Thank you to icegirljenni for reviewing!
Don't own anything that you might recognize.
Warning: a bit of graphic description of murder/death
O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O
It all started on the day Shouta had run away. The day when the numbness from all of the previous events within the last ten or so hours had finally seeped all of the strength out of my limbs and blood blotted out my vision. The day when the villagers began whispering, not the usual jovial news, but rather of the shameful and unspeakable events that had happened and now decorated the entrance to our camp.
Shouta had woken me up before the sun rose, with his green eyes cloudy. He reluctantly draped his old rag over his shoulders and told me that he was only going to step out to do some laundry. Had I been in a better state, I would have noticed something wrong already, but my ears were ringing and my eyes were blurred; what a terrible sister I must have been, to just let him leave, and not say any word of farewell or beg him to stay. The final look of longing, interspersed with terror, that clenched his face as he hunched over to step outside of the low doorpost is one that remains to me this day.
Three days, the villagers scowl. They claim that I had slept and cried and mourned and wet myself for three days. Three days-the time that it took for me to come to realisation that my parents were gone and my brother had left me to fend for myself as the daughter of two violators of the Demon decree. I remember, walking outside in my soiled clothing, the lady who usually sold eggs in the morning had ducked away from me, shooting me a furtive glance as though I was a traitor of some sort. I had been too numb to take this action into account, and I blundered through the village, tripping over rocks and dirt as the pebbles scratched the bottoms of my feet raw. It was dead in the middle of winter, though I wore the small haori that Mother had sewn for me when I reached my seventh year and nothing else. The iciness reached my nerves, but nothing at all could tame the flaming within my heart.
And that night, I had trudged back to the village spring, diving directly into the frozen ice on top of the water surface, cutting away at the flesh on my arms and cheeks. The pain was nearly negligible; the cold was barely recognized. There was blood on my hands that I could not wash off-I scrubbed and scratched and dug into my palms, trying to remove the blood of my parents from my body, but I only succeeded in mixing my own blood with theirs. My blood, which had no relation with theirs, what was it doing, trickling softly down my palm? It was then when, carving directly into the center of my palm the image of the sickle-shaped moon that glared above the water, I had made the decision. I would live on and avenge all of the misdeeds that had been done to me. My parents, who themselves were shameless in their violation of the decree, and the demons, who viciously slaughtered without reason, would be the subjects of my revenge. I could see the terrified eyes: oh, revenge, how sweetly it devoured away at the hearts of those who were once innocent. Those who had taken from me the normal life that all humans, no matter how poor or stupid, deserved, I would take from them everything that they had left, be it power, peace, life, or, most importantly, love. After all, they had taken from my innocent heart, the love that I had once known.
And this is the vow that I live by. Day by day, for three years, this cause gnawed away at the remains of my withered, leathered heart. Those three years were the Hell of my life, which already had sunken to the average humans' Hell: those mute, starving, decrepit three years of my life were the Hell of all Hells.
O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O
I woke up this morning at the first call of a rooster, downed a glass of tepid milk that was delivered to me by the kind old lady Kaede and stole an egg from the neighbors' farm. The chickens were surprisingly dumb, never able to predict the time that I would sneak behind the smelly, rickety fence and just pluck one of their eggs from under their stomachs. They don't seem to care much that I've just come and taken their children from them; reminds me rather of the demons' despicable indifference when it comes to the slaughtering of their own children hanyou.
The villagers have come around to accept me, slowly as the years have gone on, as I bring in wild animals from the forest and watch over the houses I happen to be loafing around for any bandits and robbers. I wouldn't say that they are particularly fond of having a scarred girl, hardly older than fifteen years, scavenging the streets for food and hauling around bloodied squirrels and the like to trade for arrows and knives. But then again, they haven't done anything to remove old Asou, who blubbers and foams at the mouth whenever people walk by or ask him about his opinion for the weather, and I must hope that my company is a little more desired than his.
Nevertheless, the other teenage girls of the village have just started, most of them, their transition into the so-called "womanhood". They paint their faces white and gawk at the farms everyday, in hopes of catching the eye of the man that manages to haul the most wheat in every evening. They smear their lips red and talk of nothing but puberty, marriage, and true love, and while I'm sure they do not enjoy the company of a filthy, orphan girl, it would be nice if they realized that they were not so pleasant to be around either. The shop had been more pleasant a year or two ago, when the girls that hung around had not been the very girls I had grown up chasing butterflies with. It just so happens that every time I see Maya or Midori hanging around the shops, I'm reminded of the life that every girl is expected to have. It does not help that the pitying looks that I attract from my friends are also given to me by Kohaku, the very purpose of my living. But I will get to that later, when time comes appropriate.
Every morning, on the way to the farms, I pass by Michiko, who had been, and would have still been, my best friend, before the incident. Now, she, having grown into a beauty that makes even married women jealous, has begun to ignore my greeting as I walk by her house, which is also one of the largest of the village, since her father is the head of the farming grounds. She casually saunters by, as though she has much more to be attending to-yes, this has become our daily routine-but I still wave to her, in hopes that she will overcome herself and remember that it is me, the girl that once saved her from the river when she had fallen in while trying to catch a small white koi fish.
Today is the announcement of Kohaku's engagement to Michiko. Of course, this arrangement was known throughout the camp long ago, but today it is to be set in stone, never to be changed. I was not invited to the hearing, as I am never invited to public events-such a dirty person seen in the village is not flattering to the villagers at all-but I shall go anyways. Kohaku knows that I will be attending, and he asked to speak with me this morning. I am reluctant to go, because it will mean that I will have to say farewell to him forever. I have considered travelling to the neighboring villages to find Shouta, who must be nearing the date of his own marriage to this supposedly beautiful village chief daughter.
I make my way into the clearing, heading directly to the weapon shop, where Kohaku's sister Sango makes her living. She waves at me, smiling as usual, but something is amiss in her smile, and this only makes me more curious when she quickly ducks away to polish the remainder of the guns. She mumbles that Kohaku will be down soon, and I thank her.
"He should be here soon, Rin." Sango rubs her hands on her apron. "Wait a while; have something to drink."
Kohaku does not appear for another half hour, and I ask Sango to tell Kohaku that I will be back after lunch. I cannot let the morning go by-all of the birds in the forest will have woken if I wait any longer. Sango tosses me my bow and arrows and wishes me luck. I fasten the arrow quiver around my shoulders and shrug on my dark green haori-it is my only mechanism of camouflage. It will not be much help when autumn is approaching and the leaves are turning auburn, but it cannot hurt to have extra layers on.
O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O
The forest is the only place where the rustle of the village cannot disturb. It is calm and the only noise is the occasional squeak of a startled thrush or the scream of a victim of a wild group of bandits. I have been particularly adept at avoiding any bandit groups that have come to the forest, and find that the stupid bandits are often quite good at leaving usable supplies behind in their camps. I have found a wild assortment of things, ranging from food to weapons to a woman's undergarments.
The foliage is soft under my feet, and the air is cool. I make a quick shot of a squirrel and two birds, one of which has been marred so badly by the arrow that it is hard to recognize as a sparrow. I curse myself; I have seen archers shoot birds so perfectly that not a single feather is bloodied or ruffled when they are turned in for trade. This bird is one that I will have to keep for myself, for even Sango would not be so dumb or kind to trade weapons for a gnarled mass of feathers and blood.
I wander down the well-worn trail for a little more, aware that every step taken means another step required to go home.
The birds are awfully cheerful today. I catch sight of a sparrow, hardly larger than my fist, pecking around for seeds. I am tempted to shoot, but the meager meat on the bird can hardly compensate for the cost of a harmless, innocent life.
There is a high pitched shriek, followed by guffawing of laughter and brutish clubbing noises. The sparrow darts off.
It is obvious that some wild gang of bandits has re-entered the forest, and taken victim a girl from our camp. They cannot be more than a twenty yards away, and if I can climb a tree and get a decent aim, I may be able to spare the life of the victim. Perhaps I can even make good use and receive an award from her panicked parents.
I quickly climb up the nearest tree, stopping in terror as my foot slips and breaks off a branch. The branch plummets to the ground.
The thugs are too loud to listen around to nearby noises, for this large distraction surely could have given away my position. I am a good thirty feet off the ground, and I can take aim at the first bandit, who is holding a poor girl, not more than ten years old, around her neck and a knife blade against her skin. The others are torturing her in the most disgusting and vile manners. The leader, the one holding the girl, has the most malicious eyes I have ever seen: wild, blood-shot, hungry for murder.
They remind me of the eyes of the demons.
I quickly shoot at the man who holds the girl captive, silently cheering as the arrow hits its mark at the jugular vein, but the girl's cries have dribbled into a gurgling wail. And soon, the wail itself dies into a silent trickle of blood from her throat.
The other bandits jump back, shouting obscenities at each other, and one of them, spattered with the girl's blood, tosses her body against a tree.
The blood from the girl's neck pools around her.
The blood
My mother's blood, father's blood, dripping from their fingertips, their toes
too vivid...
and the girl hangs limply from the man's arms, her feet dangling...
DRIP-drop
...dangling, parallel to the ground
and her blood drips steadily to the mossy floor
DRIP-drop
My mind seizes up, and so do my limbs-the rushing of blood to my ears! I can't hear a thing; the wind no longer whistles past my face. The boiling in my veins!
I slip from the branch and grab desperately at the tree trunk as I fall, stabbing splinters of bark into my hands.
A hard jolt as I hit the forest ground, my left leg does not move. There is blood on my hands
TOO MUCH blood on my hands; WHOSE BLOOD IS THIS, I SCREAM
and I cover my face to avoid the yellowing teeth of the bandits as they smile upon the pathetic squirming of their new prey.
O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O
It is far past noon when I open my eyes, only to shut them again when the sun squeezes through my eyelids. Somebody has bandaged my hands with a beautifully embroidered cloth-I am devastated to know that it is my blood that has soiled such a finely crafted cloth. I have been moved into the shade, and my leg, which is still numb and swollen, has healed to a certain degree-I must be thankful that I can, at least, support myself with it. And my arrows have been returned to their quiver. The bow lies not far from my left hand.
My body has left an imprint in the forest floor moss, and this serves as a reminder that I must hurry back to the village. I wonder if the bandits have been killed, or whether they have gone back to their vile ways of pillaging the villages and destroying innocence. I do not have far to walk before I recognize the corpses of the bandits, mutilated almost beyond recognition. I want to vomit.
Walking is still painful, and most of the weight is shifted onto my right leg and my bow, which I use as a walking crane. Each shift in balance opens up the wound on my side-I have no idea how it got there-and soon I can feel blood dripping down the left side of my haori. Thank goodness I chose to cover myself with the dark green one today, rather than only wearing the white haori. I am dizzy, probably due to the loss of blood, but I have to make it home soon. Kohaku must have returned already, and must wonder where I am. The squirrel and sparrows will rot if I do not hurry back quickly.
I try to break into a run-a rather pathetic one. Something grabs my arm with unimaginable force and launches off of the ground with neck-breaking speed. Blood rushes from my head again, and I am back to being dizzy, incapacitated to comprehend anything that is happening at the moment. It is only when I catch a glimpse of silver hair in my face that reality dawns upon me.
A demon.
I struggle, beating my hands against the cold metal armor that the demon wears. The spikes on the armor punctures the bandages, and the demon impatiently grabs my hand, pinning it against my chest. Blood from my hand soils his clothing. I try to scream, but the air does not flow into my lungs.
"Stop that." His voice is venomous.
The demon lands on the topmost branch of a sturdy oak tree and only then can I see his real features. His eyes are beautiful, is the only thought that comes to my mind, even as I try to force myself to hate. He wears delicate white robes, which complement his long silver hair and intense, golden eyes. He slowly puts me down-too slow for my distaste, as all demons are supposed to be rough and hasty when snatching off women. I clutch the tree trunk and force myself from looking down. Heights are not my strong point, especially when my head is already swimming from loss of blood. I scream at him to let me down, and he only narrows his eyes.
I am distracted by the moon on his forehead, a pale purple marking. It matches the scar on my hand.
He asks me my name, to which I do not reply. I cannot give him any information about myself-that is much too dangerous-and who knows who can be watching right now, the Patrol demons, who are assigned the responsibility to slaughter those who harbor clandestine meetings with beings of the other race? I must try to leave as soon as possible, without making any noise. If we are caught, it will be my corpse that shall be delivered to the village this time.
"I-I would l-like to go d-down now," I stammer, pathetically. The heights are really making me dizzy, and so are the demon's beautiful, golden eyes. The color of his eyes is so warm, but the emotion is as hard as flint. The demon turns away, and sits on the branch. I inadvertently move a little closer to the trunk.
It is then when I realize that the cloth of his beautiful haori matches those of the rags that wrap my hands and cover my leg. To think that I, the one who would jump at the opportunity of slaying a demon, had been saved by one. And now, I was rendered a complete idiot.
"Did you-"
He turns, so that I can only catch a flash of his golden eyes, and the next thing I know, I am pressed against the tree trunk, and his hard armor flashing in the sun. He holds his deadly claws mere inches from my neck, poised to strike. The blood is rushing to my forehead again, and this time, I truly am in danger of fainting.
He lowers his head, slowly, and to my utmost horror, he brings his face near mine. "I do not repeat myself often. What is your name?"
The claws draw a curve in the air.
He glares into my eyes. "But even I can make exceptions."
I turn away.
"What is your name?"
The proximity is toxic to my nerves. I struggle against him, this time kicking against his strong legs, which do not waver. I spit in his face, threatening to scream. He steps down, a strange emotion in his eyes that I cannot understand, allows me some room, suddenly turning his head to face something below and behind me. This, the sudden movement and spurting of fresh, boiling blood on my face is all that I remember before my eyes close.
I cannot be seen. I cannot be seen. I cannot be seen.
I cannot be seen with this man.
I cannot fall victim... to the ...
three deadly rules...
O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O
So proud of myself! I finished another chapter within 24 hours! I was pretty excited to get this up, so if there are any problems or complaints, please review.
Thanks
Lily