InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ The Soul of a Man ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi and other associated companies.

 

 

Chapter 06: The Soul of a Man

 

 

Far below their twisting boughs, Sesshoumaru stood alone beneath the many trees that peppered the shrine. The midmorning sun filtered down through their branches, dappling him and the ground with light. The trees began to rustle, and as familiar that day as it was hundreds of years ago, the summer breeze began to blow. It ruffled his hair, and caressed the back of his neck. It sent yellowing leaves dancing to the ground.

 

Taking his broom, the daiyoukai began to sweep them up again. The smooth cracked wood felt good in his hands as he gathered them together in a pile. It was an ancient broom. Cobwebbed and dusty, he had dragged it out of the back of the storage shed, letting it feel the brush of the ground after years of uselessness.

 

Sidestepping in a slow constant rhythm, he swept up more leaves, remembering the hours he'd spent doing it in his youth around the dojo of his master. The memories though felt vague, trapped in a fog of time. It'd been so long since he last remembered them.

 

Footsteps interrupted his rhythm. A slow shuffling gait, they dragged on the right side. He snorted. The old man's hip always seemed to be sore in the morning. It was accompanied by another noise, the quiet rustle of a broom being dragged.

 

“Good morning, Sesshoumaru,” Grandpa said, his voice equal parts warmth and rasp.

 

Glancing over his shoulder, the demon nodded his bow, and began to sweep again.

 

The old man chuckled. “That was the most modest bow I've received in years, but then you are the older one, aren't you? Even if you don't look it.”

 

Sesshoumaru looked over his shoulder again, and let his eyes linger.

 

“You're lucky and unlucky,” he went on, “Old age takes its time to find you. I'm afraid it snuck up on me. I've been tending the shrine for so long now.” With a soft swish, he began to sweep beside the youkai. “The years go by so fast, and I'm only sixty-five. I can't imagine how a year might feel to someone who's lived for hundreds of them.”

 

“The summer is a smile,” he replied after a moment, “the fall is a gasp, the winter is a shudder, and the spring is a sigh.”

 

Grandpa let his broom pause as he thought, and then he chuckled again. “Sounds like a good woman.”

 

Faint even in the sunlight, Sesshoumaru smirked.

 

“Ha! There it is! Just like the summer, you have a smile.”

 

His smirk vanished. “You are simple to please.” Again, he began to sweep, but with quick purposeful strokes as he slowly edged away from the old man.

 

“The little triumphs are the best ones.”

 

The daiyoukai shrugged.

 

“I'm surprised though to see you out here. The chores often fall to me. My grandchildren are too busy with their own lives. How can they care for relics from a past that has no place in their future?” He sighed. “Between the internet and cell phones, I feel like a relic for even caring about a few old scrolls and chipped pottery.”

 

Sesshoumaru stared at him blankly. “What is the internet?”

 

“I'm sorry. Hmm… well, I don't rightly know, but it seems like it's a huge waste of time.”

 

He nodded, and then smirked. “If you believe yourself a relic for that, then I must be one as well.”

 

Grandpa laughed. “A welcomed relic who helps out. I'm still shocked.”

 

“It's familiar work, and it reminds me of when I was young and learning swordplay for the first time. My master required me to clean the dojo every morning. Compared to a forested mountain, this shrine is an indulgence.”

 

“A whole mountain?”

 

“My master was not an admirer of fallen pine needles.”

 

“Wow.”

 

The demon shrugged. “It was my path to discipline, and to do it honored the art that would make me a warrior. It was not a hardship, but a privilege.”

 

“Well, this place isn't a dojo, but I appreciate the honor.”

 

“I have come to realize that it truly is a holy place, and that I still hold a thread of the power I once wielded. You must forgive me. It was an accident.”

 

“What was?”

 

His broom stopped, and he pointed to the massive iron shrine bell near the entrance. Dark and jagged, a large crack ran its length.

 

The old man's mouth dropped open.

 

“I was attempting to clean it, but it would appear that my mere presence was too much for it.”

 

“That was two hundred years old!”

 

“Hn,” he snorted, unimpressed by its age. “There were several seals that caught fire earlier as well. I stamped them out.”

 

“Where?”

 

“In the storage shed where I discovered this broom.”

 

Grandpa dropped his broom to cradle his forehead in his hands. “My heirlooms.”

 

The daiyoukai shrugged, and continued to sweep.

 

“That's it!” he exclaimed, “I have an idea! Have you ever heard of Miyamoto Musashi?”

 

“No.”

 

“I suppose you wouldn't have since he was a little bit ahead of your time.”

 

“Who was he?”

 

“A great human warrior.”

 

“Human?”

 

“Yes. He never lost a match, and is considered one of the best swordsmen in history.”

 

Intrigued, Sesshoumaru let his broom stop.

 

“Come on,” Grandpa waved to him, “and leave that broom there. I've got something to show you.”

 

Letting the broom fall, Sesshoumaru joined the old man, and they walked slowly across the grounds.

 

“Aside from being a fine swordsman, Musashi was a reasonably well-educated man. His success inspired him to write about his way of the sword so that others would understand what it meant to be a true warrior.”

 

Hidden away in a far corner of the shrine, they soon approached a small shed tucked beside a tree with low hanging branches.

 

“Perhaps one of his most memorable analogies was his comparison between a warrior and a carpenter. You see, in order to build a house, a carpenter must be meticulous, and capable of putting together a master plan without any errors.

 

“A carpenter must understand the nature of the wood, and its best uses. He must deduce what every piece's purpose is, and how to work it, mold it, and sand it. From that, he then must know how to construct the frame, floor, doors and walls of his house. He must know in what order to place them, and how to tease out the best features from even flawed materials.

 

“A warrior must do the same. He must understand the nature of his opponent, and how he can be defeated. He must deduce what his opponent's strengths and weaknesses are, and how to manipulate them. From that, he then must know how to create a defense, and an attack. He must know in what order to feint, and to stab, and how to tease out the best route to victory when facing even the strongest rivals.”

 

Seemingly still interested, Sesshoumaru nodded.

 

“There is more than just the ability to plan. A carpenter must be skilled in a variety of tools in order to succeed. No tool is insignificant, because everything has a use. As a warrior, you must have realized long ago that every weapon has its place. That you should know how they're meant to be handled, because you never know when you may have to rely on them.”

 

An old-fashioned lock, a long board hung across the shed's doors, keeping it shut. Grandpa tried to lift it from its hooks, but it was hopelessly wedged in. It'd been years since he'd last opened it, and after a few more struggling tries, he looked back at the daiyoukai.

 

The demon stared back at him.

 

“Could you?”

 

“Ah,” Sesshoumaru murmured, and he stepped forward. With a supernatural ease, he lifted the board out of place with one hand, and set it down against the shed.

 

“Thank you,” the old man replied. He then reached for the handles, and the hinges whined as he opened the doors.

 

Swirling in the sunlight, dust motes glittered in the small workshop. Tables lined the room, each covered with a tarp. Grandpa walked over to one, and pulled back the cloth, sending up new clouds of dust. Set in rows, a myriad of carpentry tools were laid out. Chisels, saws, hammers and levels; each one was immaculate, and in its proper place.

 

“It's an old hobby from my youth,” he reminisced, letting his finger longingly trace a few tools. “Nearly every piece of furniture in the house originated here.” Then he pulled his finger back. “But when Kagome was born, my daughter needed me, and old hobbies were put to the side. I had hoped that Souta would show an interest, but he didn't.”

 

A long silence passed as each dwelled on a past that had become just that, the past.

 

“You're a broken man, Sesshoumaru.”

 

His brow furrowed, the youkai stared at him, but didn't refute what he had said.

 

“Only a broken man seeks out his youth, searching for the beginning so that he may build once more. Perhaps you think that if you sweep up enough leaves that you'll find yourself again, but it won't work. You're not who you were then.” Grandpa picked up a hammer, and gave it to him. Sesshoumaru looked at it. The solid steel alloy felt heavy in his hand. “You need to find a new purpose. A new way of the warrior. And the sliding door in the kitchen is warped, so it doesn't slide like it used to. The stairs creak, and the wood floor upstairs is awful, and needs to be replaced. I know that you're an honorable man, so consider this training your compensation for room and board.”

 

Finished, Grandpa patted him on the shoulder, and walked away, grumbling under his breath about his hip as he stepped out. Some tea sounded nice, and sweeping the leaves could wait a little longer.

 

Alone, Sesshoumaru set the hammer down, and began to walk over to each table, pulling off their tarps. After folding them neatly, he set them down in a pile by the doorway. On top of one of the tables, he noticed a small bookcase lined with yellowing tomes. White creases traced their spines, and he plucked one up.

 

`Bikini Girl's Basic Guide to Carpentry,' he read. “Strange.” He thumbed through the pages, remembering again what it was like to read.

 

Through the gap on the shelf, he spotted another book. `Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi.' He took that one too.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I'm home!” Kagome announced with bubbling vibrancy. With two deft shakes, she was shoeless, abandoning them by the door as she walked across the cool floor.

 

“Welcome home,” came Souta's tepid reply from the family room.

 

“School was tough today,” she went on, “I think I did pretty good on my math exam even though the teacher went over the material way too fast.” Kagome continued to ramble on as she set her backpack down to hang up her school coat in the closet. A long time ago, she realized that she didn't really care if anyone listened. She knelt down next, and unzipped her bag. Inside were several textbooks, and she pulled them out. With them cradled against her chest, she carried them with her as she walked down the hall toward the family room. “I went to the library too, and found some good history books for Sesshoumaru so he can catch up with the world.

 

She stepped into the family room.

 

“Do you know where he…”

 

Feeling a pillow of sawdust under her foot, her question dried up, and then her mouth dropped. From wall to wall, the room was a disaster. Long wood dowels along with massive torn sheets of rice paper were strewn about the floor, and over the furniture. And at the center, the table was overwhelmed with a variety of tools and one sticky bottle of glue.

 

“What the hell happened here?” Kagome blurted out.

 

Hidden somewhere amid the chaos, an indifferent Souta replied as he channel-surfed on a still barely visible television. “Sesshoumaru's fixing the screen door.”

 

“He's what?!”

 

The boy sighed. “Grandpa showed him the tool shed, and now he's fixing the door.”

 

“Is he?” She looked at the disarray, mystified.

 

A pile of rice paper shrugged. “He's determined.”

 

His clothes and skin stained with paint and wood glue, Sesshoumaru entered, carrying the skeletal frame of a new door.

 

“Is the frame dry?” Souta asked, leaving his sister wondering how he even knew the daiyoukai was there.

 

“The clamps were left on the joints for four hours as Bikini Girl instructed, and as I have learned, her instructions are not to be trifled with. I will be sliding it down the track to make sure it fits. Would you take the roll of rice paper out to the shed? I will be applying it out there once I am finished.”

 

“Sure!” Souta clambered out of the mess enshrouding him, and walked over to the big roll set beside the wall. With a labored grunt, he hefted it up, teetering a bit as he took his first step.

 

“Isn't that too heavy?” Kagome asked.

 

“Nope!” he answered as he walked down the hallway, and out the door.

 

The schoolgirl shook her head. He won't put away the dishes, but he'll carry something that's as big as he is out to the shed for Sesshoumaru.

 

Stepping around the debris, she headed for the kitchen. In the entryway, she found the daiyoukai kneeling down as he aligned the frame with the track. On the other side, she spotted Mama and Grandpa leaning against the counter with two cups of tea between them. Taking the greatest care, Kagome gingerly sidled around the demon, and joined them.

 

“Good afternoon, Kagome,” her mother and grandfather welcomed her.

 

“Good afternoon,” she answered.

 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Mama offered. “There's still plenty in the pot.”

 

“Maybe a little later. What's going on?”

 

“He's fixing the door.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You're a woman,” Grandpa said dryly. “You wouldn't understand the soul of a man.”

 

“Whatever,” she scoffed.

 

Mama smiled. “I've been meaning to ask, but exactly how much will this soul of a man cost? The labor may be free, but the materials definitely aren't.”

 

“Don't worry about it,” the old man replied. “The shrine's going to be short a few heirlooms in the future, but not any anyone would miss. Besides, I think we'd be missing a lot more if I didn't find something for our houseguest to do.”