Echoes VIII Salvation Yuusuke glanced surreptitiously to one side, watching both Hiei and Yo-mawari from the corner of one eye. Both of the dark-clad youkai moved slowly, listlessly, almost drooping as they walked. Yo-mawari’s black eyes stared dully into space, barely speaking to anyone. With every step, he seemed to withdraw further into himself, a hollow shell of what he had once been. But it was Hiei that worried Yuusuke the most; and even Kuwabara grudgingly admitted concern for the small youkai. Hiei refused to speak at all, his red eyes turned inward, glassy and dull with grief. He didn’t even respond to Kuwabara’s barbs, even ones that had been known to garner an explosive reaction in the past. There was nothing in his face or eyes - just a mindless numbness; a tearing, strictly muffled grief. His entire posture seemed to reflect defeat, and Yuusuke feared for the small youkai’s life. The memory of a sober conversation with Kuwabara while wandering through the darkened halls of Kuraihana’s home weighed heavily on his mind. He paused, suddenly, cocking his head to one side. Something slithered on the edge of his awareness; a disturbance that nagged at his mind. Yo-mawari looked blankly at him, slowing as well, reaching out to catch Hiei’s shoulder as the Koorime wandered past. They both turned to look at Yuusuke, and he flinched from the silent emotions that he saw in their eyes. He glanced at Kuwabara - the taller ningen had noticed the disturbance as well - and back at his other companions. “Someone’s ahead. Someone unfriendly,” he warned. The reaction was more than he had hoped for. Yo-mawari nodded once, slightly, before turning away, directing his unnvering blank stare to the horizon. Hiei shifted once, meeting Yuusuke’s eyes - the first time he had looked anyone in the face since Kurama had ... he jerked his mind off that course of thought - and a small frown quirked his mouth. It was the closest to his usual scowl that he had seen since that night, and silently rejoiced. But still, no real emotions were reflected in those red eyes. They were empty, without fire. Hiei turned away and began to walk again, his gaze turning inwards again. Behind the seemingly emotionless damn of his face and eyes, he cringed, curling into a fetal ball, sobbing to himself. Kurama’s beautiful face floated in his mind, those wonderful expressive eyes closed, without the faintest flicker of life. Then the familiar redheaded form melted away, leaving the cold silver perfection of the youko, in an identical position to his human counterpart. And still there was no movement, just that horrid stillness that he had come to recognize in the countless dead bodies he had seen in his life. But that wasn’t just any dead body! part of him snarled, vicious and violent and angry. That’s KURAMA, not just a “dead body!” The images changed, unbidden, and he could see Kurama’s pale face, flushed and ecstatic, the slender body writhing under him as he touched his fox, brought him to rising climax, completely and utterly trusting. Bitter anger flooded him at the memory, cold and hard. Kurama smiling, laughing, looking at him with soft green eyes, with love and happiness, with an intensity that left Hiei feeling very small and unworthy. “Hiei, I love you ...” Kurama’s voice whispered in his head. “Hiei! Watch it!” Yuusuke’s voice snapped into his mind, and he jerked in reaction, just in time to avoid the slashing downsweep of a youkai’s sword. In an instant, he had unsheathed his katana and thrust, forcing the sharp tip through his assailant’s stomach, watching in grim satisfaction as it emerged from his back, tearing skin and dripping with trickles of black blood. With a swift twist of his arm, he had sliced deeper into the bandit and tearing into the fragile internal organs with a vicious anger that neither of his companions had ever seen in him. The bandit didn’t even have a chance to scream as his life drained from him. “Hiei ...” Yuusuke whispered in a strangled voice, watching as the small youkai turned flat, angry red eyes to the other three bandints. The faintest hints of an unpleasant, deadly smile touched his mouth, and he raised his katana in a silent question of ‘Who wants to die next?’ There was silence, and then, one of the bandits stepped forward. He was tall and dirty and ugly, and smelled of cheap sake and dirt. Broken yellow teeth gleamed in his mouth, as he spat on the ground at Hiei’s feet, his eyes narrow and contemptuous. In his left hand, he held a large, curving sword that gleamed, wickedly sharp, shining in his narrow yellow eyes. “Get out of our way, brat,” he insisted, raising his gaze to stare flatly at Yuusuke. “And maybe we’ll just kill you after we’re done with you.” He threw back his head, intending to laugh, then choked, coughing on his own blood as a sharp, small black object buried itself into his throat. Yo-mawari stood a few feet behind the youkai, his black eyes hard and cold, watching emotionlessly as the bandit’s life poured from the gaping wound in his throat, to pool at their feet. He looked up and watched as the remaining two shifted nervously, then slowly began to retreat. Apparently, the one killed had been the leader - and without his blustering and bravado, the others crumbled, unable to hold up against the two innocent-seeming killers that had just reduced their number by half. Hiei scowled down at the dying youkai, watching with apparent relish as the bandit gurgled and choked on his own blood, gasping like a landed fish. The bandit stared at the small youkai with dulling eyes, and Hiei’s face darkened. Before anyone could stop him, or even realize what he was about to do, he had drawn his foot back and kicked the bandit leader full in the stomach, making him wheeze and choke, coughing violently, spitting up his blood. Hiei was about to move again, about to lash out once more, but a large hand on his arm made him pause, glaring up into Kuwabara’s face. The tall human looked slightly sick, pulling Hiei away from the corpse. “Stop it,” he whispered hoarsely, staring at the battered body. “Don’t take out your anger on someone who doesn’t deserve it. That bandit only wanted your purse; he doesn’t deserve your blows when he’s already dying.” Hiei snorted, but made no move to escape. He only stared at the body, blankly. For a moment, that bandit’s hideous shape wavered, and suddenly, it was a silver-haired fox kneeling before him, gasping slightly. The face tilted upward, but it was a skeleton’s grin and empty eyes that stared bitterly at him. “Why, Hiei?” came the choked sob, and then the youko slumped ... ... and the illusion died away, leaving only the sad bastard that Yo-mawari’s shuriken had killed. Hiei shook himself vigorously, pulling free, staring emptily at the body. He could feel Yuusuke’s presence as the human moved forward, past him, pausing briefly to look back at him. He looked up, and nodded once at the silent question he saw in Yuusuke’s brown eyes. He stepped neatly over the body, trailing after his leader, lost in his own thoughts - thoughts of soft red hair and bright green eyes, which melted and faded away into that skeleton-faced youko that had asked him that single question before vanishing. “Why?” Kuraihana leaned against the wall, staring emptily out into the gray sky. It suited her mood, somber and sad, fitting to the stiff, solemn black dress she wore, and the gray ribbons she had entwined in her hair. For once, the long black locks fell loose, unbraided, a single strip of metallic gray cloth holding the thick mass from her face. Briefly, she worried over Yo-mawari, remembering the grief he had expressed that night, that night which seemed a century ago, telling her that Kurama had been all he had left. She stifled a bitter chuckle; they were more alike than he would ever believe. Her uncle had been the last one left for her, too - her mother was long since dead, as was her father, both killed in circumstances she hadn’t been able to control. But Kurama’s death ... she bit her lip and closed her eyes, feeling the sparks of self-hatred rising to a full flame in her heart. She remembered her mother’s death - a period marked by tears and confusion, as Otousan had pulled away for a while, lost in his own memories. She had clung to Kurama, then, holding him like a lifeline and sobbing, her child’s mind uncomprehending of the loss she had suffered - only knowing that something horrible had happened, and that nothing her father or uncle had done was able to help. “But why did Okaachan have to leave, Ojisan?” she had asked him, tiny fingers fisted into the soft white fabric of his clothing. “Why coudn’t you or Otouchan do anything? Huh? Why?” Kurama had sighed, drawing back to draw his fingers across her small face, wiping away the tears. His golden eyes were soft and sad as he studied her - the short, fluffy black hair that defied all restraints, the wide, innocent blue eyes that were now reddened and puffy with tears. He smiled sadly, then pulled her close again, stroking her black hair. “I don’t know why your okaachan had to leave, chibi-hana,” he said sadly. “Only that ... well, I did try, my little one.” He tilted her face up with one finger under his chin, staring solemnly into her blue eyes. “Both your ’touchan and I worked very hard to keep her with us ... but sometimes, chibi-hana, sometimes ...” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Sometimes not even a healer can keep our loved ones with us. Sometimes, even a healer fails ...” Kuraihana sniffled, snuggling closer. “Ojisan ... ?” “Hai?” She closed her eyes, tightening her grip on his clothing. “Don’t ever go away like Okaachan did,” she mumbled, drowsily. “I don’t want you to go away like she did.” She could almost hear the smile in his voice as he answered, his large hand stroking the back of her head and down her back, slow, comforting gestures that soothed the little child. She opened her eyes briefly, the lids heavy, then allowed them to drift down, barely catching his reply. “All right, chibi-hana. I promise.” Kuraihana opened her eyes, and the memory faded back to nothingness. He had promised, and broken it. But it wasn’t his fault, she insisted to herself, pulling her arms around herself and shivering. It wasn’t his fault ... he tried ... gods know he tried. He held on longer than anyone has ever against the Creature’s poison. He survived longer than anyone could hope for ... Tears stung her eyes again, and she closed them, though they managed to escape, cascading in a silver trail down her cheeks. Arigatou, Kurama-ojisan, she thought distantly. Thank you for trying to keep your promise to me ... Hiei sat in the high branch of a tree, staring straight into the glowing yellow eye of the moon. A pair of golden eyes seemed to look back, and he flinched, remembering. Everything seemed to remind him of that which he had lost - a whisper of wind like the sigh of sweet breath; the of the fiery sunset like soft red hair; the yellow glow of the moon like narrow golden eyes. There was no way to avoid the memories; Kurama haunted him with every waking breath. He closed his eyes and tried not to move, tried not to think. If he held very still, he thought dimly, maybe the pain would go away, and he could rest. Rest, and not think about anything ... “Hiei.” He stiffened at that name, that voice. No, he thought firmly. It’s just another dream. Forget it; it will go away, eventually. He closed his eyes tighter. “Hiei,” the voice repeated, and he could have sworn he heard laughter. Soft, cool hands slid up his bare arms, clutching lightly, and warm, soft, full lips brushed over his mouth. His eyes jerked open, startled at the realistic feeling of that imagined touch, and he gaped. Kurama’s slender form crouched before him, locks of red hair trailing into his bright green eyes. But he could see through that achingly familiar shape; he could see the dark nighttime sky and the glittering stars through that pale hand as if lifted slowly, languidly, to brush the fiery strands from his face. That same, wonderfully, painfully lovely smile graced his face, and his eyes sparkled impish mischief. “Nani ... ?” he whispered, leaning forward slightly, reaching out, as if to touch, his fingers drawing short at the last minute. Contact might make this fanciful, all-too-real dream fade, and it was too sweet, seeing his lover before him, if only in his mind. “How ... ?” “Baka,” Kurama scolded playfully, winking. “Did you really think I would leave you?” He sobered at the stunned look on Hiei’s face. “You did, didn’t you.” Not a question; not really, and he reached out, catching Hiei’s warm hand between two phantasmal palms. “I don’t believe you had that little faith in me, Hiei,” Kurama whispered, leaning closer, until all that was visible were his eyes, bright and piercing. For some reason, though the rest of him was translucent, like a ghost, his eyes were solid, deep and wonderfully understanding. Hiei had to close his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. “Hiei,” he could hear his lover breathe softly, and those same soft, warm lips brushed over his face; whispering over his eyelids, the corners of his mouth. He shuddered, tilting his face upward, silently asking, and was rewarded when that mouth closed over his own, infinetely tender. He raised his hands, felt his questing touch meet with warm flesh, and felt his mouth curl into the beginnings of a smile. For a long time, there was silence under the soft darkness of the nighttime sky and its bright stars. Yo-mawari threw a stick into the fire, stirring the dying embers listlessly, watching as the orange and red sparks flared, then died down into black and white ash. Yuusuke and Kuwabara lay nearby, each one asleep and lost in their own dreamworlds, and he smiled sadly at the innocent picture both presented. Briefly, he wondered how Kuraihana was doing; the loss of her uncle, the last tie to her father, had to have hit her hard. He wished he could have been there, to comfort her tears, as she had comforted his, but they were miles apart now. He could no more reach out and touch her than he could his brother. Kurama ... he closed his eyes against the pain, the emotions that had been buried at Obasan’s death flaring again, like the fire sparked and flared. He sighed heavily, knotting his hands in his lap and frowning. For a moment, bright blue eyes smiled up at him, eternally forgiving, and he swallowed against a lump in his throat. Would he even be able to look her in the eyes, anymore? He knew the pain he felt would be plainly visible in her blue eyes the next time they met, and seeing his own unhappiness would only worsen her own. And he didn’t want to hurt her ... Soft footsteps made him startle and look up, and he felt a small, keen knifethrust in his heart as he remembered a similar scenario, not one month ago, staring out the window and into the rain. His brother had come to talk to him, green eyes serious even as he had joked lightheartedly about the matter. “I wish you would find someone,” he had said softly, looking straight at Yo-mawari. “Someone who could make you happy ...” Bitterness rose in black waves through him, and he wanted to snarl with tension, or something like that. I have found someone, kyoudai, he thought to the memory of his brother’s smiling face. But now, I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to bear my presence without pain. We’re too much alike ... “’Wari?” he heard Hiei’s voice ask softly, seconds before the small youkai’s face was illuminated by the dying red coals. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” He sat down across from Yo-mawari, his red eyes calm as they searched his face. He looked calmer now, as if he had accepted the pain of Kurama’s death, but Yo-mawari couldn’t quite believe that. The bond between his meijin and Kurama was too deep to merely shrug off that soon. “I couldn’t sleep,” he replied truthfully, looking down at the flames. “I was remembering.” “Hn.” They say in silence for a long time, Yo-mawari glancing up to study Hiei from the corner of his eye. The little youkai seemed somehow ... disheveled, his shirt pulled out slightly from the four thin white belts at his slender waist, his stiff black hair somewhat mussed. It was a familiar sight, one that brought a quirk of fond memory to his lips. That was exactly how Hiei looked whenever Kurama finally let him out of the bedroom, he remembered with the faintest hint of a laugh. Hiei glanced sideways, met his gaze. “Nanda?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Yo-mawari shrugged eloquently in reply, shaking his head. “Nothing important. Just remembering ... someone.” He still couldn’t bring himself to say the name. The very sound grated on his nerves and heart and memory, like salt in the wound. Hiei frowned at his answer and stretched out a little, his lithe little body almost catlike in the shadows. He relaxed, and the bright ruby gleam of his eyes glowed in the firelight, like miniature embers. Yo-mawari finally got to his feet, yawning softly and padding over to his sleeping roll. Yuusuke shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his back, draping one arm over his eyes, snorting in reaction to his dreams. The dark-haired youko chuckled softly, stepping over his prone leader, then settled himself in his own blankets. “Oyasumi nasai, Meijin,” he called softly, and recieved a low grunt in reply. He laughed again, shaking his head a little, then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, relaxing completely. “Kyoudai, you’re so silly sometimes ...” he heard a voice laugh, and jerked around, eyes wide, blinking rapidly. He was standing in the center of a sunlit glade - a place he recognized all too well - surrounded by the greens and golds of summer. He turned in a full circle, seeing nothing, and, confused, put his hands on his hips and frowned. This was the same quiet glade that Kurama had shown him; a place where two brothers who had four centuries of catch-up to work through could sit together and talk, reminisce about the past, and wonder aloud how different life would have been, if Yo-mawari had not been sent away to their aunt’s home. “Look up,” the voice urged, playful, and he obeyed without thinking, peering into the thick green canopy overhead. He saw nothing but the bright yellow sunlight flitering through the broad leaves, squinting, trying to find the speaker with the familiar voice. “You’re not very observant, kyoudai,” the voice scolded, and suddenly, he could see a tall, dark figure crouched in the shadow of the trees, settled in the crook of branch and trunk. A pair of large, luminescent eyes blinked at him from the darkness, the same living emerald color of the leaves that shaded and surrounded them. The figure rose, then leapt from the trees, hurtling towards the ground with a delicate sort of grace, flipping off a lower branch and landing easily directly before Yo-mawari. The dark-haired youko blinked in surprise as the slender redhead before him rose to his full height, standing exactly even with him. “Ku ... Kurama?” he whispered in disbelief, reaching out to grasp his brother’s slender forearms tightly. The redhead winced at the tightness of the grip, but continued to smile gently, nodding once. “How did ... why ... where ... ?” Kurama winked impishly. “Lovely vocabulary, kyoudai,” he said teasingly, reaching up to grasp Yo-mawari’s arms in a return gesture. His face sobered, quietly pondering as green eyes searched black. “You mustn’t worry about me,” he said earnestly. “I’m fine, really I am. All this grief and self-nobility is very touching, but it’s unneeded. I’m fine.” Yo-mawari frowned at that, tightening his grip until he felt the bones under his grasp shift slightly. He loosened, just barely, and glared at his brother. “What the hell do you mean by that?” he almost snarled, shaking his brother lightly. “I felt you ... you ..” he couldn’t continue that train of thought, swallowing another sob, feeling the tears sting at his eyes. “Damn it, I felt it when it happened, kyoudai,” he said evenly. “Don’t lie to me. I felt you ...” Kurama’s smile was gentle, the soft expression that fit so well with his human personality. He leaned forward and kissed his brother’s forehead, lightly, standing on his toes, then leaning back and regarding him solemnly. “Things aren’t always what they seem to be, kyoudai,” he said softly. “Least of all things that deal with a youkai’s death. You should know how hard we are to kill.” His eyes darkened, briefly, as he continued. “But let me tell you: if you don’t get back to Hana-chan with that antidote soon, it won’t matter whether or not I’m alive now. Take too long, and she’ll either bury my body, or I will die.” “You mean you’re not ... ?” he still couldn’t say it. Kurama shook his head in a firm, negative gesture. “No. But close. Too close.” His voice was solemn as he searched his brother’s face. “If I do ... if I do die ...” he said hesitantly, “I want you to promise me something.” He slid his hands up to grasp Yo-mawari’s shoulders, eyes boring into eyes. “Promise me this one thing ...” He hesitated for the fraction of a second, then nodded decisively. “Hai. Whatever you want,” he promised, nodding firmly. “Take care of Kuraihana-chan, for me.” Kurama looked down. “I would ask you to watch over Hiei, but if I die ... he’ll join me. I know he will.” He looked up, and a single tear slid down his cheek. “I would never ask him to die for me, but he will, even so.” A deep breath seemed to steady him, and he shook Yo-mawari once, firmly. “Promise me you’ll take care of Kuraihana if I do die. I don’t want her to be alone - she doesn’t deserve it.” Yo-mawari drew in a sharp breath, remembering his earlier thoughts, at a darkened campfire, watching his master watch the flames. Then he remembered those wonderfully expressive blue eyes laughing up at him, smiling with a warmth he had rarely felt from anyone outside of his brother, and nodded a little, a small, involuntary smile curving his mouth. “Hai. I promise.” “Good.” Kurama chuckled. “So, you think she’s cute, ne? She was adorable as a little girl.” He winked in a conspiratorial manner, grinning impishly. Yo-mawari flushed, pulling away from his brother. “Just so you know, she likes lilies and her favorite color is dark silver. She’s also a romantic sort of child, so moonlit walks are definetely in.” He chuckled and doged his brother’s blows, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Shaddup, you,” Yo-mawari growled in mock-anger, though his flaming cheeks darkened at the teasing. Kurama chuckled again, breaking away to walk slowly around the glade, his gaze soft and distant. “We should bring Hiei here, one day,” he remarked absently, running his finger down the rough bark of the tree. “I think he would like it.” Yo-mawari nodded. “Hai. He would. It’s a nice place ... very quiet, no humans around for distractions ... and you love this place. So of course he would, as well.” He smiled a little, returning the mirroring grin on his brother’s face. Kurama tilted his head upward, squinting into the bright sunlight. “I have to go now,” he said softly, almost unheard. “You’re about to wake up.” He looked at Yo-mawari, one eye hidden by a flip of thick red hair. “Give my love to my beloved,” he said simply, before the entire scene began to waver and tremble, like the waves of heat that created a mirage. Yo-mawari startled, reaching out, trying to touch his brother, before the whole thing dissolved into blackness. His eyes popped open, staring blankly into the pale cloudiness of an early morning sky. Beside him, he could hear soft snoring as Yuusuke shifted in his sleep, making soft, incoherent, sleepy sounds. He sat up, running a hand through his black hair, staring at the sky, the clouds heavy and gray with the promise of rain. Dark silver ... he remembered, from his dream, and shook his head a little, laughing to himself. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had chosen that color for the reminders it bore - her uncle, in youko form, against the backdrop of the moon, laughing and loving and alive ... He sobered and frowned, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin there, staring blankly before him. If it had only been a dream, it had to have been one of the most real he had ever experienced. Even the dreams that haunted him from the barely-remembered, dark period after his obasan’s death had not been like this; it had felt as though he were actually in that small, hidden place, talking with his brother. He glanced around, seeing Hiei’s small, dark form crouched by the ashes and embers of their long-dead cookfire, as he had been the night before. Stealthily, Yo-mawari wriggled free of his blankets and padded over to his master, glancing down at the small youkai as he moved past. Hiei was asleep, cheek resting lightly on his knees, which his arms hugged loosely to his chest. His breathing was deep and even, not the erractic pants that the dark youko had learned accompanied nightmares. He looked so young, sleeping like that, like a vunerable child, eyes closed and face devoid of the usual guarded hardness he had in wakefulness. Yo-mawari smiled a little, cocking his head to one side, touched by the sign of utter trust that the small youkai showed his companions. He knew that there were few that would be granted this sort of trust, and he was honored to be included in that number that Hiei considered a “friend.” He knelt beside the supply packs, digging around as quietly as he could, remembering his first encounter with this small, dangerous youkai; the fierce anger with which Hiei devoted himself to a fight. He had been impressed, and even a little afraid, when the Koorime had reacted so violently to his taunts. Those teasing insults had been part of his arsenal ever since he had been reluctantly drafted into being the Watch-Man of Yomatsu’s borders; it served to annoy his opponent, knock the other off-balance so that Yo-mawari could press his advantage. But Hiei ... instead of becoming clumsy with anger, the strong emotion seemed to sharpen his awareness, make him an even deadlier fighter. Now, after seeing Hiei at his personal best, Yo-mawari thanked the gods that he’d never had to face the little youkai at his strongest. As he straightened, the pack still in his hands, he heard the small whisper of movement from behind him, and turned his head, nodding to Hiei in silent greeting as the small youkai stretched a little, red eyes half-closed as he watched the black-haired youko move. Crouching across from his meijin, Yo-mawari reached out, holding his hand over the dead coals, and looked questioningly at Hiei, who shook his head briefly. Sighing, the youko knelt, pulling two small pieces of flint and steel from his pockets, snapping them together with a hard, swift motion. Yuusuke stirred, rolling over onto his side, so that he faced them, and opened one brown eye, blinking sleepily at them. Yo-mawari smiled a little at him, then returned his attention to the fire, fanning it softly with his breath and watching as it expanded, igniting the dormant coals and sparking them back into a comfortable little blaze. He sat back on his haunches, tucking his materials back into his clothing. “Ohayou gozimasu, Yuusuke-kun,” he said politely as Hiei turned and grunted a similar sort of greeting. “Yeah, yeah,” the human replied sourly, closing his eyes and rolling onto his back, stretching lazily. “I don’t wanna move,” he complained, holding his arms up in the air and wiggling his fingers. “I am actually comfortable, for once. But I hafta get up, don’t I?” “If you want breakfast, yes, you do,” Yo-mawari said dryly. “There’s not much left, but if I remember those damn maps correctly, there should be a village nearby. We can restock there.” Yuusuke chuckled dryly. “Let’s hope you can read maps better than a Hibiki can.” The youko blinked in confusion, hands pausing in their task. “Eh?” he asked. The black-haired human rolled to a sitting position, stretching again and yawning widely before laughing again. “Aw, nothing. Ever read the manga Ramna Nibunnoichi?” He raised an eye when his friend shook his head, hopping to his feet. “You gotta. I only read it ’cause Keiko did, but it was pretty funny. Ending kinda sucked, though.” He padded over to the fire, dropping in an ungraceful heap of limbs beside them. “There’s this one character - Hibiki Ryouga - who has the lousiest sense of direction. He’ll hold the map upside down or somethin’, and it takes him weeks to complete a walk that would take normal people maybe around five minutes.” Yo-mawari frowned skeptically. “I’m not sure I want to read that.” “You gotta! The main character, Saotome Ranma, is one cool guy. He’s got some wicked martial arts moves, and his girlfriend is a cute chick.” At that, Yuusuke glanced around nervously. “Don’t tell Keiko I said that. Gettin’ jealous of an anime character is low, but still ... that Akane chick is pretty cute. Don’t understand why Ranma kept callin’ her ‘kawaikunee.’” The youko laughed softly at that, smiling and shaking his head scoldingly at his friend. “You humans and your weird comics ...” he said softly, then dug around in the pack again. “Hey! I’ll have you know that Ranma Nibunnoichi is a classic! Lots of people read it! Even gaijins from the ’States ...” Yuusuke shrugged. “It’s gotta have done something right. If I ever draw a manga, I’d hope it does half as well.” “Oh?” Yo-mawari raised an eyebrow as he looked at his friend. “And what would this manga be about, pray tell?” “Aw, hell, I dunno ... maybe about life as a ghost? As a member of the Reikai-Tantei? Something like that.” “And what would this thing be called?” “Beats me. Maybe something with my name in the title? Uh ... ‘Urameshi Yuusuke: Spirit Detective.’ Nah, that sounds too stupid. Um ... ‘Three Worlds’? Uh ...” “Well ...” Yo-mawari took a stick from the fire and began to draw kanji characters in the dirt, first writing Yuusuke’s name and studying it thoughtfully. “How about this ...” he scrawled out a few characters, and the human peered eagerly over his shoulder, then hooted excitedly at what he read. “Love that! It’s perfect! Arigatou, ’Wari!” he said cheerfully, rolling over to dig in his blankets. “Gotta write that down so I’ll remember that ... it’s too cool!” Kuwabara rolled over at the noise, then sat up, yawning loudly, then blinking owlishly at Yuusuke. “Oi. Urameshi. What’s gotten you so excited?” he asked, sleepily, stretching and scratching an armpit, watching as his best friend dug around in his sleeping roll. He looked questioningly at the two youkai, who only looked back in return. The large man got to his feet and walked over to read Yo-mawari’s scrawling in the dirt. “Yuu Yuu Hakusho,” he read aloud, then scratched his head. “Makes no sense.” Yuusuke only glared at him, then gave up on his search to find paper and pencil, then crawled over to explain. “First character is from my name,” he stated, jabbing at the kanji character, mussing one of the crumbled sandy edges. “Then, the rest, ‘Yuu Hakusho’ - kinda like a spiritual report or somethin’ like that, as explanation for all this spiritual detective work we do.” He glared at his friend. “It’s a potential title for the manga I’ll draw whenever I finally retire from this buisness.” Kuwabara looked at Yuusuke with narrow eyes; his usual “you-are-screwed-in-the-head” glare, then settled down, accepting his rations from Yo-mawari as he watched his friend grab the stick and continue to scribble. “Yuu Yuu Hakusho, eh?” he mused. “Sounds kinda corny. But nice. I like it.” The village was oddly quiet, even for the Makai, where distrust reigned thick as the choking dusts that rolled in from the deserts. The four Reikai-Tantei looked around curiously, searching for signs of life, but found nothing. The whole place seemed to be a ghost town. Yet, there were signs of recent inhabitation here and there - dust swept away from windows; fresh prints in the dirt road, but no youkai. Here and there, the barest flicker of you-ki could be felt, but it flitted away rapidly, gone before it could be pinned down. At the center, a run-down old inn stood, like some old black cow in the pasture. The sign was worn and faded, the painted letters barely visible, proclaiming it the Carrion Crow. A brief glance inside revealed a common room inch-deep in dust and grime, completely empty as they backtracked out. Discouraged, they made to leave, when they heard something whimper. It was a soft sound, barely heard, muffled, as if coming from a great distance. Hiei cocked his head slightly to one side, listening. Then, he flashed from sight, reappearing to stand next to one of the many empty-seeming houses. He moved his hand in a commanding gesture, pointing through the broken glass of the window, and the others crowded around, peering inside. At first, all one could see was dust and the remains of broken furniture - and then something moved inside. Yuusuke moved first, his instinct for command taking over as he crept towards the door, twisting the knob slightly and opening it a crack. The door made a soft whining sound, and instantly, the crier stopped, and everything was deathly still. Yuusuke cursed his clumsiness, then pressed further inside, then stopped as a shrill little voice piped up from the depths of the home, thin and desperately trying to sound threatening - though it only ended up as pathetic. “Don’t come any closer!” it warned! “Don’t, or I’ll - I’ll - I’ll rip your eyes out an’ feed ’em to that beastie next time it comes round! I will, I will, I will!” There was a scrabbling sound, like tiny, clawed feet moving over bare wooden floor. “I mean it!” Yuusuke frowned at that, then opened the door all the way, stepping quickly out of range as a small, dust-covered little figure hurtled from the darkness, missing him by inches and skidding into the empty street. It turned, still sliding a little, coming to a stop and glaring at them with open hostility in its milky blue-gray eyes. He? she? it? snarled at them, waving thin little fingers like an old fishwife. “You’ll be sorry you did that, m’lad, oh, very sorry!” it - she - announced, flipping dusty gray-brown hair from her face. “I’ll sic the beastie on you, when it comes back; see if I don’t!!” She was a tiny youkai, barely coming up to Hiei’s waist, wearing shapeless gray clothing that was so engrained with dust that the original color was impossible to identify. She continued to rant, waving her fists in the air, until Kuwabara walked over and picked it up by the scruff of her dirty neck, lifting her into the air. The youkai squealed, kicking viciously, trying to aim a good one towards the large human. “Put m’down, y’big brute; oh, you’ll be sorry when the beastie comes back, yes, yes, you will!” “Oi, Obaabaa,” Kuwabara said, shaking the youkai roughly, effectively cutting of her squealing wails. “What happened here? What the hell is this ‘beastie’ you’re raving about?” A sly gleam appeared in the old one’s eyes, and she twisted again. “Don’t hafta tell you. But I will, promise I will, if you put m’down. I don’ like heights, y’know. Nope; don’ like ’em a’tall.” She grinned at them, withered lips pulling back to expose broken yellow teeth. Kuwabara considered his options, then sighed and set the old one back onto the ground. She tried to dart away, but was cut off as the sharp edge of Hiei’s katana rose to hover threateningly at throat level. The fire youkai watched silently as the old one danced back, coughing and sputtering, rubbing her neck, trying to chafe away the feeling of cold sharp steel against flesh. “Now, you old woman,” Hiei said, deadly quiet and calm, his tone unhurried despite the raging emotions in his red eyes. “What’s this about a beast?” The old youkai snorted, snarled, growled something under her breath, then straightened, looking around. At first, she seemed to be looking for another escape, feinting towards the right, until Yo-mawari unsheathed his katana, holding the long, silver blade before him in a deceptively unconcerned manner. Stomping one foot in defeat, the old woman pushed scraggly hair from her eyes and announced, in a loud, brash tone, “You young’uns are all alike. All loudness and noise and disrespect for those older’n you. Hn,” she sniffed. “You’ve probably never suffered a day of hardship in your short little lives!” Hiei chuckled - a dark, threatening, and utterly unpleasant sound. It froze the old woman up, making her glance cautiously at him as he spoke. His voice was bitter, mocking, and his eyes were harder and brighter than cut rubies. “Never suffered a day of hardship in my life, Obaba? You’ve got that right ... I’ve suffered far worse than a mere day.” The katana rose again, tracing an invisible line down her cheek as she continued to stare, petrified. A trickle of sweat eased from her brow, and with a sharp, vicious movement, he had nicked the flesh of her face, sending the salty water to mingle with the metallic red-black of youkai blood. “I should cut your tongue out for your idiocy,” he drawled, the corner of one mouth lifting in a cruel smile. “But you have information I want. Speak, and I’ll decide whether it’s worth your life or not.” The woman swallowed nervously, shying away. The others stared at Hiei in surprise; there was a sadistic, twisted sort of pleasure in his red eyes that was frightening to see. Those same features, which could be so soft, when looking at a loved one, now seemed to belong to a stranger. Yo-mawari was fairly sure that, if either Yukina or Kurama were to see the small youkai before them now, they would be hard pressed to recognize him. Faltering, the woman spoke, keeping her eyes riveted on Hiei the whole time. “Well, m’lord,” she said nervously, fingers clasped before her, knotted together, “it started a few days ago. M’granddaughter - such a nice li’l girl, y’know - left her cloak out by the river, so’s she an’ m’daughter - her mother, y’know - went out to get it. The girl - m’granddaughter - came back, screamin’ and hollerin’ like the Furies were chasin’ her, and she was screamin’ ’bout a huge ol’ beastie that came and ate her mother up, in one big ol’ swallow. “No one believed her - she’s a sweet li’l child, y’know, but prone to her imaginin’s, so we ignored her. Then, ’round midnight, the elder felt somethin’ big and nasty comin’. Got us all together in the ol’ Carrion Crow and told us to be ready - somethin’ horrible was comin’. That’s when m’granddaughter became completely hysterical, shriekin’ her pretty fool head off. ‘It’s comin’, it’s comin!’ she hollered, runnin’ ’round the room like a headless chicken. ‘It’s comin’, and it’s gonna eat us all up, like it did with ’Kaasan! We’ll die! We’ll all die!’ “Now, ’round midnight, it happened. I was sleepin’, comfortable as can be, in m’bed - this place used to be m’house, y’know -” she gestured, briefly, to the house that they had found her cowering in. Hiei nodded once, not looking in the direction she pointed, his eyes calm as he indicated for her to continue. Faltering, the woman took another deep breath. “I was sleepin’, and I heard the most horrible racket outside. I thought it was jus’ them young idiots that like to go traipsin’ ’round the village at horrid hours, so I opened the window, and I intended t’ give ’em hell for wakin’ me up - I’m old; I need m’sleep, y’know. “Course, it wasn’t those damn young fools; not this time. Just this huge ol’ beastie, with gray skin and big green claws. It smelled bad, too; real bad - like a dead body or somethin’ like that. I hid, ’cause I ain’t stupid enough t’ stick around. That’s when m’granddaughter went screamin’ from the house - the li’l fool was shoutin’ that the beastie killed her mother, and she was gonna return th’ favor. “I didn’t see her die, but I did hear her scream. Didn’t move - too afraid to, y’know.” The woman bowed her head in what seemed to be shame, finally breaking eye contact with Hiei. “Later, I went out and looked ’round - there were bodies everywhere - I saw m’granddaughter, and m’son, and all m’friends lyin’ dead ’round me. I thought I was alone, and then the beastie showed up again. “It was a big and mean-lookin’ beastie, with slaverin’ jaws and narrow purple eyes. It had lots of teeth, and sharp, too - and the claws were all bright green, like the hair of some of these young’uns today. I hid, but I don’t think I needed to, ’cause it didn’t seem t’ know I was there. Jus’ sorta shuffled on by. Left this behind, though.” The woman started to head towards her home, gesturing slightly with one clawed hand. Yuusuke looked once at Hiei, who nodded curtly, red eyes focused solely on the woman. The human stepped back, allowing the tiny old youkai to enter her home. It was dusty inside - there was no telling how long ago the creature she had described had past by. There was no need for the name, though - the descriptions she had given were apt enough. All the time in eternity would not be enough to erase the memory of the Tamashii-Satsujinhan’nin, especially in the last moments of their fight, when it had born down on Kurama’s helpless form, ready to take the redhead’s soul into its own body to pervert beyond redemption. “Now, where did I put that thing -” they heard the old woman murmur, as she scrabbled with the larger pieces of furniture, digging around behind them, waving off Kuwabara’s offer for help. “I may be old, but I can find things in m’own home quite nicely by m’self, thank you very much.” Finally, after a few minutes, she let out a triumphant “Hah!” and emerged, cradling her prize gingerly in her callused palms. They stared in shock as she smiled at them, holding it into the air. It was the broken tip of the Creature’s claw - the same one that had ripped into Kurama, depositing its slow-killing venom. How the old woman had come across it, they had no idea, but that wasn’t the pressing matter - the claw still shone lurid and nauseating green, and the tip glistened with liquid - deadly poison at any other time than now. At the moment, it seemed like a gift from the gods, a present born from the whims of Fate. Poison. Kuraihana had told them that, if they could retrieve some of it, she could formulate an antidote for Kurama. Without thinking, Yuusuke reached forward, exaulting that the cure now lay within their grasp. Yo-mawari had told them about his dream, the night before, and of Kurama’s words, and he was eager to return to Kuraihana with the cure. He congratulated himself mentally as his fingers clutched for the claw - - when the old woman holding jerked it back, her eyes going narrow as she watched their reactions, that same sly gleam appearing as she studied their faces. “Oho,” she chuckled, pulling her arms in, cradling the claw as close to her body as she dared, “what’s so special about this to you, m’lads? Is it worth something precious to you?” Without words, Kuwabara and Yuusuke nodded, while Hiei and Yo-mawari tensed, awaiting her reaction. She tossed her head back and laughed, a shrill, happy sound. “I knew it! There was something special about this thing! Haha!” “Obaabaa,” Yuusuke said desperately, reaching forward again, “we’ll buy it from you, if you’d like - name your price, we’ll give anything for it!” The woman pondered, eyeing each of them closely. “Hmm ... anything, y’say ...” she mused, then straightened. “I want one of you to stay behind and be m’servant,” she announced, slyly, running a thin finger down the rough edge of the claw, never straying too close to the deadly tip. “I’m lonely, I’m old, I want a companion. You boys are all young and strong and bright; I trade this trinket for one of you, and that’s m’only offer.” She sniffed, haughtily, her dominant position over them giving her a confidence she had not had during her story. Hiei growled under his breath. “You old woman -” he snarled, raising his katana, eyes glittering deadly red fire. “I oughta -” “Ah-ah-ah,” she warned, holding it up. “Li’l one, try anythin’ funny, and I’ll destroy this.” She raised it above her head, waving it threateningly. “Then it won’t be of any worth to either of us.” Yo-mawari smiled, eyes narrowing to hide the calculating gleam. “But you won’t destroy it. You think it will be worth something to you, and so you’ll keep it, even if we decide not to accept your offer and leave. Obaasan, you need to work on your logic some more.” He laughed, a cold sound, then winked impishly at his companions. His hand dipped into the dark folds of his shirt, then reappeared, holding a small, black metal object, shaped like a eight-pointed star. Though the shuriken-youkai, with their unique awareness, had been left behind at the apartment in the Ningenkai, the youko had a few extras, these merely pieces of twisted iron; weapons without soul or mind of their own. Abruptly, his arm snapped upward, his fingers opening and flinging the shuriken at the old woman, who squealed and tried to dodge - too late. Her hands slipped on the claw, and the jagged edge sliced her palm open, the tip leaving a livid trail of electric green poison that burned into her flesh, then was gone. She let out a strangled cry, dropping the claw and sliding to her knees, heedless as the artifact clattered to the ground. She stared blankly at them, not flinching when the shuriken flipped over her head and buried itself in the wall above her. She opened her mouth, as if about to say anything, when the light dimmed completely from her dusty old eyes, and she slumped, a thin trail of mixed blood and spittle seeping from the corner of her mouth. The bleeding, wounded hand continued to ooze slowly, and Hiei gave a mental shudder at the merciless quickness with which the poison worked. He had to be glad that Kurama had survived this long - the link with his lover had been severed, that cold, lonely night, but the visitation, the night before, had been too real to shrug off. Kurama was still alive. He had to be. Yo-mawari stepped forward, pulling his shuriken from the wall and tucking it back into his sleeve. He then bent and gingerly lifted the claw, frowning in distaste at the blood stains that rubbed off on his hand. He turned to them, eyes serious, mouth grim. “We may have the cure, but the Creature is still at large,” he said seriously. “We can’t just completely abandon the trip. From what we’ve seen, we can’t afford to send anyone back with the cure, but we can’t just let kyoudai die; not when we finally have the cure -” he choked, the dark prospect of truly loosing his brother gripping his throat in an icy hold. Hiei sheathed his katana in a smooth, quick motion, then held out one small hand. “I’m the fastest,” he said calmly. “I’ll go.” His words rang with another reason, as well, one that they all bowed to - Kurama was his lover; his; and it would be almost sacrilegious to send anyone in his place. And his words were true; out of all of them, only Hiei was fast enough; he was the one with the best hope of retracing their steps in a short time. Yo-mawari nodded, calmly, though he was mentally biting his lip. He carefully handed the token to his master, and the small youkai’s fingers closed around the base, as far away as he could get from the poison at the top. “Be careful, Meijin,” he warned, stepping back from his master to give him room. Hiei nodded curtly, then turned to look at them. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he said calmly, then was gone. Yuusuke let out a deep breath, then looked down at the old woman, prodding at her dead body with the toe of his foot. “I’d say we should let this old lady rot ’cause she tried to con us, but ...” he sighed, and shook his head. “I guess I couldn’t really blame her. Being lonely must do horrible things to your mind.” Yo-mawari nodded, his gaze soft and inward, remembering something from his past ... a time without laughing green eyes or calm red ones populating his life. One before he had been graced with the smile of bright blue eyes. “Hai,” he said quietly, in a bemused tone, “it does.” He looked up at Yuusuke, then down at the old woman’s body. “Believe me, I know. I know.”