The Hunter
Chapter Thirty-Five
"Remember – aim with your hand. The bow will follow!"
Rin nodded and set up for another round of sparring. She was improving, bit by bit, but it wasn't without considerable effort. She envied the effortless grace Sango possessed when wielding just about any weapon, whether it was a bow staff, a sword, or her beloved yellow Hiraikotsu. Training had become a daily routine for them - a couple of hours spent each morning, just after sunrise. For Rin it'd been a much needed distraction as Kohaku's absence stretched longer and longer with each passing day.
Sango was a mercifully patient tutor, even on the mornings when she was distracted or arrived with her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. On those days she'd give her an understanding look and then start their lesson immediately to give her mind something else to dwell on. Most days, like today, Sango's training style was unrelenting and tough. In a real fight a demon would show no mercy. They wouldn't capitulate simply because she needed a break or her arms were tired. It was an important lesson to learn, but perhaps the toughest one Sango had tried to teach her.
A quick sweep of Sango's bow knocked her legs out from under her and she slapped the earth in frustration.
"It's okay. You're doing well," Sango reassured her. She held out her hand to help her up, "Let's try it again."
Rin nodded and ignored the stuff muscles in her legs as she got back to her feet.
"All right, this time I want you to-"
The mourning wail of a horn pierced the air and Sango stopped dead, the bow staff in her hand lowering to her side.
Rin lowered her weapon as well and turned in the direction of the village.
"What is it?"
The sudden grim expression on the demon slayer's face didn't bode well for whatever that horn symbolized.
"We need to get back," Sango ordered as she grabbed up her bag and slung it over her shoulder in a single fluid motion. "That horn is our signal for when a demon slayer has…" Her words trailed off but Rin didn't require any further explanation before she was grabbing up her weapons and hastily tossing her bag over her shoulder as well.
They ran back to the village at a full sprint. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she could hear the blood rushing in her ears, but it had nothing to do with the exertion of the run. Her mind was whirring with images of what she might find when they arrived. What if it was Kohaku? Her mouth went dry and she swallowed hard, tasting bile in the back of her throat. Her sandaled feet flew faster than she'd ever run before, leaping over downed trees and darting around stumps. Please! Please don't let it be him!
They arrived in the village just as the other slayers were entering through the main gate. Rin's eyes were wide and manic, darting from body to body in search of the one she recognized. Where was he?
She saw him at last, carrying one end of a makeshift stretcher. A rush of relief prickled at her skin as she watched him set down the stretcher, his expression grim. And then she saw it - one pale, lifeless arm flopped over the side of the stretcher and she recoiled, stifling a gasp with her hand over her mouth.
Her brothers were only just emerging from their hut, their faces awash with confusion. They looked to her for an answer but she shook her head and gestured to the scene playing out at the gate. There was a sudden hush that fell over the group and she watched as one of the women was led to the stretcher. Her legs buckled as they drew close enough for her to see who was splayed out across it and the men at her sides half-carried, half-dragged, her the rest of the way. Her piercing cry tore through the air and everyone bowed their heads or turned away as she flung herself atop the corpse of her late husband.
Rin didn't feel the tears falling on her cheeks until a light breeze swept through the village chilling them against her skin. She hurriedly brushed them away and turned to Sango. Her expression was equally pained and her hands were clenched tight at her sides.
"What happens now?" she asked, her voice lacking all its strength.
"We move on."
Sango's reply seemed cold, but when Rin looked closely she saw the tears glistening in her eyes. It wasn't cruel or uncaring, it was simply the life of a demon slayer. It was the very life Sango had warned her about on her first days in the village.
"Now you understand," she said with a sympathetic look and Rin could do little else but nod.
oOo
Demon slayers had their own rituals when it came to parting with their dead. Rin stood between Kohaku and her brothers, their faces identical solemn masks. They'd stripped the slayer of his armour and weapons, cleaned his body and wrapped it in a plain, white yukata. The portrait she'd painted of him in the short time since the group's return to the village was propped up next to him.
She hasn't hesitated to agree when Kohaku had asked her if she would do the simple ink portrait. She was relieved to have some way to contribute, no matter how small. Besides, it'd kept her hands busy and her mind mercifully preoccupied with things other than the fact that a man had just died and it very easily could have been Kohaku. Or the fact that half the group had returned from the mission with some serious injury and that those men just as easily could have been Kohaku, too.
Now that the funeral ceremony was taking place there was no escaping any of those thoughts as Rin studied the man's widow. She noted the stiff way the woman carried herself, and how alone she looked standing next to the funeral pyre. There were no tears on her cheeks, but Rin had to imagine that she'd long since gone numb to all emotion. She would cry later, maybe every night for months, but she had no tears to shed right now with everyone watching.
She appeared so strong standing there, and so painfully alone. What must she be thinking? Was she struggling over how she would possibly go on without him? Was she agonizing over the last words she'd said to him? Was she cursing him in her grief for having left her far too soon? Rin bowed her head, suddenly overcome with guilt that this woman had lost the man she loved while hers stood well and unharmed by her side. It felt wrong to feel any sort of relief or gratitude, but she did.
And there was, of course, the knowledge sitting in the back of her mind that that woman could just as easily be her. Maybe not now, but several years down the road. It could be her standing there stiff and alone, mourning over Kohaku's broken remains. Or maybe she'd have a child at her side, a child who would grow up without a father and how would she ever explain it to them? How would she raise that child alone? The thought sent a violent shiver down her spine and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a shuddering breath.
Kohaku's arm went around her back, offering what support he could. She was so tempted to lean into him, but she couldn't do that in front of the woman staring wearily at the funeral pyre as they lit it beneath her husband's body. It would be too selfish, too cruel, and so she stood stiffly next to him and didn't even look his way until his arm fell back to his side. She closed her eyes in silent defeat and said a prayer for the soul of the man as the wood of the pyre roared and crackled in the flames.
oOo
Kohaku found her some time later washing ink from the paintbrushes. A villager had lent them to her for the portrait and she'd hoped to return them looking just as pristine as they had when she'd opened the box that contained them.
"How are you doing?" he asked softly as he picked up one of the brushes and ran the damp bristles across his fingertips.
Rin frowned and scrubbed at a spot of ink that'd somehow spilt onto one of the brush handles.
"I'll be fine," she assured him, though her eyes couldn't seem to meet his.
Kohaku's hand wound round her arm and he turned her gently towards him, "Rin, talk to me," he pleaded, his voice low. "We should be able to talk about these sorts of things."
She fixed him with a hard look and threw the brush she'd been holding back into the ink blackened water.
"What sorts of things?" she demanded, careful to keep her voice low. "Like how that man could have been you? Or the fact that someday the woman standing next to her husband's corpse as they set it on fire could be me?"
His features blanched and his hands went to her shoulders, gripping them tight.
"Rin, I won't-"
"You won't die?" she hissed, pulling away. "You can't promise that."
"No," he conceded, choosing his words carefully. "But either of us could die at any time. I could get a cold next winter and be dead before spring. Or you could die while giving birth to our first child. Nothing is guaranteed in this life."
"Someday you won't be strong enough or fast enough to defeat one of those demons. Some day you-"
Kohaku cut her off with a quick shake of her shoulders. "Anything could happen someday," he insisted. "It's why we have to make the most of all the days we have leading up to 'someday'."
"And when that someday comes?"
"We find the strength to carry on."
Rin turned away and stared at the charred spot where the funeral pyre had stood only a day before. Life in the village had returned somewhat to normal. People milled about doing their various tasks of daily life, sharpening weapons or taking advantage of the sunshine to complete their washing. They'd moved on, just as Sango said they would.
"I don't know if I can be that strong," she confessed and gave Kohaku a pained look.
"What are you saying?"
"I need some time to think."
She stepped out of his reach and headed towards the village gate, leaving the unwashed brushes behind.
Kohaku's footsteps were quick to follow and he was at her side before she'd even gotten halfway to the gate. "Rin, where are you going?"
"For a walk," she insisted. "Wait for me?"
His feet slowed and eventually came to a stop. He nodded though she could tell that every bone in his body was urging him to follow her.
"Wait for me," she said more firmly this time and then headed alone through the gate towards the woods beyond.