Redemption

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, etc. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

REDEMPTION

Summary: Specters of the past bring forth questions for the future. Can she save his soul, or will he wander forever in darkness?

WORDS

hakama - wide-legged pants, worn by both men and women
obi - sash
buta - pig (I was thinking of the porkly youkai who chased Kohaku in the second movie and used this definition)
ningen - human
nagajugan - underclothing

WARNING! DARK IMAGERY AND ADULT TOPICS!

A/N - I have raised the rating to ‘R’ for the dark topics I bring up in this chapter. I imply one action and describe quite bloodily another. I argued with myself for including this scene, but finally had to give in to my darker plot bunnies, as it provided a new window into Bankotsu’s character. On a lighter note, this story has evolved quite nicely, and as real life has finally settled back down to a manageable level, I will not tarry so long in updating the next chapter. Thanks once again for the wonderful reviews…they keep me hyped. XP ~ Fate

CHAPTER FIVE

Riding a horse is never comfortable for one who does it rarely. On horseback, one is forced to use muscles typically never stretched if one is used to using one’s own two feet to get around.

Sango tried to scowl, tried to look fierce, tried to look calm and composed, unemotional and unaffected. She failed at all of them, finally settling for just looking plain miserable, grimacing as each hoof struck the ground and each muscle was wrenched anew. It didn’t help that her left hand was tied to the pommel of the saddle, or that she could not really use her right for balance. Normally it wouldn’t make that much of a difference, but it caused her to lean just that little bit extra to the left, making that thigh rub just a little more on the stiffened leather of the ancient saddle Bankotsu had dug up from behind the barn.

They hadn’t taken any time to rub down and soften the cracked surface, though Bankotsu had carefully arranged the horse blanket underneath so that the horse wouldn’t get any saddle sores from the dried out leather. Sango wished she had spoken up and asked for the same, her thighs without the protection of her nagajugan were rubbed raw. But horrified by the thought of ever mentioning something that immodest, she had kept her mouth shut---and thought wistfully of her silken black armor, which molded to her skin, would have been more than adequate protection against something so trivial as old leather.

It was not like her captor took any notice of Sango’s silent misery. Bankotsu sauntered along, giant halberd slung negligently over one shoulder, the horse’s lead-reins held loosely in his free hand. He was even humming an old drinking song under his breath, strolling along as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Sango had tried glaring at him, to no avail, and now simply hunched down, trying to lessen her movements as much as possible.

So it was with some surprise when she finally realized that they had stopped, and that Bankotsu was looking at her with that quizzical expression. Sango just looked down at him, too tired to even glare as his eyes wandered down her body to where her thin yukata had hiked up past her knee to show a good long glimpse of muscled thigh.

“You’re starting to become more trouble than you’re worth.”

Sango didn’t reply, though she thought darkly that he might just let her go and then she wouldn’t be such a bother to him. She finally said as much, muttering under her breath, and Bankotsu actually tilted his head back and gave a short, sharp bark of laughter.

Humor much improved, the mercenary casually leaned his Banryuu against the side of the small building they had drawn abreast and tied the sway-backed nag to a handy post that stood out beside the scuffed yard. A couple of rickety benches faced the dirt trace of a road they had been following, though the hostelry seemed deserted right now. It was some time past midday---like Inuyasha, Bankotsu had pressed on through the early afternoon, rather than stopping.

Bankotsu disappeared into the small hut, leaving Sango to sit and ache outside. The horse waggled his ears at her and stamped. Sango winced as the horse shifted his weight to one side, cocking a hoof before lowering his heavy head to drowse in the sun. Sango was envious; it would have been nice to go and nap in the sun, somewhere out in the long grass with nothing but the warmth of the sun’s golden kiss upon your cheek…

She nearly fell off as a sharp blade cut through the rope binding her left wrist. Jamming an elbow into Bankotsu’s ear was merely an automatic reaction to his sudden appearance, with knife in palm, right next to her. Hearing the solid thud of impact and Bankotsu’s curse was most satisfying, though. Sango even managed to smile briefly, before Bankotsu pulled her off the saddle with a scowl and the chafed flesh on her thighs came to screaming life. He tried to set her on her feet, but her feet had gone numb. She was forced to hobble like an old woman, leaning on him for support.

Sango’s smile had faded by the time they reached the splintered porch. She had to blink as a gaggle of old women, sounding just like the hens they resembled, and just as bent over as she was right now, swarmed over her. Cackling to themselves, the three women hauled her after them inside the dim hut, leaving Bankotsu behind with two old men who much resembled the women. Sango paused, blinking at the sudden darkness of the shadowy interior, but the women were having none of it. They hauled her along as if she had no choice in the matter, and she didn’t really, with all three of them crowding her past the first two rooms and shoving her into the third.

Sango’s face burned as the women made scolding noises over the state of her inner thighs. The women didn’t pay any mind to her rather acute embarrassment over the whole situation, but Sango was more than grateful after the three hens had soothed salve over the raw burns and massaged some of the stiffness from her muscles. Wrapping their ministrations with tight bandaging, they then helped her into a pair of clean, if ragged, pair of peasant’s hakama. The wide-legged cloth might have once been blue, but had faded with many washings until it was now a more of a faded blue-gray. The fabric was worn thin and the edges were fraying, but the fabric was soft on her skin. They laughed and scolded at her, making fun of her rather odd outfit of ragged short-pants and wrinkled yukata. She tried to thank the women, who all grinned toothlessly back at her and made bows and just cackled among themselves. Their dialect was strange, maybe it was their accent or her exhaustion, but she didn’t recognize their words.

They forced her to eat a bowl of strange noodles and fish, and to take a cupful of sour sake that made her make such a face that it set them all off again, mimicking her pursed lips and screeching with laughter. Patting her shoulders, which was as far as they could reach when Sango finally stood up, more than ready to go, they escorted her back outside---this time under her own power, having recovered her strength enough to walk herself out.

She ignored Bankotsu’s grin at her odd appearance, instead going over to stand by the drowsing nag with as much dignity as she could muster. She noticed that the old saddle had been removed, and a simple affair of blanket and harness put in its place. The horse opened one eye and snorted as Bankotsu came up beside them.

Sango was in complete agreement.

“Can we go now?” Bankotsu was impatience itself. Sango thought longingly of her Hiraikotsu. How nice it would be to wipe that smirk off his damn face with the broadside of her boomerang. She took heart in the thought of the small bit of metal still hidden in her obi. Once they were camped and the mercenary’s guard was down, she’d be able to take him out with a good, quick knock over the head. Almost unconsciously, she flexed the wrapped fingers of her left hand. They didn’t hurt as much as they had yesterday, she might even be able to put her plan in action tonight…

With that delightful thought, Sango allowed Bankotsu to toss her over the horse’s withers and even submitted without complaint as he re-secured her left hand to the reins, as there was no pommel on the blanket arrangement. She wondered what the peasants must think about all this, but they just huddled on the porch, nodding and smiling. One of the men called out to Bankotsu in their strange language, and he surprised her by answering in the same---an answer that had them all shrieking with laughter, even the women.

Sango just glared.

Bankotsu flashed her a cheeky grin before grabbing the reins and vaulting up on the horse behind her. The horse backed up a pace as Sango stiffened in shock. The look on her face sent the old folks into a new screech of laughter as Bankotsu shifted his weight, sidling the horse closer to the wall where his Banryuu was propped like so much discarded lumber.

Bankotsu leaned over and lifted the giant halberd with one hand. With some deft twists that had Sango’s cheeks flaming, he secured the giant weapon across the right side of the horse, who didn’t appreciate having the weapon hanging off its side the length of its wither to its tail, though he somehow didn‘t seem bothered by its weight. Bankotsu patted the sword fondly before gathering up the reins in his left hand and hauling Sango closer to him with his right.

“What do you think you are doing?” Sango hissed under her breath, not liking the intimacy of this situation one bit. Even Miroku had never dared sit this close to her when riding Kirara---he wouldn’t have lived long after trying.

“I’m making sure my nervous young bride doesn’t run away from me again.” He replied in a nonchalant whisper that feathered warmth across her ear.

“WHAT?!”

With a cocky grin, Bankotsu tightened his grip on his sputtering ‘bride’, hauling her closer to him, and kneed the plodding horse into a ground-eating lope. The grinning choir of old peasants, who waved and called out encouragements in their strange tongue, laughing at their own jokes, soon disappeared behind them.

Sango thought darkly of how many ways there was to kill a man---even a twice dead, thrice reincarnated mercenary…

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Bankotsu believed in expediency. Although it would have been nice to stop for the night and rest, he rejected the idea. The hanyou’s sensitive nose was sure to pick up their trail---eventually---at the dead peasant’s farm, and it would be easy for him to follow their ambling path from there. His path had been deliberate; he had finally made up his mind and decided on the perfect place to lure the half-dog to.


Stopping at Kyoukotsu’s parents’ hostel had been a bit foolish, perhaps, but he had been feeling a little sentimental this morning. Perhaps it was the girl’s presence, although she could in no way physically resemble or remind him of his former band, there was something in having a presence there with him, someone he needed to look out for and take care of---not to mention keep in line, a thought that had him grinning---that had made him think of the good old days, back when they were all together and before all that stupid mess had started about shed blood meaning more to them than pay earned…

Kyoukotsu’s former home hadn’t been too far off the path for him to amble on over and drop by for a visit. He hadn’t really thought the idea through, however, and had had to come up with a quick excuse when Kyoukotsu’s old mother had demanded to know just who the girl was, trussed to his saddle like a sack of rice. Thank the Boils that he’d always been able to think quick on his feet, and had brushed it off with the rather dubious explanation that the girl was his bride---and a shy, reluctant one at that. One who didn’t know how much she truly loved him, and had run away because of her own maidenly foolish fears. That had sent Kyoukotsu’s family shrieking into laughter, delighted that he, who they had always regarded rather fondly (having accepted their dead son as he was with no judgment or preconceived bigotry just because he was a big tower of a boy with a face like hard granite and a head thicker than it was big), that he, cocky Bankotsu, was now being led around by the nose by a slight waif of a girl in a dirty yukata.

Bankotsu had taken their teasing with wry equanimity, secretly smirking at the thought of what the ninja-girl would think of his little lie. Well, he had certainly found out, and he was damn lucky she was all but useless right now in a fight, or he would have been chopped up fine and served fresh with his own Banryuu as the paring knife---if the strength of the ninja’s glare was any judge.

She wasn’t glaring now, in fact she wasn’t doing much of anything but lying slumped against him, her head bowed and wobbling around like a paper-hung festival lantern blown about in the wind each time the horse’s heavy footfalls struck the hard-packed dirt of the road beneath them. Her position couldn’t be too comfortable, and she’d awaken with a damn crick in her neck if she kept nodding off like that. But she was too exhausted to do more than stir slightly when he nudged her arm, and so---without thinking much about it---he adjusted her position so that she lay back against him, her head tucked on his shoulder just under his chin. He grinned as her body went limp, supported against his stolid strength.

The horse shook its head at the movement, snorting to itself, but showed no sign of weariness. It shouldn’t---he had wedged one of the Jewel shards from his sword’s hilt just under the saddle pad, willing vigor into the animal. As far as he knew, a single shard’s strength was inexhaustible and its power only restricted by how weak the will that applied it---something that would never hinder Bankotsu, who had often been accused of being TOO willful…

The Shikon shards only needed to be directed to be oh-so-very helpful. Only one of the fuchsia-tinged little beauties was needed to keep the horse plodding on through the night, unaffected by the length of their journey or the weight of two riders and his beloved Banryuu---though Bankotsu had used a second shard to lighten the heavy weight of his halberd so that it weighed no more than the slim katana the ninja-girl usually wore.

A faint scent in the girl’s tangled tresses tickled at his nose, and Bankotsu smirked at the fading scent of perfumed flowers. It had been a couple of days since he had watched the girl bathe in the hot spring, and she had slept in a stable, rode leagues on a horse and had had various bruised parts of her immersed with the stinging scent of medicinal herbs and salve. Amazing that he could detect anything else on her, but he liked the faint hint of flowers that rose from her heavy black hair.

She was a study, that was for certain. She fitted quite well in his arms, her body nestled into his wasn’t that intrusive, and he rather liked her there---which should have surprised the hell out of him, but didn’t. Funny, that.

He had to give her some grudging respect---she hadn’t sniffled once---at least, not to his knowledge. She hadn’t been the most cooperative, truth be told, but at least she hadn’t hounded him with a million and one whining complaints or chattered away at him like some brainless fool as some women were wont to do. She was stubborn as all hell, which might have gotten on another man’s nerves fast, but it just made him grin and think her worthy of the challenge held in that oft-times glaring mahogany-cinnamon gaze…

The reins, held loosely in one hand, jerked slightly as the horse abruptly stopped dead in the middle of the road, its body tensing and its ears pricked forward. Bankotsu did not try to kick the horse on as some fools might have, instead he tensed as well, trusting the animal’s superior instincts in the darkened shadows of the night. Horses were grazers, often prey, and had a couple thousand years of experience in saving their own ass. He trusted the nag to give him better warning than even the Jewel shards---which weren’t even glowing at the potential proximity of a demonic aura.

It was ningen, then, and not youkai.

A reedy scream whispered on the chill-laden breeze that suddenly sprang up. The night-ridden forest trembled, whispering darkly to itself as distant shouts of anger and triumph reached Bankotsu, who strained his attention to the path ahead, which curved into shadow that even the weak light of the waning moon could not penetrate. Skeletal arms entwined thickly overhead by the creaking trees, who rustled their own moans of discontent as the wind circled through them.

The horse snorted and shifted under the sudden tightening of his legs on its girth. The scream was thin now, threadlike and then abruptly cut off. Expression darkening, Bankotsu urged the horse forward even as his limp burden suddenly awoke, apprehension jerking her upright.

“What…?” He was pleased that she at least whispered that question in breath too low to be carried, rather than shouting it at him in confusion.

He shrugged, though his dark eyes glittered. He could guess, however, and he wasn’t often wrong. Not many would stir on a night as dark as this, and any who would were probably either desperate or up to no good. This territory just above the western coast was not much settled, the land being too rocky for good farming, and the cliffs often too steep for easy fishing. No daimyo claimed this wild land at the moment, and what lesser lords of the samurai did not claim, others, less titled if no less predatory, were willing to stake a share of what little spoil or sport there was for a poorly settled land to offer.

Using the Jewel shards he had collected in his own flesh, he enhanced his hearing ten-fold. Catching the faint, smug words on the rising wind made him frown---he had surmised as much from the tenor of the reedy scream that had been abruptly cut off. Certain now, he tightened his grip on the ninja and kicked the unwilling horse into a broken canter.

The ninja said nothing, though she looked grim. Bankotsu’s attention was not on her, though, but on the winding road ahead. Reaching the crest of the tree-marched rise, he yanked the horse to a stop, surveying the widened clearing ahead and below them with grim appraisal.

The trees thinned below, and the wispy clouds followed suit, allowing weak moonlight to filter into the cleared roadside, as if to helpfully reveal the bitter, too often familiarly re-telling of an old tale beneath them.

The girl held in his arm gasped, anger threading her surprise.

Bankotsu was inured to surprise, he had seen too much to ever be surprised by much.

There was three of them; rough, dirty men whose armor fitted ill and consisted of bits stolen here and there from weaker warriors than they. It was obvious that they were the sort of lowly bandit scum who preyed on the weakest of all, robbing poor peasants of their scanty harvest, lying in wait to ambush the lone traveler who just happened to fall into their lap, grabbing pennies where other, more able bands would go after gold or silver.

The bandits were so sotted with their own power that they hadn’t noticed them perched on the ridge above. The hoarse boasts traded back and forth between the three made Bankotsu sneer, even as the ninja hissed in horrified anger upon seeing the limp body lying to one side of the road, the clothes torn and the bared body pale in the wan moon’s shadows. One of the men hawked and spat in the dead woman’s direction, adjusting his hakama with casual contempt.

“Bony whore, she was! I’ve lain better with old---” He stopped to stare behind him in dumbfounded astonishment, having heard the distinctive scrape of steel being drawn.

Bankotsu, halberd in hand, dismounted in a single, easy movement. The horse shied as the giant sword swung over its head, but the ninja-girl reined it to a standstill. Her expression was closed and still, but her dark eyes darted back and forth between the three men below and the mercenary who was going to confront them, as if not quite knowing what the mercenary would do, or even thought to do.

Bankotsu slowly slipped the silken sheath from his halberd with deliberate care. The steel gleamed in the faint moonlight, more promise than threat. He caressed the wide blade with a fond little smile before turning his attention back on the three bandits below. They gaped stupidly at him as he asked with casual nonchalance, “Now, then. I’m giving you a choice. Tell me---how do you want to die?”

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Sango hadn’t believed her ears. Neither had the bandits---they had all started laughing at the lone mercenary as if it were all a great joke. But they hadn’t laughed long, for Bankotsu had soon jumped down into the clearing to teach them that it was better to run from him in screaming terror than to just sit there in disbelief, stunned lambs for the slaughter.

Sango shivered. The look on Bankotsu’s face had brought home dark memories of a time not so long past when she and her friends had faced that particularly disturbing expression of unholy joy in dark blue eyes at the thought of the coming of battle and the spilling of fresh blood…

*The killing rage of the rabid.*

The men had scattered before that sneering fury, though their abortive flight was in vain. Bankotsu followed them into the brush, leaving Sango alone---and mounted. Her first thought had been delight at the unlooked-for opportunity thus presented. But even as she kneed the horse around, to make good her own escape, her gaze fell on the limp body below, abandoned like so many rags in the clinging weeds beside the road.

Cursing her own better nature, which could not leave the woman to lie there alone to whim and weather, Sango turned the horse back around and urged it over the hill in a clatter of loose gravel. Snorting, the nag obeyed, but sidled as they drew near the unconscious woman. Sango slid awkwardly off the horse, the task made harder by the fact that her left wrist had been tied to the knotted reins. The horse didn’t like having his lead yanked over his head but Sango wasn’t putting up with any of his nervous antics as he tried to sidle away from the limp bundle of rags. Sango crouched over the woman to check for a pulse, but her extended fingers froze. The wide slash from ear to ear spoke the poor woman’s end too clearly to be ignored. Sango closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back nausea.

She had seen plenty of dead bodies before, many of them in far more mangled a state than this poor, ravished woman. But the obscenity of them having come too late, the stark bruises of hard use on the pale flesh and the grim reality that the poor woman had died in fear and torment, and at the hands of men and not youkai, all warred within her to make her tremble with the sudden rise of red-hot anger and bitterness that welled up in her mind even as the bile rose up in her throat at the tragic betrayal of it all.

Sango could not help it, hunching over, she lost what little there was in her stomach. The horse jerked back, snorting at the disturbing smell of blood and vomit, and stamped uneasily as Sango hauled on the reins in admonishment. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, the taijiya paused for a long moment to regain her composure. Crawling back over to the dead woman, she paused to cover the naked flesh with the rags of the girl’s torn clothing. The girl’s face was thankfully shadowed in darkness as clouds once again wheeled lazily across the moon’s wan face.

Getting shakily to her feet, she took a deep breath and turned away. Limping to the horse’s side, she grasped the saddle pad, and froze as she caught sight of the mercenary who stood watching her, his expression still and eyes dark, with halberd slung casually over one shoulder.

Expression tightening, Sango turned her face away. Had he watched her then, while she retched in the weeds at the sight of such a grim and hopeless end? Did he think her weak and unworthy for that weakness? Should it even matter to her, when he was of much the same ilk as what he had just chased down and slaughtered, too damn late to make any damn difference to the ravaged woman who now lay dead just beyond them?

The rage and frustration, barely held at bay, welled up again, and she whipped her head back around to snarl at him. “Why do you stare at me, bandit? Has your bloodlust not been sated? Do you wish to ravage and kill me as well, thinking I might be as easy prey as that poor girl?”

The anger and contempt in her hard voice was met with heavy silence. With a snarl of rage, Sango yanked the poor horse around, so that she might mount with her good wrist. She didn’t care if Bankotsu tried to stop her, she could not bear his presence and what he stood for, who and what he was at the moment. Her fury was too overwhelming for sense---a chilling realization to her who had been trained from childhood to know that allowing unbridled emotion to rule one’s thoughts was the quickest way to get one dead.

She didn’t give a damn. She just wanted to leave.

He was there in a breath’s moment, a strong, calloused hand curving over hers where it rested on the saddle pad, gripping the pommel so that she could mount. With an inarticulate sound, she aimed a vicious jab at his elbow, uncaring of what damage she might due to her bruised, right wrist, only wanting to make him let go of her other hand on the saddle. He caught her fist in a surprisingly gentle, though firm, grip, and he stared down at her.

“Don’t. You’re still in shock.”

Her eyes spat at him, even as her lips curled back over her gritted teeth in a snarl of angry denial. She didn’t waste energy on trying to struggle out of his grip, instead she hissed, “Let go of me, bandit.”

Something flashed in his dark eyes. “I am no BANDIT, ninja.”

It was too much, and she was beyond caring. “I am no ninja, IDIOT.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the sudden stillness.

But Bankotsu abruptly relaxed, and she stared uncomprehending as white teeth flashed in a sudden smile, and he laughed.

The idiot was crazy.

“Damn, you’ve got spunk!”

Still angry, Sango tried to jerk away from him, but the horse decided to shy, nickering uneasily as its nostrils flared. Laying its ears back, it rolled its eyes and danced between them. Bankotsu whirled as a sudden stench flowed across the clearing and a sullen, red-tinged glow sprang from the half-moon hilt of his sword where it lay blade-sunk in the earth behind him.

“Youkai.” He growled.

Sango made a face at the distinctive stench. “Buta.”

The cowardly pigs were coming to scavenge what they could from the recent dead. Buta such as these were disdained by other youkai, being stupid cowards who slunk behind others, waiting for the opportunity to steal what they could, much as carrion crows would circle round an abandoned field of battle. They only attacked what they thought was weaker than they, and would often retreat without a fight if they saw it was not so.

“They will not attack us,” Bankotsu’s hand curled over his sword’s hilt, easily pulling it free from the earth where he had thrust it, “just hover until we leave.”

“We can’t leave.” Sango protested, without thinking.

“Why not?” Bankotsu demanded.

“They’re youkai.” She replied, the trained slayer in her shocked at his casual ignorance of so simple a fact.

“So?” Bankotsu circled around the nervous horse, intending to throw Sango up into the saddle so they could get moving. “They aren’t stupid enough to attack us. They want the dead for their dinner, not us.”

Sango could not believe how casual he disregarded those dead, three of which had just died at his own bloody hands. But then, how could he have anything but contempt for those who were so like him, who he had just recently slaughtered just because they were merely blocking his way? Why else would he have confronted them, except that maybe in his twisted sick little brain he just couldn’t pass up the chance of a little blood-letting when the opportunity presented itself so nicely? But then, following that logic, he should be more than eager to test the length of his sword across the throats of the encroaching buta. She couldn’t understand him, he was constantly contradicting what she expected of him, and it was driving her crazy. She couldn’t think logically with him staring at her like that, as if it was she who were crazy and not him. And so she blurted the first thing that came to her, the true reason she couldn’t stand by and just leave the dead to the indignity of foraging scavengers.

“Hasn’t she been violated enough?”

Sango’s mouth snapped shut, and she mentally cursed herself for letting such emotion show.

*That’s just great. Show him how weak you really are, taijiya!*

Bankotsu grimaced. He tilted his head up to look at the cloud-drifting sky, revealing wan moonlight one moment and then filmy grey shadows the next. He sighed gustily, and muttered under his breath, “By the Boils, you are a troublesome wench!”

Sango glared, but stood her ground.

“FINE.” Bankotsu acted just like a pouting child ordered to go do something he didn’t really want to do. Hefting his giant sword up to his shoulder with another long-suffering sigh, he stomped back into the surrounding woods. He paused, though, just before ducking in the woods to look back at her with hooded eyes, “I’m not scum, like those bandits. I’m a MERCENARY. There’s a difference. Got that?”