Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. That honor belongs to Takahashi-san.
Of Spirit and Spice
Chapter 3: Meditation
The dawn was not a pleasant one.
Clouds had gathered swiftly in the wee gray hours of the morning, clumped and thickened and congealed, and at sunrise upended their contents on the world in a dump of malicious glee. No sun, no light, no warmth for you! they seemed to cackle.
The water was not 'renewing.' It was not 'rejuvenating.' It was not 'refreshing.'
It was cold and hard and gray and woke you up like an icy wet slap to the face.
Naraku relished the pitter patter from within his fortress.
Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, Kaede, Shippou, Byakuya…even Kagome cursed the pounding to hell and back.
This was going to be a long day.
"Uhhnn…what a damn nightmare…"
"Heh, I'll say…Some of my best work yet. Had you trapped better than Naraku himself could manage."
It took a moment for Byakuya to realize what he'd just said, and to whom.
"Oh, well, maybe not that well—but really, forget the whole thing—no need to get hasty with your claws, you know—" he stammered as he skittered away from the now-wide-awake-and-hopping-mad hanyou.
He would have been skewered for sure—him and his big mouth, damn the thing—if it hadn't rained quite so much already. But as it was, when Inuyasha shot to his feet so quickly, he lost his grip for a second—and on the wet, slippery branch (damn me for going soft and choosing the mossy one to rest on!) it was enough to fall off entirely.
SMACK.
"Ooh…that mud doesn't look too pleasant…but while you're cleaning yourself up a bit, I have some more information for you," Byakuya gaily commented, pleased beyond measure that the rain he'd damned only an hour before kept his neck intact…albeit freezing.
"Teme…" Inuyasha growled as he tugged his stiff body out of the mud, one limb at a time.
Byakuya held back his wince at the sucking sound of the muck on the hanyou's form, and started his speech:
"During the night, Naraku saw fit to relieve you of one of your possessions. If you should wish to duel with him for the sake of this possession, you will meet him at a large field twenty li northwest of here in two day's time. Should you fail to reach it by then, he will consider the match forfeit and the possession his to do with as he wishes. Until then he will keep her under the best care possible for any hostage."
Byakuya fell out of his dull recitation-induced gaze and looked sharply at Inuyasha.
"Do you agree to the terms?" he intoned with uncharacteristic formality.
It suddenly hit Inuyasha what 'the possession' was. What scent, what aura, what presence was missing. What was making him so on edge, more than any rainy day.
Kagome.
He stood, frozen, stunned, for a moment—
Then he leaped straight up at the youkai, no warning, no signal. He swiped his claws in a powerful, rage-fueled arc—so close, so close! He missed by a hair.
Byakuya was not amused. He was terrified, and pissed. "Do you accept the terms or not, hanyou? If you say yes, make it to the field on time, and win, you'll have her back, not a hair out of place! It is your only chance."
"You…piece of shit kisama…of course I fucking accept the terms! As if there's a fucking choice to it! Now get the hell out of my sight unless you want to be five million little paper cranes instead!" Inuyasha growled out, incensed at himself for his failure—enough to let this bastard go. Of course, it helped that he didn't know who was guilty of physically stealing Kagome…
Byakuya gave no acknowledgment of having heard. He just zipped away as fast as he could. The sooner this whole ploy was over with the sooner he could get away from those knives of claws…
Paper and knives don't mix, you know.
--
Breathe in…breathe out…in…out…1…2…3…4…5…6…
Miroku was meditating in the rain in front of a small road-side shrine. Or, to put it better: attempting it.
…7…8…9…10…11…13, no, 12…21, no, 18! Wait, no, 15!—
"Ah, screw it," he muttered to himself an uncharacteristic show of frustration. The fifth failed attempt at counting past 21 when you were a learned and practiced monk did that to you.
Sighing, he clambered to his feet, resigned to moving on. Peace of mind really was impossible right now, wasn't it…
He smiled darkly to himself. His life had always been full of turmoil, from his father's memorable death by his own hand to his most recent adventures searching for the shikon no tama—but he'd always been able to sort out the storm of thoughts in his mind without too much difficulty. It was how he stayed sane with such a curse. But now…
He shook his head. Here he was, standing, lost in thought, completely forgetting the Amida Buddha at his feet! He reached for a few offerings in his robes, placed them before the statue, bowed, and said a small prayer. No one else was near, so he indulged himself in breaking the quiet by praying aloud.
He prayed for strength, for peace, for harmony. But most of all, he prayed for one woman who was strong, who deserved peace, with whom he breathed in harmony…
Finally lifting his head, he turned away. He started back on the muddy path to the final battlefield.
If he had looked back, even once, he would have seen a little concerned cat, and that woman standing not a few meters behind him, mouth open, eyes wide—but she was silent, he did not hear her, he did not look back…
She was behind him now.
--
"Arrgh! You can't keep me in here forever, you know!"
Kagome pulled at her shackles for the fiftieth time. At least, it felt that way. She'd only been awake a few minutes, but she was already snarling with anger and frustration, her wrists red with the chafing. The pain didn't dissuade her. It just got her that much madder.
"What kind of one-on-one duel is this, huh? Kidnapping me and putting me in chains in this slimy basement!"
It was hard to tell who she was talking to, in the predominantly empty cell, but she knew quite well. The room was full of oozing, twitching forms—but she'd long forgotten them in her indignant rage. No, it was the little glimmer of light from above—her one sign of an exit, of a world beyond this dank hole—that she focused her attentions on.
Somehow she knew Naraku could hear her. She couldn't really explain it; his jyaki was stale, his visage and voice completely absent—and yet she was sure. He was listening to every word, and chuckling that disgusting laugh of his.
And that thought alone—not of her helplessness, not of her dire situation, not of the creepy-crawlies only inches away—fueled her ire. She couldn't bear to think of him laughing at her limp form dangling against this clammy wall. It seemed stupid, silly, befitting the same category of annoyances as showing up to school without pants—but there it was.
She was pissed. And he was going to hear about it till her voice failed her.
She kept good on that promise, too. Hours later, she was still insulting the dark hanyou, voice nothing more than a rasp.
By that nightfall, it was gone altogether, and every time it recovered a bit, she'd abuse it some more. She was literally destroying her voice.
Unfortunately for Inuyasha.
--
Naraku was, in fact, chuckling. Though it was at something rather different than Kagome's humiliating helplessness.
The wolf, the notorious coward, had finally seen fit to leave his den. And, to add to the hanyou's amusement, the ookami was heading straight for the village Naraku was born in, so long ago.
He encouraged his saimyoushou spy to get closer…the wolf's lips were moving, perhaps he was saying something of interest?
He unconsciously leaned forward, oddly curious about the wolf's thoughts.
"…Kagome, what…can't be…is this?...Yes! It is!...My love…happy…so close…"
His smirk spread sickly wide.
"So, Kouga! You desire the miko, even when she has no interest in you? You seek her out, you think she will find happiness in your embrace? I fear you are too late…"
He positively grinned, pulling back from the pool altogether when the wolf failed to say anything else.
"Your beloved miko is in the hands of one that knows true desire, the real power and thrill of it, as you can only dream of knowing it…" he murmured, eyes oozing malevolent pleasure.
"But never fear," he reassured the ookami, turning back to stare intently at his worried, tensed form.
"I will educate her well."
--
Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7…
Kaede meditated while that morning's pot of tea came to a boil. She was trying to sort her fears and concerns for her young friends into some semblance of order.
13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.
She stopped.
The tea was ready.
Carefully, she poured a cup for herself, and then another. She had a feeling she'd be having a visitor.
Sure enough, just as she'd settled back down, one steaming cup in hand, the other on the mat, a sodden guest burst through the screen over her door.
He'd traveled too fast—or she had been too preoccupied—to notice his youki until he was in the room, twisting and twitching in all his worried frenzy, water droplets flying every which way.
"Who—who're you? Where's Kagome?! I need to talk to Kagome—she's a miko, like you, but dressed strangely—you have to know who she is, her scent is all over the place here—" he babbled, eyes darting from left to right, hands clenching at his sides.
"Calm yourself, Kouga. Kagome is not here, but I do know where. I can get a message to her without too much trouble. But only if you stop this blather and tell me what it is she needs to know."
She spoke with force, but politely all the same. Most of all, she was calm; collected. It was a comforting demeanor.
In spite of himself, and his own urgent, rushing need to find Kagome and warn her—he listened to the old woman and sat down, fidgeting still, but blithering no more.
"You're sure she's not here? Because her scent—"
"She spends much time here. I believe some of her possessions are here too. But she is not here now, and has not been here for a few weeks. I am not lying to you."
Stern. That was the word he was looking for to describe this old woman…stern. Not easily dissuaded. He took a deep breath. He didn't know her, but somehow…he felt like he could trust her.
"You sure you can get a message to her quick? You sure I shouldn't just turn tail and track her to wherever she's at now?" he asked, still wary and tense, no matter how much his muscles wanted to rest after his arduous journey.
"Yes, I am sure. Tell me what you need her to know. The courier I will send it with is out for the moment, but when he returns, I will give him the message. In the meantime, tell me what it is. It will settle your mind and clear up what is most important for her to know."
Kaede sealed that with the warm cup of tea she handed him. Baffled, but honored, he took it.
"Kagome is in danger," he began after a short sip. His eyes roved far away. "I was out hunting a week or so ago, and I heard something. I thought it was game…I hid, and watched. It was that bastard Byakuya. He was…doing something odd. I didn't know what it was, so I decided to wait to kill him until after I figured it out."
"Intelligent of you," Kaede commented, tone completely neutral.
Smirking a little, he nodded. "Thanks…I know, it must be weird for you, the mutt being such a baka…"
"I would not say that. But continue with your story." Stern again, though somehow still neutral.
"Oh, yeah. Of course. Well, anyway…so, I was hiding, watching the bastard do something funny with this piece of paper…folding it in weird ways, talking over it, casting a spell over it, some shit like that…and then, he throws it on the ground. And a second later, a copy of him is there! It looked just like him, smelled just like him too! I've never seen an illusion that good!"
Kaede sucked in her breath, thinking: what does this mean…
"He could even make it do stuff—whatever he wanted. I watched him testing it out, making it do or say different things. He made it walk, fly, even fight a little with him, hand-to-hand."
He took another sip of the brew; to steady rather than warm himself, it seemed. He trembled with anxiety, not cold, for all that he was drenched to the bone.
"But scarier was when he got it to talk. He just stood there, smirking, while this illusion, this copy, this fake talked like you or me. After a bit they even started having a conversation, talking to each other! I remember what they were saying too, the bastards…"
He drank again, draining the cup; this time it seemed for dramatic tension. But it might have been for strength.
"Byakuya said: 'My illusion is complete, isn't it?'
"And then that creepy thing said: 'Sight, sound, touch, taste, smell…and more than that,' whatever the hell that means…
"Byakuya answered back with: 'It is easier to manipulate than any kugutsu, and so much more difficult to destroy…'
"And so the copy, nodding (damn, it looked creepy,) said: 'It will be amusing to see just how long it takes that foolish girl to tell which of the youkai and ningen around her are copies, and which real…'
"And that bastard Byakuya finished: 'That is, if she ever figures it out…'"
"My. It seems that Kagome truly is in danger," Kaede softly said. "Thank you for coming, Kouga."
Kouga shook his head, admitting: "You don't know the rest of it…"
"Oh?"
"There's a reason it took me a week to get here…"
--
"One, two…Three, four…Five, six…Seven, eight…"
Inuyasha counted with each breath he exhaled, a harsh and merciless duple-meter beat. It kept time with each powerful thrust, each elegant soar, each miraculous landing and bunching of legs for yet another thrust. He was racing, roaring, tearing across the countryside like an angry locomotive. He hardly noticed the rain that pelted him like cold bullets.
His mind was on the edge, he could feel it. Slipping and sliding and tripping along the knife's edge of sanity, clinging desperately after his footing had been knocked out from under him.
The meeting with Byakuya yesterday had shaken the knife, a little. Enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to be a real danger. But then the dream…that nightmare grabbed the knife and shook and shook and shook. And Kagome's kidnapping was a direct blow, strong enough that he had yet to recover.
He counted because it was a trick he had learned as a child to keep from screaming, no matter the situation. He still used it sometimes, though less and less often since he'd met Kagome…
Kagome…where is she now? In this village—no, that's stupid. Naraku has her with him, somewhere else, waiting for me to get there. Or maybe he's not waiting at all. Maybe it was just another piece-of-shit lie, some diversion so I won't go after him and track him down directly. Maybe it's just to buy time to do whatever the hell he wants to do to her now, only to show me what's left when I finally get to this goddamn place—
The image of Kagome's battered and bloody body burned before his eyes…
But what the hell can I do about it? If he does hold up the bargain, and doesn't do anything, but I don't come because I'm off trying to track him somewhere else—shit, I can't let that happen…and it's not like I have a fucking clue where he's hiding now, anyway…this…this field is something…though sure as hell it's a trap…fuck…Kagome...
His vision zoomed in. He could see a drop of miasma falling, falling, falling, landing on her pale forehead, sizzling and burning through the soft skin, to the bone, through it, spreading, infecting…
I won't let it happen! Fuck it, I won't!
"One two! Three four! Five six! Seven eight!" he grunted, his downbeats accented, his tempo shooting from allegro to presto…and showing no signs of wavering.
He pushed himself hard that day. And through the night. The counting kept his mind focused on the task, and not on nightmares, and he didn't dare stop. Without Kagome's calming scent…aura…self…he depended on the numerical monotony. The repeated measure was security, or the most he could get.
As much as his mind treasured the method, his body coincided with it. His pace never faltered; he ignored the building ache in his body easily. He didn't think that he was steadily demolishing his strength, though he was. Only that he was moving as fast as he could, to save her. To beat Naraku, once and for all.
Unfortunately for Kagome.
--
"Mmm…not as good as inu blood, but still up there!"
"What the hell is this?!" Kouga did not seem pleased at the interruption. He held out the squashed flea like a dirty diaper.
"Myouga-jisan, the messenger I mentioned earlier that will give your information to Kagome," Kaede answered in a flat, neutral tone, clearly not approving of his treatment of the flea, but not exactly disapproving either…the wolf was provoked, after all, and Kaede was nothing if not fair.
"And you must be Kouga, the ookami youkai?" Myouga blinked up at him, voice surprisingly loud for his size.
Kouga was thrown off a bit, but answered readily enough: "Er—yeah…How did you—?"
"Oh, I've heard many a complaint from Inuyasha-sama about you. You'll have to forgive him his possessiveness of the pretty Kagome-sama; but how can he help it? She's lovely! And her blood tastes soo sweet…"
Myouga didn't realize he'd said too much until an all-too-familiar furious pinching left him even smaller than usual.
"Oi, how the hell do you know what Kagome's blood tastes like!—"
"Enough, you two! Kagome is in serious danger. Now is not the time for such behavior." Kaede punctuated her order with a resounding glare and firm, implacable tone. The males gulped and shut up without too much trouble.
"Now, as you were saying, Kouga?" she asked politely, steely tone now sheathed.
"Er…yeah…Byakuya…and his crazy-ass spells—" he answered, still somewhat scared that this old miko was going to purify him with her glare.
"What! What spells? Byakuya? So, you mean that he is creating some new type of illusion? What type? When? Where is he now?!" Myouga cut back in, quivering in alarm.
Kaede could not help herself. She rolled her eyes. "I think we need to fill Myouga-jisan in on the details, Kouga."
"Yeah…" he agreed, perplexed at the old flea demon's demeanor's sky-rocket into terror.
For the next hour or so, Kouga and Kaede summarized his experience for the flea. It took half as long the first time through. The problem was that at every new tidbit of information, the flea would either go on some tangent about somewhat related spells he knew of, try to analyze it all then and there, or need reassurance that he wasn't actually in any immediate danger. Not that the flea would come out openly about it of course, but his questions would be very…revealing when his fears were piqued.
And of course after that hour they had to spend more time with the second half of the narrative: the cause Kouga's lateness. That had the flea transported with fear, completely (well, not completely) irrational as it was.
Though in fairness, Kaede was disturbed by the news as well. And Kouga was rather relieved to get it off his chest.
There was only so much depravity a healthy mind could take.
--
"—and that doesn't even begin to tell you what I'd do if I had an actual weapon on my hands! Say, a shuriken, just one, that's all I'd need, I'd take it and draw a bead and just when you didn't suspect it—"
Really, it was pitiful.
"—or, say I had a katana! I would whip that blade out and slash it right across your—"
The fact that she was still screaming like that. With a voice that crippled. Honestly.
"And if I had my bow and arrows! I'd blow this place away just like I did that first time! Only I wouldn't miss hitting you—oh, no, I'd take you down one disgusting appendage at a time!"
Her strident, rough tones fell away, again, into a pathetic dègringolade of hacking and rasped attempts at words…yes, quite pitiful indeed.
Not to mention damnable inconsiderate. How was he supposed to fabricate an exact replica of her voice when he didn't even have the original to go off of!
Byakuya was sorely tempted to give her some water, or even one of the odder weapons she was now ranting about. If it would get her voice back to normal...
Bah, enough whining about it. He could at least work on the physical appearance and scent when stressed. He could just make her out through the slit in the cellar door.
Of course, he could always let his eye do the spying for him, let it flit down into that darkness and observe her up close; he was sure she wouldn't notice, there were so many other twitching slimy things down there…and that was precisely his reason.
He was not all that pleased at the idea of something as important as his eye in such a chamber, in such company as the wriggling sloughed off parts of his master.
Yecch. Even thinking about it had him queasy.
Why bother doing it then. He could see her just fine from up here. Well, maybe he couldn't see quite how far the blood dribbled down her arms from her aching wrists, or the ooze on the wall congealing into sticky cords in her hair, or the swelling purple bruise on her cheek and jaw where Naraku's imitation had backhanded her the night before…
But did he want to?
Perfect imitation be damned. No one wanted to see a sight as pitiful as that.
--
Sango was torn. She didn't know…she didn't know what she wanted to do…
Hearing him pray like that, for so many things, for her…it scared her. It sounded like he was bargaining with the kami for her sake.
She was in a daze, confused, fearful, despondent…pulled from one side to the other by her emotions, like some ragdoll…
Now her anger with Miroku pulled her, dragged her to fiercely climb back on Kirara and put up with the rain and defiantly observe and follow the monk from above. How dare he put his life in danger!
But then…it crept over her. Those words. That voice. So empty, so bleak, so dead…saying her name. Praying for her sake. Showing her just how damn much he cared, but how much it couldn't save him, how weak they were in this clash of good and evil, these huge things, so big, ready to swallow them at a moment's notice…
She'd get distracted easily…stare off into space…lose track of the monk, close her eyes, even loosen her grip on Kirara's fur…if it wasn't for the diligence of the cat, her despair might have ended her, then and there, with an impersonal splat on the muddy path below.
Finally a third emotion took over both of them: confusion.
And that was where she was stuck now. Following, but not knowing why anymore. Her clarity of purpose was gone, shattered into a thousand little shards, each refracting in a different way. The light was blinding her.
She could not see why she continued on. And yet she could not stop herself.
She was powerless, a flailing little fly caught in fate's web, like so many others…
Now was the time to see who could tear away. Was she one of them?
--
The night was not a restful one.
The rain hammered the earth, hard and relentless, impersonal and yet so very personal. It seemed to hate the earth and everything on it even as it ignored them all: the science of despising something. It was consistently dreary, perpetually dark. The sun was snuffed out long before its time, and the meager filtered light afterwards? Ha! Out like a candle, right after the sun.
The moon could not begin to pierce the shroud of cloud cover, and the stars never stood a chance.
This blackness might have been helpful, on another night. A time for deep, deep sleep.
But not tonight.
Tonight the rain ground into your bones like a blanket full of icy blunted needles. And even if you were inside, the dull drumming sounded like the prelude to a funeral dirge. Your execution.
No, rest was not an option on a night like this.
--
A/N: My sincerest apologies for the wait. Especially considering that this chapter has been written the entire time--I just needed to edit it more. And I didn't want to post it until I had the next chapter's rough done. And I haven't been able to write for these past few weeks at all. That's the kicker...I'm sorry. If you want someone to blame, blame the college admissions process for taking so damn long and taking so much out of the students. Especially those applying to the higher end schools...State school applications are cake, but the Stanford application, for example, has three essays just in the supplement and short answer questions too. I'm not trying to point fingers at Stanford, because they have some of the best and most relevant prompts--so despite the work, it is to their and our advantage--but the system in general is messed up.
And enough of my complaints. I'm here to write, not tell my life's story. That's what college essays are for...yuck.
Back to writing: pathetic fallacy is a real treat, and a fabulous way to break writer's block and get back in the groove of a story/warm up; I highly recommend it.