InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Edge of Resistance ❯ Iris ( Chapter 23 )

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

The Edge of Resistance
Book Two: The Dissidents

“The Felix of your truth will always break itand the iris of your eye will always shake itand the armies, the armies I have createdwill always hate itwill always bait you on.” – Live

“Now what?” Kyotou asked. “Do we go north or west?”

He sat with his back to a black and twisted cypress. They had moved well out of earshot of the village of belligerents. Miroku still bore the angry red marks of ropes on his wrists.

“Well, we were going west because the man who came to your village seemed to come from that direction,” Miroku said.

“But according to Suzi-chan,” Sango said, “the warrants are coming from the north.”

“Right,” Miroku began pacing, absently rubbing his wrists. “The question is: which hint is more reliable? Suzi-chan’s information came from a little girl in that village, but it seemed to be general knowledge.”

“And it wasn’t about the messengers, but about the source,” Sango added.

“That's the crucial point, I think,” Kyotou said. “Instead of chasing down errand boys, we should go right to the source.”

Sango and Miroku were silent.

“We've lost much of the day,” Momiji said. “Where are we going to sleep?”

She and Suzi were sitting on the ground next to Kyotou. They had divided their loot from the village and each carried a shapeless, canvas sack tied to her shoulders and waist. Miroku had begged them to let him carry the load but they would not hear of it.

“It's sadly very light,” Momiji had told him.

Miroku looked to the west, where the steel blue sky was melting down into an orange pool. Twilight encroached from the east.

“We'll have to find the best shelter we can. We can decide which way to go in the morning.”

That night, Momiji, Suzi, and Kyotou lay in the dark, shivering under the paltry protection of young fir trees and listening to the furtive whispers of Sango and Miroku as they debated their course.

“Even if north is how we get to the source,” Sango was saying, “you know very well what that means...who it is.”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“And then what? What will we do? Do you think we're enough to defeat him?”

“Sango, I...we have to do something. We're running out of time.”

Silence.

“What do you mean?”

“The hole, it's getting bigger. I feel the pressure of it. It won't be long now.”

“Don't say that!” Sango's whisper was somehow also a wail.

“I'm sorry.”

“What can we do?”

“I don't know.”

There was silence again, and Momiji, who lay closest to them, could hear the callused hands of the monk caressing his wife's hair.

“I just don't know.”

The next morning they were up at first light. They ate a quick breakfast of beans with lumps of stale bread and Kyotou kicked dirt over their tiny cook fire as soon as possible.

“We need to get away from here,” he said. “Now that it's light again, those people might take it into their heads to come looking for us.”

“Where are we going?” Suzi asked.

Miroku looked at Sango, then sighed and made a slight grimace.

“We're still not sure.”

“The time to debate is up, monk,” Momiji told him. “We can't stand around here.”

“I know, I know,” Miroku said, and began pacing again.

After some time, he stood still, biting his lip. He looked at Sango again, then shook his head and looked away.

“I know I've said this before, and I know you didn't agree,” he began, “but I can't help but wonder if we shouldn't go back to Edo.”

“Miroku—” Sango started, but was interrupted.

“Maybe you should,” Momiji said.

They looked at her, puzzled.

“I've been with you two for some time now. You're biggest problem is that you are homeless, rootless. You need somewhere to go. A clear somewhere.”

“Which way is Edo from here?” Suzi asked.

“East,” Kyotou pointed.

“So what's it going to be?” Momiji prodded Miroku. “North, west, or east?”

Miroku looked in all these directions, but to the east he looked with naked longing. Sango had to divert her eyes from it, knowing that he was reaching back into the past, grasping.

“It looks like—”

Momiji started to speak, but stopped, and everyone heard a clear gasp. She pointed to the east, where Kyotou had pointed a moment before.

There had been nothing there but trees and rhododendrons, but now a woman was standing there.

“Oh,” Momiji said with a small laugh. “You frightened me. Are you OK? Are you lost?”

“Wait a minute,” Kyotou said in a furtive whisper. “Is she from that village? She may run and tell them where we are.”

But Miroku didn't think so. The woman was standing still, gazing at them with an unconcerned, melancholy expression. He thought he recognized her, and began moving toward her.

“Sango.”

Something in his voice, flat and tense, alerted her. She peered closer at the figure.

“It's Ayame!” she exclaimed. “What in the world is she doing here?”

“I don't know,” Miroku murmured. “But something isn't right.”

The distance between the five of them and Ayame diminished, though Miroku could swear he did not see her walk.

“Oh, dear Buddha,” he muttered.

Ayame was here, but she was not here. Her skin was gray and what he at first thought was a crimson scarf was really her throat and chest, torn apart and still gaping and bleeding. Her green eyes shone like foxfire.

Beside him, Sango sank to her knees.

“How can this be?” she asked him. “How can she be dead? How can she be bleeding if she's dead? Why is she here?”

Miroku did not know the answer to her questions, except for the last one. For a terrifying moment his throat and chest collapsed, his mouth tasted of blood and ash and his nostrils inhaled the scent of death and rotting fruit. It passed in an instant, but it left him with the fatalistic conviction that he had proof of why she was here.

“Because it's our fault.”

Sango seemed to want to say more, but was not able too. Still on her knees, she began to weep. Behind her, Momiji, Kyotou, and Suzi were frozen in fear and confusion.

“Monk,” Kyotou whispered in a strangled voice. “What is this devilry?”

Miroku ignored him.

“Spirit,” Miroku called. “Why do you stay on this earth? Why do you not rest? What may I do to aid you?”

He sounded confident enough, but in his heart he wondered if he remembered how to be a monk at all.

What if I can't do that anymore?

The spirit of Ayame said nothing, but one long arm extended out and pointed towards the north with straight and firm determination.

Miroku looked that way, but saw nothing in particular. He turned back to the shade.

“What is it?”

She only shook her head and pointed again. This time they all looked, peering into the forest, washed pale gold in the rising sun.

“I don't see anything,” Momiji whispered. “What does she want?”

But when they looked back, she was gone.

“Weird,” Kyotou commented.

Miroku stared at the spot where the apparition had stood for some time, until the sound of his wife's sobbing broke his absorption.

“Sango,” he knelt beside her and put his arms around her shoulders. “She's gone. It's alright.”

Sango took deep, shuddering breaths and shook her head.

“It isn't that,” she said. “She spoke to me, Miroku. I heard her voice inside my head.”

Miroku stared at her, and swallowed hard. He braced himself.

“What did she say?”

“I don't want to say!” Sango cried and shook her head again.

Miroku wanted to know, but also he did not, and more than anything he wanted to stop Sango's crying.

“It's alright, it's alright. You don't have to.”

“I beg to differ.”

Miroku looked up at Momiji. She was standing with her arms crossed and her dark eyes flashing.

“What?” Miroku asked.

“You heard me. After all this, after all I've been through, after all we've all been through, you have to say. You have no right to hide it.”

“No one forced you to be here,” Miroku retorted.

Momiji said nothing, but did not back down.

“What the hell is going on?” Kyotou demanded, exasperated.

“No, she's right Miroku,” Sango said. “They have the right to know this, no matter how much it hurts us.”

“Hurts us?”

Sango wiped her face with her scarf. The others waited in hushed anticipation, but she was quiet for some time, her dark eyes gloomy and distant. She hung her head, and Miroku kept his hands on her shoulders. He did not realize he had been holding his breath, and when she began to speak it seemed so sudden that he was startled.

“Those who are fighting against Naraku do not fight to survive, as some of them think, or even for a higher cause, as you all think, but...but...”

Sango's voice broke and Miroku thought another storm of weeping was coming, but she was still, furrowing her eyebrows as if in concentration, then she went on.

“But you all fight and lose for the same reason: pure and simple pride.”

***

Souta was aware of the headache before anything. The world was dark, hidden behind the orange glare of his eyelids. He heard his own breathing and nothing else. Nothing to see and nothing to hear but, hell, how his head ached. He lay as still as he could, instinct telling him that any movement would cause his head to come clean off and his stomach to land in his shoes.

He could not tell how much time had passed, but at some point he heard more than his own breathing. He heard murmuring voices.

“I'm back.”

“Did you find everything?”

“Yep, no problem.”

“Thank you.”

He heard foot steps and what sounded like the crinkle and rustle of stiff paper. With painful caution, he lifted one eyelid, the one that was not swollen shut.

Someone was standing with his back toward him. He recognized the scarf that wrapped around the head and shoulders. It was the old woman from the street! Why was she in the house? Was he being pilfered?

“Look,” someone standing outside his vision spoke to the old woman. “I think he's waking up.”

“Oh yeah?”

The old woman's voice was different, and the way she stood and moved, was all wrong somehow, but Souta could not understand it. When she turned around however, his body jerked away in an involuntary flinch, despite the crushing pain in his temple.

“Go easy now. You'll be alright. I'm here to help you.”

But Souta was not listening. His one good eye was wide and bulging. Blood rushed in his ears and he forgot the pain. He pushed himself up on his elbows and began to crawl away, backwards.

“Who are you? What is going on? Why are you in my house?”

“Your appearance seems to have shaken him up,” the other person said in a laughing tone.

“He's just rattled. He'll come around.”

The old woman was standing over him, and Souta could see that there was no woman at all. The figure had straightened, stretched out and up, into a broad-shouldered man, neither young nor old. He peered down at Souta with bright, green eyes. His wealth of hair was coxcomb red and tucked behind ears with prominent points.

“Demon!” Souta shouted, and backed away further.

“Aw, come on,” the young man laughed. “I know you've met demons, or half demons, before.”

“What are you doing here? Where's my mother and—

An agonizing sickness seized his stomach and Souta screamed.

“Mother!”

He scrambled to his feet. He realized now that he was in the kitchen, and he made for the door that led to the courtyard. Horrid, clinging hands reached out and grabbed his arms and legs and pulled him down.

“Settle down!” the demon shouted. “You're still hurt!”

“Let me go!” Souta tried to get his arms free.

He kicked and bit and swung at the air.

“I'm not afraid of you! Let me go!”

“Souta, please.”

Souta's fist had managed to find a handful of hair and he was about to yank it for all he was worth, when he froze.

“How do you know my name?”

“Your sister told me,” the man said, wincing. “Now will you let go of my hair, please?”

Souta opened his fist and let the locks escape. He looked down at his palm at the few strands of fine copper that lay across it. Faintly, he remembered pieces of wrinkled drawing paper Kagome gave him once. Some of them had been drawn on, and she pointed out the faces of her friends.

“Shippou,” he said, and the word echoed in the kitchen.

“Yeah, that's right. And this is Kagura. She's cool; she's with me.”

Souta looked and saw the second person for the same time. It was a woman. She was beautiful, but she looked like an ordinary woman, with straight black hair that fell down her back and eyes calm and brown. She was holding a paper grocery bag and smiling at them. When she saw Souta staring at her, she gave him a wink and lifted her hair to reveal her left ear, as pointed as Shippou's.

The demon put his hand on Souta's shoulder and smiled down on him.

“We're here to look after you.”

***

The demon returned before dawn. Higurashi had not slept for one moment, but she believed the girls had, and that was enough. She was just grateful they had not frozen to death.

By the end of the day, she would feel differently.

He had offered them food, pieces of something that looked like black and twisted leather, but the girls were too frightened, horrified, and disgusted to accept it. Believing in their frailty and not willing to risk his delivery, the demon did not brook this well. The others watched on in terror as Yuka was pinned beneath the beast's knee. She screamed at first, but could not scream once he began stuffing the unknown material into her face, pushing against her mouth and nose until she had to relent and open just to breathe.

“Now,” he said, letting the whimpering girl up. “Are all of you going to insist on doing this the hard way?”

Once they had all eaten to the demon's satisfaction, he yanked the long chain that held them together until they were pulled to their feet. As bad as breakfast had been, the hell did not begin until they started to move. The ground was rough and uneven, and they stumbled often. The cold ravaged their hands, feet, and faces. Their throats burned with thirst. It did not take more than one hour for all of them to believe they had reached their limit, but the demon did not let them stop for five. Even then they were only allowed to drink a few mouthfuls of water and rest on the ground, panting and sobbing, for half an hour. The hell began again, and Higurashi prayed for any kind of darkness.

Finally, blessedly, darkness came, and the demon let them stop. He had brought them to a cave. Higurashi had long lost any sense of direction, but now she thought she caught the faint and tangy air of the sea.

Once in the cave, driven to the very back of it, the girls fell to the ground and slept immediately. It would be more accurate to say that they lost consciousness. Higurashi sat with her back to the cave wall, watching the demon build a fire. When that was finished, he kicked each girl until she was awake again and he made them eat.

Ayumi was the one who broke first. The gentle girl's nature had been assaulted in every possible way. The terror of the demon was exacerbated beyond all endurance by the clear knowledge that she was not in her own world. She had listened to Higurashi's stories the night before, but could not believe it, in spite of everything. Now faced with such complete dissolution between her worldview and the apparent new reality, she simply shut down. Eri, Yuka, and Higurashi ate their food in mute compliance but, instead of eating, Ayumi rose to her feet. Weak and feverish, she swayed like a young birch tree. The demon peered at her, and the others looked up at her in alarm.

She tried to move away, but the chain hindered her, but she did not accept this either. She took it in her hands and began yanking on it.

“Ayumi-chan! Stop! Sit down!” Yuka whispered to her.

“No,” Ayumi's voice was flat. “I want to go home.”

The others stared at her.

“So, she thinks she's funny,” the demon growled.

He grabbed her hands and effortlessly tore them away from the chain.

“No!” she screamed in his ghastly face. “No! I want to go home! NOW!”

She began beating on his face and shaggy chest and shoulders with puny, ineffective fists.

“I'm going home! I'm going home!”

Higurashi imagined herself telling Kagome that her childhood friend was dead.

Don't be stupid, an inner voice admonished her, you'll never live to do that.

The demon took hold of one fist that flew at his face and, holding it in a vice grip, bent in backwards. Ayumi screamed, her knees buckled out from under her, and her fingers flailed out. In a slow, casual movement, the demon pulled the hand toward his mouth and bit the left ring finger, taking it off in one snap.

Ayumi screamed again, and this time the others screamed with her, as though the pain had been dealt to all of them.

“That should settle you down,” the demon said, and as he spoke, blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

Higurashi gagged.

Ayumi fell to the cave floor, a quivering figure that seemed to have no shape left in it.

The monster turned his back on them and left the cave. As soon as he was gone, Eri and Yuka crawled to their friend.

“Ayumi! Oh, Ayumi-chan!” they cried.

Higurashi held the sobbing, trembling girl, while Yuka tore a strip of fabric from her shirt and wrapped it around the wound as best as she could.

“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” Higurashi chanted as she rocked the girl.

None of them slept that night, though Ayumi drifted in and out of consciousness. Despite their exhaustion, the others did not dare close their eyes. They huddled around their wounded friend and tried to comfort her, though they in truth had no real comfort to give.

The true comfort came with the dawn. They had dreaded its coming, but the gradual lightening of the cave did not bring with it the demon. They waited for his appearance, but they ended up waiting out the entire day, watching as the gloom grew around them again, but with no demon. That night they did sleep, the time putting enough distance between them and their terror. Dawn broke again and they slept through it. When they awoke, the day was bright and well along but still, no demon. Night spread its blanket over the cave again, but now their only company were the specters of hunger and thirst, but still, no demon.

***

The initial assault had taken them by surprise, and the sheer magnitude of the enemy's numbers had at first overwhelmed them. But numbers were the only thing working against them. The Tsuchigumo fought with the mindless swarming of hive insects. Kouga's men were seasoned, trained, and cohesive soldiers. Their tactics were so ingrained that they had scant need of commanders. Thus, after an immediate and bloody flinch, the entire force of wolf demons shuddered, inhaled, and lashed out.

By midday they had pushed the monsters away from the Tenryu River and back north towards the Hakusan Mountains. Long before that, Kouga had lost count of how many he had killed. The elation of victory was a bright, hot sail behind him and under him, but, in spite of that, he was troubled. The Tsuchigumo had no smell, no sense of demonic energy, no presence of good or evil. They were like grasping, clawing, biting stones. He puzzled over this even as he tore through them like a razor cyclone.

As his forces harried the Tsuchigumo further into the hills, Kouga heard shouts of dismay collecting around him, then turning over to exclamations of encouragement and celebration.

“What's going on?” he called to Ginta.

“I'll go look!”

Ginta snapped the neck of one more Tsuchigumo and ran around others, jumping over their uncomprehending heads. Kouga kept fighting. Even though the pests were easy to kill, there were just so goddamn many of them. He was glad of his jewel shards.

Only a few minutes passed before Ginta returned, running up to him and panting.

“Kouga!” he shouted. “There's another army. The monsters are pinned between us and them!”

Kouga grinned.

“Let's crush them into the dust then!”

Ginta grinned back.

The whole nasty business did not take long, which was a blessing because the days were now the shortest they would be all year. The sun was already setting when the last few monsters were being chased into the forests on the north side of the mountain chain. Kouga looked around and decided that others could manage what little work was left. He set out to find the leaders of the other army.

He did not doubt that the presence of the other army had been helpful, if only a little. They were only humans, however, and they were clearly more grateful for Kouga's men than the other way around.

He saw a man with a thoughtful, even grim face, and thin shoulders, speaking to a group with some authority.

“Hey there!” he called.

The man turned and when Kouga was closer, he bowed.

“You're pretty polite with demons, human,” he said.

“It comes with experience,” the man answered coolly. “May I help you with something?”

“I'm looking for your leader.”

The man's eyes narrowed. “You are not looking for a fight, I hope.”

“That depends,” Kouga answered bluntly. “But I doubt it. Right now, I just want to talk to him.”

“Them,” the man corrected. Then he looked around, looking mostly in the air.

“I don't see Shippou-sama,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

He turned back to Kouga, and his expression became concerned.

“My lord, are you ill? You have become very pale.”

“Did...did you say SHIPPOU?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It must be another Shippou,” Kouga said to himself. “It has to be.”

“My lord?”

“This Shippou,” Kouga asked, “what does he look like?”

The man was about to answer, when a sound over their heads interrupted him. It was a metallic and harsh cry, and it damn near shook the leaves off the trees.

“Ah,” the man said with satisfaction. “You can see for yourself.”

He pointed up. “There he is.”

Kouga looked up in amazement. It was a hawk, or some kind of falcon. That was ordinary enough, but the creature was the size of a house! The shade of its wings blotted out the sun as it passed over their heads.

“Oh yeah. That is definitely another Shippou.”

The bird turned circles for a moment, then its spirals begin a downward drift. Just as Kouga was about to jump out of the way, lest its talons land on his head, the air wavered and the wings and talons were gone. There was just a young man standing on the grass, walking towards the helpful human with a resolute expression. At first, he did not see Kouga.

But Kouga saw him.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled.

Shippou whirled around, then his eyes widened.

“Kouga?” he exclaimed, then laughed. “Kouga! It's great to see you!”

He ran to him and grabbed both his arms, almost jumping up and down with delight. Kouga stared at him, gaping openly. At last, he shook his head, knocking the sides a bit with the heel of one hand.

“I think I need to sit down.”

***

As a rule, Kagura and Shippou did not fight side by side. It happened, of course, in the typical unpredictable disorder of battle, but as far as they were able they tried to order things otherwise. It was better to spread their strength across the whole army, and to make sure there was more than one person to look for in case of crisis.

Shippou transformed and set himself at the western spearhead. Kagura lifted herself into the air, with the sighing blessing of the wind, as she always did, and veered away east. The houses knew how to order themselves.

In this way, the Resistance was always a two-front force. Since it was fairly easy for Kagura and Shippou to reconnect and communicate if needed, the fronts could shift and turn on the head of a pin.

Kagura understood all of this. The one thing about which she was completely in the dark was the extent to which Shippou made himself sick with worry over her. She did not know that he accepted their separation as a necessary tactic, but that in his heart he hated it, and dreaded it each day. She was oblivious to his anxiety, and always would be.

Tactically speaking, this day was going to be different than most days. The first thing Kagura did, as always, was to fly ahead and ascertain, as quickly as possible, the position of the enemy. On his side, Shippou did the same. Their overall goal was usually to drive the enemy north, just because they had seemed to come from this direction. Today was different, however, because a large number of Tsuchigumo had broken away and were too far south and west. Driving them back towards the north would be too costly. They had decided the night before that they would drive them into the river instead. Kagura's forces, having the higher ground, would provide most of that pressure, and Shippou's men would attempt to circle around and attack the monsters from the side. It was hoped that the trapped Tsuchigumo would be overwhelmed.

Kagura stood on a large shelf of rock that jutted out from the hillside like a pugnacious jaw. Looking down, she could see the swarming Tsuchigumo coming up the slopes. The men behind her drew their weapons and shifted on their feet, stamping them in the cold. Kagura waited until the monsters were about thirty feet away. In her right hand, she held a metal sphere that gleamed white under the winter sun. When she judged that the enemy was at the best distance, she murmured, “Go”, and the ball disappeared. It reappeared amidst the enemy. There was a detonation, like a loud, stony crack, and Tsuchigumo fell like scythed wheat.

Behind her, a thick-bodied man with a black braid hanging from his crown, whom everyone called Fukushima-san, threw something else into the remaining spider-demons. There was a second explosion, this one with more smoke and fire. Kagura did not understand these types of weapons, but she didn't need to; they did the job. The Tsuchigumo reeling from the first attack, lost what little cohesion they had and scattered like confused ants.

That was the signal. The mass of men behind Kagura gave a great yell and poured down the slope. Kagura lifted her staff above her head and, with a cry, went with them. The men stabbed and sliced, and Kagura rent the enemy apart with air she could now slice as keenly as a knife. She kept a lookout for men in trouble. As she popped Tsuchigumo like burnt firecrackers, she occasionally extinguished one that was about to finish off one of her fighters. She had no trouble in keeping the damage precisely contained, and she thought to herself, even as she kept up the bloody work, there really is no substitute for experience.

As they pushed the vermin closer to the river, a commotion of confusion arose above the general clamor. Kagura lifted herself above the fray to get a better view, but she could only make out an uproar of dust and raised voices, and the general sense of exasperation that came with a lack of information on a battlefield.

“Kagura-sama,” Fukushima called, “can you see anything?”

Kagura craned her neck and squinted, then shook her head.

“No, nothing. Follow me!”

Without waiting for a response, she rose higher and soared in the direction of the river. Fukushima, having fought beside Kagura for some time now, followed her shadow through the surrounding fray without difficulty. By the time he caught up with her, she had landed and was crouching behind some evergreen shrubs. When she caught site of him, she motioned for him to join her.

“Quiet!” she whispered as he knelt beside her. “He has sharp ears.”

“Who?”

“Look!”
< br> The banks of the river were wide and low, and lined with the shrubs that were now concealing the two of them. Standing in this clearing were a few men that Fukushima recognized as fellow members of the Resistance. Shippou-sama was also there. He was talking to men that Fukushima had never seen before.

“His name is Kouga,” she said. “He is a leader of the wolf demons.”

“More demons,” Fukushima muttered.

“Yes, more demons.”

“Are they friends of Shippou-sama?”

“Yes, old friends.” Kagura whispered. “We're in luck. It looks like they're fighting the Tsuchigumo.”

“Why aren't we going to greet them?”

“He's Shippou's friend. Not mine.”
Fukushima gave her a sharp glance.

“It's complicated,” Kagura told him. “Just stay here and stay quiet until he leaves.”

The two fell silent and watched the conversation. They were too far away to hear any of the words. The lead wolf demon, the one Kagura had called Kouga, was agitated, pacing and waving his arms. Shippou stood shaking his head and spreading his arms in a sort of conciliatory gesture. Then the wolf demon turned sharply and almost ran to Shippou, grabbing his shoulders. The men who stood by stirred and reached for the weapons. Fukushima did likewise, but Kagura put a hand on his arm.

“Wait.”

Shippou's eyes had widened, but he did not seem frightened. Fukushima relaxed. The wolf demon suddenly tore away from Shippou and left hurriedly, running toward the river and across it, towards the south.

“He's gone,” Kagura said. “Let's go find out what happened.”

As they approached Shippou, Fukushima noticed that the fighting had stopped. He knew that Tsuchigumo were still being chased down, but the violence had diminished out to the peripheries of the armies. Where they stood, there were only dead bodies, and some men hurrying about, checking for signs of life among the fallen.

Shippou did not seem to notice their approach at first. He stood staring in the direction that the wolf demon had departed, his eyes unfocused.

“Hey, what did he say?” Kagura asked.

“Oh,” Shippou turned to them and smiled. “Hi, Kagura. Fukushima-san.”

“Well?” Kagura persisted.

“We can talk about it in a minute. I need to find out how we did. Do you have any names today?”

“Of course,” Kagura answered. “But not too many. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. We had the high ground.”

Shippou reached into his fur vest and removed a crumpled and smudged piece of paper. It had been folded and refolded many times and was crisscrossed with black creases.

“Let me do that, Shippou-sama,” Fukushima said.

Shippou looked up at him, then nodded. “Alright. Get as many as you can.”

“I know, my lord. I'll do my best.”

He turned and left. When he was out of earshot, Kagura returned her gaze to Shippou.
“Will you tell me now?”

“Tell you what?”

Kagura rolled her eyes.

“Shippou!” she exclaimed in vexation.

“Oh, right.”

Shippou's gazed strayed to that direction again. Kagura got the sudden impression that he wanted to follow the wolf demon.

“He kinda flipped out when I told him about what happened that day, on the Plataea. He ran off, saying he was going to find Kagome.”

“What? Where is going to look?”

“He didn't say. Knowing him, he has no idea.”

“That's not exactly brilliant.”

Shippou shrugged. “Kouga has always been erratic, especially when it comes to Kagome.”

“Oh?”

“Well yeah, you know...”

Kagura gave him a blank look which by now she had perfected. It was the most efficient way for her to let Shippou know she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Kouga's always said he was in love with Kagome, that he intended to marry her someday.”

Kagura laughed. “Someday? When is that exactly?”
“That's a good question.”

“Did you tell him about me?”

Shippou was silent and looked away.

“I didn't think you would.”

Shippou seemed to take this as an accusation.

“You could have come out of hiding,” he declared, “instead of spying on us from the bushes.”

“But I didn't,” Kagura answered him coolly, “just like you didn't saying anything.”

“Anyway,” Shippou waved it aside. “It doesn't matter. He left his men here and he'll be back. He'll find out eventually.”

“He left his men here? To fight with us?”

“That's what he said.”

When he saw Kagura's worried expression, he added,

“None of them will recognize you. I think he took Ginta and Hakkaku with him, and besides, you're different now.”

Kagura looked around and she saw that the wounded were being tended by women who had come out of the forest.

“It looks like the fighting is done for the day,” she said.

“Good. I'm damn tired.”

“You want to look for a place to make camp?”

Shippou sighed and his shoulders sagged. “Guess we should.”

***

He could hear the old machine still running, even when he slept. Its wheels and gears turned out outrage; its dies stamped plates of hatred into his brain. Sometimes he wondered why he was not allowed to be happy, but it was fleeting because it was a thought he would not allow himself to have.

Having shed the burden of pretending to be human, he absconded to his final lair. Here, it would all be decided, one way or the other. He had only to wait. All the preparations had been done long ago. The Tsuchigumo, the demon Botsuraku, and many other machinations and devices besides. He was sure he had overlooked nothing.

“I hope they appreciate all that I do for them,” Naraku murmured into the loving darkness.

***

By sunset, Sango estimated that they had covered about fifteen miles. Not a bad feat, considering they were starved and frozen near to death. All the while, they had kept a steady course north.

Pure and simple pride.

They had not spoken of that again. They stopped at midday and choked down stale bread and rested for an hour in complete silence. Every shadow that danced under the swaying trees, every scrawny, brown bird that darted in and out of the brush, made her flinch. She never stopped expecting Ayame to appear before her again, with desolate eyes and pitiful helplessness.

Am I to blame? Where was I wrong?

Five years. Five years spent hunting after Naraku. Five years and not a damn thing had changed. Even as she walked behind her husband, she looked down at her hand. Was it older? She couldn't tell.

Miroku is my husband now. I'm not a virgin. That's different.

Only it wasn't. It seemed to her now, looking back, that Miroku had always been her husband, they just hadn't lain together. And why hadn't they?

Pure and simple pride.

Sango flinched again. That wasn't true. There were reasons, good reasons. And what of it, anyway? What had that to do with Ayame? If Ayame blamed them for her death, it had to be because they had failed to kill Naraku. And how had pride prevented that?

She could not figure that part out.

The days were short and the night came on early. They sought shelter between large chunks of gray stone that stuck out of a hillside like craggy teeth. The dark grew around them like an ocean and they sat in silence, staring at the red fire and shivering in the shabby blankets that wrapped around their shoulders. The winter night was bitter and still. Even if there had been anything to listen to, they would not have heard it over the noise of things unsaid.

Sango curled up inside of herself and went to sleep.

The next day was bright and cold, like every other day. Sango tried to remember how long they had been traveling, but was dismayed to discover she had lost count, not only of the days since they left Momiji's village, but of all the days before. She not only had no idea what day it was, she had no idea what month it was.

How long can this go on?

They pressed on north, walking in single file over the windswept hills. Conversation between them had evaporated, leaving behind a towering and oppressive silence. Sango listened every moment to their thoughts, which blared with brassy forcefulness in her ears.

Why are we here?

Where are we going?

What will we do when we get there?

What did she mean, pure and simple pride?

Sango cringed and swallowed her tears.

What did she mean?!

When the sun sank low behind the trees again they settled for an overturned cypress as shelter, and still they said nothing. The silence grew as much as the dark. By the time the slow creep of dawn turned the air to silver and they ate their meager rations over a puny fire, Sango could no longer bear it. She took in a deep breath and was about to scream.

It's my fault! It was all my fault! I admit it and I'm sorry!

She was stopped before a single sound came from her throat. The still morning air, all that damn quiet, was mercifully broken for her. A strange crack, loud but far away, boomed once, and was followed by a second detonation, just as far away. The sounds were too distant to be alarming, but the travelers raised their heads and looked about in confusion.

“What was that?” Momiji was the first to ask.

“I have no idea,” Kyotou answered, still looking around. “It wasn't natural.”

“I think it came from that way,” Sango pointed to the west.

“Hold on a minute,” Miroku said.

He started to climb the upturned roots of the tree that had been sheltering them.

“What are you going to do?” Sango asked him.

“Try to get a better look.”

When he had reached the highest point, he leaned out and grabbed a limb from a nearby tree. Once both hands were holding it, he swung out away from the stump and hung there in the air. Slowly, he lifted his legs and brought his knees up, almost to his upside down face. Hooking his legs over the same limb, his arms let go and now he dangled by his knees.

“What on earth are you doing?” Kyotou laughed.

“I'm climbing a tree,” Miroku answered in a serious, matter-of-fact tone.

He swung on the limb until he could swing high enough to reach a higher limb. In a few short moments and maneuvers, he was able to put his feet down on the lowest limb. Then it was simply a matter of climbing up the tree like a crooked ladder.

“Can you see anything?” Momiji called up.

“Not yet, there's still too much--”

His foot slipped, followed by the rest of him, when a limb cracked and split under his weight. He did not sink more than a foot or so before he caught himself, but this was enough to cause cries of dismay to come from Suzi and Sango. Sango ran to the base of the tree.

“Miroku!”

“It's OK, I'm fine.”

“Oh, please be careful.”

Miroku stopped climbing and craned his neck, peering through the leaves.

“All I can see is some dust, maybe from a battle or something like that,” he announced. “It must be at least ten miles away.”

“Then we don't need to worry about it,” Kyotou said. “Now get down from there before you break your neck.”

“It looked big,” Miroku said to Sango when he had two feet on the ground again.

“It doesn't concern us,” Kyotou insisted. “There's always fighting going on, even in the best of times. No doubt it's worse now.”

“Why is that, Kyotou-sama?” Suzi asked him.

“Well, after everything that's happened,” Kyotou made a vague gesture. “Things just fall apart. People don't deal with disorder well.”

“The morning is wearing on,” Momiji said.

“Right,” Miroku dusted bark and leaves off his sleeves and pants. “We should get moving.”

“What did she mean?” Suzi asked suddenly.

They all stopped to look at her.

“What?” Sango asked.

“What did she mean?” the girl repeated, her face shy but intent. “What did she mean by 'pure and simple pride'?”

Sango looked at Miroku. When she saw his eyes she knew he was as scared of it as she was, and she berated herself for not noticing it. She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

They were silent, staring at each other while the other three stared at them.

“The...the morning is wearing on,” Miroku stammered. “Let's go.”

Kyotou and Momiji exchanged glances, but said nothing. Suzi did not speak again that day.

That night, they camped again, and this time there was not even the comfort of a small fire because they could not find anything to burn. They huddled together with little or no space between them, Miroku and Kyotou manfully taking the ends of their row of bodies.

“You should answer us,” Momiji whispered.

Sango and Miroku did not stir, but Miroku whispered back.

“I know. Go to sleep.”

They tried to sleep, tried to focus on the dark rather than the biting cold and gnawing hunger. Around them, the world was so quiet. How loud can silence get?

Sango would have preferred the quiet to what happened next. Out of the dark trees a woman's voice floated, high pitched and eerily unbodied.

“The proud do not endure, the simple ones are happy
La-da-da la-da-da

At last the mighty fall and the Spring is so happy
La-da-da la-da-da”

The last note trailed off and sank into the call of a lonely dove, fading away into the freezing night.

The next thing Sango heard was sobbing. At first a thrill of fear seized her.

Oh god, she thought, almost prayed, she's crying! Ayame is crying!

But it was Suzi who was weeping, crying like a frightened child in the dark because, as Sango had to remind herself, she was a frightened child in the dark.

“Hush child,” she heard Momiji whisper. “I won't let anything happen to you. Hush. It's alright.”

Sango squeezed her eyes shut and pretended not to hear them.

The next morning, after they had eaten their breakfast and made ready to began walking again, Suzi stood up and clenched her fists at her side.

“I want to go home,” she announced.

They stared at her, then looked at each other.

“Suzi-chan,” Momiji said gently, “we can't go back.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” Suzi's voice was desperate. “Let's find somewhere else to live. I don't want to do this anymore.”

No one could think of anything to say. Sango and Miroku looked away, then down at their feet.

“If you won't,” the little girl declared. “Then I will. There must be village nearby somewhere. I'll tell them I lost my parents in the Rains. Maybe they'll take me in.”

“Suzi-chan.”

Momiji came to take her hand, but the girl snatched it away. Momiji stared at her for a moment, then continued.

“You don't want to do that,” she said. “People aren't kind to orphans, and a girl your age...”

She left it hanging.

“I don't care,” Suzi said. “Even if I end up as someone's concubine, it'd be better than this.”

Momiji's expression became stern.

“You have no idea what you're talking about.”

Suzi shook her head. “I'm doing it.”

“No, you're not,” Momiji replied.

“You have nothing to do with it!” Suzi shouted at her. “If you want to follow these...these strangers, then go ahead. I can't stop you and you can't stop me. You're not my mother!”

Momiji drew herself up, her eyes flashing, as though she had been slapped across the cheek. She drew a breath to retort.

“That's enough,” Miroku said, his voice pained. “This is wrong. It's unseemly.”

Momiji glared at him. “This isn't your concern.”

“No,” he sighed. “No, it isn't. Suzi-chan is right. We are strangers.”

Momiji's eyes widened. “That's not true! Look how far we've come together.”

Sango came to Miroku's side and touched his cheek. She looked into his eyes and nodded.

“Suzi-chan is right,” she said. “At the next village, you guys should stay.”

Kyotou started. “Now, wait a minute—”

“I haven't gone through all that I did, to keep you alive, just to—” Momiji started.

“Yes! And we're grateful,” Sango said. “But you've done more than enough. It's time to end this.”

“The three of you,” Miroku told them, “can tell everyone you're a family. Leave the priestess business behind you. No one will know and no will hunt you, like they're hunting us.”

“NO!” Momiji stomped her foot. “I will NOT. I will not leave you to such a life. I...I...”

She choked back tears.

“I can't explain it, but I know my destiny lies on the road with you. And besides, I will not turn my back on being a priestess. I have dedicated my whole life to it. I gave up a sister, who I loved more than life itself, for it. I gave up everything for it!”

Miroku's shoulders slumped, and Sango sighed. She knew now that Momiji would never be persuaded. Such determination, she thought, how can she throw herself into it like this?

She doesn't know any better, an inner voice responded. She doesn't know how bad it can get.

“I will not run and hide, living out my life in obscurity. I will not!”

“Not even for me?” Kyotou asked, his voice odd, strained and soft.

And that was it. That was what had hung in the air over them since they had undertook this journey. It wasn't the directionless of the journey itself, or the disturbing visits from Ayame. It was this. It had suspended over them like a suffocating, glass jar, and now the hammer had come down upon it. It cracked everywhere in blazing light.

Sango wanted to disappear.

Momiji stared at him, frozen. Sango knew that she was shocked, that she had believed Kyotou would never break some unspoken commandment that existed between them. Only that wasn't true at all. He had broken it a dozen times since they had been reunited after the Rains. He broke it by seeking her out, by protecting her from his villagers including his own wife, by leaving with her that night. He broke it by sleeping next to her every night, never touching her but content to breath in the scent of her hair.

Sango looked at Miroku, but he did not notice her glance. He was gazing at the two of them with rapt attention. She saw that Suzi was doing the same. Sango knew that the three of them should leave, but she could not think of a decent way to make that happen.

“You and your priesthood,” Kyotou said. “What has it gotten you?”

“Stop it,” Momiji's eyes darted about, looking at the others. “Stop this.”

“Nothing!” he answered. “Do you ever wonder what you could have had?”

“Shut up, Kyotou!” she shouted and placed her hands over her ears.

“Oh, I'm glad to see we've dropped that -sama nonsense now. What a sham, right?”

Momiji didn't answer. Tears left glistening tracks down her cheeks and chin.

“You know I'm right. We could've had it all. Now's your chance and you still won't budge.”

“Kyotou,” Momiji managed to say, her voice quaking.

Kyotou threw up his arms and made a sound of exasperated disgust.

“It's my own foolishness, I guess. I guess it's too late to make it right.”

“Kyotou-sama, please,” Miroku started, but couldn't bring himself to say anything else.

Kyotou ignored him.

“The real truth about it is,” he said with a tone of terrible finality, “if you don't love me now, you will never love me again.”

***

“Why won't you tell me? You have to tell me!”

“Souta, I told you, I can't.”

They were still in the kitchen. Shippou sat at the table, eating potato chips. Souta wasn't sure where the other was, the one called Kagura. She had wondered off into other parts of the house. He sat in another chair, holding an ice pack against his temple. They had needed to push stacks of books around, rearranging them, to clear spaces to sit.

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “Someone sent you here to make sure I was OK.”

“That's right.”

“But they won't let you tell me anything about my mother, Yuka and the others, or my sister?”

Shippou sighed and shrugged in a helpless gesture.

“That doesn't make any sense. How can I be 'OK', if I don't know if my family is alive or dead?”

“OK, now that I can tell you,” Shippou dusted crumbs from his fingers. “They are alive.”

“But that monster—”

“Look, that's all I can say. They are alive.”

“For now.”

Shippou was silent.

“How did you get here? How did that monster get here? Inu-no-oniichan and nee-san are the only ones who can go through the well.”

“Do you always call Inuyasha that?” Shippou knitted his brows.

“Yeah, so?”

“No, it's cute.”

“Hey, don't make fun of me!” Souta yelled.

“I'm not!” Shippou raised his hands. “Geez you're touchy. As hotheaded as your sister.”

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Souta said. “How did you get through the well?”

Shippou shook his head and said nothing.

“OK, fine,” Souta said after waiting a few minutes. “Maybe, since it's a free-for-all now, I can go through too!”

He stood up and walked toward the door that led to the courtyard.

“Hey,” Shippou called after him. “I told you you're not well yet. You need to rest.”

The screen door slammed shut. Shippou pushed the crinkling bag of chips away and stood up, swearing under his breath. He followed Souta outside. By the time he caught up to him, he was already climbing down into the well.

“Souta,” he called. “Come back.”

“You may know my sister, but you don't know me. Don't call me just 'Souta'.”

Souta was near the bottom now, holding on to a rope that was tied to a beam above him. He looked up and saw that Shippou was peering down at him over the lip of the well. Another face appeared beside his.

“He calls everybody by their name like that,” Kagura told him. “Always has.”

“Just like Inuyasha,” Souta muttered.

“You're not the first to say that,” Shippou said. “Now come back up. It's cold out here. It's not good for you.”

Souta's bare and freezing feet landed on the soft earth at the bottom of the well. He stood there, looking around, not sure what he was expecting.

“Well?” he called up. “You still won't tell me how you did it?”

“Souta, come on,” was all Shippou would say.

“Why is it that everybody in creation can go through this damn well but me? What am I being punished for?”

“We were all punished in some way!” Shippou shouted at him. “Now climb out or, I swear, I'll come down there and get you.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Souta asked. “Why don't you come down here then?”

Shippou moved to climb over the lip of the well, but stopped.

“You think that if I come down, something will happen and the well will open up, somehow letting you hijack your way through?”

Souta stared up at him, silent.

“Fine. If this is the only way.”

Shippou leaped over the edge and down into the well, landing a few inches in front of Souta.

“See,” he said, “nothing.”

“How did you know it would do nothing?” Souta asked him.

Shippou shrugged and looked away.

“Do you want me to carry you up or not?”

“Have you tried it before?” Souta whispered.

Shippou said nothing, but Souta heard Kagura sigh.

“Oh, sweet heaven,” he shuddered.

We were all punished.

“You never came through the well, did you?”

Souta tried to remember all the times he had seen that old woman near his home. He realized he could not recall the first time he had seen her.

“How long have you been waiting here?” he demanded. “How long have you been watching my family? How long?”

“Always! Alright? Always,” Shippou's eyes shone. “I was here before you were born. I was there when you were born. You have no idea, you could not possibly fathom, how long I waited for it.”

Souta began to tremble.

“Oh, sweet heaven,” he repeated.

“Wait,” he exclaimed suddenly. “If you're here, that means you survived. If you survived then...”

He trailed away. Shippou's eyes were hard and distant.

“Unless...you came here because you knew no one was coming back through this well, that I'd be alone for good.”

“For the last time,” Shippou gritted his teeth. “I can't—

“Why?” Souta all but screamed at him. “Why?”

“If you come up, and promise to rest, I'll tell you why.”

“Oh for cripes sake,” Souta threw his arms in the air. “Fine, I'll rest if you'll tell me. And since you want me to take it so easy, you can carry me out.”

“No problem.”

***

“We can't stay here anymore,” Yuka, knelling next to her, put her hand on Higurashi's shoulder.

“I know, but...”

“The demon has been gone for three days. Either he will come back and catch us leaving, or find us gone and hunt us down. It doesn't matter because we'll be dead anyway. There's no food left and Ayumi is getting worse.”

Higurashi looked over to where Eri was holding the ailing girl. They had wrapped cloth around the wound, and periodically they washed it with the freezing water that trickled down the cave walls, but could do nothing else. Now she had stopped speaking, and her eyes stared but saw nothing. Only because of her shallow breathing and constant trembling did they know she was alive.

Higurashi knew with cold certainty that if Ayumi perished, she would only be the first. None of them were equipped to survive the elements.

“At least we have shelter here,” she said to Yuka, whispering. “The demon drove us for days. We'll never make it back that far, even if we knew which way to go.”

“Maybe we can find help nearby.”

Higurashi shook her head. “That would be taking a big chance.”

“I think we have to.”

Higurashi said nothing more. They huddled near the fire, which they had kept going, desperately afraid it would go out. Higurashi stared at the cave wall and wondered how long it would take them to starve to death.

“I can't let it come to that,” she murmured.

“What?” Yuka looked up.

“Nothing, I was just—”

She had turned to face her, but her movements were hindered by the pack she still had strapped to her shoulders.

“Why do I still have this thing,” she said in disgust.

“What's in it anyway?”

“Just books,” Higurashi answered. “They don't mean anything now.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait!”

She pulled the straps apart and off her back, swinging the pack around to her lap. She yanked the zippers opens and began pulling objects out. At first there were only books and pens and a couple of pads of paper. Then her digging fingers hit something that crinkled and rustled. Her hand emerged clutching a shiny bag.

“Look!” she cried. “They were stuffed down in here the whole time!”

“What is it?”

Higurashi spilled the contents of the bag out on her lap. What fell were individually wrapped onigiri, some plain, others with assorted stuffing.

“Oh thanks the gods above!” Yuka cried, clutching at the precious treasure.

“Wait,” Higurashi grabbed her hand. “We must be careful. Here, take two, and give them to Eri and Ayumi, and take one for yourself.”

Yuka took three of the rice balls and started to crawl away. Higurashi clasped her arm.

“Make sure she eats it!”

Yuka nodded and turned away.

Higurashi stuffed one of them into her mouth in just a few bites. Her stomach, her especially her aching limbs, begged for more, but she quickly jammed the remaining onigiri into the bag and put them back in the very bottom of the her yellow backpack.

Out of sight, out of mind, she thought, but hardly believed.

As she swallowed the very last grain of rice, Higurashi continued to search through the bag and was overjoyed to find a pack of matches, a small pocketknife, and a miniature flashlight. This bag had been Kagome's at one point, and she realized with a kind of sick fascination that it had probably been to the Feudal Era before.

It was almost funny.

She took hold of one of the pads of paper and began tearing out the blank sheets for fuel for the fire. They would at least start their journey into the wild with warm fingers and food in their bellies.

After stoking the fire, Higurashi walked out of the cave for the first time. She winced and grimaced under the dazzling sun. With her right hand she shaded her eyes and scanned the surroundings. The mouth of the cave opened to a short shelf of rock. Tip toeing toward it, she found that the edge was a sheer face that dropped a good forty or fifty feet. Scrawny fir trees grew at the bottom. She shivered when a gust of wind barreled up the slope. Pulling her jacket front close, she stood and listened, straining her ears to pick up any sound. The sound she was listening for, and the one she truly feared, was the slobbering breath and shuffling stampede of the demon, returning for them.

All she did hear, however, was the faint sound of rushing water.

“There,” she murmured, “we need to go that way.”

Not only would they need water to drink, but people tended to settle around water. After her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she judged that it was about mid-morning. She returned to the cave, its darkness and lack of cold wind remarkable to her now. She went to Ayumi and knelt beside her.

“Do you think you can walk?”

Ayumi's face was whiter than marble, but her eyes were more focused. She licked her lips and nodded feebly.

“I can try,” she whispered. “I feel a little better now.”

“Good. We're going to get you out of here.” Higurashi looked around. “OK ladies, listen up. We're leaving, right now.”

“We have a little bit of food, and some matches,” she continued. “I found water outside. We will follow it.”

“To where?” Eri asked.

“Either home, or to friendly shelter. Whichever comes first.”

The most difficult part was just getting away from the cave. Outside the mouth, a ledge ribboned around the hill and down into the valley. Therefore, they were not required to scale down the rock face, as Higurashi had most feared. Such a feat would have been near impossible with Ayumi. As it was, they struggled enough, because the path of bare and jagged rock, while not sheer, was still steep. At the bottom they found a shaded glen, with soft and silty earth, and grown over with tall reeds. It looked like the bed of a dried stream. By the time they reached it, they were forced to stop and rest for the night.

These women had spent their lives in the orange-lit embrace of the city. They were accustomed to security, to cameras and emergency phones, to eating food out of containers and grocery stores. Still, that night, spent under the stars that winked at them from behind the black tree limbs, with all its terrifying sounds, its vast emptiness—that night was not so bad. At least, there was no demon.

The next morning, however, some of Higurashi's optimism evaporated. Ayumi had taken a turn for the worse in the night, and woke up feverish and wan. They fed her and dressed her wounds, but it was clear she could not walk on her own. They debated attempting to keep moving and waiting a day or so for Ayumi to get better. The specter of starvation, of the demon's return, of Ayumi not ever getting better, all outweighed the risks of moving. On the second day of their journey without the demon, they took turns helping Ayumi to walk, holding her up over one shoulder. In this way, their progress was sluggish. By the end of the day, Higurashi guessed they had not come more than four miles. It was probably more like three.

Still, she said to herself, it was better than nothing. There's still hope.

The third day passed much the same as the second had, and then the fourth, and then the fifth. Their rations were running low, but they were still eating something everyday and they still had water. Ayumi was not getting any better, but it did not appear she was getting any worse.

On the fifth night, Higurashi built the fire with extreme care. Every strike of the matchbook had to count. There were only four matches left.

As they crowded together around the fire, Higurashi thanked her good fortune that they had at least been taken while wearing coats and good shoes. It was hardly enough against the cruel winter, but it was better than it could have been.

“What was that?” Eri hissed.

The girls said something like this at least five times before going to sleep each night, but Higurashi never ignored it. She did not look it, but she was just as jumpy as they were.

Besides, this time, she had heard it too. It sounded strange, almost like someone was running toward them, but more like they were flying. There was a rustle of leaves and whirl of wind. One of the girls, Yuka she thought, cried out.

“Demon!”

***

Kouga was out of his mind. This, anyway, was what Ginta thought. He had no idea what the kitsune, Shippou, had said to him, but whatever it was had made Kouga batshit crazy. He had barked a few orders at his men, left them to Shippou, and grabbed Ginta and Hakkaku. They left right away, running like mad tornadoes to the south. He would not say where they were going and he let them rest only for a few minutes two, maybe three times.

They tried asking him what he had learned to make him so frantic, but they were too out of breath. By the time they recovered enough air in their lungs, he was off again.

Finally, whatever was driving him seemed to burn off somewhat, and Kouga came to a sudden stop. It was near nightfall, the sun having long sank behind the distant mountains. Ginta and Hakkaku fell to the ground panting.

“What...what is it?” Ginta gasped. “What's up with you?”

Kouga was not gasping for breath, but sitting on the ground with his head between his knees.

“Kagome is missing,” he said.

“What?” Ginta started to his feet.

“Missing,” Kouga repeated. “Shippou told me something happened, something terrible, and she's missing.”

“Inuyasha doesn't know where she is?” Hakkaku asked, nervous, as they always were when mentioning Inuyasha to Kouga.

“Shippou doesn't know. He doesn't know where any of them are. He's alone.”

Ginta sat back down, letting that sink in.
“Why doesn't he try to find them?”

Kouga scoffed. “Who knows? I asked him, but he just babbled some nonsense about protecting someone.”

“You never can tell with fox demons,” Hakkaku shrugged. “They're skittish and unpredictable.”

“So then, where are we going?” Ginta asked. “Do you know where to look for her?”

“Duh!” Kouga exclaimed. “I'm going back to Edo. I know Kagome, and I know that mutt-face. When things fall apart, they go back to Kaede.”

“I guess so,” Ginta said dubiously.

“Hey Kouga,” Hakkaku said, “do you smell that?”

Kouga and Ginta lifted their heads and sniffed.

“It's a fire,” Kouga said. “A small one.”

He got to his feet and swiveled his head from side to side, still sniffing.

“It's coming from that way,” he said, pointing.

“We're still technically in territory controlled by wolf demons,” Ginta said.

“Yeah that's right,” Kouga said. “So I want to know who it is. Let's go.”

“We should be careful,” Ginta said, as they started running again. “I think we're close to Sesshoumaru's land.”

The smell of smoke and ash was coming from less than a mile away, so it only took them about five minutes to get there. Kouga was the first to see the orange twinkle of a tiny fire in a stand of fir trees and reeds. At about the same time, he caught the unmistakable scent of humans. Before he reached the spot, he knew that there were four of them, all women.

What the hell are they doing out here by themselves?

Their scent was not known to him, but there was something familiar about it. He burst into the fire-lit circle without hesitation.

“Demon!” one of them screamed, but Kouga paid no attention. He was accustomed to such a greeting from humans.

He looked around. Ginta and Hakkaku had arrived, and were looking at the women in confusion. They both turned their heads and sniffed and Kouga knew they were wondering where the men were.

The women themselves had scattered when the wolf demons arrived and were now cringing in a huddle on the other side of the fire. The oldest one was in front, her arms outstretched, as if she were going to contain the girls behind her.

“What do you want?” she cried. “We're not hurting anything. Leave us alone!”

Kouga stared at her for a moment than rolled his eyes.

“Leave you alone?” he repeated. “I don't think so.”

The women cringed and inched backwards.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Do you know how close you are to death? Not to mention you are trespassing on the lands of the wolf demons.”

“Are you of them?” she asked.

“I am their leader,” Kouga answered.

“Wolf demon leader,” the older woman murmured, to herself. “Come on Mikomi, you know this.”

“Higurashi-san?” one of the girls looked up at her.

“Higurashi?” Kouga repeated. “Is that your name?”

The woman appeared frightened, and the girl shrank back.

“Why do I feel like I should know that name?” Ginta asked.

Hakkaku nodded, knitted his brows.

The woman was not looking at them, but her eyes were puzzled and her brow furrowed, as if lost in thought. Then her face set and she looked up.

“Are you Kouga?”

Kouga jumped. “Huh? What'd you say?”

“Kouga? Are you Kouga?”

“How do you...”

His eyes finally saw the yellow bag, to the side and on the ground. It was ratty and filthy, but...

“Hey!” he pointed. “Isn't that Kagome's?”

The other two wolf demons looked at it. Hakkaku went to it and picked it up, sniffing.

“Yeah, it's Kagome alright. It's been a long time since she touched it though.”

The women looked at each other, then at the wolf demons.

“Higurashi-san,” the same girl who had spoken before, spoke again, tugging on the woman's coat.

“Shh!” the one called Higurashi whispered.

“You stink of Naraku,” the leader said finally, his voice hard. “And you have Kagome's belongings. You had better explain yourself.”

Higurashi drew herself up, her eyes flashing.

“If I stink of him,” she said, her voice now clear and firm, “it is because one of his servants kidnapped me. He tortured and terrorized us, and we only just escaped.”

Kouga looked into her eyes. Despite her strength and determination, he could smell her desperation. Every angle of her body screamed that it was near the end of its rope. He also smelled blood, human blood, and his eyes found the wound on one of them. By the smell of it, it was not healing.

They were telling the truth.

“OK,” he said. “That explains that. But how do you have that bag?”

“Now is the time for you to explain yourself,” she said.

Kouga was taken aback.

“Hey, you're in no position to talk to me like that, human. How do you know Kagome?”

Higurashi tore herself away from the clinging girls and walked toward him. She knelt in the dirt and bowed. He smelled stinging salt, and when she raised her face he could see that she was crying. He glanced at Ginta and Hakkaku, who shrugged and looked away, shuffling their feet.

“Please,” the woman sobbed , wringing her hands. “Please. If you know where my daughter is, please, please tell me!”

Kouga's heart froze. His chest and stomach clenched. He stood dumbstruck, gaping at her.

Ginta let out an explosive breath. “Holy...”

“Shit.” Hakkaku completed the thought.

***

The next day was better. The addition of the wolf demon tribes had turned the tide against the Tsuchigumo, and by morning a large area around the human army had been cleared. Shippou and Kagura let it be known that there would be no fighting today, and the day was spent sleeping, laughing and generally carousing. Most of the men played dice and other games and some of the wolf demons even joined in. For the most part, the humans had long become accustomed to the presence of demons.

Shippou and Kagura rested in the morning hours, sleeping in a makeshift tent with a guard posted outside who was under strict orders to not let them be disturbed.

Around midday, Shippou popped open one eye. Despite the cold weather, the air inside the tent was warm and heavy. Shippou lay on his stomach, sprawled over a pile of fur blankets. Kagura, as always, was asleep on her side, curled into the smallest amount of space possible.

He sat up and yawned, stretched, and fluffed out his tail. He glanced down at Kagura.

“Are you awake?”

She murmured, but otherwise did not even twitch. He reached out and pushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered open and he snatched his hand away.

“What is it?” she sat up like a shot. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” he assured her. “I just wanted to know if you were awake. Geez, relax, will ya?”

She gave him an odd look.

“Why is your face redder than normal?”

“What?” he laughed. “It isn't. What are you talking about? It's warm in here, that's all.”

“Whatever,” she shrugged, then stretched. “Isn't it nice to be able to sleep?”

“Oh yeah,” he agreed. “I feel a lot better.”

“Me too.”

Kagura began pulling up her boots. In all the instances he had seen her when she had belonged to Naraku, her feet had been bare. She now wore leather boots lined with fur, with  laces that crisscrossed up her legs all the way to the knees. Her old kimono was a distant memory. Now she wore black hakama that she tucked into the top of the boots, with layers of red kimonos topped with a quilted black haori that was belted tight. She never tied her hair up now; it fell loose to her waist. Shippou watched her and wondered if Naraku would even recognize her now. The only remainders of her past were the jade earrings that dangled from each ear.

How has she managed to hold on to those?

When she was done lacing up her boots, she stood up, pulled on her overcoat, and looked at him, puzzled.

“What is it?”

“Ah, nothing,” he said lamely, and looked away.

Do I have any idea what I'm doing?

Not for the first or the last time, he wished desperately to talk to Kagome.

“So what do you want to do now?”

He sighed and scratched his head. “I don't know. I guess we should look around.”

“Very well,” she said. “Let's get to it then.”

She strode out of the tent with Shippou trailing her.

“First,” he said as they emerged into the noon sun, “I want to talk to some people about yesterday. I want to make sure I have all the names.”

“Yeah, sure.”

As they made their way through the crowded camp, Shippou noticed the way that some of the men, even some of Kouga's men, glanced at Kagura as she walked past. With her sharp features and straight shoulders, he had to admit that her presence was commanding. Her mannish clothing and way of walking seemed to only exaggerate her female figure.

When they at last found Norio, Shippou was relieved to be distracted from these thoughts.  A group of men were busy patching armor and sharpening knives and swords, and Norio was overseeing the effort.

“Ah, Shippou-sama,” he bowed and turned to Kagura. “My lady.”

“How are things going?” Shippou asked.

“I cannot complain, my lord,” he said. “Today has been a welcome reprieve.”

“Do you have it, the list I mean?”

“Yes, my lord,” Norio reached into his haori and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Fukushima has another.”

Shippou nodded. “Thank you, Norio-san,” he said. “Carry on.”

They went to find Fukushima next. They found him in the center of the camp, where the women and children huddled around fires in improvised shelters. Fukushima was attempting to inventory their growing need for food, fuel, and blankets. When he saw Shippou approached, he reached into a satchel he carried on his hip and produced another, even more worn, piece of paper.

“Shippou-sama, Kagura-sama,” he bowed. “I hope you are well.”

“Yes of course,” Shippou answered.

“And you?” Kagura smiled at him.

“I cannot complain, my lady.”

“Must be something going around,” Kagura muttered.

“I'm sorry?” the man turned his right ear toward her.

“Oh, it's nothing.”

“I apologize, my lady, I cannot hear out of my left ear.”

At Shippou's nudging, Kagura said, “Oh no, no it's nothing.”

“Thank you for this, Fukushima-san,” Shippou said, holding up the paper.

“I aim to serve, my lord,” he bowed again.

“Now what?” Kagura asked him as they walked away.

“Well, I guess we could try to observe the enemy's movements.”

“Aw come on,” Kagura stretched and yawned. “We've got scouts for that. Let's go back to sleep.”

“It's the middle of the day,” Shippou protested.

“So?”

They made their way back to their tent, Shippou trailing Kagura and Kagura walking the way she always did, as though she had never known doubt about where her feet should be and where they should be going. Shippou was too distracted to dwell on that, however.

In the few short minutes it took to get there, he thought he had worked out how he was supposed to feel about Kagura. This had given him some difficulty at first and for a brief period he was afraid he was falling in love with her (though he would not say “in love”, even to himself). He mentally ticked off days, weeks, and months, coming to the conclusion that she had been his near constant companion for roughly half a year. Why, it had taken him far less time to love Kagome. What could be more natural? Relieved, he put the problem out of his mind.

It was so comforting to have logic on one's side.

By this time, they had reached their tent, but Shippou's reverie was broken by Kagura's shouting. He jerked his head up and ran into the tent.

Kagura was standing over someone, a young man, with her staff held over his head as if to execute him as a petty criminal. The young man in question was covering the threatened body part with his hands.

“What's going on?” Shippou exclaimed.

“This man was in our tent when I came in!”

“Please, forgive me,” the young man said. “I meant no offense, honest! I only wanted to talk to you.”

“Wait, Kagura,” Shippou said. “Let him talk.”

Kagura reluctantly lowered her weapon. The young man sighed in relief and raised his head, though he remained seated on the ground. Shippou saw that he was even younger than he had supposed, though he looked travel worn and weather beaten. His cloths were threadbare and the sword at his hip lived in a shabby scabbard.

“So? Start talking,” Kagura demanded impatiently.

“I'm not surprised that you don't remember me,” the young man said.

“I've never seen you before in my life.”

“Not you,” he said. “Him. Shippou.”

“Who are you?” Shippou asked him. “Are you fighting for us? Which house?”

“I don't have a house, really,” he answered. “I came here when I figured out you were fighting the monsters, and now I just help out when I can.”

“Well that's great,” Shippou said. “But you were saying that I knew you.”

“Yes. Some years ago, you and your friends came to the aid of a certain village.”

Shippou scoffed. “You going to have to be more specific than that.”

“There was a water god, see, a fake water god.”

“What?” Shippou gasped.

“That's right,” the young man laughed. “My name is Taroumaru. I am, or was back then, the headman's son.”

Shippou stood speechless.

“Now, I don't remember her,” he said, indicating Kagura. “And it took me a while to figure out that it was you, because you've grown so much.”

“So have you,” Shippou murmured.

“But where's everybody else? The women who were with you? The monk with the crazy hole in his hand?”

“Ah, it's a long story.”

“Well, along those lines, I didn't just come in to chat about the good ole days. I have some information that might be interesting to you.”

“What is it?”

“First, I want something,” Taroumaru held up one finger to his nose in a sly gesture.

“You're trying to extort something from me?”

“There's no need to use ugly words,”  he answered with a note of injury.

“Listen you,” Kagura stood over him. “How about you just tell us what you know, and then I'll let you walk out of here on your own feet. Hell, I'm feeling generous today. Maybe you won't even have to limp.”

“Kagura,” Shippou chided.

“Just hear me out,” the young man pleaded.

Shippou sighed and sat down on the dirt floor in front of Taroumaru.

“Speak,” he said. “You're taking up nap time.”

“Umm, right. Anyway, all I want is a chance to prove myself in your fighting force.”

Shippou looked up at him in surprise.

“I was the son of the headman. I grew up with responsibility. I assumed I would be a leader one day.”

“But then the Rains came,” he continued in a more morose tone, “and everything changed. My father didn't survive it, and our people were ruined and scattered.”

“I'm sorry,” Shippou told him, and meant it.

“I just want to be a leader again.”

“I'm sorry,” Shippou said again. “But I can't just give you men. These humans follow us because they want to; they don't belong to me.”

“But...” Taroumaru expression was confused, even shocked. “I've seen you. You make sure they have food and water and warmth. You take care of them. You even keep track of the names of the dead.”

“Yes,” Shippou replied. “But I do those things because I want to. If anything, we are bound together out of friendship, and a common cause. But I repeat, they do not belong to me, and they order themselves how they will.”

“I see,” Taroumaru lowered his eyes and fell silent.

“However,” Shippou continued. “I have some influence. If you stay close to me, I can recommend you as soon as an opportunity comes up. That's the best I can do.”

Taroumaru was silent for a moment.

“If that is the best you can do, then it will have to do,” he said at last. “It shall be as you say.”

He bowed, his forehead almost touching the ground. When he rose again he was smiling.

“What I wanted to tell you is that I saw Inuyasha, no more than four or five weeks ago, and not all that far from here.”

***

[End of Chapter Twenty-Four]

[Next Chapter: Join Together]