InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Edge of Resistance ❯ Long, Long Way to Go ( Chapter 16 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

The Edge of Resistance
Book Two: The Dissidents

“While I sit here trying to think of things to saySomeone lies bleeding in a field somewhereSo it would seem we've still got a long, long way to go” – Phil Collins

The dreaming world departed with the rains, but did not take with it all dreams. Instead, Kagome’s sleep became the ordinary shuffle of memories, turned upside down or inside out, which all creatures experience in the cold dark. Prophets, dead heroes, or unseen forces did not deliver her visions to her; they were now only the tangled threads pulled from her feverish heart.

Kagome still slept most of the time, because her body was stripped of energy by her ordeal and by atrophy, and because she could not yet walk and it was the only way to pass the time. Rin was convinced that Kagome would heal faster if she could at least sit up, so her futon was moved to the corner, with seed pillows piled high against the wall so that she could rest in a sitting position. Kagome spent her waking hours leaning back on this arrangement, staring out the window next to her, where all she could see was the sky and all she could smell was moldy death tainted with sea salt.

Her composure swung between boredom and terror. To offer herself some relief, she recalled and reexamined what Midoriko and Ichiro had said to her, again and again. She considered the possible locations where her friends may be hiding. She considered the possible ways she could broach the subject with Sesshoumaru.

By the way, your dead papa said you have to not kill me! Or my friends! So there!

Kagome groaned whenever this matter reoccurred to her. She could not decide whether she was glad or annoyed that the master of the house had not reentered her room since she awoke the first time.

Kagome sighed and shifted her weight on the mattress that was beginning to feel like a slab of concrete.

There’s something to think about: something to call this room besides ‘my room’. It is most definitely not my room.

It was easier to sleep, and she had resolved to do just that, when her chest was seized by a violent pinch. Kagome sat back up, gasping.

It was a sacred jewel shard. Her mind was overcome, and all other thoughts scattered, by the irresistible urge to get closer to it. She ached for its power and thirsted for the comfort of familiarity that it offered. She was considering whether or not she dared to attempt standing, much less leaving the room, when Rin burst in, running and panting.

“Kagome-chan!” she exclaimed. “Someone’s here! I think they—

She stopped short when she saw Kagome’s wide eyes and pale cheeks.

“Kagome-chan?”

“I know someone is here,” Kagome whispered. “I need to get to them.”

Kagome sat clutching her chest, her wide eyes staring in front of her, but Rin only half-noticed.

“I think they’re about to fight Sesshoumaru-sama,” Rin lamented.

Kagome looked at her and saw that the girl was distraught.

“It’s bad,” she continued. “Because one of them is Kohaku-kun!”

“What?” Kagome gasped. “What? That’s not possible!”

“But I saw him! He’s grown since the last time we met, but I know it’s him. Please, if you come, maybe you can stop them!”

Kagome had stopped listening to the girl. She was rubbing her chin, going back in her mind over her most recent memories.

She saw Kagura’s haunted eyes. Naraku says that he is dead.

“Naraku said he was dead,” Kagome said out loud.

“What?” Rin asked her.

“It’s nothing. Never mind.” Kagome pushed her blankets aside. “Rin-chan, I need to get down there. But, I don’t know if I can.”

“I will help you.”

Rin squatted on the balls of her feet and brought Kagome’s left arm, the stronger one, around her shoulders, and then stood up. They waved and wobbled for a moment, like a pair of cattails in the wind, but managed at last to steady themselves. Rin took the first few careful steps, hoping to give Kagome time to adjust to the shock of putting any weight on her legs.

The journey seemed endless. They had to leave the room, go down the hall to the main stairs, down the stairs, through the entry hall on the first floor, and out the front door. Kagome’s knees buckled often and, even with Rin’s assistance, she was sweating and gasping for breath even before they had left the second floor. By the time they reached the threshold, her shining eyes no longer responded to Rin and her face had a gray pallor.

“Sesshoumaru, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Tamotsu was saying.

He lifted his hands in a mollifying gesture, but did not dare place himself between his cousin and the miko who had just arrived, not knowing if the sword or the arrow was the bigger threat.

“I brought this woman here to help that other one heal faster,” he continued. “I thought you’d be pleased. The sooner she’s healed the sooner you can get rid of her.”

“You are a fool,” Sesshoumaru said coldly without looking at him. “This woman has tricked you into bringing her here. To what nefarious purpose I cannot imagine. Nor can I imagine how she planned to get away with it.”

“Indeed,” the woman spoke for the first time, her arrow still pointed at Sesshoumaru’s chest. “If that were true, then I do not see how I would get away with it either.”

Sesshoumaru did not respond, but Tamotsu turned to stare at her. Rin, still holding Kagome, looked across the way at her and wondered where she had seen her before. Her eyes fell on Kohaku, who was still holding his weapon and had not noticed her yet.

Rin heard Kagome whisper under her breath, “if you can’t get here fast enough…”

“Therefore,” the other priestess continued, “it must not be true.”

She lowered her weapon with resignation, and placed the arrow in her quiver again.

“This is not a trick, Sesshoumaru-sama,” she said. “I am exactly what I appear to be.”

“That is not possible,” he insisted.

“Yes, I said the same thing. But I think you will find that those behind all this pay little attention to our notions of ‘possible’. Or of convenience, for that matter.”

“Those behind all this?”

The woman was about to say something else, but stopped short. She stared over Sesshoumaru’s shoulder and her face drained of color.

Sesshoumaru and Tamotsu turned toward the house and saw Rin, supporting a sinking Kagome, standing just outside the door. Kagome lifted her head and reached out a hand.

Even from where she stood, Rin heard the woman repress a choked sob. Sesshoumaru and Tamotsu could smell the salt of her new tears. Her bow fell unheeded to the stone path with a clatter, and then she was dashing past them.

Rin was almost at the end of her ability to support Kagome, and just as Kikyou reached them she fell to her knees, catching Kagome in her arms.

Kikyou looked over the other vessel of her soul and was horrified at her condition. The worst was the scar that ran down Kagome’s right arm. From the memories they had exchanged amongst the field of bellflowers Kikyou knew what had caused it, and she raged even as she held Kagome close and tight.

“Damn you!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Why did you do that? Foolish girl!”

Kagome did not answer; her exertions had caused her to lose consciousness. Kikyou rocked the girl in her arms.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. I know I failed you. I will not again, I swear.”

Rin was staring down at the two of them, dumbfounded.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Kikyou could not control her voice enough to answer, but Kohaku was standing behind her.

“This is Kikyou-sama, Rin-chan,” he said.

Rin looked up at the man who had swallowed up the boy she once knew, and she experienced a strange compulsion to cry, but did not understand it.

“Kohaku-kun,” was all she could say.

He looked away, avoiding her eyes.

Tamotsu happened to look at Kohaku at that moment. The boy seemed in possession of a terrible struggle; he clenched his trembling jaw and kept his pale face still.

Sesshoumaru, meanwhile, observed this scene with no small amount of astonishment. He had to admit to himself that if this woman were playing at being that other priestess, she was doing an admirable job.

Tamotsu, for his part, wondered if anything he ever did again would not be preordained in some way.

“Kohaku-san,” Kikyou said at last, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “Can you please pick her up?”

She looked up at Rin. “We will take her back to bed now.”

It was not a request. Kohaku—still pale and avoiding the sight of Rin—cradled Kagome in his arms and, along with Kikyou, approached the door. Sesshoumaru appeared before them without warning, still holding his sword.

“You know perfectly well that you cannot bar my way,” Kikyou moved to enter the house.

“How dare you,” he took a step toward her, the point of his sword level with her heart.

“You cannot harm me Sesshoumaru-sama, and you know it,” Kikyou told him, “or part of you knows it. You are stronger than I will ever be or have ever been—alive, dead, or reborn—but a universe of intent lies upon your hand, and it is too heavy.”

The air between them grew still. Kikyou looked into Sesshoumaru’s eyes and saw that she was going to need more fortitude than she previously thought because, though she saw doubt in his eyes and a crease of vexation mar his brow, he held his ground, and seemed more than prepared to sacrifice everything for the sake of appearances.

This was Kikyou’s understanding of Sesshoumaru, when they faced each other on that pale autumn night, when Shippou had just once again saved Kagura from a certain death and when the first supplicant stopped Inuyasha on his journey. Her understanding was insufficient, however. It was not for appearances’ sake that Sesshoumaru continued to ignore the urgings of Fate that were pressing upon him, but it was for his own opinion of himself—the only opinion that mattered.

Not knowing why, not even knowing she was doing it until it was almost done already, Kikyou reached out and laid one hand on his arm. Sesshoumaru did not react, and did not draw away.

After a moment, Kikyou and Kohaku entered the house without further interference. As she passed, Kikyou paused for a moment and spoke to him again.

“Do not fight it, Sesshoumaru-sama. You would only add to your misery.”
Jaken, who had witnessed everything from behind the door, cringed when he heard these words.

Sesshoumaru stood quite still for a moment or two, and then he turned to glare at Tamotsu.

“Now, there’s no use getting angry at me!” his cousin protested.

“Oh no?” Sesshoumaru’s voice was mild, but Tamotsu was not fooled. “Then tell me, how do you suggest I react to your filling my house with priestesses?”

Tamotsu waved that aside.

“Oh, don’t exaggerate.”

Sesshoumaru clenched his teeth and Tamotsu could tell that his cousin was in real danger of losing his temper.

“I do not believe in any destiny that I have not made,” Sesshoumaru grated.

Tamotsu shook his head wearily. “I really don’t have the energy for this discussion right now. Like I said, that journey was a nightmare.”

He turned away and went into the house.

Sesshoumaru also went into the house, but whereas Tamotsu was only thinking of finding a jug of saki and a warm spare bed, Sesshoumaru was considering the best method of dispatching three, possibly four, humans with one stroke. In the entry room he crossed the bamboo mats and reached for the sliding door, but stopped. A movement drew his attention to the side. To his quiet astonishment, he saw that the ink on the wall murals was writhing like black worms, and Sesshoumaru watched as they shifted before his eyes. He turned to look at Jaken, who had followed him.

“Have these always—

“No, my lord, they change. They’re alive now, you know.”

Sesshoumaru turned back to see a collection of stylized people gathered around a feast table. One woman sat at the head, beckoning her guest to take their fill. Unlike the other females present, her hair was let down, white and wild, and her mouth was wide open in a raucous laugh. The shifting ink made her eyes turn toward him, and he thought the laugh was now more mocking than merry.

***

Whether or not they ever went after Naraku, or searched for their friends, they could not live forever under a rock by the ocean. Even Miroku was not so unreasonable as to suppose otherwise. After a few weeks had passed with no rain, Momiji thought it now possible to return to her village. There was never any question that Miroku and Sango would go with her. In some ways, they still looked upon her as a warden. The more he considered the plan, the more Miroku approved of it, even rejoiced in it. They would return to the village, help rebuild it, and settle there themselves. Nothing could be more fitting. He resolved with inflexible determination to not consider anything beyond that.

Momiji’s anxiousness to return to her home was aided in part by the discomfort she experienced being in the constant company of the newlyweds. At first, she feared the awkwardness of being an unwelcome third party, an outsider witness to the needs of physical affection. As it turned out, that could not have been further from the case. Momiji’s unease and embarrassment came from being forced to bear witness to their endless wrangling.

Their chief discord arose over whether they would search for their other friends, or seek out their enemy, Naraku. But they bickered over everything else as well—over food, sleep, fuel for the fire, the weather, their suppositions about the other’s feelings and their imagined insults. On more than one occasion, Momiji resisted the urge to run mad and screaming into the ocean.

They had fixed the day for their relocation and, Miroku carrying Momiji’s pack with what food they could store, they left the place that had been their home for over four months and they retraced the steps Miroku and Momiji had taken to get there.

The sun had baked most of the moisture out of the earth by now so the air was more clear and crisp, announcing, along with the sharp blue sky, that autumn was well along.

In truth, it was early November. Kikyou and Kohaku had been at the Hyouden with Kagome for two weeks, and Inuyasha was just leaving Nobunaga, but Miroku and Sango knew nothing of these things.

When the travelers were obliged to cross over a gully or climb a steep hill, Sango would lag behind, and Momiji suspected that her right arm was not yet fully healed, though the demon slayer would not complain of it.

Miroku, however, had no such reservations and never failed to remark that his wife was slowing them down. This encouraged Sango to suggest that they would all fare better if he would help her find Kirara, or that it was his fault anyway because he had prepared their breakfast so poorly, at which Miroku would invite her to find her own food, provoking Sango to retort that since he was such a manly and assertive husband that he should have no need of her aid, just like he never had any need for her advice or input or opinion, and so on.

Momiji endured this with saintly patience for two days. Whenever she began to feel that they were treating her like a piece of furniture, she reminded herself of how much they had suffered, and how much they continued to suffer. Every step she took closer to her home, however, reminded her of the loss, grief, and privation she had suffered. As they walked along on the second day, the sun setting behind the heavy cypress that lined the left of the path, Miroku and Sango were discussing, with vivid detail, his many past transgressions against her trust, when Momiji lost her restraint.

“Shut the fuck up!” she suddenly turned and screamed at them.

Miroku and Sango stopped in mid tirade, mouths still open, and stared at her in astonishment.

“What the hell is the matter with you? When I first saw you, you were near death. Now, you are alive, healthy, and together. What the hell is the matter with you? By sheer will alone I have kept you two alive, and suffered my own grief and loss in silence, and for what? To listen to your infantile bickering all day? You could not have each other at all, you could have nothing, you could be dead!”

Miroku hung his head, and Sango flushed.

“If I hear one more word out of either of you, I swear I will find a rock or a stick and beat you both to death. Then I shall give up being a priestess, because I will never again serve gods who delivered me two such unworthy, ungrateful persons as you!”

She walked on, and Miroku and Sango followed her like meek, scolded children. From then on they made and broke camp when she said to, ate when and what she said to, and never dared utter a word in her presence that was not “please” or “thank you”.

This forced silence afforded them the opportunity for self-reflection, and they found little to their pleasure. Sango blushed with shame and vexation at her behavior in front of Momiji, whom she really hardly knew at all. Miroku felt more disgraced in his own eyes by his behavior towards his wife. After the first heat of mortification and anger had passed and given way to cool insight, he saw it as unkind, unloving, and unmanly, and dishonorable to anyone who called himself ‘husband’.

Momiji noticed the next day that, instead of complaining when his wife fell behind, Miroku went back to help her, which was met with shy, complaisant smiles. By the time they reached the village, they were able to exchange in pleasant tones and share in warm glances, and Momiji breathed a sigh of relief.

As she made her way to investigate the ruins of her old home, she thought to herself, maybe I could give up being a priestess and travel the countryside, curing unhappy marriages! But she would only offer her services to mighty lords and ladies, so that she could buy herself a golden palace and pay four very handsome men to carry her around in a kago lined with silk.

Her visions of grandeur evaporated when she saw her house; silk gave way to crumbling thatch and gold to rotten wood.

“Well,” she said wistfully, looking around, “I’m back.”

She looked down at her feet at the ruined floor and her heart froze for a moment. The blue petals of the bellflowers were still there.

***

Facing down Sesshoumaru was not the last trial of Kikyou on her journey from undead to living; she still had to face Kagome. After being put back on her bed, Kagome did not wake up again for several hours, and Kikyou took that time to receive the food Rin gave her with gratitude and to think of what she would say to Kagome when she opened her eyes to see Kikyou sitting there.

What will she think?

That I was a devil.

What will she say?

That I should leave. That she doesn’t need me.

She doesn’t need me.

During this time of dark doubt, Kikyou did not notice the suffering of Kohaku.

He sat in the corner of the room, steadfastly refusing to even look at Rin and answering any inquiry she made of him with “yes” or “no”. Owing to her believing that he was the same boy she had met over five years ago, she placed a hand on his arm to ask him if he felt unwell, and he trembled so violently that she perceived she was the cause of his discomfort.  

It must be because he tried to hurt me back then, she thought, but Naraku made him do that!

“Please,” he murmured. “Just leave me alone.”

Rin complied. It was not in her nature to force herself on others, having lived so long without human company anyway. She did, however, hope that time would ease his conscience.

What she did not understand was that her effect on Kohaku was far more complicated. It was true that he remembered their dealings in the past, and the memory pained him, just as it pained him to remember Kagome or his sister. What he felt when he saw her, however, was not the stab of his conscience but the pain of utter helplessness before her beauty. In the intervening years she had transformed as if by magic from a pretty girl into a woman that did not belong on earth. Her solitude and her indifference to convention rendered her beauty more natural, more uncontained, and more disturbing. She emitted an air of infinite lushness and gave the impression of the most yielding and inviting softness. When she touched him, Kohaku felt that he was dying of thirst and that she was a pool of cool and acquiescing water. The notion frightened him.

Rin understood none of this. She had never been around men save Sesshoumaru and Jaken, who did not really see her as she was.  Tamotsu saw her, and appreciated it, but kept his distance with care. Had Rin known of that precaution, she would have died laughing. Until her last day on earth she was unaware of her exasperating and torturous effect on men.

Several hours later, nothing in the room had changed except the shadows cast by the sun. At last, when the red rays of the setting sun were reaching into the room from across the hallway and Rin was bringing them tea, Kagome opened her eyes. She stared at Kikyou for a long moment without speaking or moving. Kikyou stared back, and slowly lowered her cup, placing it on the floor beside her.

What should I say?

Nothing came to her mind, and nothing happened. Frogs and crickets, rejoicing in a world that was starting to live again, were all that broke the silence in the room.

Still nothing.

Kikyou’s mouth felt dry. She licked her lips, and prepared herself to say something, anything.

“Kagome…” was the only sound she could bring out of her head.

“Are you real?” Kagome whispered.

Kikyou eyes widened, then she gave a small smile. She might have expected that.

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

“To help you.”

“Oh.”

Kagome tried to sit up, but Kikyou placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No. Rest.”

“Oh, Kikyou,” Kagome sighed and turned her head on her pillow. “I’ve rested so much lately. You have no idea.”

“She slept through the entire rains,” Rin supplied.

“Oh?” Kikyou started.

“Yep. In fact, they ended the moment she woke up. Isn’t that strange?”

Kikyou shuddered. So that’s how it was.

“It’s not my fault,” Kagome said to her, as if reading her thoughts.

“No, no it is not.”

There was silence again for a while. Kikyou tried to think of something else to say, when she was spared the chore.

“All night,” Kagome breathed, “all I hear is your heart. How come?”

Kikyou froze, and her breathing became rapid. She stared with wide eyes at her hands, unable to speak, terrified but without knowing why.

Why am I like this? Why can’t I say it?

What if it isn’t true? What if I’m still dreaming. I could be all a mistake, and they will take it away!

With no warning, and much to Kagome’s complete shock, Kikyou quite suddenly burst into tears.

“Kikyou? What…?”

Kikyou lowered her head and sobbed into Kagome’s shoulder. By instinct Kagome put a hand over the woman’s head to try to comfort her. She was struck all at once by the knowledge that Kikyou’s hair was warm, as was her breath and tears.

Kagome felt cold creep over her. Something was wrong and she became afraid. She sat up and tried to move away.

“What is this?” she demanded. “Who are you? What are you trying to do to me?”

Kikyou’s swollen eyes widened in fright and amazement.

“No!” was all she could say.

Kagome shook her head.

“This isn’t right. This isn’t real.”

“But…I…I am not…”

Kikyou, who had no problem explaining herself to Sesshoumaru, was now at a loss.

“Kagome-sama!”

Kagome looked up at that sharp voice. It was Kohaku. When she saw him, her eyes widened even more.

“Kohaku-kun!” she exclaimed with surprise, and relief.

“Kikyou-sama is real. She has endured much to get here to you. We both have.”

“But…she is…”

“She is what she is,” he shrugged and turned away.

Kikyou found that she now had the strength to speak.

“Kagome, I do not know what has happened, or how I am here, like this. I only know that I was supposed to find you. Midoriko said so. Do not forsake me!”

Kagome was silent for a moment. The light now was nearly gone and the sky outside was a deep shade of purple. Kohaku was trying to light a fire in the irori in the center of the room.

“Is there no token you can give or show me?”

Kikyou did not answer. After passing several minutes in silent thought, she reached out her hand, with slow care, and laid it on Kagome’s arm.

Kagome felt a wave of relief as if an imprisoning veil had fallen away from her eyes and she was assured that her vision was saved. She was less tired, less anxious, and less afflicted in general. When she looked down and perceived a rosy dawn emitting from her skin, she understood and recognized the convincing proof that this was none other than Kikyou herself.

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel much better.”

“What was that?” Rin asked with mild curiosity.

“She purified the miasma that was still left in me,” Kagome answered.

“Oh good,” Rin exclaimed, picking up their teacups and stacking them on a tray. “That’s what Tamotsu-sama had meant to happen.”

Kagome’s brow creased.

“Who is Tamotsu?”

“He is Sesshoumaru-sama’s cousin. He’s here a lot. I’ll go see if he can come and meet you.”

Rin left the room.

Kagome’s gaze returned to Kikyou. She was looking at her with a questioning expression.

“What do we do now?” Kagome asked.

“I was just wondering that myself. I have no idea.”

Kagome looked over to Kohaku.

“You’ve grown so much, Kohaku-kun, I never got the chance to say that before. You have no idea how relieved your sister will be when she learns that you’re alive.”

Kohaku looked at her.

“Do you mean you know that she’s alive? I feared…”

“I know she’s alive,” Kagome said firmly. “I know they’re all alive, somewhere.”

“Kagome,” Kikyou laid a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me everything.”

***

The revelation that his house was alive and had gone nutty on him was bad enough, but nothing to compare with what happened to him when that woman had touched him.

The touch itself was a shock. Few people ever touched him and lived to tell about it. He could not fathom why he had allowed it to happen. He recalled that, in that moment, he had seen it coming as though he were paralyzed, helpless to stop it.

And then it happened. She placed one hand on his arm, casually and easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they were old family acquaintances—which, maybe they were—and Sesshoumaru ceased to exist.

The world around him went black; everything was gone. He somehow understood, without understanding how he understood, that he had left the sphere of existence and had traveled across time and space to the outer rim of the universe. Sesshoumaru was treated to the same vision as experienced by Kagome in the presence of Midoriko. He saw a dense and restless swirl of galaxies, each containing an impenetrable net of stars, orbited by an endless amount of life, death, and destinies. No matter how great he would become in his life, he still occupied a space that was so minute as to be virtually meaningless.

This was the weight that stayed his hand, and banished all peaceful sleep for months to come.

It was clear to him that the woman, Kikyou as she called herself, had no idea what had happened. Something or someone was working through her. This fact alone made him more wary, and from then on he eyed every strange happenstance with suspicion.

It was also clear to him that she was not going anywhere. She settled herself in Kagome’s room and had Kohaku settled in the adjacent room. When Jaken hinted, none too graciously, that thanks to the rains there was not enough food for all these humans, Kohaku took on the task of procuring their nourishment. He did this with relief, and Sesshoumaru got the distinct impression that the young man yearned to get away from the house. He now spent several hours of every day hunting and gathering food.

Kikyou also attempted to make herself useful. She took over the care of Kagome and when she was not attending to Kagome, she was cleaning. Kikyou scrubbed the house from top to bottom, banishing the cobwebs, mold, and insect activity that was threatening to overtake the house in the face of such indifference as it had known. The smell of decay was gone, and the wood and stone was now as bare and dry as bones, bleached by the salty sea air.

With no structure and no cares to tie her down, Rin’s bemused otherness and solitude reached its highest point, and she went through the hazy days of her adolescence like a satellite with a remote and varying orbit. Jaken no longer made any attempts to acquaint her or his master with reality, instead abandoning them to their fate. For the sake of having something to do, he spent most of his time preparing food or washing clothes.

Tamotsu spent his days in Kagome’s room. After being introduced to her by Rin, he found he was fascinated by her history, and he questioned her endlessly about the jewel, her friends, her connection to Kikyou and to Midoriko, and, most of all, her homeland.

That was how Sesshoumaru’s life had become what it was in the fall of 1496. Sesshoumaru, for his part, maintained the fiction that life was moving on in much the same way as it ever did, and ignored, with a valiant effort, the evidence that contradicted this. He scoffed at transforming paintings, shrugged off the insubordinate tableware and audacious mirrors, and waved aside any uneasiness connected with Kagome and Kikyou. The only thing that changed was that he gave up sleep, because when he closed his eyes he saw a multitude of stars and felt them pulling him into oblivion. Since he was a demon, however, he did not need to sleep, and he told himself he did not miss it.

***

Momiji’s house was the obvious choice for their initial residence as it was by far in the best condition. In her heart, Momiji attributed this to the spell of the bellflowers, but she did not mention it. When Sango questioned her about the prolific petals, Momiji shrugged and only said:

“It’s a mystery.”

They restored the roof first. Though it had not rained in almost a month and showed no signs of raining anytime soon, the three of them knew that winter would soon be here. The nights, with their armies of jubilant and indifferent stars, were already long and chill.

Once this was done, they moved on to the window (there was only one in the single-room hut, facing west), the door, and the beds. In a few days they could sleep in reasonable comfort. Around this time, the problem of food presented itself. The store of fish and seaweed that they had brought with them had run out, and, beyond one moldy sack of rice, there was not one morsel to be found in the ruins of the village.

They sat in mediation on this subject, weighing their options, when Sango presented them with an idea.

“I know how to set traps,” she said. “For demons, I mean, but I would think it wouldn’t be much different to catch rabbits or other small things.”

Momiji shuddered with dread.

“Yeah,” she said with some reluctance, “but…then…”

“Don’t worry, Momiji-sama,” Miroku comforted her. “When we have them, I will take care of it, you won’t even have to see.”

“I thank you, monk,” Momiji said, “but it’s not just that. I don’t eat meat, except fish. I…I haven’t in years and years.”

Miroku considered that.

“Hmmm. That may be something you can no longer afford.”

Momiji trembled.

Sango laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Momiji-chan, when I go out to set the traps, I will search high and low for some fruit or green things for you to eat. I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“Lucky for you, that will not be necessary right now.”

Sango’s hand flew to her side where she was accustomed to keeping a katana, only to remember in the same instant that she was still weaponless.

A man had snuck up on them where they had gathered for their conference outside Momiji’s door. He was middle-aged with a stocky figure and a plain face with intense eyes. He was holding up his hands.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I belong here.”

Sango looked to Momiji for guidance, and she saw the young priestess’s face pale, then flush, and her lower jaw trembled.

For Momiji, the moment was one of endurance, as four months of misery and despair fell away like shadows banished by the dawn. She withstood the force of it well, however, and spoke in an even voice.

“Kyotou-sama,” she bowed.

Sango and Miroku looked at her, then at the stranger, then back at Momiji again.

“Momiji-san,” the man bowed in return.

Then he turned to look at Sango and Miroku, his eyes full of curiosity and wonder.

“It is something,” he said, “to see the two of you now, standing and waking and healthy.”

“Sango-chan, Miroku-sama, this is Kyotou-sama. He is the chief of this village.”

Sango and Miroku bowed and murmured polite phrases.

Kyotou was carrying a large sack made of some animal’s hide, and he slung it down from his shoulder and dropped it on the ground.

“I burned it almost to crisp,” he said. “I’ve never been good at cooking. But it’s still food.”

He took another satchel that was attached by a strap to his belt, and gave it to Momiji.

“I also picked up what berries and nuts I could find. There’s also some waterleaves that are still fit to eat. I hoped…I figured you might be here.”

The sun was blaring down on them from the middle of the sky; it’s white light still warm even if it was November. Momiji lamented that she could not hide her face, but Kyotou did not seem to notice. He looked around at the ruins.

“Is this the place we used to know?” he asked quietly.

Momiji did not answer.

“I think I saw some salt somewhere,” Miroku said, “when we were looking for lumber. Maybe we can cure this and make it last longer.”

He nudged the sack with his feet. “What is it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A deer,” Kyotou shrugged.

“Where is everyone?” Momiji asked.

“Back there a ways,” Kyotou waved over his shoulder, toward the mountains. “I said I would come first and make sure it was safe. I also want to try to make more of the houses habitable.”

Within a few days, they transformed two additional houses into something humans could live in. The work went much faster with an extra pair of hands. Kyotou had the ability to work like a tireless pack animal.

On the first night he spent in the village, Kyotou slept outside rather than share the house with Momiji, Sango, and Miroku. By the next night, another house was repaired, but he still slept outside, insisting that Sango and Miroku take that dwelling for themselves. They pleaded with him that his generosity, while appreciated, was unnecessary, but he would not hear them.

That night, Miroku went into the hut and sat down on the floor, rubbing his aching shoulders with his blistered hands. Gone were his monk robes; they had not withstood the months of salt and rain, and he, like Sango, had to make do with what they could find. His staff was a distant memory, and the only thing that remained of his former self were the blue beads that still kept his fateful right hand under lock and key.

“Sango-chan,” he called. “Are you here?”

“Yes,” her voice came from behind a screen that was placed near the far end of the room. “I’m bathing.”

“Oh.”

Miroku wondered if there would be water left for him, or if it would be too cold by the time his turn came.

“You can come back here, you know.”

Miroku stopped breathing. Why the devil hadn’t he thought of that?

She was thinner than what he remembered, but he was more bothered by the thought that he himself may have withered and become too wraith like to be attractive. His worry faded under her touch, and disappeared when their bare chests were pressed firmly together.

No space between, he thought.

In the end Sango gave herself without ceremony and with such a fluid intuition that Miroku had the impression that, in some way, they had always been doing this. Their incurable solitude was never so clear to them as it was in this moment. They and the blend of their flesh were all that remained.

The thought came unbidden to Miroku, even as he breathed heavily into her ear.

Let’s not waste our time thinking how that’s not fair.

On the third day since Kyotou’s arrival the rosy dawn came upon a man sleeping on moldy furs in the mud, a woman lying alone in a freezing bed, and a couple who had nothing in the world to hold on to but each other.

***

Taroumaru sat on a stool at the wooden counter of a roadside stand, choking down mushy clumps of rice and the cheapest saki he had ever tasted. He was alone, with no possessions besides the cloths on his back and the old sword strapped to his side. The sword meant that he had been questioned in a few places by authorities but given the general turmoil of the land, they were so far willing to believe that he was a lord’s son.

That was stretching the truth, however. Taroumaru was one of many men set adrift by the rains, dispossessed of any title or power or claim to authority once his people had been scattered and lost.

Somewhere, further down the road, he discerned a growing clamor of raised voices. There seemed to be one voice addressing many, and the audience was shouting or cheering.

“What’s all that racket?” he asked the merchant.

The older man, with knotty hands and almost no teeth, stopped stacking his towers of saki cups and bent his head to listen.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s the movement.”

“The movement?”

“Aye. They’ve been carrying on like that for weeks. They call themselves the Rain People.”

“Surely, they don’t want more rain,” Taroumaru scoffed.

“No, no. They’re agin’ it. They say that the rains were sent by gods, unhappy with the priesthood. They call for doin’ away with the priests, monks, and priestesses, don’t ya know.”

Taroumaru shrugged his shoulders. He did not care anything one way or another for priests, or gods for that matter. He paid his debt and continued on down the muddy street, taking care to go in the opposite direction of the so-called rain people.

[End of Chapter Seventeen]

[Next Chapter: Disarm]