THERE WAS A SHIP
Scribe Figaro
Chapter Three
The Storm Blast
And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
I.
This should not have been so familiar.
It was odd to him, to feel this way. He was not certain of the emotion. He knew that it was strange, though. His senses were normally quiet. Not dull, really, for there was no sharpness of emotion to compare it to. But quiet. Reserved. He did not feel the white-hot anger he sensed in the people he killed. He did not sense the bowel-loosening fear. He did not sense the despair, the feeling of being betrayed. He noticed these things. He knew he did not feel such things. But he did not miss them.
He knew the house. He recognized the shape, the furniture, though he was certain that the last time he had known such things, these items were not overturned, and dusty, and broken.
The weapon, Kohaku. Find the weapon.
He left the house, moving on to the large building with the sagging roof. He knew it was the armory because of the large clay chimney on its far side. He knew it was the armory because its walls were reinforced, making it the strongest building in the village. He knew it was the armory because he had been there before, in an earlier life.
He smashed the steel lock off the door with his kusari-gama. When he withdrew it, the door was scored with a jagged scar that reminded him of her back.
The jaki of a hundred dead youkai responded to his presence, and begged him, absolutely begged him, to take them, to make them part of the great Naraku. He paid no heed to the voices. All dead youkai pleaded in this way.
He found what he was looking for. Beside the kiln, a length of bone, flattened, slightly bent in the middle, taller than he was, and almost as wide.
This is not Sango's weapon, the voice stated. Demure. A general who trusted his foot soldier.
"It is not," Kohaku said. "It is a cut piece from a similar youkai from which the Hiraikotsu was taken. If Hiraikotsu is destroyed or lost, she will likely use this piece to forge a new one."
How long would it take you to do this?
"I cannot. The weapon must be fire-treated, and beaten, and balanced. I lack the skill to do this."
What if you tried?
"It would probably shatter when I tried to cool it."
Then, can you make this piece into a likeness of Hiraikotsu? Can you fight with it?
"I can place bindings upon it, and fight in close quarters if necessary. But I will likely break this weapon if I attempt to use it."
It will not break. Place the bindings now.
Kohaku brought the heavy bone piece to the work table. He did not think the balance was especially bad. The material was soft, and would not hold an edge for long, but he could still sharpen it. He did so, taking a rough stone and grinding the leading edge down. As the material was too soft, the stone scratched and tore the surface badly, no matter how much water he used. Or should he have sharpened it dry? As Kohaku was inexperienced in sharpening a weapon of such large size, the sharp edge curled up and down along the weapon. It would cut badly, and twist against his grip when he struck, likely straining itself until it broke his grip, or his hand, or itself. He was certain it would never fly true.
But it would most certainly kill.
He affixed the bindings around the top and bottom, at the spots where the edges were not sharpened, and the bone slightly notched to hold the bindings in place. He stretched the rope tight, holding the bone in place with one foot, straining until he thought the rope might break, and wrapping it quickly so as to keep the tension in place.
He wove the tassels through the bindings, making sure to use the red clay spheres that she used, and, rubbing his rope-raw hands together, studied his work.
Is it done, Kohaku?
"It has to dry from the grinding, and after that, I may polish it. The polish is not necessary, as it will not fly no matter how well I polish it, but it will give the weapon the proper appearance."
There is one more thing as well, Kohaku.
Kohaku detected the soft drone of a saimyoushou. The insect wafted in through the broken doorway, carrying a sparkling red fragment in its claws.
"A jewel shard?" Kohaku asked.
The insect deposited the jewel shard in the center of the weapon. A dark jaki enveloped it, the jaki of the creature whose corpse was pillaged to make this Hiraikotsu. Kohaku did not know white-hot anger, but he recognized it, and found it comforting. Love confused him. Kindness frustrated him. Altruism was suspect. But he trusted anger. A murderous intent was a very easy thing to deal with.
"I will kill you. I will kill you. I will kill you, you fucking taiji-ya."
Kohaku slung the weapon and returned to his master.
Kohaku would like to think that he thought very deeply about whether or not he should do the thing he intended to do.
But that would be a lie.
Kohaku would like to think that he found it very difficult to ask himself such a question.
That was closer to the truth.
He was going to hurt Ane-ue.
No. No, he wouldn't do that.
He was going to let Ane-ue be hurt.
He supposed that was not much better.
But there was a greater good to consider.
They could not defeat Naraku.
They could not survive Naraku.
So it was up to him. He, Kohaku, who knew Naraku, was the only one who could make this decision. The decision to sacrifice the ones she loves to save the one he loves. There was no other way to ensure Anue-ue's survival. Just no way.
II.
The nights were lonely, and the youkai thirsted, and hungered.
She was dying.
She would be dying, if she could not feed.
It had been many days since the last one. A young merchant, traveling alone. He was easy prey, as most men were. She drew his life-force out of him, until he died, and even to the moment his heart ceased, he regretted none of it.
She did not kill, or take lives. She bartered, and the things she took from her prey were given willingly.
It made her feel better this way, for though she survived off humans, and they died because of her actions, she empathized with them, and did not want to hurt them.
So she traded, traded ecstasy for vitality, traded physical pleasure for the essence of life. The pleasure was fleeting, but wasn't life fleeting as well?
So she lived on, and though she fed off humans, and though they often died, she loved them, every one.
The pain of hunger was most unpleasant, but she survived. And though there was pain, she lived with the pain, and accepted the pain, because the moment of anticipation made the pain worthwhile.
She sensed prey, approaching from the south, where the mountains gave way to low valleys. It was an uncommon route, and visitors were rare. This was the reason she lived here, for even though she need wait weeks between feedings, the prey came to her, and they came defenseless. A merchant here, a samurai there – such men were never missed, and for over a century she remained in this one spot, never attracting attention. An exorcism would have been dangerous, for she was weak against the magic of men, and worse, the monks, those soulless men who had given up pleasures of the flesh, were nearly impossible to tempt, and thus immune to her power.
It was best to stay in this isolated mountain path. She ate lightly, but every so often a troop of soldiers would come by, and she would have her fill, enough to satisfy her for a year or more. They would be considered victims of a sneak attack, and nothing would ever come of it.
She was wise, and spied on her prey, observing them for days if possible, before striking. Though some may have sensed her, and sometimes discussion came up about whether or not there were youkai in the area, the words she always feared were never spoken – never had any of her prey made mention of a rumor of a succubus in these mountains.
This newest group seemed likewise unaware, though they too seemed to find the path unpleasant. She hid her youki as best she could, though it made it difficult to observe her prey.
There were six of them, altogether. It was a group unlike any she had seen before.
There were several youkai, firstly. A young inu-hanyou, perhaps close to her own age, was her immediate interest. He was terribly strong, and smelled of vitality. A single feeding off him would sustain her for weeks.
The other youkai were less useful. The firecat was below her standards, of course, as she did not desire such animal-like youkai. The kitsune would be useful, had he been older, but he was yet a child, and a fruit so unripe would make her ill.
The other man interested her as well. A wandering monk, and a rather handsome one. Perhaps not as strong or vital as the inu-hanyou, but there was a look of intelligence about him, and she often found that attractive. She was curious about his skill, and knew it would be extraordinarily dangerous to show herself around a monk.
There were two young women as well. Pure, she knew, and laughably inexperienced. She knew each woman had some manner of claim to one of the men, and knowing this made her feel a delightful tightness throughout her being. Competition. Not only could she take these men, but she could take them from these women. These women, who did not take care of their men. She could embarrass them, and let them see the naked desire of their men, see them willingly give up their lives in exchange for the warmth and intimacy she could provide.
She might even take the essence of the women. Why not? She couldn't let them survive, for that would be too dangerous. One woman held the powers of a priestess, and the other, the strengths of a demon-slayer.
It was a dangerous thing to do. Four people, each a formidable enemy, and two young youkai, which, though weak, might do something unpredictable if allowed. It would be a foolish thing for a single youkai such as herself to attack a group of demon-hunters.
But she hungered, and the monk and hanyou were delicious.
Tomorrow would be the night of the waning moon, the time when she was strongest.
She would attack then.
She would have them all.
She loved them that much.
- - -
It was best to attack at night, in that space between waking life and the dream. There she could slide into a man's psyche, and there her skill was at its best.
She had washed herself only hours before, and she checked her anticipation, thinking nothing about the pleasure she was about to feel, for doing otherwise would surely alert the hanyou's nose to her scent.
She kneeled in the woods, outside her vision, and cast the spell slowly. It fell like snow upon her prey, a feeling of exhaustion that came from no particular direction. The kitsune and neko-youkai took it easily, and soon after she could feel the young women fall into the same trance.
The men would be more difficult, she knew, as both slept so lightly. They might even have been feigning sleep at this point, it was so hard to tell. But she continued the spell, and the sleeping spell was so subtle, and intensified so very slowly, that both men were certain to fall under her power as well.
She kept it up for several minutes more, though every second she stood still felt like an eternity. Again, she was patient.
Ten minutes passed, and she was certain.
They would sleep. They would all sleep, and her spell would not break until sunrise.
She raced toward them, her face bright and smiling.
She was starving!
- - -
There is a particular feeling a person would have, and a particular look a person's face would display, when, in the middle of the summer, she steps outside into a raging blizzard.
It is not so much surprise as the sensation of betrayal; that the world has suddenly played a great trick, forcing one to re-evaluate all one believes.
This is about the sensation the naked demon had when she came into the clearing and saw the young shinobi standing in the clearing, all this time invisible to her senses and immune to her spell.
It was a bit comforting when the demon Naraku, who all demons knew quite well, approached the field, and the last thought on the succubus's mind was Well that makes perfect sense and Naraku made a languid gesture with one hand and the succubus became a spray of ash.
III.
Kohaku approached his sister as the succubus became a pile of autumn-red embers at the other edge of the clearing. As was usual, Naraku only told him as much of the plan as it was necessary for Kohaku to know, and as usual, Kohaku pieced together Naraku's intentions only after seeing individual cogs begin to turn in tune to the demonic drumbeat that seemed to issue forth from his master's heart, wherever that heart happened to be.
Naraku needed to approach Sango while she was unaware and defenseless. As the group was too well-accustomed to Naraku's presence, such a thing would be best done by another demon, preferably one with no connection at all to Naraku. Thus, the succubus, and her sleeping spell, taking the group unaware, laying them out, defenseless as a litter of week-old puppies, and they did not stir, did not sense the miasma that pooled gently about the sleeping demon-hunters, a sort of sweet-smelling poison that seemed to keep the group weak and asleep lest the succubus spell weaken in her death. Kohaku knew it took Naraku some effort to make a miasma that would not kill them outright, and as Naraku stood beside the campfire and scanned the group he read Kohaku's mind and smiled.
"As you suspect, it's more difficult for me to not kill them than to kill them. And this isn't the first time I've stood beside my unconscious enemy, and wondered if I should bother myself with one quick swipe, and return to my dwelling with his head in a sack. The thought of watching the others – Kagome especially – finding Inuyasha headless, decapitated, hanging naked by his feet, the ground fully saturated with his blood . . . well, it's very tempting, but to destroy this group in such a way would have removed a great deal of entertainment from my life. This Naraku only sees moral enemies once or twice a century, and it would be foolish to waste them. Are you about ready to begin, Kohaku?"
The boy nodded, and with the cursed Hiraikotsu over one shoulder, he kneeled down, placed his mouth to his sister's ear, and spoke the words Naraku had taught him.
IV.
Far from the others, the taijiya, brother and sister, huddled next to each other, their breaths making clouds of moisture white and thin as lace, and Kohaku advised his sister, and his sister listened. She had gathered her equipment and followed him, her feet sure but her eyes wide with the trance that made her follow Kohaku and made her accept his words with barely a thread of doubt. She left Hiraikotsu at the campsite, along with Kirara, some miles away. There, Naraku remained, and he was probably not cutting off Inuyasha's head.
The false Hiraikotsu, badly forged, with a shikon shard as black as tar on its edge, lay to Kohaku's side. Sango wasn't ready to touch it yet.
At Sango's right hand lay her short sword and her taijiya uniform, bundled in a blue carrying cloth.
He pointed out the castle on the far hill.
"There?" she asked.
"There. He has taken the form of the old lord Hojo. Changing his face has made him vulnerable, and he will remain that way until daybreak. If you strike him down before the sun rises, he will not recover."
"We should gather the others."
"You could never return here in time, and even if you could, Naraku would sense Inuyasha's youki, or Shippou's, or Kirara's. He would know Miroku's approach, because of the Kazaana. He would know Kagome's approach, because of her purity. All your friends are beacons to him, Ane-ue. Only you can deceive him, as you are neither a demon nor possessing spiritual powers. You are barely a shadow to him, and acting alone, you can get within arm's length of Naraku before he would be aware of your presence."
Sango furrowed her brows. So far, every encounter with Naraku made it appear that he was well-aware of their presence.
"Ane-ue, it was always my hope that you would revenge the village. It is your right, far above your friends. Kagome has no complaint with Naraku. Inuyasha lost his woman. Miroku was cursed. But he destroyed our way of life, Ane-ue. He made our village a cemetery."
Sango tensed.
"It will be daylight soon. You must decide."
"Give me Hiraikotsu."
Sango's hand gripped the dull edge of the cursed weapon.
"I will go," Sango said.
Placing the false Hiraikotsu before her, she unpacked her taijiya uniform and undressed where she stood.
Kohaku remained crouching, waiting for his sister to demand her privacy, but her eyes remained fixed on the castle, and in the light of a waning moon he beheld the mononoke, the vengeful ghost, skin white and featureless as fine parchment, hair black as ink, and as she slipped on the uniform her limbs became black and invisible, and after securing the last of her armor she held the false Hiraikotsu behind her back, and with a sharp breath and setting of her teeth, dashed across the valley which separated her from her target.
Kohaku remained there, and about an hour later the white donjon was obscured with black smoke.
Two hours later, she returned to him, and he brought her to the river and washed her clothes while she bathed. "Hiraikotsu is broken," she said. Kohaku did not comfort her by telling her it was a fake Hiraikotsu, given temporary strength through a blackened jewel shard. But he wanted to.
She was his now. It was only a matter of waiting until the proper time to collect her. She was the last fragment, the last broken piece of his life. He cared not for his previous life. He did not miss his village. He did not miss his father. But his sister he could not be without. She would be his, and fit into him, the last piece of his life, and they would be immortal in Naraku's service, and Kohaku's life of never-feeling would be augmented, made into a life of never-wanting, and every night they would slay together – humans or demons, it mattered so little – and her strong arms would fight to protect him, and after the battle her lap would make a soft pillow for him.
When Naraku and Kohaku left the sleeping group, the sky was beginning to bruise purple, and they left no indication anything strange had happened that evening, except for an unpleasant dream that Sango would not remember when she awoke.
The castle no longer burned, and a steady stream of spearmen and lantern bearers hemorrhaged from its broken gates and painted the valley.