Authoress's notes: As I go forward with this fic, I do have to admit the inspiration for it was sorta "dropped in my lap, on a silver platter". For that I have to say I'm eternally grateful..mwahahahaha! Anyway, I'd never seen any of Inuyasha before except for the Band of 7 arc, and this fic came to me in its entirety after only about 6 episodes worth of that. However, though I started this fic with the SOLE reason that I find Bankotsu totally irresistible, I do have to say I'm learning a lot about myself in the process. Half of what you'll read is autobiograhical, half of it isn't. I don't want to spoil you with anything though! Go and read the fic already. ;o)
10/30/05--Chapter edited. (brandishes giant CAPS LOCK spork)
Wayward Ransom, chapter 9.
Two arches of blood drops, each forming as the blood ran out of the grooves in the katanas, followed Bankotsu as he threw himself into the diminishing blue light of the portal. A temporary sense of extreme displacement and vertigo tried to prevent him from concentrating on where he wanted to end up on the outerworld.
Seemingly going through a tunnel of blinding blue light, he saw his destination at the end. The scene became larger and larger, until he tumbled into it, rolling over himself many times from the force of throwing himself through the portal.
Laying stunned for a half a moment, it took some work to gather himself together to look up and see where he was. When he did look up, the ten-year-old foresty overgrowth couldn't hide it from him. He could see it through the branches of the shrubbery. The place even smelled familiar...blood and poison mixing and dancing with each other. It smelled like betrayal and hate and steel.
He was at that horrible place where he was viciously executed ten years ago.
He was at the cottage.
He thought himself insane for coming here again. It had always been here waiting, quietly mocking him as he absorbed himself in his single-minded, stubborn pursuit of the hanryou, as was his objective. He could not come close to here because it was all too distracting. Just as the very life of that bastard young daimyo had been distracting. But now, here he was, with no one to keep him away and nothing to stop him from dealing with the distractions.
However his soul was not here, either. This was one of the most soulless places on earth for him, and yet, he felt some desperate, unexplainable need to face these horrible shadows again. He had come close...very close, to coming here before, but the fear that his rage could not be neatly contained prevented him.
He lowered his head, sighed deeply, and wrinkled his perfect jet black brows. No, he couldn't face this place again...he wanted to block all of it out and not think about it, just like he tried to do when the jewel shards were lodged in his body. He knew not thinking about it all with those horrible little pieces of misery in him was a necessity...fighting off the uncontrollable rage they channeled and magnified in him took so much work..and when they tried to overtake him, he could feel their sharp edges digging in. But they were also the means by which he was kept alive, and all he wanted to ever do was to enjoy his goddamned day now that he actually had one to enjoy.
The other men didn't seem to have this problem with the jewel pieces; they wore their shards quite comfortably. But not him. What happened ten years ago was unexcuseable. And the daimyo that instigated all that was now dead by his own hand...but he knew in his heart that was not enough.
When would it be enough? And what was keeping him here now?
There was some direction, if not the answer, in that damned cottage before him.
He slowly picked himself up from the ground, holding both weapons in his right hand. He wrapped his hand around that wound on his arm again, feeling as if it was hanging by a thread. He pushed himself forward, in the direction of the large wooden patio-like structure in front of the cottage.
He lifted his foot onto the single high step which led up to the doorway after transferring one blade to his left hand and quickly cutting down some forest undergrowth with it. This was the same step on which he was beheaded ten years ago. A chill of unrepentant rage flashed though him as he thought about it, trying to keep his feet steady. But his own execution wasn't even the cause of the vast depths of hatred he held for the government he once served. His knew own life was a moot point the second his amazing combat talent was discovered and he was forced into the military lifestyle. He knew that death was part of the game warriors like him played, especially the ones that attempted to rock the system such as himself. The desire for total retribution was brought about by how they had dealt with other people in his life.
The wall of plants he struck down as he pressed forward seemed to be one more obstacle in his path. They seemed to be there to encourage him to turn back, go find that portal again, and run to the other side of the Sanzu as quickly as possible. But he had already resolved he wasn't living, or unliving, one agonizing moment longer without his soul. If he could possibly find it anywhere.
Getting to the threshold, he stopped and looked at the door, still broken almost in half and thrown carelessly to the side after ten years. The wood was bent and warped, and there was bright green moss growing on it in places.
Entering into the cottage, the floor was rotted out here and there, and the quaint echoing of wood was now replaced by a mushy softness under his feet. Pretty, shade-loving violets grew in the caked-on dirt on the floor now. Puddles of stagnant water were in the corners.
This was where...
...no, he didn't want to think of that yet. He was here to see what he could find useful for himself. He shoved that memory from his consciousness, and started toward the door to the separated back room.
It was all still here yet, after ten years, eerily right where it was placed. The parchments, the brushes, the pots of ink, the various toiletries that were on the low desk to the back of the room, neatly organized. Just like they were before.
Switching both weapons to the right hand was necessary to look around on the desk. Pushing aside a few stray windblown papers with his left, he spied a bit of crimson desperately wanting to remain safe and hidden underneath. His face softened for the first time since he awoke on the raft. He felt a shooting stab in his chest. Picking it up, he knew he had found something important.
He drew in a short breath through his teeth. He held it up to the light filtering in through the decayed window frame. Recognizing what it was, he kissed it softly and then held it to his breast.
He was holding the slightly burned tassel he gave to Little Akiko, twenty-four years ago, when they were both three.
What lovely memories this little red ornament held for him.
Barely at age fifteen, he had quite established himself as Japan's newest unholy fighting terror, slaying the most skilled fighters and the worst demons all too easily for anyone's comfort. Seeing the young man had such natural skill, the daimyo decided in his old age to bestow upon him the gift of any weapon the young man would like...much to the dismay and jealousy of the daimyo's son and Yukio, his third man in charge. They advised the daimyo that keeping him under wraps in the military was fine, but such attention would go to the young man's head. The daimyo disagreed, and made good with his offer of a truly remarkable gift for him.
Bankotsu himself designed and supervised his Banryuu's creation, and after one year and scores of men folding the metal to make the weapon, he had his wish granted. Not being able to tolerate the constrained life in the military, Bankotsu and his now long-time tag-a-long, Jakotsu, decided to quit and struck out on their own soon after, finding powerful men along the way who wished to be their allies.
At sixteen, his connections with the old daimyo who had favored him so much managed to remain somewhat established, and he continued to use Bankotsu's men to secure his power.
Bankotsu was convinced that fighting wars was the only thing he was born for...until he got a very strange request from the daimyo. It seemed there was a prostitute in the area that unwittingly took in an opposing daimyo's spying top officer, and since the officer got himself very, very drunk, the idiot talked about all kinds of things that should have remained secret. Out of fear for her own life and her friends' lives, she approached the daimyo and told him about the plans, figuring if she didn't say something soon and someone found out she knew about it had it come to pass, it would mean all their deaths.
She was thanked dryly, and given a privatecottage in a nearby abandoned village, and a personal guard stationed there for her for the duration of the time it took to hunt the scheming men down. Her financial reward would come after the opposition was squelched.
Bankotsu's men were chosen for the job rather than the military, again, much to the chagrin of his top officers. The men were to assassinate the opposing daimyo, and take down his army. One of the men had to remain behind and guard the girl's life before she herself was an assassination victim, so she could testify to the secrets if needed.
The men decided unanimously that Bankotsu should be the solitary bodyguard, being the strongest out of all the men; in fact, he was stronger than all of them put together. Jakotsu joyously said it would be absolutely no problem for them to decimate the opposing forces, and though he didn't like the fact his friend would be stationed with a woman, he agreed with Renkotsu that logically, it was the best thing to do.
Bankotsu at first flatly refused. "I'm a mercenary, you fool, not a bodyguard," was his reply.
The daimyo still encouraged him. "Well, I know sheis just a whore, but-'
"That's not what concerns me," said Bankotsu as he, in his typical disrespectful manner, cut off the aging daimyo from speaking. "What concerns me is that this isnot what I'm-"
The old man cut off Bankotsu right back, and, in encouraging him to take responsibility of both tasks, offered him as much money he and his men desired.
Money talked. Bankotsu still somewhat grudgingly accepted, named his price, and ironically, half that amount was immediately thrown on the table in front of him...unlike the prostitute, who was the instrument in saving the daimyo's life. Unbeknownst to Bankotsu, she had to wait an undefined, possibly even a long time before seeing any financial reward.
Bankotsu set out for the abandoned village to the east, where the girl's safe house was located. He knew the rest of the money he wanted would be sent to him immediately when the job was done. And most definitely, he would get rewarded much more quickly than his ward would.