The Path of Pins | By : girltype Category: InuYasha > General Views: 7418 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story. |
Author’s
Note: So this is my first Inuyasha fic,
I’m kind of excited. I’ve been meaning
to for a while but inspiration never actually struck. My muses are fickle things.
The basis of this story is somewhat taken from Kushiel’s Dart but
the plot will be different and I won’t be taking very much from it at all. It was just something to spring board off
of. So I hope you enjoy.
The best
way of letting me know if you do is to review.
Keep that in mind.
The Path of Pins
Chapter 1
~
When love cast me out, it was cruelty who took pity on
me.
-Jacqueline
Carey, Kushiel’s Dart
~
When the poets speak of me it is my beauty they
speak of. Hair the color of night, a
black so true if reflects blue, stark contrast against the ivory plains of my
face and the perfect sapphires of my eyes.
They do not, however, speak of my humble beginnings.
My parents gave me a name, Kagome, and a face that
bred desire but naught else. I was born
to a merchant; my mother was what all women are, his property. There was little time to spare on a child, a
daughter. Even for all that, I
remember that they loved each other, I remember eyes the color of forest pools
in shadow gazing at a woman with flowers in her dark hair.
But love is not coin nor is it the
shrewdness that is required for a trader to make his fortune. We traveled with the merchant train, the
roads long and dull for a small child and my kindest memory of my first home was
of my grandfather. A man, grey haired
and stooped with age, who smiled when I pulled at his mustache. He spun tales of the grand adventures of
princes in love and demons who could be noble or evil. Even now I smile to remember.
An honorable man, my father, but
his purse was not deep and between mercenaries and brigands he traded at a
loss. So when I was five and my
mother’s belly swelled with another child our house fell out of favor. My father begged for another chance from the
head of our village but he was not a fool and my father had already cost him
much, so he stipulated that for the gold that he paid for my father’s merchant
train my father would have to put up his own coin as well.
Our family’s wealth was modest to
begin with and with the turbulence of the age it could not last long. Four mouths are hard enough to feed, and
with another on the way, what was their choice? I was a daughter with no hope of being anything more then another
burden and they hoped that this new life would be a son. Someone to carry the name and to build my
father’s dwindling wealth.
And I, I was their only commodity
worth selling.
My mother cried that day, eyes the
same shade as my own drowning in tears but she did not speak out against it as
my father lifted me to his horse. My
grandfather was the only one who did not approve but that was all he could
do. What can you offer her?”
My father turned to me then, the
only clear memory I have of him, that last one. The dark brown eyes, searching my own, and the hard line of his
mouth as he studied my face.
He stood, releasing my hand. “She
is your then.”
I turned to see the man nod, a
gesture bringing a servant to his side.
“Bring the money for the man.”
It came quickly and I watched as a purse was thrown into my father’s hands. Quickly he spilt some of the bag’s contents
into his hand, a dangerous thing to do in front of the lord, but with the
nature of the transaction he could not dare to do less. The picture is seared
into my memory with shame. A price was
put on my head; even as a child I realized this. A number of gold disks counted out to equal my worth, as I had
seen my own mother do for a fan once.
They were pretty, yes, and numerous to be sure but the meaning behind
them still remained.
With that my father was gone. Do I resent them? My family. I can’t, what I have become I could never
have achieved under their roof, though sometimes I wonder whether that is a
good thing.
“You will now be known as Kagome
Higurashi.” The name, that wasn’t wholly my own, was said softly and I faced my
new master, though I did not understand it then. “My servant, Kagura, will take you to your new rooms.” A woman glided from behind a shoji screen,
hands clasped before her and head bowed.
Her hair was swept up onto her head, intricately styled with pins and
combs, and the eyes that met mine were tinged red, but all I could think of was
the beauty of her face and the way she took my hand gently in her own.
“Come,” she said soothingly in a
voice like music. “Your home will not be so bad here.”
My new master was Naraku Higurashi,
and though the world may curse his name and, I admit, I have n bon both cruelty
and pain at his hands I love him even now, a little. He gave me his name and when the very ones who bore me cast me
from them he took me in and gave me a home.
And, above all, he was the hand that shaped me, the one who made of me a
musician who could play exquisite music upon the flesh of princes and kings,
and he taught me what it was to think.
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