore's sands.
Bankotsu thought about their irony-laden situation. The now weaponless Jakotsu, on the sunny, heavenly, peaceful, healing shore. Bankotsu inches ...inches away, on the fouled, ancient raft, on the sizzlingly acidic water, the hellish red mist still surrounding him, discoloring his torn, sweat-and-blood-stained gi, holding an even bloodier katana which wasn't even his own weapon. Simply seeing Jakotsu again made him ache and hunger for his comrades' companionship. And for comfort. Maybe even some good sake, he laughed to himself, as he remembered the times how he and his comrades often shared it when they successfully brought yet another army down. Yeah, the rest of the Seven were unruly and wild and high-maintenance...but they were his own. And he never asked any of them to join him; the sheer force of his personality and will...and Jakotsu's flirtatiousness...is what attracted them all to him. They were his arms, and legs, and eyes and ears when he needed them. They were like a reincarnation, or even more, like a second body. It almost seemed like this was the last thing someone was counting on to seduce him into stepping on the sand.
But...he could not.
One, only one thing stopped him from taking that one step off the raft, and throwing his arm over his friend.
He knew exactly what it was. It was that his body was healed now. However, he did not have what was most important to him.
He did not have his soul.
And with starving, tired eyes that took in everything, the beautiful white buildings, the exotic flowers, the bridges, the clear water, the glisteningly white sand...his friend...he took up the pole again. And pushed sadly away from the shore.
"Iwill be back Jakotsu...forgive me...forgive...me..."