THERE WAS A SHIP
Scribe Figaro
Chapter Nine
A Thousand Thousand Slimy Things
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
I.
I could not take a human life.
I could not take a human life until after I had tried to create a life, and failed.
My womb is ruined.
I can no longer give life to anyone.
So I will take life from everyone.
Killing Takeda ensured my resolve.
I do not fear Naraku.
He can show me no greater horror than myself.
II.
She had expected something, a ceremony perhaps, Naraku giving her some sort of badge, or mark, giving her orders, or just raping her, but there was nothing, just Kohaku, just whatever food they could find together, and Sango came to the realization that much of Kohaku's time, much of her time now, is spent in wait of Naraku's order. She knew that Naraku knew they were taiji-ya, and they were not good, but the best, and they were weapons not to be drawn in every battle.
Several weeks passed, and the order came, and she went with Kohaku to the village, and let him wreak havoc as she sought the target.
The woman pressed her body against the corner of her home, screaming, pleading, begging forgiveness, promising to make offerings to her grave. It was her first kill in Naraku's service, and she might have regretted the act if she had not spoken his name.
"I tried to save him! I tried to save Miroku-sama! He was dying! I couldn't stop it!"
Sango split Koharu open like a suckling pig, and it made her shiver, and in blood and ecstasy she heard Naraku's voice for the very first time, and he said "Burn it." She took tinder from the fire-pit, lit the four corners of the hut, and she and Kohaku guarded the burning home, killing all who came near, until the roof collapsed and Naraku told them it was finished.
The first one was difficult, for Sango killed with hate, but the next one was easier, and the one after that, and Sango came to know Kohaku's joy, the joy of nothingness, the joy of being beyond hate and fear, beyond love, the joy of simply being, of existing in a place beyond responsibility or doubt or misgivings about the blood she waded through, and when Naraku said kill she killed, and when Naraku said burn she burned.
Without Kagome's help, Sango found it difficult to recover the remaining jewel shards, but she managed well enough.
III.
They slept in the same bed, as they did when they were children. She remembered the smell of his hair. Sometimes she kissed his forehead, or his cheek. Sometimes that would excite him, and he would kiss her back, sloppy, silly, childlike kisses on her eyelids and the bridge of her nose. Sometimes he would kiss her lips, and she did not mind, but she would calm him down with hushed words when he tried to open her mouth.
She was still bigger than him, and perhaps always would be, as years had passed, perhaps even decades, and neither of them aged by any indication she could measure, as if time itself had stopped at their first encounter with Naraku at Hitomi Castle. She was certain that was the case, as every moment since then she had been holding him, bleeding with him, laying with him, dying with him. When she closed her eyes, she could sometimes feel the kusari-gama in her back, taste castle-keep smells in her mouth – lanterns and perfumes and dirt and horses and laquered armor – feel the dirt under her fingernails, and the arrow shafts that brushed her cheeks. She bled for Kohaku, and Kohaku bled for himself, and they would bleed forever, and die forever, and as they were no longer living they could not be killed.
Even the dying sleep, and he lay with her back against her, her hand on his shoulder. He slept so soundly, so deeply, and she tried to stay awake, so that she could enjoy this closeness with him, but she slept deeply too. Though rare, there were times when she awoke at night, and found her hand on his cheek, his chest, his thigh, and wondered if it was her doing or his. Sometimes she dreamed of Houshi-sama, and when she awoke, she remembered the dream, and what she was doing in the dream, and she did not have to wonder.
It was only after the passage of many nights, nights spent with Kohaku, who was so very patient, obedient to her in a way he was not obedient to Naraku, that she came to realize he would never know another woman, never hold a girl's hand or touch her cheek, never peek up a girl's skirt and get slapped, never, ever see a woman who was not screaming, never caress a woman except with his kusari-gama, never embrace a woman except to break her neck. In the past year they had met fifty men and ten women, and in that same time they had killed fifty men and ten women.
She would certainly fare no better. Houshi-sama was her only love, and as he was long dead, so were the parts of her that loved and lusted, that trembled and quivered, that warmed and wet.
What use were such things, anyway? Since Takeda she had yet to flow. Was it the miscarriage? Was it Naraku's influence? Or had she cast away her womanhood, along with everything else, that bloody, beautiful night?
She did not know. She did not miss it.
IV.
"Who are you, Sango?
"Why do you behave as you do, dress as you do?
"Do you realize you are a killer?
"Before you came here, you were Sango the girl. Not woman. Simply girl. You traveled with your friends, who adopted you like some sort of pet.
"Here, you can be Sango the sister. You can care for your brother."
"I would rather care for him without serving you."
"Of course. But he is in a perilous place, you see. Not merely the shard that sustains him, but his mind. He is a killer, you know. He was not a killer before, for he was a soft thing, his flesh too week to sustain him, a thing too weak to live on his own. But he is a killer now, and in making him a killer, I ensured he would live far longer than he would have otherwise."
"He died because you killed him."
"He died because he was weak, Sango. I was not the one to kill him – Hitomi's archers did that. You remember, Sango. I know you do."
"You forced them to."
"I did not. I instrumented a dangerous situation, of course, but such a thing is inevitable in a taiji-ya's line of work. Kohaku had no business wearing the garb of the taiji-ya. The thread I struck him with erased his will completely, and in fact, he followed my instructions with alacrity. I was expecting merely to confuse your group, forcing your father's attentions away from the youkai. But I said "Kill," and he ripped your hunting party to pieces. I was surprised, Sango. I thought no taiji-ya would be so willing to follow demonic instruction. You saw him, Sango. The assurance in his eyes. The deliberation in his hand. For the first time in his life, he was dedicated to his task. He was unafraid. He was so unused to such emotions, and so thankful to have them, that he would not consider to question where they came from. He did not question his desire to kill his clan. He simply did so."
"You are lying," she said.
"I never lie, Sango."
"You are being dishonest, and speaking half-truths and irrelevancies."
"Ah. Yes, perhaps. But it is true that Kohaku was terribly susceptible to my influence."
"Why?"
"He was a young boy, and eager to please. Eager to please anyone. His father. His sister. And, once I spoke to him, and tempted him, even eager to please me."
"You tempted him. You gave the order to the archers."
"Your father killed him, when your father refused to believe the strength of the taiji-ya had gone into his daughter but not his son. Your father cared for you, Sango, but he would never accept you as an heir. He needed Kohaku to carry on his duties, even though it was clear, even to me, Sango, that such a role should have been yours. You would have been a proper carrier of your clan. But your father would not accept his village becoming run by a woman, even if that woman was his beloved daughter. And he did love you, of course, even a youkai would not be confused about that. When your mother died, your father became blind to Kohaku's inadequacy, unable to comprehend that this boy, who was bright, was best suited to the job of a record-keeper, or an artisan. No, Sango, your father made himself believe his son was a killer of youkai. You remember his progress, Sango? At the age of eleven, he fought alongside children of eight and nine, and even then could barely keep up with them. He was idyllic, quick to daydream, quick to panic."
"Don't speak ill of my father."
"I do not intend to. He was a man deserving of respect. But he was not perfect, Sango. And it is foolishness to suggest he did not play a role in Kohaku's death. He brought that child – he was a mere child, Sango! – to an extermination, under the foolish assumption his son would have some sort of battlefield epiphany, and draw some great skill through the heat of his first real battle. Your father believed that love and good intentions were sufficient to protect Kohaku. He was foolish to think this. If I had not fought you then, some other demon would have, and Kohaku would have fallen no less easily. Only a madman would come to a battle with a sword in each hand and a sleeping babe strapped across his chest."
"He could have protected him, if we were merely fighting a simple spider-demon, as we thought we were. Father and I could have kept him safe as he learned how to fight."
"No, Sango. If you protected him, he would not learn. And if you did not protect him, he would die. His lack of heart in fighting is not something he would have grown into. It was simply not in his nature. He could not have lived the life your father gave him, Sango."
"And the life you gave him?"
"He survives. He survives because I made him survive. He viewed Hell, Sango, and he loved it. It burned away all that made him weak. I brought him back to this world, and he was tempered steel. And he lives, because this Naraku demands he live."
"And why do I live, Naraku?"
"Because it is better than death."
"I lived with my friends before."
"You lived as a girl then. As a thing. They would not let you be what it is you are meant to be."
"And what is that?"
"A killer."
"I was meant to kill demons."
"Humans are demons."
"They are not."
"Then why did you not kill Inuyasha?"
"He was different."
"They are all different. Humans and demons, evil and good, strength and weakness. There is no distinction. You kill the things that threaten you, and threaten your interests, and call it morality. It is no different than what demons do to humans."
"You say that because you are a demon."
"I am a thing above both humans and demons. I interact with humans much of the daylight hours, and they never call me demon to my face. Some say, behind my back, that I have demonic powers. Because they doubt a human can wield my strength. And they are right. But they are so close to the truth, they do not even see it."
"So I am a killer."
"You are a killer. And also a sister. Kohaku could not live without my influence. Deprived of me, his memories would destroy him. With me, he lives as you live. And you can live together. And besides that, you can be a woman."
His hand touched her between her legs.
"I do not wish to be a woman," she said.
He receded.
"Then don't be. I can remake your body if you so desire. Would you be happier barrel-chested and with a cock?"
"I would not."
He shrugged.
"What about the others, Naraku? Kagome, Inuyasha, Houshi-sama. Even Kirara."
"They died," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you can't wander aimlessly, without so much as a lesser clan's seal, through a massive civil war, carrying odd weapons, and just hope beyond hope that you never run across a brigade of soldiers who were better than you, and who perhaps could not tell the difference, on sight, between a group of demon-hunters and a group of shinobi who had just assassinated one of their own."
"I can't believe you didn't play a part in this."
"My part was minor. The thing that killed your friends was the fact they paraded around a region of this world where human life was exceptionally cheap, while believing their skill and good intentions made them invincible. They were good, Sango, I give them that, but it was inevitable they ran into someone better."
"So that was it, then? You just let them die."
Naraku laughed.
"Now you understand, Sango. Yes. I let them die. It was within my power to interfere, and save them by any means I chose. But their continued existence was not part of my plan. Inuyasha was a formidable enemy, for a time. But my powers grew, partly due to the jewel shards, partly due to my various self-improvements. Since Hakurei-san, I've stayed above the level at which Inuyasha could pose a threat to my life. After that, he was not fit enough even for me to practice my skills upon. I have no need to save the life of someone useless."
"And Kagome?"
"Mostly irrelevant. Her ability to see jewel shards would have been most useful, but capturing her alive had proven too difficult. She is not the sort of person I can control easily."
"And Houshi-sama?"
"It amazes me that the monk, who is intelligent in many other ways, believes I did not realize the Kazaana was a weapon when I gave it to his family. The Kazaana is my mark on him, my means of control. Whenever I want him out of commission, I provoke him and throw some saimyoushou at him, and he falls for it every time. Every time, Sango."
"I can't believe you didn't kill them."
"My dear Sango," he cooed. "I don't care what you believe. You know that."
V.
"You have brought me the last three pieces of the jewel."
She stood, unmoving, two jewel shards in her hand, freshly-taken from the wolf-youkai's legs.
"Kohaku," she said.
"It would take me no effort at all to revive him."
"I would do anything," she said.
He took the two jewel shards from her hand, glanced at the third, still embedded in her brother.
She undressed before him, bowed before him, spread before him, with no hesitation, no aversion, no fear, no shame, no doubt, and Kohaku watched.
He did not caress or kiss or touch, but envelop, and she was a dancer in the dark, and the dark danced inside her. It was like drowning in hot tar. She wore him as a coat, a pelt, and the thick oil sought every bit of skin, every fold of flesh, every corner and crevice, seeking innocence, seeking purity, searching out a part of Sango that was not beyond redemption, a part he had yet to claim his own, and he found none, and she knew he would not. He penetrated her like tempered steel, between her legs, yes, but also between her ribs, and between her eyes, and he filled her with molten iron, made her veins run hot and thick, blasted through the recesses of her mind, finding memory, regret, sadness, and burned them in hellfire.
She had already surrendered everything she loved to Naraku, but even after all this time, she kept the things she hated to herself, locked away where not even her waking mind could see.
"Even your nightmares belong to me," he said to her, and her misery became smoke and soot and ash, and she was remade yet again.
When he was done, he receded, like the last wave of a tsunami, and left her, splayed and wet, bloody and naked, and Kohaku draped a blanket over his sister, kissed her mouth, and told her she was beautiful.
VI.
"Do you know why I like you?" he asked.
"I find it difficult to believe you like anyone."
"Perhaps I use the wrong word. Let my correct myself. Do you know why I do not cut out your uterus and make you wear it as a hat?"
Sango smiled at this Naraku, who was very nearly flirting with her.
"No, Naraku-sama, I do not."
"Because you entertain me. You will, once in a while, do things that very nearly surprise me. That is very rare."
"Not because I am a slave to you?"
"I have no use for slaves. Your will is your own, even though it is my will as well."
Her body still ached, but only slightly. He had been more gentle than Takeda, and unlike him, Naraku respected her enough to not lie about loving her, or feign concern for her pain.
"Why did you ask that of me?"
He laughed.
"Just because you can?"
"No, Sango."
"Because you wanted to demonstrate something?"
"Yes."
"You wanted to see what I would give up to you. Whether or not I would hesitate. Whether there was any part of me that continued to defy you."
"No, Sango. I already knew you wouldn't."
"You wanted me to see it."
"I did." He caressed her hair. "My pretty Sango. If I had a soul, I might want to love you. If I were human, I might want to fuck you."
"Let me bear your child," she said, and recalled making a similar offer to someone else, long ago.
"Don't be stupid," Naraku said, and he was gone.
VII.
He came to her with a new face, and she asked what name he preferred now, to go with that new face, and he smiled with teeth sharper and more numerous than any creature had right to have. "Father," he said. "Creator," he said. "Master and God."
She called him God.
She curled up with him, around and within him, and whispered, and begged him to show her all the ways of being dead.
He laughed as he always laughed, as the dead laugh, rotten leaves stirred in November winds, overripe fruit shaken in a wet wooden bucket, bitter chill, graveyards, icicles on bleach-white teeth, and he caressed her, and she was his, every bit of flesh, every drop of blood, and he could break her, drink her, eat her, play with her inside and outside, within and without, wear her like a robe, and throw her away when he was done.
There were many days when she would lie on his floor, smelling of him, warm with him, and the glint of the jewel would catch her eye, and for an instant she would come close to remembering, but never did she come close to caring.
VIII.
The year was 1571 and Sango was now thirty-six years old.
She played a shadowy role in Naraku's service at first, assassinating key members of the Oda family until about 1558, whereupon Naraku was the only Oda left in Owari. By 1560 she was fighting on the open battlefield of Okehazama, sending Hiraikotsu through cavalry and exposing the flanks of infantry to Naraku's forces. Thereafter she served as an advance scout as Naraku's armies occupied Mikawa, Totomi, and Suruga. Eight years later, commanding a full division, she killed a thousand men in Sakai while capturing the musket foundry, and a hundred more while guarding the supply trains that transported these weapons to Naraku's siege camps outside Kyoto. Kohaku was equally successful in Omi.
Sango lounged in the half-completed castle at Azuchi, staring off into the distance at Lake Biwa. General Kohaku, now 31 years old, was supervising the 18,000 men that have been occupying Kyoto for the past three years. Sango, commanding a replacement force of 45,000 men now camped at Azuchi, was currently protecting the Shikon Jewel.
Messengers from Kohaku informed her that warrior-monks from the mountains were endangering Naraku's hold on the city.
In September, she would march on Mount Hiei and murder twenty thousand Buddhist monks.