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?

A/N - I have to warn you, Sango is slightly OOC in one particular line. The curse words I used are not something she would usually say, but they were too funny not to type in. And maybe she would use them, if she were provoked. o_O Who knows? Anywhatever, please take my grateful thanks for the wonderful reviews, and I promise the next chapter is being edited now. (Fate)

WARNING! DARK IMAGERY AND ADULT TOPICS!

CHAPTER SIX

He had half-expected her not to be there when he finally returned to the roadside clearing. She wasn’t stupid, and she could have used the ruse of having him go after the stinking buta in order to make her own escape. It didn’t worry him all that much, though, since he knew he could easily track her down and end what would be a rather foolish attempt on her part at escaping him, wounded as she was and relying on a tired nag who couldn’t journey much further, even with the assistance of a strength-enhancing Jewel shard.

He did not expect to find her on her hands and knees, struggling to gather small rocks to cover the dead woman’s body with. She had somehow managed to finally free herself from the reins---or rather, she had untied one of the two leads and looped it up over her freed arm out of the way, while tethering the horse to a nearby tree with the other. The horse raised its head at his approach, grass sticking conspicuously from its mouth, before dismissing him as unimportant and returning to its hungered graze.

The girl looked up, having heard his deliberate stride, but then dismissed him as well, using her bandaged hand to roll another rock on the small pile she had gathered around the corpse. Bankotsu shook his head. She didn’t want him to see how much the dead woman affected her, but every action she had made since discovering the body spoke volumes at how much she really cared.

*Stubborn wench.*

With a sigh hefty enough to stir the grass at his feet, he once more thrust his beloved Banryuu into the earth. Picking up a rather large, flat rock that lay nestled in the grass beside the dirt road, he hauled it along with him, dumping it beside where the ninja---or rather, the not-ninja---knelt. She looked up at him, mute, her dark eyes hidden, but nodding once in grudging thanks.

Bankotsu snorted. It was probably the only thanks he was likely to get. Kicking pebbles out of his way, he hunted along the sides of the road, gathering stones so they could bury one who was probably long past caring what happened to her earthly remains. Neither of them spoke as the night wearied past and they each piled rocks around the woman until she lay buried, a discarded arrow shaft they had scrounged reused as a simple grave marker. The girl then knelt and prayed as Bankotsu abruptly turned away, not one to give a lick of spit for such nonsense. He was oddly disturbed, however, by the silent fervency with which the girl clasped her dusty hands, head bowed beside the rocky internment.

He busied himself collecting horse and sword, waiting impatiently for the girl to finish. She finally rose, wavering where she stood, clearly exhausted, though she stubbornly refused aid, limping forward and even trying to mount the old nag without help. But it was too much for her weary arms to contemplate, and with a roll of his eyes at the girl’s obstinacy, Bankotsu scooped her up and tossed her atop the horse with nary a comment. Taking the remaining lead-rein in hand, he lifted Banryuu, once again wrapped in purple silk, to his shoulder and started back down the road.

The air was cold, now, in the dark hours before dawn. He wasn’t tired, but the horse plodded along behind him, the girl keeping upright by steel will alone. He had hoped to make Suikotsu’s ruined village by noon; it would have been the perfect place to lure the hanyou to. That village, attacked so many years ago when Suikotsu had plied his trade as a true doctor, before his darker personality as a claw-bearing berserker had emerged amid the flames of his ruined life, was now only a decrepit ruin, but it seemed fitting somehow that he kill that damn half-dog there. It was no worse than any other place he had entertained as perfect for a final confrontation, and closer than most.

He had hoped to get there before the dog started sniffing out his trail, which he had deliberately set trailing along this road, but it looked like he would have to adjust his plans to compensate for the girl’s exhaustion. Sighing, he scoured the forest on either side, looking for a hint of a camp he might be able to make for the day, one sheltered enough to help shield their location from the inu hanyou with a little judicious use of the Jewel shards in Banryuu’s hilt.

There was a slight break in the trees further on, and Bankotsu caught a glimpse of just exactly what he needed. A small copse of trees sheltered a small clearing just off the road, far enough from the path to not be disturbed but close enough not to lose their way in the dark. The horse’s ears pricked forward and he nickered, its plod turning slightly eager as he sniffed out water. Bankotsu grinned as the eager nag crowded him off the road and into the thick brush.

The girl roused herself enough to duck the low-hanging branches. She looked around her in surprise as Bankotsu dropped the rein and leaned his Banryuu against a convenient tree. Leaving the sword with an affectionate little pat, he came back over to help the girl down, taking a moment to unknot the rein tied to her wrist. She was too tired to do much more than stiffen at his unwanted touch, but he ignored the almost automatic reaction to help her stumble over to another tree, where she slumped among the roots, too tired to even care as he went about setting up their impromptu camp.

Pulling the saddle pad and packs from the horse’s back, he tossed the blanket in the girl’s direction. It was sweaty and stank of horse, but she wasn’t in much of a position to complain. He took some time in watering the horse from the small stream that trickled past, pausing to dunk his head a few times in the icy water before refilling his wooden flask. Hobbling the horse close to where it could snatch hungrily at the grass (which it was all too happy to do), he then walked the perimeters of the small copse of trees, carefully planting two Jewel shards in opposite polar ends of the roughly oblong area.

Fuchsia-tinged power gleamed sullenly as he applied his will, using the shards to hide the camp and copse from sight, sound, and scent. A misty veil rose from the planted Jewel fragments to envelop their camp in blurred outlines…to any who sought them, this copse would look like a thick cover of tangle-thorned brush, with no sound or smell to give lie to what their deceived eyes were seeing. It wouldn’t work too well for anyone who had True Sight, or for one who really concentrated hard on it, but he could easily deal with any of that sort. What he needed was something to confuse his trail, to give the hanyou pause and to make him doubt where they might be---a temporary solution that would work for now.

Turning back to the clearing, Bankotsu rummaged through the packs for some of the food and salve he had gotten from Kyoukotsu’s parents, and made his way over to the girl, only to grin as he found her rolled into the blanket, fast asleep and dead to the world. Shrugging, he went about gathering firewood as the sun’s first rays peeked over the unseen horizon. A bird chirped, inquiring, and another answered. The forest stirred around them, though not so much as a fly would be able to cross the misty barrier created by his planted Jewel shards.

As the shadows lightened, Bankotsu set up a cook-fire, though did not light it. The chill air was warming as the sun touched the earth, and it was not needed right now. Checking on the tired horse, who ignored him for the tasty grass that held its attention, he made one last circuit around the perimeter, satisfied with his preparations.

Settling himself across from the huddled girl, he found a comfortable spot on the tree’s rough bole to lean against and closed his eyes. He didn’t need much sleep, not like the exhausted girl, not now with the Jewel shards to help him, but he was content enough to wait.

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It was Kirara who actually found traces of their passage. Not content to wait, the fiery-footed neko had scoured the countryside for miles around as Inuyasha poured over the area inch by humbling inch in ever widening circles, using the hot springs where Sango had disappeared as an axis. He was on all fours, nose in the dirt, when Kirara’s distant roar made him jerk up in surprise.

Jumping to his feet, he paused only long enough to shout over his shoulder at his mate, “Kirara has found something!,” before taking off himself. Leaping to the dense tree-tops, he used their swaying limbs to soar high into the thin-clouded sky. Another roar from the neko, a spark of orange-red fire in the far distance, and he arrowed in on the youkai’s position.

Leaving the patchy forest’s edge behind, Inuyasha bound over the plowed earth, his forehead wrinkling as the scent of the dusty dead tickled his nose. The small, weathered grey buildings looked lonely and abandoned, and surprisingly untouched for the myriad stench that arose around them. The huddled forms in and around the small hut told a grim tale of heartless slaughter, something easily attributed and quite typical for one of the vicious murderers of the long-dead Band of Seven.

Inuyasha growled, his eyes glowing faintly as he looked around him. Blood had dried in nasty, tale-telling stains, mostly in and around the hut, but there were smaller bodies out in the fields where they had tried to flee, but had been mercilessly cut down before they could escape their dark fate.

It was all so stupid and senseless---slaughtering the innocent for merely gaining the use of a barn. For Sango’s scent, and the stench of that rotting corpse from hell, Bankotsu, were all over the abandoned shed. Deserted now, except for one evil little scrawny chicken, who tried to peck at him from behind a partition and got its scrawny neck wrung for its pains (it would be a good addition for dinner, and the hanyou wasn‘t about to pass up the chance at so easily caught a meal), Inuyasha examined the area closely, noting the myriad hoof-prints that dotted the dried mud of the barn-yard.

Scent told him that the pair had rested here for a while, and that Sango was still living, or had eventually left the farm so, and probably mounted on the back of a horse. Her scent, and Bankotsu’s, was strongest in the last stall, though it also bore the distinctive reek of medicinal herbs, which didn’t make much sense. Maybe Sango had found something to help herself; a callous murderer like Bankotsu would certainly never take the time to bind up somebody’s wounds…

Kirara had followed him inside the barn, sniffing delicately and burying her muzzle in the old straw Sango must have lain on with a heavy, mourn-filled sigh. Inuyasha echoed the sound, for the taijiya was long gone, at least a day or so by now. He debated whether or not to bring Kagome and Miroku here, though he couldn’t leave the dead peasants just lying around out there. Besides, they might find something he hadn’t, and Kagome was probably chewing nails by now at him having left her so abruptly back in the woods. The day was lengthening and would eventually fade into twilight. It would take him some time to find the faint traces of scent that marked which way Sango and Bankotsu had gone, and it might be better if they all started out fresh in the morning…

With that thought in mind, he started to leave the barn to go fetch his friends. He paused, looking at the red-eyed neko. “You coming, Kirara?”

Kirara raised her big creamy head and just wuffed sadly at him before curling up on the abandoned straw, laying her head on her paws and breathing in the faint whisper of Sango’s scent, seeking her own comfort from the fading traces of the girl’s proximity. Mouth tightening, Inuyasha nodded sharply and took off for the distant tree-line, determination springing up anew that that thrice-rotted corpse would pay, and pay dearly, for ever daring to take hostage their friend…

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Sango tried to remember how blithely unconcerned he had seemed that other morning as they passed by the blood-stained hut. An old man, his skull split, lay face down in the dirt between hut and barn, and another was sprawled across the hut’s door. She tired to avert her face upon seeing the smaller bodies that littered the fields further down, and could not believe how causally Bankotsu had gone about saddling one of the two old nags and then throwing her up like she was just another pack, only pausing to tie her good wrist to the pommel so she wouldn’t fall off.

He had led the horse past the deserted yard without looking to the right or left, as they passed the huddled remains of the family who had once claimed this small, tidy faming stead as their own. He had left the barn door open, though none of the animals within the small stable had ventured so much as a hoof outside before they left. Bankotsu had sauntered along as if he hadn’t a care in the world, his giant sword slung over one shoulder with palm to hilt, the horse’s long rein held loosely in the other. Sango had huddled into herself, shivering with more than just the chill of dawn’s first light touching across her skin…

She tried to hold the memory of that icy shiver inside of her as her mind betrayed her by bringing up all the different times when the deadly mercenary had shown her some surprising kindness that seemed all the more extraordinary in light of the stark difference there was to when he was acting the cold-blooded killer she preferred.

For she did not like this strange side of Bankotsu, that worried himself over such trivialities as whether or not she had eaten enough, or dirtied the bandages he had so gently, so carefully, wound around her own injuries, concerned himself---however brusquely---with how angry she had been over the dead woman in the forest. For she knew deep down that he, himself alone, would not have gone after the buta merely to ensure a rotting corpse of the already departed was not served up as their next meal. She had no delusions that Bankotsu, of all people, would care one way or another. But he knew she cared, and had gone stalking and bitching after the buta to get rid of them, and for no other reason than that she DID.

Tonight was yet another example of his strange concern for her welfare. His intention had been to break camp and move on after night fell, having used the daylight to allow her to rest and recover her strength. Sango had been exhausted, and slept for hours, but she still felt tired and worn, as if she had been drained of more than just physical vitality by yesterday’s ordeal. She had expected Bankotsu to order her up and on, but he had taken one look at her and turned away with an abrupt shrug, “You don’t look so good. We’ll stay the night here so you can rest some more.”

It just made no sense.

It made her head ache, actually, to even think about it. He was just such a contradiction---so cold and evil one minute, (the remembered delight in his smirking smile upon confronting the three bandits last night could still make her shiver---he had just seemed so thrilled at being given the chance to kill them, so downright HAPPY!), and yet so innocently naïve the next…

“You got that weird look on your face again.”

Sango blinked, drawing the smelly horse-blanket up around her shoulders. She studied him, or what little there was to be revealed by the flickering dance of orange-spun light from the flames of their fitful fire. The sun had set some time ago, and he had lit the piled brush he had gathered just before moon’s rise as the purple shadows enfolded the screening trees of their snug little camp.

His blue eyes were dark and shadowed, as inky as his hair in the orange-cast glow. The midnight hue of his hair was more like Kagome’s or Miroku’s than her own…a black so dark it appeared almost blue in certain lights, while tints of brown might be picked out among her own heavy tresses---something she had shared with her long-departed brother.

Now why had she thought of HIM, all a sudden? She had buried Kohaku in the tears of the past, under a grief too raw for her to ever really deal with. Revenge, in the final destruction of Naraku, had assuaged a part of that terrible grief, comforted a bit, perhaps, the soul that was so wearied and lonely now that all that had been kith and clan had departed this earth for the next. It was rare for her to call up the wraiths of the past, especially with something so insignificant as to what shade of tangled black locks they might have shared…

*I do miss him, though. Kohaku…*

His freckled face with its tentative smile wavered across her memory, and she wore her sadness in her eyes for a moment, before the pensive look that always followed it covered the sadness away. Always the question burned her…could she have done more to save him? Kohaku, her poor, innocent little brother…his fate had been sealed the day Naraku had raised him back from the dead, to live a tainted half-life of darkness and betrayal. His shame had been in the calculated corruption of his poor little soul, controlled as he was by the dark hanyou.

HER shame was in never having saved him, even from himself.

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“That’s a new one.” Bankotsu remarked casually as he relaxed against his chosen tree-trunk, idly chewing on a blade of early green grass as he stared at her. The girl sat closer to the fire, which kissed her cheeks in ruddy light and brought out the shadows in her honey-brown eyes.

There sure were a lot of them.

Her brow creased at his words, but then she looked down again, lost in her own thoughts, and started looking even more apprehensive. It was THAT look which had aroused Bankotsu’s comment, and it was now back as she ignored him to mull over her own inner turmoil. He didn’t like it, so he tried another tact.

“You don’t much look like that boy-ninja, Kohaku.”

THAT got her attention.

In fact, her head whipped up so fast it was like she had been pole-axed. Her expression bore witness that she had.

Bankotsu’s tone was mildly inquiring, though his eyes in the shadows narrowed slightly, assessing the girl’s reactions. “Wasn’t he somehow related to you? Your cousin, or something like that?”

The girl bowed her head so that her bangs feathered over her eyes, hiding their expression. “He was my brother.”

“Brother?” That somehow surprised Bankotsu. He had once asked the young ninja his relationship with the girl whose armor was so like his, but the boy had replied that he did not remember her at all---though, come to think of it, Kohaku had been somewhat hesitant about even admitting that much.

Huh. Kinda interesting.

Her eyes were dark, with a hint of wearied pain held tightly in check. He had definitely hit a nerve with that one. Funny how easy it was to read her expressions after having spent so little time with her. He was curious about that, and about a lot of other things. For one, why was she traveling with that half-dog and his miko? If she wasn’t a ninja, then what was she? How had she received the weapons training denied most young women, and how had she gained such an ally as the fire-footed neko? She must have had some whining tale to tell about Naraku, or she wouldn’t have been so set on his death, though maybe she had just gone along because she was somehow attached to the monk. He didn’t like that particular idea, though, and was disgruntled by his own irritated reaction to it. She had seemed rather fond of the blue-robed hentai back on Mount Hakurei, before it was destroyed, and he, himself, had died that second time…

Itchy and feeling quite grumpy at his almost possessive reaction to the thought of the girl and the monk being something more than friends, he decided to go ahead and lob the easiest bomb first. “What ever happened to that kid, Kohaku? Died, didn’t he?”

*Bulls eye.*

She looked as if she’d been gutted, drawn, and quartered, with her emotions laid out to bare all over her face. Her brother, then, was her true weakness, maybe had always been her one true weakness. The kid had been Naraku’s envoy and servant, maybe the dark hanyou had stolen him away or something. But the boy had been just like him and his band of brothers, one of the walking dead, revived through Naraku’s gift of a Jewel shard imbedded in his back. Shouldn’t the girl have been grateful for that, rather than angry enough to desire the dark hanyou’s death? There were deep waters there that the girl most likely didn’t want disturbed.

Well, Bankotsu was never one to be swayed by such a stupid consideration as that. It was always best to know your enemies, and so he made excuse to probe further.

“How did he die?”

She was silent for a long moment, her body stiff and her eyes dark holes in her white face, until the fire snapped, a smoldering log falling inward in a shower of glowing sparks, breaking the tensed silence between them. Her expression closed in on her pain, and her voice was flat, unemotional, as if she were speaking of nothing more than the weather.

“Naraku finally claimed the shard from his back. Kohaku could not live without it.”

She seemed slightly surprised to have answered him, and Bankotsu’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. He shouldn’t have been that surprised. Naraku had once reclaimed his own life-giving Jewel shard as well, sending him into the cold embrace of death for a second time. But, if nothing else, Naraku had eventually kept his promise of giving Bankotsu everlasting life. Maybe it had been with his own dark aims in mind, but he had been revived a second time, by Naraku’s orders, or so the young, blank-eyed daughter of the Void had told him as he blinked open startled blue eyes for a third time on this living green world…

“How did he originally die, then? Your brother?” He persisted.

The girl stiffened, eyes flashing honey with a pain so terrible it made dark memories of his own stir sullenly in the half-forgotten shadows of his past where he had placed them long ago…

The curve of her lips thinned into a tight line. “Why do you want to know, bandit?”

Bankotsu felt something burn across the back of his mind. Fists clenching, he abruptly stood up. She didn’t flinch away, as he half-expected her to. Gritting his teeth, he whirled away to go and stand in front of his silk-wrapped sword, where it leaned propped up against a tree. He wanted to haul it close, as if seeking supportive comfort from a trustworthy companion, but he was not that weak. In fact, he truly despised weakness, and what he SHOULD be feeling for this ninja-girl-who-was-not-a-ninja right now was contempt for the weakness she had allowed him to see so easily. But, strange at it was, he could not, and so his anger was more at himself than at her, though it didn’t stop him from biting out, “I’ve told you. I’m not a bandit. I’m a MERCENARY.”

“And that’s better?” Her own scorn for him fairly dripped from her bitter words, lashing out as she was to the one who had summoned forth dark memories she had long wished to remain buried with the dead.

His eyes glittered as he turned to look over his shoulder at her. “At least I’m honest with myself.”

“Are you?” She was quick to thrust back, her head coming up and her back stiffening even as she hugged her knees to her chest. She stared at him, angry and defiant.

“You know nothing about me, wench. Nothing at all.” He nearly snarled.

“Would I even care to?” She gritted back. “What I’ve seen has not impressed me.”

“Should I care?” He demanded, his mocking laughter harsh. “The opinion of a mere woman has never concerned me.”

“It ever comes to that, doesn’t it? The fact that I am a ‘mere woman.’” The bitterness in her voice was for more than just his own contemptuous words. There was a wealth of shaded memory there that taunted at her for her supposedly weaker sex.

Bankotsu shrugged with irritation. “Does it matter to the ninja? Whether or not you were a woman? They still trained you how to fight, no matter how weak you are at it.”

Her pride was stung, but she did not snarl a reply as he expected, instead she merely ground her teeth and insulted him anew. “How can you be so thick, and still have been smart enough to lead a band of despicable murderers like the Shichinintai? I’ve already told you, bandit, I am NOT a ninja.”

“Then what the hell are you, wench?” He snarled, his hand instinctively reaching for a blade that lay behind him, propped out of the way against a tree. How could he have let her goad him into such fury? Did she realize how stupid she was, for egging him like that? Idiot girl! He had thought she might be different from others of her kind, but she was proving him wrong---

“I’m a TAIJIYA, dumb ass. A demon slayer. Not a ninja, not a samurai, not a bandit, and definitely not as weak a woman as you THINK I am!” She had actually gotten shakily to her feet, her bandaged fingers grasping something from her knotted obi and cupping it in a hard fist of anger. Her eyes sparked in the flickering orange light of their fire and she looked ready to show him just how really strong she was.

But he had frozen at her claim, and it was with flat denial and hard eyes he decried her words. “There ARE no slayers. They are all dead.”

“Maybe most of them are, but there is still ME. And while I live, I still hold up my family’s honor in the traditions I was taught from birth. Which is more than I can say for YOU---bandit, murderer, mercenary, or whatever other filthy name you decide to call yourself. Because while there is a difference between US, there is no honor to distinguish YOU between bandit or murdering MERCENARY.” She spat that last word as a contemptuous epithet, her scorn written in red lines of fire.

“You dare to insult my honor?” His voice was whisper-soft, and dangerous.

She was too furious to care, raw emotions brought too close to the surface by his taunting questions and the stirring of dark memories too personal for his casual disdain. Hissing, she spat, “WHAT honor?”

Control snapping, he leapt for her. She slithered out of his clutching hold, bringing her fist up to land a hard blow against his cheek. He felt the bone snap beneath her swing, and snarled as she spun away from him. But she was not quick enough for him, and he held fast to her shoulder, which he hauled with contemptible ease so that he could grab hold of her left wrist and bend it back. The solid metal object she held in her fist was thus freed and fell to the ground with a solid thunk to roll away, forgotten and unheeded, as they struggled.

The girl fought hard and dirty, trying to kick out his ankle and thrust up with her knee. He blocked both moves, and used his taller build and stronger arms to haul her forcibly off of her feet. They fell to the ground, struggling and rolling over in the dirt until he finally lay atop her, his elbows pinning her arms to the ground and his broad hands wrapped around her throat as his heavier weight bore her flat beneath him, his legs pinning hers together in a pincher clasp that she could not remove.

His thumbs pressed into her jaw, forcing her to choke and gasp as the air was sent swiftly from her lungs. A drop of blood from his broken cheek fell on the side of her pale face with a faint, disregarded splatter. His eyes were furious, his voice harsh as the breath of exertion caught up with him. He spat out in anger, “You seek your death, woman.”

Her breasts heaved under him as he loosened his grip slightly from around her throat. She gasped in needed, blessed air, only to glare up at him, eyes black and fierce, her faint whisper as harsh as his.

“Think you that scares me, mercenary? How little you truly know!” Her laugh was bitter darkness. “Death would FREE me.”

He froze, recognizing her darkness, her madness, her weakness for what it was.

His own.