Chapter 6
Weaving the Tale
"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it." - Roald Dahl
Kagome slid into the limo, legs trembling. She hated when she lost control of her limbs like that.
Stupid body. Work the way you're supposed to.
At least Taisho hadn't noticed the minute tremors. Or, she hoped he hadn't noticed.
The man slid into the seat next to her, face unreadable. Crossing those stupid legs of hers, she busied herself with arranging the skirt of her dress, marveling at the extent of her apprehension. While she had no real way of knowing his intentions she knew he wouldn't put her in a compromising situation. Although her better judgment told her she should not be in the limo with him let alone any man she'd only just met (because stories like that usually ended up with at least one person chained to a radiator in a scary basement) she couldn't explain how she knew that nothing bad was going to happen to her. Although the voice in her head still wasn't quite convinced she wasn't going to be sold into sex slavery or have a kidney stolen, her gut told her Taisho probably didn't make his money by stealing unsuspecting ladies' parts.
And she wanted to hear more from him. His story captivated her. She was so wrapped up in his tale that she'd hardly taken a bite of her dinner, although, he didn't seem to mind. He seemed pretty smug that he had her rapt attention. Kagome found it hard not to become emotionally involved in the tale. She was the first person to admit she loved a good story. As a child, her mother read her the most dramatic and riveting of fairytales. But it had been awhile since she felt so moved by a story.
His voice painted the picture for her. In her mind, she saw the three men and the young girl, locked in a life and death battle, stuck together, forced to rely on one another. In her imagination, she watched as they traveled by night, careful to keep the girl and the sword hidden. She saw the warlord watching the girl, his feelings evident to no one, masked by indifference. It was pride and an utter ignorance of emotion that prevented him from acting. But, Kagome heard it in the story, saw it in the vision's eyes; he had cared for her, loved her, even if he hadn't had the capacity to show it, to say it, or to act on it.
Her reverie was broken by Taisho's voice.
"Would you like to hear the rest?"
Lights danced across the windows of the limo, casting a strange glow. His hair appeared silver in the dark. There was a haunting quality to his hushed tones and for a moment, she had the strangest urge to reach out and hold his hand. The thought passed as soon as it came and instead, she clutched her own hands together.
"Yes."
She heard him draw a deep breath as if he were going to plunge under water and never resurface.
"How many years the warlord tracked the demon, no one knows. Time was nothing to them. They could wait forever to battle. The warlord, although calculating and patient, was not willing to idly wait for the demon to attack. The warlord decided that there would be no more innocent deaths. Not if he could prevent it.
"The countryside was in a state of turmoil. The demon's power and influence reached into the villages of the lords and shoguns he swayed to his cause. The warlord met many grave sights. The demon's power was greater than he previously imagined.
"The warlord soon realized the demon had abandoned his quest for the sword. Instead, he turned his attention to acquiring all the pieces of a mythic and powerful jewel. The jewel had been shattered into several pieces long before the demon ever possessed it. But even broken, it increased the demon's power and that of his followers.
"As the warlord tracked the demon, he collected the pieces of the jewel that the demon gave to his warriors. They were twisted and strengthened by the magic but the warlord prevailed each time he fought. And finally, when the two enemies met in battle, the warlord possessed the greater half of the jewel.
"The jewel, much like the sword, had a mind of its own. Its history is mostly unknown. What was known was that the gem was intended for good but, as with most things, power, however well-intentioned, has a way of corrupting and ruining. It's interesting to see how the stone attempted to change its own fate, to fall into the hands of those who would use it for what it was meant for. The warlord was the one whose hands the jewel desired to be in.
"What you must understand is that beings of this powerful magnitude carve their way into places in this world. They leave behind pieces of their existence, like a footprint preserved in clay. Their souls or their powers are so great that they are never completely eradicated. The jewel, the sword, the warlord, the demon, ancient spirits, other great objects of power, they will all return one day, perhaps in a different form, perhaps in the same. So an ending then is not dying, per se, but that is the best word to use.
"During the battle between warlord and demon, the tainted jewel, the half that was corrupted with evil, was ripped from the demon's grasp. By completing the jewel, the warlord stripped the demon of his greatest powers. It was a gruesome battle. At its finish, the warlord killed the demon but paid the price for his victory. He lost his arm. But this was of little concern. He was more concerned with the thought that the demon would find a way out of death.
"The warlord called on his companions the mage and the forger; they wanted to prevent the demon from rising again. They decided to seal the demon away… but, again, only for a time. Whether the demon would return, or another appears that was his equal, they would undoubtedly face the same evil again. But, they could forestall the rise of it for as long as possible.
"And so, the three companions made a decision to prevent, at least for a time, the resurgence of the demon's powers. Using the sword, the jewel, the weapons that the forger and the mage possessed, as well as their very own power, the men sealed the demon and his powers away at the cost of their own. The sword and jewel disappeared into the ether, hidden away from all who had the ability to possess it, even the men who fashioned it. The warlord, the forger, and the mage, now shadows, parted. They went to separate corners of the earth and bided their time, waiting for the return of the demon and his power."
Taisho paused in his story, as the car rolled to an easy stop. The door opened and Taisho stepped out. Extending his hand to Kagome, he waited a silent shadow. She hesitated; he could sense her trepidation. But then a determined look settled on her expressive face and she placed her small hand in his, allowing him to help her up and out.
Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he guided her around the car and within sight of his home. The estate was small compared to the one in Japan, but he was rarely ever in the states, and this suited him quite well for short stays. Against the dark sky and the damp circle drive, the house glistened slightly, winking, beckoning them forward.
"Do you still want to see the sword?"
Kagome stepped gingerly on the pavement, careful to avoid the small puddles collecting rain.
"I want to see it now more than ever. But is that the end of the sword's history?"
Taisho thought for a moment, "No. But the legend I told you, at least that part of it, has ended. The sword's journey after that point is a mystery. So, while the end of my story is not the end of its history, that's all I can tell you for now." They walked up the steps of the house and through the large front doors.
Inside, Kagome's eyes widened. The house was immaculate. Now, this was how you adulted. It was tasteful and undeniably the home of a very well to do man. Wood floors, art on the walls. It could be (and probably had been) in a home magazine spread. Two large staircases sprawled on either side of the entryway. It was huge, but still welcoming. Taisho did not give her long to study the other rooms and halls that they passed by. He whisked her away, into the farthest hallway and farthest room.
She was pulled into a dark room. By the faint echoes off the darkened walls, she reasoned the room was large, but her eyes weren't adjusted to the gloom to see well. Taisho felt the grip on his arm slacken slightly, and he gently disengaged himself.
"I'll turn on the lights. Stay here."
He slipped away, melting into the darkness so quickly and fluidly Kagome lost sight of him instantly.
Above her, a dim flicker of light began to dispel the darkness. Blinking, she turned in a small circle, her eyes searching the fading dark. Taisho appeared out of the shadows again, his eyes gleaming, alerting her to his presence before she saw the outline of his body. It was a weird trick of the dim lights the way his eyes flashed in the semi-dark. Involuntarily, she shivered.
The lights were warming up quickly now and she was able to see that they were in a large round room. Both the floors and the walls were white, no doubt to accentuate the pieces that were so beautifully displayed throughout the room. There were many pillars of different shapes and sizes, standing erect at various points in the room, meant to hold the objects he collected. Several of the pillars housed delicate and beautiful artifacts, protected by pristine glass. Some were empty, waiting for their art.
She wanted to take the time to admire all of it but her eyes immediately found the sword, placed strategically atop a pillar in the middle of the room. Kagome weaved her way around the other pillars and stopped in front of it. It lay on a white fabric behind thick glass, carefully protected.
Taisho stood behind her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze on her back and her anxiety returned. He seemed to sense this and moved away, walking counterclockwise around the pillar. Kagome kept her eyes on the sword, studying it intently. There was a faint buzzing in her ears. Two large hands appeared in her line of sight. Taisho gripped the glass covering and mindful of the precious sword within, removed the barrier.
Kagome glanced up at him and he stared back, face unreadable.
"May I?" she gestured to the sword.
He nodded shortly.
The woman stepped closer, leaned down, and peered at the sword. The metallic sheen sparkled dully against pristine white. She could see her eyes, reflected back at her, strangely distorted in the metal.
"Pick it up."
At his words, her heart thundered. She peered at him over the blade, breath caged like a broken little bird, fluttering around in her chest.
"I don't think-"
"You wanted opportunities to handle artifacts. Here is an opportunity. Pick up the sword."
She drew back slightly, wary. Oh god. He was some kind of weapons fetishist. He was going to ask her to do creepy things while she held a sword. She'd walked herself right into a real pickle, hadn't she?
"Why exactly did you ask me here?" she asked carefully.
He sighed, and it seemed so uncharacteristic of him that it knocked her off guard. "I asked you here so you would have an opportunity of a lifetime."
"Why?"
He leaned against the pillar, his large hands resting on the column, carefully not touching the sword. When they met each other's gaze he smiled.
"Because."
It was Kagome's turn to sigh. Either things were about to get real freaky or he really was that decent of a guy. Deciding she might as well embrace the "adventure" -please, please, don't let this end up with me chained to a radiator- she gave in.
"Do you have any gloves?"
"No gloves."
He'd returned to stand behind her.
"What?" She whirled around to argue with him, but he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her back toward the sword. She went rigid beneath his fingers.
"Why are you arguing with me? You want to do this more than I want you to." Disliking the way the pressure of his hands on her shoulders made her stomach flutter, she slipped from his grasp none too gracefully, pretending she wanted to study the sword closer. "Pick up the sword."
Kagome swallowed the knot in her throat and reached out gingerly, praying to all things holy that her epic klutziness did not make an appearance at this exact moment. Fingertips met cool metal sending goosebumps up her arms. Her hands grasped the hilt and a heady feeling swept over her as the buzz in her ears increased.
"Mr. Taisho, are you sure the history of the sword was just a legend?" She meant it as a joke to both quell her nerves and jostle him out of his sober mood.
"No, I am not."
Laughing lightly she attempted to ignore the sudden nausea rising in her stomach.
Do not throw up on the priceless sword. Do not throw up on the priceless sword. Under no circumstances are you to throw up on the priceless sword.
Securing her grasp on the hilt she readied herself. Hoisting it up a few inches she immediately felt the strain of its mass. Before, lying on the cloth, it gave the impression of elegance and splendor, a light but deadly weapon. But now, in her hands, it appeared mammoth and violent. Staggering under its extraordinary weight, she managed to raise it off the pillar before her arms gave way.
She could think of nothing coherent to screech other than, "Oh, oh, oh," as the priceless sword began to plummet toward the ground.
Strong arms shot out, hands closing over hers, helping her to hold the sword. The first emotion that swept through her was panic followed quickly by… panic. She had almost dropped a sword that was worth more money than she could possibly imagine and now, as a result, Taisho was flush against her back, arms framing her body, helping her hold the sword aloft.
Sword fetishes. Fuck.
"Are you alright?"
She felt his voice through her back. His head was bowed and she could feel his breath in her hair. She willed her lungs to take in oxygen and her legs to stop shaking. It didn't work, of course, but she tried all the same.
"Ummm," she said.
"Ms. Higurashi?"
Kagome's hands were sweating from the rush of adrenaline and the force needed to hold the sword aloft and she squeaked, "I guess my dreams of becoming a sword-wielding maiden will never come to pass."
There was a deep rumbling in her ear; he was laughing.
"Don't give up just yet." She smiled shakily and shifted her feet, moving to place the sword back on the pillar.
"Before you put the sword down and run away from me, take a moment to look at it while it's in your hands."
Kagome was formulating a response that started with personal boundaries and ended with 'no, I will not hold your sword while you take nudie pictures of me, thank you very much', when her headache returned in full force. Through the strange haze, she heard Taisho speak again.
"Kagome. Look at the sword."
She did. Under his hands, she parted her fingers ever so slightly. There was the sliver of the hilt, a violent red, melding beautifully with the dark metal of the blade peeking through. There were intricate carvings on the hilt; she felt the indentions on her skin. Squinting her eyes, she concentrated on the markings, realizing, rather belatedly, that they were not kanji, as she assumed. They were something entirely foreign to her. And yet, the pressure of the hilt in her hands, the scrawling font, felt familiar to her. But she could not unearth any memory of the many similar markings.
"What's the sword's name?"
"What?" Taisho's voice shook with controlled surprise, echoing over the room.
She had no idea where the question came from. "Er, I just wondered if it had a name."
The man who was currently invading her personal space was silent for five heartbeats. Five heartbeats that, were, again, pressed directly into her slightly, she attempted to look at him, but upon realizing how close his face was to hers, she snapped her head back around.
"I don't know its name."
"Oh."
She returned her attention to examining the sword, her gaze traveling from the hilt to the blade. About four to five inches across, the sword seemed to resemble a katana. Kagome knew very little about swords, but she did know enough about them to realize that the tip of this sword was what truly set it apart from any other. As the blade curved upward, artlessly beginning its ascent into a point, there was a perfect circle missing from the metal, about 5 inches away from the end, right in the middle of the metal.
"The sword was forged to have that circular area missing. It was used to channel powerful magic."
Kagome's eyebrows shot up. "What type of magic?"
To her surprise, Taisho began to move her toward the pillar, easily lifting both her arms and the sword. Gently, Kagome set the sword on the cloth. As her hands left the hilt, she felt a sudden absence in her middle and a desolate loneliness filled her.
"I will tell you another time. That is a far more extensive topic than the history of the sword." Slowly, carefully, he drew his hands and arms away from her, and took a backward step. She turned and faced him; her head still pounding and her heart still aching.
"I feel strange," she said, more to herself than to him.
"I will take you home. It was a very long day." He extended a hand to her and she took it gratefully. He was back in better graces with her now that she was decently certain he wasn't a pervert.
Leading her toward the exit, she cast the sword one more glance. Through the fog wrapping around her thoughts, she saw the sword glow, a deep, dark mist pooling in the air around the blade. Before she could open her mouth to exclaim, Taisho pulled her through the door and out of his home. By the time she realized that none of her questions were answered and that she didn't even have the ability to ask them, she was back at her apartment, swaying, sinking down onto the couch in confusion.
The unanswered tumbled around inside her tired, confused, and drained head. When sleep finally claimed her, she dreamt the warlord and his sword were running toward the enemy, attempting, in vain, to save her life.
Taisho hovered in the shadows, stalking around the room, as a predator would hunt its prey.
He'd found her.
Pacing back and forth in the pitch black, he easily avoided the objects in his path, his heightened senses navigating him in the pitch black.
He had found her.
The man ran a shaky hand through his silver-streaked hair. He was furious with himself. His normally tightly managed emotions were raging out of control. His excitement at finding her and his elation at her ability to touch the sword were currently clashing with his anger.
After he received word that the sword was unearthed, he waited. Normally a patient man, he found himself brooding endlessly for the six months following the sword's discovery. He could not make a move on the sword without first finding its Protector. And without the sword, he could not find the Protector. He waited in the eaves with his money at the ready.
Before it was shipped to the states he allowed himself the opportunity to see it. Before it was transported he paid a handsome price simply to gaze at it. The night after he saw the weapon, he dreamed again.
He hadn't dreamt in years.
His visions of the person - the woman - were short and vague. It could have been a challenge to find her in a city this size but he knew she would be connected to the sword somehow. Upon seeing her in the coffee shop he knew, without a doubt, that he found her.
And then she ran into him at the museum. Through his many years and experiences, Taisho had learned the benefit of making pleasantries. As he walked with her through the hallways he was grateful he possessed at least a minimal skill for banter. What little charm he did possess certainly helped in dissecting her character. By the time they reached the sword, any lingering doubts were gone.
Seeing her with the sword was sobering. It reminded him as nothing else did, that this was the beginning of what he worst feared. The sword had resurfaced for a reason. He could only think of one reason why that would be. Why he would travel for hundreds of years, seeking one individual and one sword.
The demon had returned.
Taisho paced, his power vibrating over his skin, surrounding him, billowing over his form, lifting the hair off his collar as if fanned by an invisible wind. Digging sharp fingernails into perfect skin, he willed calm. Looking toward the sword, he could still see the cloudy grey mist hovering innocently.
"I'm sure you find this humorous," he snapped at the weapon which winked cheekily at him in return. "I'm only trying to do what you want and you always make everything needlessly difficult. I found her but now I have to find a way to keep her. You didn't help today either, sending her into trances."
The mist rose questioningly, baiting him. Who, me? It seemed to say.
"I can hear your voice in my head again. You want me to keep her. You need her. I need her because I need you."
A silent sigh swept through the room, dissipating the dark mist over the sword.
This was going to be difficult.
Dammit.
He stalked out of the room, leaving the sword, seemingly harmless, laying on the pillar.
Kagome cracked an eye as light spilled over her face and groaned loudly. Shutting her eyes again she attempted to bury her head under the pillows. Motion at her bedside caused her to part blankets and open her eyes.
"What in the- GAH!"
A large snout poked itself right into her eyeball.
Ajax was perched on his back legs, front paws leaning on the side of the bed, where Kagome observed detachedly, she was in the process of falling off of.
"Sorry, sorry," she glanced at the clock and righted herself. She was late getting his breakfast and she was going to be late for work. Super Fun Awesome Tuesday Times.
As she sat up she was violently smacked in the head and stomach by what felt like a massive, titanic tragedy of a hangover.
Wait.
Where was she last night? She was having a difficult time sorting through her dreams to reality.
She sat massaging her temples, at a complete and total loss. She was not only having trouble remembering last night but the entirety of her yesterday. Was it Monday or Tuesday? Ajax bounced on the side of her bed, jostling her thoughts.
"Sorry, pup." Disentangling herself from her sheets she hurried to feed the dog. He ran after her, skidding into the kitchen, a log with legs. Placing the dish on the floor, she stood, stretching. And then her eyes fell on her coat and purse were strewn across the table.
Memory flared and she sank down into her kitchen chair, burying her face into her hands.
"Oh, no."
Nearly weeping, she ran through everything that happened in the past 24 hours. So, she nearly barreled over one of the richest men alive, received a dinner invitation instead of a death threat, and was now questioning her sanity. She wasn't sure which frightened her more: the fact that her time spent with Taisho was not some sort of perverse dream or the fact that her hands were still tingling from the electric energy of the sword. The whispering in her mind abruptly increased and while a headache diminished, giving her the opportunity to think more clearly, her alarm rose.
As soon as she met Taisho her head had started spinning. If it was his presence and attitude that made her feel so, she wondered how anyone could make eye contact with the man and live to coherently tell the tale. His epic story of magic and swords was a well-crafted fairytale. She hadn't actually believed it. It was fascinating and romantic and beautifully tragic. But of course, it was just a legend.
She bit her nails, thoughts ricocheting as she watched Ajax run into the living room to rub his snout all over the floor, sneezing. The sword had a strange effect on her. She thought being in its presence made her imagination run wild. She'd always been a fanciful person. It was easy for her to step in and out of daydreams. She had laughed at herself when she thought she saw the sword wink at her. She had ignored the strange illusions in her head, the dizzying sensations, the vague memories bubbling just below her subconscious.
She felt so strange as the men transported the sword into the box, as Taisho told her a condensed history of the sword. Why didn't she notice it? Why didn't she panic as she was now?
Realization was a slower trickle than the panic. It seeped in, left her hollow and dumbfounded.
Taisho knew. He wanted her to hear the history, wanted her to come to dinner with him. He'd sized her up and then coerced her into touching the sword.
"He believes the legend," she breathed. Kagome stood slowly, leaning on the table for support. Recalling the way his eyes gleamed in the dark, the way he scrutinized her, the heavily veiled emotion of his voice. "Oh my god, he is the legend."
But what did that make her? And how was that even possible?
Her head cleared for the first time in 24 hours. She readied herself for work, flying out the door with a, 'Be good, Ajax'. Throwing her things into her car she pulled out onto the street. She had no idea what was happening, but she was going to get some answers.