SLEET
The rain did not bother him. Nor did the cold. But if Jaken continued his shivering, teeth clattering, one sided conversation, Sesshoumaru was nearly certain he would kick him clean off the side of the mountain.
"Jaken."
Thankfully the imp snapped his mouth shut without further direction.
They continued on their way through the freezing winter rain, through the persistent drumming of ice against the mountainside. Snow had fallen the week before, thick enough to coat the ground in white; but it had since melted, and then refrozen, and then more of the same in the following days, the hard packed blocks of ice crunched beneath his boots, breaking easily under his weight. The leather proved waterproof, but the rest of his clothing was a little less so, and it was only the heat of his own skin and the strength of his youki that kept icicles from forming on his armor. None of it would slow him down.
Jaken had taken to riding Ah-Un, when his small feet had begun to freeze in the slush. Now the imp simply shivered violently, his arms crossed in front of his chest to retain some warmth in his small frame. A small blessing that he'd remained quiet after the first warning.
Sesshoumaru raised his head from the path, the scent of smoke reaching his nose, smoke and meat and―
His next step was a little heavier than the last, and when he looked down, his whole foot was swallowed by the print gouged into the dirt.
―dogs.
Before him, two massive rhododendrons intertwined together to form a circle large enough to allow a carriage to pass through. The former Inu no Taishou himself had brought the saplings when he'd traveled from the south to claim his own land nearly a millenia ago. In the spring, the flowers would bloom with such intensity to give him a headache. But for now, winter had stripped the leaves, leaving only pale, bare branches encased in ice to mark the entrance. Beautiful and a little macabre, in it's own way, the branches as thin as skeletal fingers and glittering with light reflected in the ice.
He paused, his gaze falling to the kicked up and muddied snow. How long had it been since his return? Jaken had not been in his company the last time he had been here. Seventy-five years? Possibly more, not since the last festival, before his father's death, he couldn't remember.
"Um, Sesshoumaru-sama?" Jaken's voice was meek. "If you don't mind me asking, where are we?"
"Home."
The hum of the barrier passed over him, electrifying his hair and fur with static. It did nothing for the cold, but the rain was lessened here, merely a mist rather than the pelting drops of ice they had left behind. Sesshoumaru flared his youki, shaking himself of as much water as he could, though it still left a chill behind on his skin.
Jaken's squawk of surprise made him turn, the imp's awestruck face frozen between the dragon's two necks. Best to give him a task before he went in to hysterics or started asking questions.
"Take Ah-Un to be cared for."
It took a moment for the order to sink in, as Jaken blinked stupidly at his surroundings before he finally leapt off the dragon's back, snatched up its reins, and began a frantic search for the stables. Without his retainer's eyes on his back, Sesshoumaru allowed himself to finally take a deep breath. Nearly a century since he had returned here, yet the air smelled the same, crisp and clean, devoid of any strong scents to overwhelm his nose.
The castle loomed, ancient and enduring as ever. The building had stood long before even his father's time, though it had always inspired in him the sense of power his father had. In his youth, the two had come to mean nearly the same thing. Several stories built into the mountain itself in an ascending line, immense, hewn from stone and the wood of ancient forests, it appeared to grow from the mountain, vines and vegetation clung to the massive oblong stone bricks as they rose from the ground. A long walkway led from the yard to the main entry hall, a towering thing built to accommodate even inuyoukai in their true forms, though by the looks of it he may have outgrown it some. Age had hardened the outer cedar walls, solid charred black planks appeared to glitter against the rain; the roof tiles echoed the shimmering quality, glazed a deep midnight blue. As if it had been borne from the night sky itself; a glimmering jewel that had been the seat of his father's clan since the former Inu no Taishou had sought conquest nearly a millenia ago.
"Sesshoumaru-sama?"
He turned to meet the voice, an old woman who sat in a deep bow just above the steps to the walkway. The steward of the estate. Long grey hair fell around her shoulders to circle around her on the floor, the color of her long robes a blue as deep as the roof tiles and interspersed with silver starbursts.
"Karei."
At the sound of her name she raised her head. Black eyes glanced over him but did not keep his gaze as she quickly turned her eyes to the ground. Her pale and wrinkled face had not changed, she'd always been old.
"Welcome home," she smiled, her eyes closed with the gesture, "We have been expecting our Lord for some time now. We are pleased he's finally come home after so long. Our Lord's rooms have been prepared and we hope that everything is as desired."
"My attendant has gone to the stables," he said, unsure how true that was as he removed his boots and ascended the steps and joined her on the walkway. The great pillars towered over them, dark and weathered with age, the wooden steps creaked under his feet.
"He will be seen to." She rose to her feet slowly to guide him, her long robes trailing behind her. They began to walk, when suddenly, Karei stopped.
"Ah, and it seems that more guests have arrived." She stopped and turned back towards the gate. From inside the estate, the entryway was nothing more than any another castle gate, thick pillars to hold the wooden doors that would let nothing pass if shut, not even dogs. When he turned to follow her observation, he expected to see someone waiting just beyond the barrier's glossy film, instead he was greeted by the rumble and bulk of a horseless carriage passing through the gate with little room left to spare.
"She calls herself Momiji, she brings a traveling troupe of entertainers. She participated in the festivities fifty years ago."
Sesshoumaru's eyes fell on the woman in front, dwarfed by the carriage, her clothing was soaking wet, but if it bothered her she made no sign of it, a sly smile across her face even while she turned her head down in respect. If not for the oni's horns protruding from her skull he might have mistaken her as a human.
A servant, youthful in all the ways the crone beside him was not, and dressed in the same colors, ran out to greet them. The carriage shuddered to a stop as the woman approached, and the oni smiled brightly at her, revealing tusks that protruded over her upper lip. The sight was almost comforting as she met his gaze and bowed deeply.
He sniffed derisively, attempted to discern the scents of those inside the carriage. Nothing familiar, except―
What must have been the largest common bat he'd ever seen clawed its way out and onto the roof of the carriage, black as night and sniffing about until red eyes focused on him and leveled what he would swear was a lethal glare at him. He paused, wondering if it was worth the effort to engage with it, but another inhale had his hackles rising and he turned away with a huff.
They had brought in the scent of the storm.
…
She had taken him to the highest rooms in the castle.
What had once been his father's rooms, to be exact.
Despite the years that had passed, it was strange, being there. Untouched as his father had left it all those years ago; he knew even his mother had avoided stepping foot here. Sesshoumaru was surprised to find no dust, no indication of the neglect that the space had been given. He was grateful that whoever had cleaned it had erased any trace of their scent.
He'd told the old woman off and removed his armor himself, hung it neatly in one of the closets. Next, he hung Bakusaiga and Tenseiga from the hooks in the back wall. Once, it had been Tessaiga that rested on top, in the place of honor, but when he stepped back he thought he felt a contented hum from Tenseiga at being returned to its traditional place.
It felt odd, as if Bakusaiga was remiss in the place of honor. This was not his room, not his right.
But yet, as he eyed the poison blade, he supposed it was.
He'd proven himself, had he not?
Sesshoumaru turned away from the swords and walked to the other end of the room to open the shoji doors. Outside, a thin film of water sat on the outer edge of the veranda, melted snow and chunks of soft ice that stuck to his feet when he stepped out.
The blue roof tiles below him nearly blended into the forest with the haze of the misting rain. Fog rolled around him, as if he'd stepped out onto the edge of the world. If it had been a clear day, he might have been able to see the ocean, or even the nearby mountain range, but with the mist he could hardly make out the courtyard below. He breathed in, and the smell of rain and ozone tickled his nose.
He turned and slammed the doors shut behind him.
…
A small consolation of arriving early was less people. Less people meant less conversation. Less chance of him wanting to kill someone else or Jaken or himself during a mind numbing chat about things he could care less about.
But only just.
"Sesshoumaru-sama, I would humbly like to thank you for allowing us to perform for you. I hope that everything has been enjoyable?"
"Don't worry about him, Momiji, our Sesshoumaru isn't well versed in the finer arts, doesn't know how to show his appreciation. But not to worry, if he truly hated it, you'd be dead."
"I see, my lord is very generous then." The woman averted her eyes to the floor with a tinkling laugh. "Then please, my company is not very skilled but I hope the rest of the entertainment is to your liking."
Sesshoumaru gave a minute nod and reigned in the urge to roll his eyes. So far, her performers were nothing more than common tricksters, the bat hadn't made an appearance, but the rest of her entourage were just Tanuki and Kitsune who premised their raucous comedy on their shape shifting abilities. He had no interest in such, though as he continued to nurse his cup of sake, he found that his lips had turned up slightly at the corners.
To his right, his uncle was still speaking in hushed tones with the oni and Sesshoumaru had little interest in whatever history lay there. Gajou had always been a boisterous man, with a weakness for women and alcohol. His hair a darker gray, pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his skull, his fur draped loosely across his shoulders, two jagged crimson stripes on his cheeks, and lines around his yellow eyes that betrayed his age.
Gajou continued his positively obnoxious laugh, but Sesshoumaru preferred his company to the others that had arrived before him. Gajou was nothing if not an honest man, had once been a strong warrior, but had never had the tenacity for subterfuge and thankfully avoided prying questions and the snide comments he expected from everyone else.
Sesshoumaru reclined into his fur, idly swishing the sake in his cup, as his eyes scanned the open hall; the space taken up by dogs of various sizes and their humanoid counterparts. His cousins, mostly, though some he couldn't name nor did he care to. Jaken sat a few feet behind him, though he suspected the imp had fallen asleep long ago. The space seemed too large, as the freezing rain continued to patter around them, for the handful of youkai that lounged on it. Several members of his clan that had traveled from the southern island, all silver haired and golden eyed, relaxed and drank and laughed at the trickster's jokes. He knew that their attention was not solely on the entertainers. They watched him, assessing his disposition, for any sign of the strength he had been professed to have. But more than that, for any sign of weakness.
Over sixty-five years since his father's death and they feared a repetition of his faults.
He did not blame them.
"Say, Sesshoumaru!" Gajou started between two heavy gulps from his glass. The woman was still at his side, she refilled his cup when he placed it on the table before him. A smart choice, to choose Gajou as her companion, Sesshoumaru wouldn't have tolerated her. "I heard you've gotten a lot stronger since the last time we met!"
"It has been several decades, uncle."
"Bah! Some achieve in fifty years what others achieve in five hundred! Time makes no difference."
Sesshoumaru snorted. He supposed that was true. It had taken him little more than a year to truly realize his.
"Care to indulge an old man in a duel sometime?" Gajou asked with a smirk.
"I don't enjoy making a habit of egregious displays of power." A lie. But if he said it with a straight face, his uncle might believe it.
"Is this the same Sesshoumaru I knew all those years ago? What happened to that cocky smart mouthed brat? Starting to sound more like your father."
"I suppose." He knew that ears had turned at the mention of his father. The rhythm of conversations stuttered, the eavesdroppers foaming at the mouth for any tiny morsel of gossip. He kept his mouth shut.
"You know, I was a bit disappointed when you didn't show up at the last festival fifty years ago. I had been hoping to see you prove your worth, but I suppose that's why you came now, right?"
Hn. He had made a point to avoid it, he'd gone to ascertain something instead. "I was not prepared then."
"I suppose so," Gajou averted his eyes, his voice going soft. "He looked for you, you know."
Involuntarily, his jaw clenched. Him? Or his brother? The question caught on his tongue as he forced himself to drink. The oni was still sitting there, and he wouldn't get into technicalities and he was beginning to rethink his initial opinion of his uncle. If that's what Gajou wanted to believe then fine. It didn't make a difference so Sesshoumaru stayed silent.
"Your mother said you've changed quite a bit."
He bristled. "I've only seen her the once in the last fifty years, of course she would say so."
"What a terrible son, not visiting your own lady mother!"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gajou's fanged grin. Sesshoumaru continued swirling his drink, absentmindedly watching the show. The tanuki had transformed into an oni, and was chasing the kitsune-turned-human-monk around the floor as he screamed and prayed to all the gods to save him from the beast, only to trip over something nonexistent. With a flourish, the monk waxed poetic about his expanding doom, lamenting his life's transgressions. And was subsequently devoured in a flurry of makeshift guts and viscera. Distasteful, frankly.
The woman, Momiji, began to lightly clap when the two performers sank into deep bows along the floor. They muttered humble thanks before they stood and slipped off into the shadows just beyond the tatami's edge.
"My lords, I truly hope you enjoy our next act. They are my most prized performers."
There was a shuffling sound, the pitter patter of something small making their way across the floor. Sesshoumaru turned his head, and saw the odd trio of a shamisen, koto, and a biwa moving towards the center of the small crowd. He had never seen the enchanted instruments before, and it was strange watching the wood and strings move as if they were living and breathing. The koto's many strings had become like a wild nest of hair, and he swore he could see a mouth with fangs protruding from the side. The biwa and shamisen were much less beastly, taking on more human like characteristics, even so far as to be draped in cloth as if to hide their nakedness.
"Your prized act are spirited instruments?"
Gajou made a move as if to swat his arm in reprimand but Momiji only smiled.
Once the band had settled into place two more figures emerged from the shadows to his left. The first, a woman with skin so dark it was nearly black, with a braid of inky hair that fell along her shoulder and down past her hips. Her owlish eyes a deep, deep blue that shimmered in the torchlight, and between them a beaked nose. Multicolored feathers draped over her shoulders, and her taloned feet clicked as she slowly made her way across the floor, gingerly holding a wooden flute before her.
Gajou's posture straightened as the attention was drawn to her, and even Sesshoumaru had to concede that the woman was beautiful. Yet something tickled his skin, her aura not one he could place.
Behind her, a woman followed. Cloaked in a long, icy blue kimono, a hanten draped like a cloak from the top of her head, the lapels hanging down to shield her face, despite the fact that she wore a mask. The face of a young maiden, pale with gold paint lining her eyes; she kept her head towards the floor, and the shadows that fell across the mask made it seem as though she was weeping.
Sesshoumaru sniffed again, had the rain increased? No, the drizzle continued as before.
The couple stopped in the center of the room and sank into deep bows. They said nothing, and the birdwoman was the first to stand. She took a step back, away from the cloaked woman and placed the flute to her lips.
The shamisen began to pluck it's own strings, followed by the koto and the biwa, and then the woman's flute. The cloaked woman began to rise to her feet, slowly, as if pulled by a string between her shoulder blades, her face still turned towards the floor. Slowly, she raised an arm, then the other, she spun on her heel and bent her knees. The sound of the flute was mesmerizing, a sense of calm washed over him and left him staring at the dancing woman. Her smooth and fluid movements, like water―
A fan flicked out from inside her sleeve.
No.
Like the wind.
With a deep breath he sat up straight, as calmly as he could. He'd been foolish, unable to recognize the scent for what it was. The memory of it so deeply buried in his subconscious, an attempt at forgetting it so well done he hadn't realized it until she was staring him in the face
Nearly four years, and to be here, now? He had a hard time believing it was coincidence.
He glanced at his uncle from the corner of his eye. Gajou sat like a man entranced, positively enamored, his cheek resting on his palm. Sesshoumaru slid his gaze away back to her, as she twisted and turned with the increasing tempo, the fan flicking open and closed as she moved her arms.
He slowly sat back and took a sip of sake. He supposed he could let himself enjoy her dance.
What felt like hours later she finally slowed to a stop, sinking to her knees into a bow, her forehead nearly touching the floor. Something tightened in his chest. How unlike her.
There was some clapping, but as he looked around he noticed that the rest of the audience appeared to be in a daze, their eyes half clouded and drowsy, just resurfacing from the trance the birdwoman's flute had put them in.
His head snapped back to the floor when she stood, her movements a little less fluid than before. She jumped to her feet abruptly and adjusted the cloak around her face, then with quick feet she shuffled as quietly as possible towards the exit, her long robes dragging behind her. His eyes followed her, and he swore she turned to look at him just before scurrying off into the shadows.
Running? It seemed so, and the thought of it nearly had the predator in him buzzing in excitement. But he took three deep breaths before following.
Jaken may or may not have squawked something at him, and was promptly answered with a foot to the face.
It was easy enough to follow her scent now that he was searching for it. He slipped off into the hallways that branched from the main hall, picking up her scent and its trail with the same austerity he'd had when hunting Naraku. The irony of course, wasn't lost on him, especially with what lay at the end of the trail.
Up a few flights of stairs, down another hallway, then out onto the veranda, yet he still hadn't caught sight of her. The scent was growing stronger, but when he rounded a corner into a garden and found a dead end, he wondered if it was all some elaborate prank and swore he'd have whoever had orchestrated it dead before the sun rose.
But then, the wind shifted, and―
"Looking for me, m'lord?"
He'd forgotten what her voice sounded like, and the words had his hackles rising for a reason he didn't care to name. He rounded on her, spinning on his heel just in time to see her standing in front of the door way, still wearing the mask and her fan held up haughtily over the lower half of her face.
As quick as he'd turned, it didn't take much to take the three steps that separated them and snatch her fan to snap it closed. Her hand right right along with it, loosely hanging from the tassel, dangling from his grip as he loomed over her. If the action shocked her, the mask hid any indication of it. He wanted to smash the damn thing.
"Kagura."
Slowly, but without hesitation, she reached up to unbuckle the clasps at her temples and slide the mask halfway down her face. Glowing eyes appraised him and he didn't need to see her lips to recognize the smirk that would be there.
"Yo, Sesshoumaru. Long time no see."
…
Hey everyone! If you've just come from reading Born Free, congrats! We did it! If you have not read the sequel yet and would just like some context, you only need to read the first four chapters of Born Free to know where these two left off.
Please keep in mind that this story is loosely based on am unfinished fic I wrote in 2012, same overall premise but I've changed a lot of the characterization and plot, especially when it comes to Kagura's character. Let me know what you all think of it so far.
Essentially my characterization for Sess is going to be the big bad who turned good i guess and is now real mad about it, big grump just wants to be scary and kill people like he used to. He's like a teenager at home for the holidays who just wants to play video games in his room. On the other hand Kagura is home from her study abroad and got a gig as a dj at his family reunion.