Tapestry Ch6: The pros and cons of Barefeet
Alt text: In which Izayoi grows up a little and makes a questionable choice
Izayoi loved the smell of rain. It made the world smell brighter, fresher, as if to compensate for the muted colors of the clouds above. She would watch the leaves turned up to the pour, the world humming with the thrumming beat of the rainfall, a choir falling from the sky in a thrilling buzz. The smell made her excited, joyful. It made her toes curl and her fingers inch for activity.
She fondly remembered the days of her childhood when she was permitted to tie up her hair and shed to one layer to dash through the storm, giggling and jumping from puddle to puddle in the courtyard. She could still remember the feel of the moist earth beneath her feet, the squish of it between her toes. And then the sound of thunder breaking, rolling, her own shriek in its wake, and she was back on the porch hallway, laughing moments after the fear left her.
It rained last night, and the hot morning left the world feeling steamy and stuffy in its wake. Despite the claustrophobic nature of the weather, Nyoko was up and about. The high sun hid the pair in shadow beneath the walkway as they strolled and Nyoko chatted animatedly with her sister-in-law, another rare occurrence.
"-and then we took a walk around the courtyard and he told me about all the sorts of things he had done that day—or well, was at least told to do that day. It wasn't really complaining, but my, our honorable Father does have a busy life, if what he assigns for Ichirou was only some of the duties he attends too."
Izayoi simply smiled and nodded, biting back the venom she would let seep for her brother had Nyoko's smile not shown so brightly in the misty mid day. She was one-hundred percent convinced what her brother had been doing was complaining, but even so, it seemed like he had taken her advice for "a sick dog," and the treatment looked to be working wonders. The two were acting more than civil, at least. Friends, perhaps—no more of this silly blushing nonsense from a married couple. Well, not as much. So she let it slide, and allowed Nyoko to paint the past afternoon in a rosy pallet.
Nyoko was, uncharacteristically, quite the chatterbox (even if it was on Izayoi's least favorite subject) and after listening to a lifetime's worth of blushing tales of her dreamy brother, Izayoi was thinking of a way to gently separate herself from the girl. She eyed the courtyard with longing, the garden still wet and dripping from the night before.
Her escape came in the form of them turning the corner and running smack dab into a group of men.
Izayoi was able to catch herself before the collision and abruptly stopped. Nyoko on the other hand—closer to the wall, deaf to the second group's murmurings as she prattled on herself, head turned away from the corner to smile faintly at her sister-in-law—was not quick enough. The small woman barreled—as much as the butterfly weighted woman could barrel—into one of the men.
With a shrill shriek of surprise she pushed away, sending herself instead to the floor. Before Izayoi could catch her herself, an arm shot out, a bracer strapped solidly too it, grabbing Nyoko's elbow, effectively stopping her fall—and perhaps dislocating her shoulder, from how rough the action looked compared to the delicate girl.
"Nyoko!" Suddenly Ichirou was by her side, helping her support her weight under her own legs, allowing the arm of the stranger too release her.
The stranger in armor.
Heart fluttering in sudden expectation, Izayoi eyes flew to meet his face, and was disappointed. Stern, dark eyes sat in an equally stern face. She quickly moved on to the last of the three men.
"Nyoko, good gracious!" Her father's whiskery voice was unmistakable. He retrieved a handkerchief to dab the underside of his face with. "I didn't expect you to be up and about, my dear."
The couple had finally risen back to their feet, though Nyoko refused to let go of Ichirou's arm.
"M-my apologies." The wife said, breathless, face downcast as she made for a shallow bow.
"No need, Nyoko, let me introduce you." He faced the stranger, first pointing to Izayoi "Young Lord, this is my younger sister, Izayoi," He then gestured to the woman on his arm. "And my wife, Lady Nyoko." Izayoi didn't miss that he had left the "Lady" off her name, despite the formalness of the introduction.
The stranger dressed in samurai armor tore his eyes away from Izayoi—had he been staring the whole time?— to take in the other woman in front of him.
"Charmed." He responded curtly.
Izayoi caught the sight of Nyoko's grip tightening on her brother's arm as the man's gaze fell upon her. Ichirou cleared his throat.
"If you'll excuse us I'll…I'll escort my, my wife back to her chambers." He was able to choke out.
Perhaps the stupid stuttering between the two hadn't been completely done away with. Izayoi sighed.
The head of the family looked like he was keeping from shaking his head disapprovingly at his son but instead brushed past his children and daughter-in-law. "As you will, then, Ichirou." He directed the samurai to follow. "This way, Lord Takemaru."
Again, as Izayoi looked back to the warrior, she caught him staring before stepping past her as well to follow her father. After they entered the estate and were out of sight, Izayoi turned to her brother and sister-in-law.
Nyoko was looking up at Ichirou with shy and fluttering eyes as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head and smiled back.
Izayoi was going to barf.
She turned swiftly away, making her way toward the garden entrance.
"Izayoi-"
"I'll see you at dinner, Nyoko! It was lovely catching up with you." Izayoi paused to wave at her concerned in-law. Her eyes met her brother's only briefly in farewell. "Ichirou." She added chilly.
With his wives' eyes distracted, trained with concern on her own face, Ichirou took the opportunity to stick his tongue out, pulling a face at her.
Izayoi turned back around with a huff, making like she was angry the whole time she bit back a smile his goofing caused.
She faintly heard the slide of a door as the couple made their way indoors and by the time she reached the steps down into the moist courtyard she was truly, blissfully alone.
The noble stepped gently down into the garden.
Izayoi had a secret.
A very unladylike secret that she now indulged in as she carefully stepped across the grass, fingertips outreached to brush the petals of the blooming osmanthus that lined the stone path traveling through the place. She took a deep breath of the hot, sticky air. Never mind the dragging of her dress in the wet earth, never mind the dew drops that fell on her from under the plum tree she all but glided under. She walked tip-toe at moments, then flat-footed the next, relishing in the feeling.
Peering off the path, Izayoi spotted a bright dot of red. She blinked. Yes, right there, in the sea of camellia, stark against the white flowers—one single red bloom. She abandoned the trail along the path made for her, pushing past the chromatic plants on display to reach it. She was close enough now to see it, to even pick out the veins in the soft lips of the flower. Yes, it was real, a black sheep here among her white sisters—but she needed to touch it. Her finger rubbed against her palm for want of it.
The fragrance was lovely and all around her, the thick air holding the perfume, trapping it to swirl around her head as she leaned into the bush, arm raised, fingers stretching—
Then, sharp pain. She cringed back.
"Ah!"
She stumbled back, away from the shrub and the blood red flower that sat there, undisturbed by her pain. It arched through her foot and up her leg. She had stepped on something sharp—a rock? Forgotten tool? Izayoi desperately wanted to inspect the damaged, but her elaborate robes, even after she had shed a few layers in accord with the weather, prevented it. She tentatively tried to put weight on it, moving to get back on the path. The injury stung and she hissed.
Hopping on one foot, in a most undignified manner for a noble woman, Izayoi was able to make her way to the stone bench just under the plum tree. Finally stable enough for the inspection, Izayoi once again defied her station in need for the practical, pulling layers of her jūnihitoe apart enough around her legs so she could pull her injured foot into her lap.
She glanced around as she did, though. She was practical when it came down to it, but she was also a Lady, and only felt comfortable sitting around in the state of dishevelment she was in—legs bare for the world to see—in the strict confidence that she was alone out in the garden. Even if a servant were to dash briefly onto the encircling porch for some reason or another, she was all but hidden amongst the foliage and flowers, no one could see her legs. They would have to descend from the sky to surprise her.
Izyoi looked down, appraising the cut with clenched teeth. It was perhaps half the length of her finger and positioned on the pad of her foot just below her toes. She was bleeding from the gash—a surprising amount, in fact. The pain of it seemed very little ompared with the savage look of it. Whatever must have bit into her must have been sharp.
It was in this moment—sitting under the just blossoming pink of the plum tree, flanked on either side with spring flowers and bright green foliage, glimmering in the wet sun-after-the-rain rays that speckled down between the branches above her to splash pocked shadows to swim across her form—picturesque in every way but for her disheveled form curled over her dirty and bleeding bare foot in her lap, that he appeared.
She felt the figure in front of her first, felt the shadow fall across her and looked up instinctually.
Golden eyes.
Her heart stopped.
"You're injured?"
She simply stared, trying to process that he was here, that the demon she hadn't seen hide nor hair of in over a month, that she had last parted from dry-mouthed after hearing the most chilling of ghost stories—one that kept her up at night, one that left her shivering under a mountain of blankets, fearing every creak of her settling estate, every light padding footstep of late-serving aids or guards patrolling the walkways—the demon that had haunted her dreams after, eyes she fell into, twisting in a frantic struggle to tread the precious liquid—that demon now stood in front of her.
"…Princess?"
He was in the same garb. Armor over what must have been silk robes, with the sheen they gave off even in shadow, chest plate, pauldrons, vambraces, two long flowing pelts that seemed to twist eerily behind him even as he stood still, as if the things were alive—Then Izayoi thought of her own appearance. At some point her heart must have started beating again, for it froze a second time in her chest.
"Princess."
Her eyes snapped back up to his face. The grip she held onto her foot with was white knuckled. Gold eyes again. Inhuman. Captivating, and…concerned?
"You're injured." It wasn't a question this time but a statement. His eyes weren't on her face, she realized, but attentively staring down at her bleeding foot.
With little ceremony, the demon General pulled the sword from the sash at his waist, enabling him to kneel in front of her.
Whatever color that might have been left in her face was gone now.
He reached toward her lap to take hold of her injured appendage. Long nails, slim yet sharp, tipped each intimidating digit of hands that were large enough to engulf the foot they aimed for. Her grip tightened and she sucked in a frightened breath.
He stopped, inches from his target, instead casting eyes up to meet hers.
He was close.
Much, much to close. Above the purple markings slicing across his intimidating-enough-as-they-were cheekbones were those inhuman eyes she kept seeing in her dream, lashes long against his tan skin. Shimmering bright and shifting in adjustment, changing focus as they flitted to fixate on one of her eyes then the other. Wide and almost...innocent. He was searching her face, that much she could tell. He didn't seem to bat a hypnotizing eye at their position, unchaperoned, alone in the garden, in her state of undress.
"Are…you alright, my Lady?" His voice still held little emotion, but it was softer in volume, as if he were worried of frightening her. She nearly choked.
Too late on that front.
He leaned back with a very quiet sigh.
"Forgive me, I am not yet experienced in reading human facial expressions." He paused a moment before continuing. "You smell of fear, though. I swear, I mean you no harm."
Izayoi couldn't help herself. Every muscle in her body seemed to release, tired after the continuous strain of tightening in her fright. She couldn't help herself because seeing the man—the demon, whatever he may be—kneeling in front of her, hand laid over his heart as he guaranteed her safety, she couldn't help but believe him.
She released her foot. Fear was replaced by shame, and she blushed, quickly trying to pull her kimono bottoms back together. Her foot began to slip back to the ground.
He made to stop her and she froze once more at the prospect of his touch.
But she wasn't afraid. Not anymore.
He kept his eyes locked with hers as he reached a second time—slowly—for her injured foot with his clawed hands. Izayoi bit her lip. She didn't think she'd ever get used to looking at those inhuman eyes as they looked at her, pinned her in place, dissected her. He had the eyes of a predator.
He was gentle—so incredibly gentle—as he gripped around her ankle, pulling it toward himself. Gentle, but strong. He moved her foot and the leg attached to it smoothly, effortlessly. It was unnatural.
It was inhuman.
He turned her foot over in his hand, examining it and the cut and…did he just sniff it?
"You don't wear shoes?"
He'd noticed. A fresh pang of shame shot through Izayoi. Her secret was out. She smiled shyly back at him, fighting the heat creeping over her cheeks, tugging desperately at her kimono in a vain attempt to close it further.
"I…don't like shoes." She confessed. It was ridiculous, and she knew it. She had hated the binding things her whole life, ditching them any chance she got as a child. "Never have." Now grown, her attire was long enough that she could hide the bare pads under her flowing gowns, leaving none the wiser, but…it did have consequences.
Case in point.
She bowed her head. Eyes stinging, she waited for the hot judgment of his silence, expecting nothing more from the enigmatic demon.
She didn't expect laugher. But that's what she heard. A deep rumble, short but genuine. She shot her head up immediately, but was still only able to catch the tail end of the brief sound. What she was blessed with seeing was the small smile that curved the corner of his lips ever so slightly, and the way his eyes glinted in mirth as they stared at her. The expression exposed sharp teeth, until then hidden. Her stomach flip-flopped.
He tilted his head a little after the look faded, only the afterglow of the moment left in his eyes.
"You're a strange human, aren't you?"
The thorny flowers she had been mentally stitching around his head dropped dead to the floor at that.
"H-how rude!" she stammered. She had half a mind to kick the unimaginably powerful demon with the very same foot he still possessed.
"On the contrary, it is the height of compliments." He calmly continued, pulling her foot back under his nose to examine. Stubbornly she tried to pull it away. It didn't budge. Not. An. Inch. It was as if her hand was in the grasp of a statue. He looked back up at her, smirk back on his face. "I've never met a human so unique." He said deeply, undeterred by her rebellion.
Izayoi continued to blush angrily.
Eyes back to her foot, he repositioned it in his hands.
"How did you get this, Princess?"
Izayoi pursed her lips, toying of the idea of not answering him out of spite. All it took was for those eyes to briefly lock with hers again to change her mind.
"I stepped on something."
"Oh?" The General shifted, lifting one of the ends of the long sash tied around his waist to his mouth. Effortlessly, he tore the fabric with his teeth, again briefly flashing fangs. Izayoi's stomach again gave a strange lurch at the sight.
Inhuman.
He draped the fabric over her ankle.
"I have the understanding that humans are frail enough to die from simple cuts, even taking days to heal the ones they survive from."
Seeming to have decided on something, the lord General gave his thumb a lick—again the gleam of his fangs—before running the thick digit along her foot, wiping the crusting blood from the cut. Izayoi bristled. What was he…?
The General looked up at her expectantly as he snatched the torn fabric back from her ankle. Did he expect a response? After that? Izayoi shook her head, trying to regain proper thought. He was a demon. No decorum, no boundaries.
"N-not unless it gets infected. Something this small is nothing if cleaned properly."
"I see." He said before doing something that stopped all the thoughts she had just succeeded in restarting. He stuck his tongue out once again between his sharp carnies to lap her blood right off his thumb. Then he ran it over her cut once more and did it again.
"Then you'd better make sure you get this wound cleansed."
Izayoi was frozen again, all thought gone, numb as he then patched her foot up the rest of the way, using the torn sash cloth to wrap tightly around her foot.
He released her foot then and stood, replacing the sword he had removed to kneel before her back in his now uneven belt.
The General as it were, was quite proud of his handiwork, having never had the opportunity to bandage a human before. He had worked while only understanding the theory behind it, and thought he had done a fairly good job given only his rudimentary knowledge.
"Where was it you cut your foot?" he asked. Whatever it was that was able to injure her had no right in staying where it was.
The noble woman stared back at him blankly.
Not this again. Did he break her?
"Princess?"
She seemed to come back to life at her title, jumping a bit in shock at the sound, as if she had forgotten he could speak.
"Oh!" She turned, still a bit lost it seemed, and pointed. "Over there. I was…I was trying to get to that red camellia over there."
"The flower?" he clarified, taking a deep breath, sorting through the mess of scents—rain from last night lingering in the air, the smell of pollen, perfume from the blooms around him (the scent of the flower in question, his own identification of individuality from the rest. "Camellia" he strictly labeled, filing the knowledge away), the sweet musk of this girl's scent, of her excitement, of her pertinence—and the sharp tang of her blood, the taste of which was still on his tongue, a spice he could all to easily get addicted to.
There was a trail of the smell. As easy to follow as a line in the air, from the stoned path to the bush. He followed it.
To Izayoi's amazement, the demon lord lifted off the ground. Not to step forward, no. He levitated.
He floated over through the air, nearly parallel to the ground when he finally paused in front of the white shrub. He reached forward curiously, plucking the red bloom from its branch. He studied the camellia briefly before flying back, gently standing once more in front of her, the object of her pain obviously forgot in favor of her fascination.
Sitting on the bench, she remained lower than him, who was tall and demeaning anyway. As to reach her he bowed, presenting her with the flower.
Izayoi pinked, the image of the powerful creature—man—bowing down to her, one arm folded behind his back as he held out a follow to her was nothing short of enchanting. Despite the predatory eyes, despite the war paint birthmarks of his face, despite the claw tips that balanced against the blood red blossom in such contrast, despite the marble spears she knew hid behind the thin line of his lips, her heart leapt at the sight.
After a few long moments of the young noble staring at him agape, the demon Lord decided some instructions were in order.
"For you, Princess." He explained.
Izayoi was proud her hand didn't shake when she reached up to take the camellia from him—though her heart did leap when their fingers briefly touched. She stuck her face in the flower, ashamed of the look her face must have held.
"All this 'princess' business from you…I rather don't like that title." She murmured into the flower. "My brother used to tease me, calling me that. I wish you wouldn't."
After he remained silent, Izayoi ventured out of the pedals she had escape to, eyes lighting to his face. He had straightened form his bow and was smiling again. It was very small, very subtle, but she had a feeling it was kind of a big deal for him.
"You haven't done me the honor of gracing me with your name." His voice was honey, nearly sickeningly sweet. Something about it felt like teasing to her, the over formality of it, but she brushed it aside in favor of holding her head high as she introduced herself.
"Izayoi. Hiyashi Izayoi." She floundered a bit despite herself, matching his intense stare. It bore into her.
"Sixteenth night…" he mused the meaning aloud.
"Yes, well, mother wasn't very inventive. The firstborn son was Ichirou. The daughter born on the sixteenth night…well."
"Supposedly the most beautiful of nights."
A quiet moment passed between them. Izayoi marveled at her comfort in his presence as she fingered the pedals of the gifted flower. Well, not calm, not exactly, she reminded herself, stomach doing flip-flops and face burring. But she didn't fear him.
Not one. Bit.
"You're beautiful, Izayoi."
She nearly dropped her flower, staring up at him. Had she imagined the words?
"I have a proposition for you." He added, not addressing the declaration at all, had it been real. "I am trying to accustom myself with humans and I am of the opinion that you are just the one to help me in this."
Izayoi's eyes widened at the words.
"M-me?"
He simply nodded.
"Why?"
He laughed again, and this time she saw it—watched how despite its short span and reserved sound, how it still lit up his face.
"You are truthful—to a fault, from what I've seen. Elegant, succinct when you're not off daydreaming. Doubtlessly knowledgeable in the nature of humanity, being one yourself and…unique." He smiled again. His eyes burned. "I like unique."
Izayoi's hands were shaking. She clasped them together to try and still them. All the silly blushing, the girlish thoughts and rose-embroidered fantasies she had stitched around his frame were done away with in face of this proposal.
Because this was a demon.
This was a creature impossibly strong, impossibly different, capable of impossible cruelty, but most of all, he was inhuman. There was a disconnect, an empathy that he innately lacked. And for all his practice and poise Izayoi could tell that is was, in fact, and act. Even now, the gossamer of his humanoid form was a disguise; she knew it, in back of her mind. His reasons behind them may have been pure enough. He didn't wish to frighten her, he didn't wish to offend her humanoid sensibilities—
But this, Inu no Tiasho, high Demon Lord of the Western lands, was not human. He was dangerous. And Izayoi should say no.
The General lost his smile. She watched it melt from his face. Then he repeated the first question he ever asked her.
"Do I frighten you?"
Again she answered him truthfully—She was incapable of lying when locked in combat with the yellow of his eyes.
"Yes."
He studied her face, eyes once again bouncing form one brown orb to the other. Slowly, he took a knee before her, as he had moments ago tending to her injury. But he didn't stop there. Carefully, he laid a hand over his heart and bowed his head.
A mountain might have well bowed to a daisy.
"I promise, I will protect you with my life. No harm will come to you, not even from myself. This I swear."
There were no embroidered fantasies, no spur of the moment infatuations. Izayoi was young, barely eighteen, and she remained terrified. She should say no—would say no.
"I accept."
But she believed him.
He looked up, eyes fierce. There was new excitement in the gold, burning energy through his frame. He all but glowed with it. Suddenly he was at his feet.
"Then our meetings start now. I am your indebted pupil." There was that almost mocking tone of his again. Izayoi was still shaking even when she attempted a smile back at him.
"When shall we meet?"
His head cocked to the side.
"I believe there is a human saying—favored by the more temporal, at least—no time like the present?"
Her heart leapt.
"And in the future?"
His eyes left hers to cast above her, lost in the criss-crossing bows of the blooming tree.
"…Do you know what day it is?"
Izayoi couldn't form the word no. She simply stared. His gaze met back with hers before he stepped forward. All confidence, he reached down, snatching the red camellia from her lap, clawed hands warm and gentle as he touched her face. Izayoi was light-headed.
Pushing back the dark ink of her hair to tuck behind her ear, he carefully positioned the flower there, the blood red pedals paling her porcelain skin even more. His fingers lingered there a moment, sharp nails trailing down her jaw.
"Tonight will be the sixteenth of the month." He pulled his hand away. "Of course we will meet Iazyoi on the sixteenth night of each month."
He seemed smug at the silly pun, completely wrong for the gravity of the mood, but Izayoi couldn't help but laugh.
"Bells," The General thought. "A laugh just like bells."
And so the promise was made, the date set. Izayoi had made a pact with a demon.
And the years passed.
Well, that was it ladies and gentlemen, the last chronological chapter of Tapestry.
IMPORTANT: Be prepared, from here on out, WE WILL BE JUMPING ALL OVER THE PLACE IN THE TAPESTRY TIMELINE, anywhere from after Inu no Tiasho's death, then perhaps back to their courting, and even after that ricocheting to the turbulent time of Izayoi's pregnancy maybe. We'll hit it all-just not in order. I'm convinced it's the only way I can write and I apologise if this upsets any of you.
Please REVEIW! It means the world to me. :3