LXXXVII

Cupio Dissolvi

Naraku is aware of the miko the moment she becomes aware - of his presence, his energy. The questing threads obey his will, try to reach out to her, embrace her, smother her painful light, but through the dim haze of his own miasma he is seared to the bone the moment holy energies touch the velvety darkness of his shard.

He sees her fingers, white as jade and gleaming with lavender outline. They reach out of darkness like the hand of a goddess from heaven, plucking the shard from the whirlpool of his awareness. It simply disappears, and with the vanishing of the shikon shard, the spiderweb of sickly, cloying power begins to break.

Snap, like a hair held over a candle. Snap, like a silk thread on a sharp tooth. Snap, like a wire stretched past its breaking point, and this time the lashing ends come crackling back to their origin, whips striking at Naraku with heavenly fire at their broken ends. Snap, snap-snap-snap, until he waves a sleeve, far away where he sits on Kagewaki Hitomi's cushions, and melts the many connections with miasma until only a single thread remains.

Each one is a piece of himself, like the many pieces he has scattered into his incarnations, but with neither consciousness nor a will of their own. Their destruction is painful, a sizzling fall of embers on tender skin. Yet despite the backlash, he is unwilling to let go completely. He has wasted too much effort to let go completely, even if the risk of remaining in contact with this woman, under the light of the miko's gaze, is great. He wants an eye to see with, an ear to hear with, and if need be, a hand to grasp the will within Sango's flesh.

In his dark basement, with the growls of bound beasts and the gasps of Kagura's agony for accompaniment, he sits in meditation, all his attention on the last, invisible line of connection between him and his unknowing servant. The taijiya lies unconscious, now. Barely breathing. The thread of her life is pulled taut as a bowstring. Neither asleep nor awake, neither living nor dead, only her years of fighting and training have given her the strength to stay on the bright side of death's dark edge.

That, and his will.

His infiltration might at first have been enough to consume her, but in the absence of the shard and its fetid corruption, his strength and presence is barely enough to exist on its own. Instead, he lets the last thread of viciousness ride Sango's blood into her heart and stay there, still and silent. He will be the rot in the core. The worm in the apple, gnawing at her insides, for however much longer she lives.

For many months, she has relied on his power and on the might of the shikon no tama without knowing it - to keep back the pain, coagulate the blood, suppress the imminent infection and let her move as if her wounds have healed. Now, she can only rely on luck to stay alive. Is it interesting or infuriating that such luck has lasted even this long?

But his rage at the loss of the shard makes such speculations irrelevant. The fragment of shikon no tama that kept Sango in this world was not a gift. Naraku does not give, unless by giving he can take. The sacred jewel served as his way in, a seed to carry his awareness, a corrupt cornerstone upon which he had hoped to build an entire foundation. Even when he had conceived it, he knew it to be an imperfect plan, but he is displeased to see how badly he has underestimated this Wolf's woman.

He had prepared for a miko's power, a miko's sight; he had prepared for what he remembers of Kikyou's strength. It's almost humiliating how easily this girl has seen right through his careful preparations. How she continues to see, so that a single thread will have to be enough.

Naraku retreats his presence from the power, finds his own body again and soothes two of his burned fingertips with his mouth. Is it worth it, the sacrifice of a shard, the sacrifice of a pawn, for what he's learned?

Kagome. The woman's face is so like Kikyou's. He had expected that, but not the ease with which this girl spoke Wolfish words, the ease with which she spoke in defense of what is hers, and his. That Wolf… yes, that is the other thing. The ease with which she had reached for her yōkai lover.

Sango might not have noticed, might have stopped her thoughts at that kiss, which is taboo enough on its own. Naraku knows better. So intimate, the way the Wolf puts his hands on his woman. Full of a fledgling knowledge no platonic relationship can imitate. And the way the woman turns to his kiss, the expectation in her hands, reaching out for him… In the lines of her body, curved with the memory of delight, the truth burns like a star.

"You belong to him, woman. Kagome." He says her name, and then again, tasting the syllables as if they hide a secret. "Kagome. Like a bird in a cage, you belong to him. Is that the only difference? Or… what is it? What lets you accept him, reach for and possess him? Why is it that you allow him to possess you?"

A golden bird. She wears Kikyou's face, has Kikyou's power and great affinity with the shikon no tama. She wears the robes of a miko, and surely the sting is there in the power, sleeping beneath her skin. A bird in a cage. But what is the thing that lets her say murderer with blood in her voice? What is it that gives her the insight to see through to the bones of his careful plans?

"Kagome." The sound of her name brings him the memory of jade-white fingers, the rush of her anger as clean and powerful as the tide. Implacable. Undeniable. Having felt it once, he knows that it will go and return, go and return, again and again until its source is washed away. Kikyou's anger was only ever lightning. Terrible and beautiful, but it would come and go in a flash. Only sometimes did it leave fire behind.

Naraku opens his eyes, looking down at the tips of his fingers. "But water can burn, too."

He can feel the decision coming for him, the need to pick, one or the other, and stop splitting his focus. It was risky before, chasing only after Kikyou. It will be tempting fate if he continues going after both of them, now that he knows they are both equally dangerous. "Kikyou." And then again, testing, "Kagome."

He lets out a breath that steams with turbid yōki. "Which do I want more? To put out the fire… or rip the heart from the sea?" The question is enough to tell him what he wants, but can he even do it? Can he freeze that summer tide, that warm, all-encompassing ocean? Can he pull out the heart of it, and keep it frozen to soothe himself? He stares at the blisters on his fingertips, rubs his thumb against middle and index fingers, then squeezes hard and sharply so the blisters burst.

"Kagome."

They would be coming, she and the Alpha, and they knew that something was not right here. But they did not know he knew. So what do I do with that? "I will prepare a lovely greeting for you, little bird, a greeting for you and for your Wolf. A celebration, in honor of your past… and my future."

Old, rotten blood seeps swiftly through Sango's clothes, and Kagome strips her yukata down to her waist before she does anything else, looking at the wounds with a critical eye. She has no experience, except with her own injury and then Kouga's, and his didn't last long enough to count. But Kikyou had been a healer more than anything else, and she had saved victims of battle, hunting and farming accidents, and all sorts of burned and broken men.

They're secondhand memories, but they're better than nothing, and the only other thing Kagome could think of was to send Sango back to where she came from with the shard still in her back. Knowing that some yōkai like the harpies is at the other end makes that unacceptable; the jewel and the consequences it brings are Kagome's responsibility. She won't let it be used for harm, not if she can help it.

"Even if you're stupid. And a murderer. And… Ugh. But I can't just let you die without doing something." She moves Sango's hair out of the way, wincing as the damage is fully revealed. There are two slashes in the middle of her back, one larger cutting from her shoulder halfway to her hip, with the smaller one crossing it just to the right of her spine. The wounds look both old, and fresh, as if the shikon shard had been used to stop the bleeding and the pain, but nothing else.

Black blood had gushed from both wounds at first, and now there's a trickle of new red blood. The flow is sluggish, but she thinks it will be enough to clean the worst of the foulness away, and maybe too much for Sango in her weakened state.

She feels Kouga come up beside her, and shakes her head. "I don't get it, how was she moving around like this, traveling like this, and hadn't noticed? If I'd known it was this bad I would never have just taken the shard out. I don't even know if I can do anything to help her."

"Why would you do anything? What could you do? This is the intention of whoever put the shard there, it's not your fault. But do you really think this Kagewaki is –"

"Evil? Probably. It would explain the feeling you get, the bad aura you said was north. Kagewaki's daimyo is in the north. It makes even more sense if the wind woman was still his servant when she came here, it means now he's just using her as bait for us. I'm more worried that if he had a shikon shard he was willing to put in Sango, when he was sending her off alone like this? He probably has others, and wants more."

Kouga scrubs a hand through his hair "So he wants to lure us away, then. Wants to take the jewel for himself, probably thinks we'll be easier to deal with if it's just the two of us. But that fits my intentions too, I don't want fighting near the den if I can help it."

Kagome shakes her head, and starts to move Sango into the shallow cave where her bedroll is still laid out. "Not just the two of us, Kouga. Maybe, if I can convince her, this taijiya, too. Something's obviously wrong with her wounds, and there was a shard in her. If she lives, she can't deny that, can she? And Miroku, too. I want to talk to him about his enemy, and maybe he can help me keep Sango alive. In fact…"

She hesitates, her gaze shifting between the woman on the ground, the black blood on her hands, and the tightness at the corners of Kouga's eyes. "Will you lead him here?"

"Miroku?"

Kouga is obviously hesitant, but Kagome looks up at him again sharply as she tugs Sango back another few feet. "Yes, Miroku. Don't you remember he recognized the wind witch? He said he was looking for her master, that the miasma around her fan was familiar. And he can run on his own, it's not like you'd have to carry him." She snickers, but Kouga only shakes his head.

"You think he's involved too? Or whoever he's after?"

"No… Well, maybe. I could be overthinking; it just seems like too much of a coincidence. The demon that put a shard in Sango, Kagewaki and his father… the wind woman, and Miroku's enemy, all just to the north. It doesn't seem right, from what I've learned staying with you. Powerful yōkai don't share territory like that, do they?"

"No, they don't." And Kouga frowns thoughtfully, glaring down at the taijiya as if it's her fault. "They don't." And then, as if he's only just realized what Kagome is doing, he strides over and shoves the woman's body onto her bedroll, easily doing the thing which Kagome has been struggling with. "What are you doing, anyway? Is this a human burial thing?"

"What? No, she's not dead. Not yet, and hopefully she won 't die. I already said, I wouldn't have pulled the shard out if I'd known it was this bad." Gingerly, Kagome presses the skin at the edges of the wounds, and finds it hot to the touch, the blood still ready to flow at the slightest provocation. "It didn't even occur to me that a human could have wounds like this and stay standing."

Kouga just blinks at her. "I did say she was near death, Kagome. And that the shard was keeping her alive."

"Yes, but… okay look, I was really mad, so I just grabbed the shard, but what else was I going to do, anyway? She wouldn't have let me take it more gently, you saw how she was looking at me." Frowning, she tears a relatively clean section off Sango's black-stained yukata and begins to wipe away the worst of the blood. "For now, I need hot water, and clean cloth, and if there are herbs left, the medicine Kaede-san gave you when I was hurt? Those might help, too."

He gives her a look, quick and dark from under his eyebrows. "I kept them in case you were hurt again. I don't want to waste them on-"

"Kouga. It's not a waste, and I'm not going to let her die when it would be my fault!" His look becomes a glare, and she winces. "Technically. Sort of?"

"No. Don't you dare, not when you're sitting there trying to save her."

She moves to brush her hair back from her forehead, and doesn't protest when Kouga catches her wrist and tucks the errant lock behind her ear himself. "Look, even if it isn't my fault she's wounded, I'm here now, I can't just… I'm not going to let her hurt anyone I care about, but I'm not going to be as bad as she is, either, and just let her die because of what she calls herself." And she sighs, and elbows him a little, ignoring his oof. "Besides, herbs like that don't stay good forever, and neither of us even know how to store them properly."

As she says it, there's a faint echo of Kikyou's voice in the back of her mind, reciting lessons that she learned by rote. A sudden, startling possibility occurs to Kagome – that she might be able to use those memories, to learn from them herself – but other than the bare minimum, that will take time, and she doesn't have it now.

Kouga cups her face with his hands, presses his forehead against her forehead and nuzzles her gently. "I got it. Don't worry. I'll bring them, and Miroku. That's a good idea anyway, he has nothing better to do. He can stay here with her if she lives, and keep watch. I know you want to help her, but don't ask me to leave you here with her alone for any real length of time, Kagome. I couldn't bear it if she - "

He looks at Sango once more, sharply, as if making sure she's really unconscious, really no threat, before he rubs the back of his knuckles against Kagome's cheek. "Too many of our kind have been lost to too many of hers, because we thought they were harmless. Just human. I won't make that mistake, not with you as the price."

She stares at him, then nods, not trusting herself to say anything, and he takes off in the direction of the den without another word. Kagome's sure, watching him go, that he's moving faster now than he did on their way, and smiles a little to herself. So protective. But he's so sweet about it. And maybe, she thinks, maybe in another time it would have bothered here, but the caution is necessary here.

Three notes of howling song come back over the hill as he disappears behind it. She doesn't understand them, but she knows they're a reminder to the patrol of Wolves sitting just outside the cave. They come closer, one slinking into the shadow behind her back, one padding to sit at attention at the taijiya's feet. The others stay at the entrance to the shallow hole in the hillside, watching in all directions for the danger that has yet to come.

Time has passed, a night, a day, another night. On the ground before Sesshomaru, the girl finally moves, drawing his attention. It's not to flee; not now. Flight requires more than she has left to give. The weight of dawn is too heavy for her, and she sways once in place, as if her knees have turned to reeds, then falls over onto her side, unconscious. Her lips are cracked and dry; there's something hollow about the shadow under her eyes.

Sesshomaru has not acknowledged her. He has neither looked directly at her, nor spoken a single word to her. Yet she has remained, silently waiting, watchful even with her gaze on the ground. Now, she no longer watches, but her presence remains, goading him in silence.

He doesn't understand why she is still here, when he made no move to interact with her. The seventeen things that he knows about her are fourteen things more than he has known about any other human, and none of them are the same. How could they be? His father's affair was with a woman grown, and this girl has not even lived a full decade.

So the three things he knew about that woman, Sesshomaru cannot know about the girl, and the things that he does know have no meaning or purpose. Her injuries. Her retreat. The distance to her village; the distance to her hiding place. Her intentions in kneeling here; her view of him as some kind of mononoke. Kami-sama, she had failed to say, but her mouth had still shaped the words.

Only her innocence and its absolute purity keep him from being insulted at the very idea that he is some kind of guardian spirit. She is too young, too human, too stupid, and again, too young, to know any better. If even one of those things were not true, how could she have failed to recognize him for what he is? Without knowing his name or his nature, she would know that he is death.

He is many things, but all of them are and have always been death. His father had offered the hope of his own family, but origins or offspring, neither had managed to move him. Fear of the future, the failure of one's bloodline, fear that the world will leave you behind - those are for the weak. He has nothing to protect, and refuses utterly to find such a thing.

He cannot accept this girl's offering, or her bow, or the obligation it would bestow on him if he did. Whatever path she is on, he can only turn aside from it.

One foot at a time, Sesshomaru tests himself by standing. It's a task to lever himself off the ground, but once he manages it, he finds he has the strength to stay on his feet. The sword at his side knocks gently against his hip as he moves, and for the first time in many long years, he looks down at it. The white-blue fire of the blade's edge is a powerful memory, but it is only the memory of a dream. He has never seen Tenseiga display any power worthy of him, and now, as he slides it out of the sheath, is no different.

Silent, showing only the appearance of steel and nothing else, the sword sits useless in his hand. It's not even sharp enough to cut; what, then, is the purpose of it? Only one strange thing catches his attention. His clothes are dyed rusty red and brown by his great loss of blood, but the wrappings of Tenseiga's hilt, the length of its sheath, they are clean and gleaming, as if the blade had just been brought to him brand new.

A vague thought trembles at the back of his mind, but fails to form completely, as if pieces are missing. The dream and the sword, his blood and its essence… Someone, who was afraid. There's something there, and he knows it, but he can't put his finger on it. Perhaps by the time he finds a direction, he will have smoothed out the thought. For now, it's enough to know that the idea is waiting.

As he sheaths the sword, a deep, sharp hunger and a deeper throb of pain both strum through his body. They remind him that he didn't take these wounds in this shape, and though a humanoid form is more inconspicuous, to suppress himself this way is to suppress both the wounds and their vast and terrible source.

Slowly, he relaxes his control, and as he does so the agony grows, not less, but easier to bear. Without the constant pressure of his will to restrain it, the great Inu expands out of this lesser flesh, erupting with yōki-laced wind that blasts against the ground. The branches of the trees that grew up around him while he lay bleeding break apart at the touch of his shoulders. The trees themselves collapse with a series of screaming groans at his first step.

Sesshomaru exhales, and poison scatters the wildlife in the undergrowth. He yawns, and flecks of saliva melt the grass. The girl remains where she fell, still unconscious, oblivious to the noise and the gradual greening of the air around her with corrosive poison.

For no reason at all, he steps over her when he could easily crush her, turns his head to keep his breath from her, and stretches his stiff and injured limbs one at a time.

The wounds are easier to bear in this shape, as he thought they would be. He considers if there is anything he needs, anything he is forgetting. He considers the girl. He considers his dream that was not a dream, and if there is a place where he can find such a Pass, such a Slope, and such a Stone. Then he leaps up, three painful steps on the sky, until he's even with the clouds and pauses, unsure of his direction.

East, or West?

Something pulls him toward the rising sun, and Sesshomaru flies that way without hesitation. He doesn't look back.

A/N: And so some things happened, and some other things happened, and then there was a chapter! But I am EYEBALL DEEP in the next chapter and some Very Exciting Things ™ , so hang tight to those saddles. Lessee, this chapter's title, Cupio Dissolvi, means "desire to be dissolved" as in, having a will to death. Doom abounds, and next up is… EVEN MORE!

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