InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Inu Yasha in the Cupboard ❯ Sacred Temple ( Chapter 5 )

S A C R ED T E M P L E

As the heavy, wooden door rolled to the side quietly, I was immediately greeted by the Sacred Temple's soft sweet smells, with the essence of church incense and the sparkling frailty of the sprinkling rain. I inhaled it all deeply, filling my womanly lungs with the Shinto Shrine's most holy air in a sense, embracing the security of the four-walled structure after having spent a few agonizing minutes patronizing the key and lock as they had refused to cooperate any quicker than they had. Not to mention that Souta's windbreaker was now soaked through, the water droplets deflecting off the plastic surface and instead having moistened my face or dampened my hair against it. It may have just been the escape from the drenching spring weather which brought a sort of relief and strange harmony to the atmosphere of the aged, small and dry temple, but also a part of me was no short of certain that the shrine itself, mainly this section of it, would always hold a powerful aura that defied all of the outer conditions, concealing anything in it to its magic alone.

Pulling back the jacket hood, releasing free presently wavy strands of deep black, I rolled the sliding door back into its place, shutting out the echoes of the outside rain as it spattered against every surface, quite a calming yet noisy racket upon the thousands of leaves of trees. But in seconds it seemed as if almost silence in this indoor seclusion, with the exception of the faint and almost inaudible pit-pattering of water droplets upon the shrine roof. And so my focus was left to my surroundings, to the ancient and somewhat whimsical area that stood before me, proud and mysterious as it always was.

There lay everything, untouched and unmoving, basked in the shadows cast by the higher semi-transparent beige windows, not so much windows even, since they were made of a much less dense material than glass, with instead a rough feel of canvas or burlap. Everything, although barely even looked upon in this quiet and secluded place, had not even a remote dusting of dust or infringement of dirt, as the shrine had always been so well maintained, wonderfully looked after and cared for. It was my grandfather's apt duty after all, if not his solo passion altogether. Needless to say, the shrine had become a part of him, as it was a part of our family, our heritage and history. Why, hadn't it just been a month ago or so, when Grandpa had asked me to help him adjust the bird feeders? Grandfather loved birds, especially the small and rather musical ones that resided in our neighbouring sycamore trees, and our home sure served as refuge to the tiny creatures during the winter, where plenty of feeders were hung about as the birds came and went for some easy food in the brutal weather, and as the months of spring had edged on, both Souta and I helped in refilling them for all of the new fledglings to come. It was a charming experience to say the least, one that unknowingly had become ritual for all of us, a once happy time in a once happy place. It was so strange to think of it now, maybe even ironic, that the two most memorable aspects of such a memory were fading and gone, for as we lost one, we were now coming to lose the other as I knew that soon enough we would bid farewell to the wonders of this sacred place, and all the thoughts of family and Grandpa within it...

I swallowed tightly, and blinked. I would not think of such a thing. There would be plenty of time to sulk, to grieve, to agonize, in the coming few days, but now I had a curiousity, did I not? For once, Souta and I had come across a temporary distraction, by chance finding mysteries that lay before us to keep our thoughts keen and sharp. It was inevitable that soon as soon was, the reality of the hardships of the mere thought of leaving would hit home, and thus depression would settle. Until then, until my last ounce of optimism would thus be extinguished with hope to vanish alongside, until then, I'd do better with my efforts in repressing such sadness.

My fingers graced over the fine details of the carven wood against the shrine altar, faded now with an olden, retired maroon paint, yet still delicate and elegant as if it were new. It gave off a faint shine from Grandpa's faithful polishing, unlit candles standing solid in the place where offerings would usually be made, or prayers quietly said by the priest or priestess that, over the centuries, had ministered where I stood. That thought alone was accompanied by a mystifying feeling to it, one of which I had pondered since early childhood, tugging at an elder's sleeve in question over whether I just happened to be sleeping with ghosts, which had been one of my fearful concerns as a youth. Over time, that fear had grown to respect, an understanding similar yet not yet as strong as the one Grandfather invoked to our ancestors before us, lying dormant over watch of us through the course of the 500 or so years of the Higurashi Shrine's existence. Of course, it had only come to be known as the Higurashi Shrine sometime in the late 1800's when Grandpa's grandmother had first inherited it, having no male siblings, and thus her husband, my great-Grandfather and the first Higurashi to reside on the grounds, had his family name becoming the shrine's source of identification. Such trades of marital ownership had occurred a few times in the shrine's history, defying that of even Grandpa's knowledge, and so the multiple generations that had come and gone before us could only remain mysteries in itself, with each of them having passed through where I stood, walked through where I walked, slept through where I slept. In a way it was sort of creepily discomforting and could keep one up to frustrate over it for a few nights, but overall, I could only be intrigued to what must have been an exciting past lived where I stood many years ago in the midst of the Japanese feudal era. How interesting would it be to get to go back to such a time....

Before my thoughts could wander any further into such impossibilities, my eyes came to still themselves upon a particular area, the possibly most sacred of sacred of that within the Sacred Temple. It was what could be compared to such of a tabernacle, the area of storage of something great and important, priceless yet incredibly valuable. I barely even wanted to breathe around or in such a place, having to take a step back and glance at the fancy ado over the pedestal, carved with such intricacy like that of a Corinthian Greek column but with the same mythical creativity as that of Chinese decor. The patterns of wooden dragon scales and ivy leaves wound up the pedestal to come to an elaborate collage of artistic display on the capital of the column, until finally upon it lay a violet, velvet drapery of which Grandpa had purchased since the older ones had looked worn and unappealing. Fringed with a gold lace, upon the velvet, lay a sort of a marble, rectangular arch, standing perfectly still and erect with its own mystique and pride as it held the true jewel, the sacred of the Sacred Temple, balancing delicately from the arch's ends. I had seen it plenty of times before, as one could not come into the Sacred Temple without noticing it, but for the first time I came to study it a bit more intently.

There lay what Grandpa had told me of many times before, and only now did I wish more earnestly that I had listened more earnestly, for looking upon the treasure, I was left with only vague ideas as to what it symbolized. It could be described as a necklace of some sort, with smaller jewels on the side leading to a grand pendant that dangled heavily in the middle. Those smaller jewels were in the shape of jagged white diamonds, a bit offset, and according to my grandfather bore the same age as the temple itself. Obviously, I had a hard time grasping such a concept, wondering why on earth such an incredible historical artifact would still be here guarded by nothing but a cheap padlock rather than encased in precious glass in some prestige museum. But I shouldn't have been surprised either, for it was natural custom for Shinto Shrines to preserve what was sacred to them, and fact of the matter was that this little ornament was probably more precious to our family than the viewing public. Yet still I had to look upon it strongly to wrap my mind around its incredible age, and to the more amazing factor: what it was supposedly made of. To the fascination of both Souta and myself growing up, Grandpa had always told us the legend of this magic jewel, the Jewel of the Four Spirits or so it was called. Our ancestors had actually not created it, but it was brought to the shrine many years ago and guarded by a priestess, as to protect it from the various monsters that wished to attain the jewel to earn grand powers, or something of the sort. Of course, all that sounded much like it had come out of a fairy tale, but yet Grandpa wasn't reluctant to show us the evidence that what he spoke of was real. He claimed that the white jagged diamond-shape beads around the jewel were actually fragments of bone from numerous monsters that the priestess had defeated, purified and placed with the jewel to warn other beasts that if they attempted to take it from her, they would come to endure the same fate. The likelihood of that being so was slim, as the entire family knew, but it seemed we always had fun with the thought of the benefit of the doubt.

It took a few moments, but I finally managed to lure my eyes away from the spectacular orb, noticing it didn't have the same luster to it, looking more like the souvenir marble jewels Grandpa had made for any tourists who stopped by. I decided not to think of it, as something else caught my attention almost immediately. Just behind the pedestal and the Jewel of Four Spirits, lay the ancient samurai swords of which Souta had inherited, but among them was something rather interesting. Reaching out a hand, I took the long structure carefully, realizing I hadn't seen it before. Where had it been all this time? Had Grandpa been keeping it elsewhere? I didn't know the exact answer, but thought not of it as I inspected the long slender bar of wood. It didn't take me long to realize it was a bow, as in an archer's bow, which looked so old that it was faded and worn with splinters in many places. The string used to attatch to the two ends looked new however, probably added on there since the original had possibly already snapped. Gazing upwards, I found what I had expected to see to satisfy this curiousity, which were a group of equally old arrows lying where I had found the bow. Taking one, I wondered if I was being carelessly stupid playing with such treasures, but for some reason I was taking an immediate drawing to it. The bow may have been old, but it felt so natural in my hands, felt as if it belonged there. That was strange to say, seeing as I had never even taken archery in my life, much the less actually held a bow, but it seemed like a likely thing for me to do, assuming I still lived in that day and age that such primitive weapons were used. I fumbled a bit with the two items until I held them in a somewhat decent manner, mimicking what I had seen of people holding such things on television, than randomly aiming around the shrine. Of course, I wouldn't be dense enough to release the arrow - the string wasn't even pulled back far enough to cause much damage anyway - but it was even more amusing to pretend to aim it, feeling as if I were meant to do such a thing all along. How weird, most definitely weird, but enjoyable. Closing one eye and peering to focus with the other, I could almost feel that if I were to release the bow, I would have had a perfect, clean shot. I didn't know why I thought like that, but it seemed as if I were right. Regardless, I continued looking around the room in my hunter-style fashion, until…

Both my eyes opened suddenly, and I lowered my arms, suddenly losing interest in the ancient toys. I decided to stop acting like an overgrown child, and more responsible as my vision remained forward ahead of me, realizing that it had been here in this room all along. How had I not seen it before? I was being negligent of my duties. I had come here for a reason after all, and after long, I had finally found it. It sat there right in front of me, a whimsical little being, and I smiled with a contented assurance - it was beautiful, and it was a gift for me.