InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Snare ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1

The cloudburst in Kamakura that November night could scarcely have been more opportune if it had tried. The mud on the forest track was full of loose pebbles and small rocks which shifted painfully around the traveler’s feet and threatened to pull his woven grass sandals off altogether. His was a hunched figure wearing a grass raincoat and broad straw hat as he labored with the help of a sturdy traveler’s staff up the hill between the trees. Reaching the top of the slope, he lifted his head up, tipping the brim of his hat and letting off a stream of water to look across the poorly-kept lawn to the dilapidated temple beyond.

From where he was standing he could see that the flight of stone steps marking the official way up to the front of the building still remained empty. He would have sighed in relief if he had any breath to spare, but he had come straight up the side of the mountain from the highway, slipping on the tall grass and getting slapped in the face by wet leaves. He still had yet to fulfill his abbot’s mission and he knew that those steps would not remain empty for long.

There were no lights showing in the building and the visitor didn’t even try the main entrance. Instead, he went around the corner of the east wing and five wall panels down along the side veranda. He felt around the edge of the fifth panel, first at shoulder height with increasing puzzlement and then with a self-disgusted grunt at hip height and gave a good shove to a hidden catch. He had been a young boy when he had been shown this secret entrance and much shorter. The panel slid back, revealing the darkened interior of the temple. “Mushin-Sama…Mushin?“ his voice came back to him in a series of eerily warped echoes and hisses making him remember old rumors of the visits of youkai and unnatural death that pervaded the place.

A faint noise from outside brought the young man back to his urgent business. “Oshou Sama?” he said as loudly as he dared. His eyes caught a flash and he realized that it was a faint gleam of light outlining the edge of a curtain hanging from an arras that hung in front of him, blocking his view of the main altar.

A sudden rumbling growl caused him to jump back. But then it was repeated in a gurgling buzz that put him in mind of his paternal grandmother’s earth-shattering snores and so he jerked the curtain aside. Mushin was nowhere in sight but the altararea glowed with shielded lights; a bright flare of which illuminated the coffered ceiling with its painted birds and flowers.

The acolyte quietly removed his sandals and rain coat and hat revealing the netted bundle of a dry raincoat and hat on his back. He set the sandals down, toes pointed outwards and lay the other things next to them. He looked back outside for a moment but could make nothing out over the fury of the storm and so pattered on bare feet across to the sanctuary where the snores seemed to be emanating from.

He glimpsed a foot on the floor protruding past the verge of the altar. With bated breath he edged his head around the corner into the light gleaming from presence lamps to view Mushin, the temple priest, dead drunk with a pair of saké bottles next to him. The young man’s shoulders slumped, only to stiffen again as he heard a rumor of noise from outside the main entrance. They had made the journey up the steps in all this rain?

In an instant, he was shaking Mushin’s legs by the ankles and using them to haul him bodily out of his inappropriate nook. Mushin gave a bleat like a sheep but suddenly sat up and caught his assailant’s neck in a noose of large and uncomfortably tight prayer beads.

“What have you done with the saké ?”

“I haven’t done anything thing with the saké . Master Mushin, it is I, Yori-Kun, you know me. I’ve come at the bidding of Abbot Motouji. Nobunaga’s men have arrived looking for you. I am to get you out of here secretly.”

Mushin belched uncomprehendingly. The acolyte twisted his neck over his shoulder and fancied he heard a shout from outside beyond the drumming of the rain on the roof. He grabbed at the monk only to be firmly resisted and was unexpectedly yanked forward fully into the light that shone down from the lamps behind the altar.

“Yori. Yes, I see now. I thought you were someone else. But, you are older than you were; your voice is breaking. You haven‘t been visiting much, not much at all.” The old monk’s voice sounded vaguely aggrieved, like that of a querulous old man.

Yori stared back at him in dismay; Mushin was an old man. His once thick hair was thinning and his cheeks sagged with a spider’s web of fine purple veins. Gone was the stout, seemingly indestructible, old reprobate. Oh, the bulk was still there but only an echo of the strength. He was drawn back to business by distinct sounds of arrival from outside the front gates. Even as he opened his mouth to repeat his explanation the wooden bar blocking the door grated in its socket, turning up before being stopped by the iron pin holding it down. The door thumped, rattling on its hinges. Another shout was audible.

Mushin stiffened, “Whose?” he asked, voice suddenly crisp.

“Nobunaga’s”

Mushin wasted no time upon hearing that and scrabbled to his feet using Yori’s shoulder for support. They made their way over to the alcove, hidden in the darkness behind its arras. The thumping at the door was brisker now and the iron pin was quickly being jiggled out of place.

“The jig is up.” Mushin muttered and felt around for a shelf from which he produced a pair of sandals and loaded bag.

As Yuri wriggled out of his net to pass over the hat and rain coat to him he could hear the gurgle of a bottle being tilted, “You are drinking at a time like this?” he hissed in frustration.

“Can you think of a better time?” was the imperturbable reply and Mushin was ready, shrugging on the grass coat and hat even as he gathered up a stout stick. They had the panel closed and were stepping off of the verandah into the sopping long grass as the pin finally gave way at the temple door and let the intruders in.

The escapees made their way along the edge of the veranda of the temple building to where the eaves of the forest nearly touched its gabled roofs. There they would leave fewer tracks and have a shot at the open-cut maintained up-slope by the temple. At one time that had been the main road through the area and built for defense against enemy attack. It was just wide enough for one horse to go through but had fallen into neglect over recent years as folk preferred to use the new road into town. Hopefully the warlords troops would overlook it.

They had just made their way onto the narrow stone track when a smell of smoke reached them bringing them to a halt. That could mean only one thing and Mushin groaned as he looked back in the direction of the old temple that had been his home for so long. He almost headed back in that direction but Yori caught at the back of his robes and hauled him on their way, “Such an old building as that could have gone at any time, Sama. You know this. Maybe Buddha in has mercy allowed this happen now, after you left the building.”

Mushin relented and stumbled after him but kept anxiously sniffing the air even as they moved further away in an attempt to discover how much of the structure was involved. There were few clues as the downpour continued to obscure everything even protected as they were under the trees. They were soon hard put to keep their footing on the rain-slicked stones and the slow journey down mountain was passed in silence.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle when they reached the rear outbuildings of Yori’s own temple, Raikoji. Mushin was moving very slowly and with a limp as he had made an unfortunate misstep off the stone path and landed in a ginkgo bush. Yori wearily pushed open the rustic gate of the grass fence and led the way to an old gardener’s hut. He saw to getting the monk seated at a small brazier and, at a stumbling trot, headed off to tell his abbot of his guest.

He paused outside of the abbot’s chambers to straighten his clothes and grew still at the sound of voices in the room beyond, “It is very unfortunate that your overlord should have chosen this particular time of year in the calendar. If he had sent to inquire we could have saved him much trouble and inconvenience.”

“Don’t tell me he isn’t there.”

“I have no way of knowing, on such a night as this, whether Mushin-Sama is present at the Hotiji temple or not.” Abbot Motouji’s voice sounded aggrieved. “But this is his traditional season of retreat so he may not be. Tomorrow is the day designated for the weekly delivery of goods and the delivery boy could have borne your message with him to leave with the supplies. Mushin-Sama would surely find it with the supplies and come down mountain to meet with you.”

“No matter,” rumbled the other, “I have already sent men up to fetch him.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Perhaps you do not Sama. This Mushin has been declared an enemy of the state. I am to bring him in to face charges of sedition.”

“I am sorry to hear that. You say you come from the Emperor? Did he send any messages?”

“I do not directly represent the Emperor. I come from Oda Nobunaga, his conquering general.”

“I see, it would have grieved me not hear from my young cousin. I must send him a letter.”

“The Emperor is your cousin?”

“I have that honor, yes; through my mother’s side. You see…”

The abbot’s visitor was not to be further enlightened as to the abbot’s relations (and there were many) at that time as Yori was unsuccessful in stifling a laugh. He was forced to turn it into a cough as the screen he was sitting beside was pulled open and the abbot looked out. Yori kowtowed deeply enough to knock his forehead against the floor and came up pink-faced. He turned a look of wide-eyed innocence at the abbot’s visitor and kowtowed again in his direction, taking in the gilt edged armor and the crested helmet sitting on the floor beside him.

“Well, Yori, what is it?”

“I am sorry to interrupt, Sama. But I felt I must tell you that the old gardener fell into a gingko bush and broke his lamp, spilling its oil, but he is back home now and safe.”

The abbot sighed sadly and remarked, “I’m afraid the old fellow had best retire. He’s getting past all this wandering in the dark on such a night as this. Please see to his comfort, Yori. You did well to relieve my mind. I shall visit him anon.”

As the screen slid shut again, Yori could hear the rumbling tones of the abbot’s visitor, “You are concerned over an old gardener, Sama? That is unusual.”

“He’s such a very good gardener, you see. If the weather had only been clement, I would have taken you on a moon viewing of the garden. We have such very fine views. You say you are from the Emperor?”

“No, Sama, I did not.”

Yori stifled his giggles and fled.

ooOO0OOoo

It was much later; close to dawn, when the abbot finally made his way to Mushin’s side. By that time the pains from Mushin’s assorted injuries and exertions were making themselves felt along with a sudden sense of hopelessness. He lay back on a makeshift futon of hemp bundles in an uneasy sleep. When it had come to it, he had been as unable to defend his temple from harm as the childish Miroku had been unable to defend his own father against the air rip in the palm of his father’s hand and the loss of his old home went down hard.

Abbot Motouji strode across the damp temple garden wrapped up tightly in his robes

and his thoughts. He actually was fond of moon-viewing and was frequently to be found

wandering his garden at night but tonight the scudding clouds had no power over him.

He had left the troop commander with a couple of the so inclined young novices for

comfort and then made strict recommendations that any messengers be directed to cleanse themselves before the brass images of the Yakushi trinity with a few thousand sutras before being allowed into the temple proper to make report.

That, the abbot reflected, should hold them up for a few hours but he was still faced with the trouble of what to do with his old friend. With a sigh, he stopped by a gingko bush near the center of the garden and considered it. It was most decoratively placed near the path he trod upon and had pleased his eye many times. He tested the verge; might one trip there?

He turned to the sturdy young monk that accompanied him with a hanging lamp and beckoned him closer. He studied the youthful face gravely and spoke in the manner of a loving teacher to his pupil, “Have you studied the sutras that command us to speak truth, Rengyo?”

“Yes, Sama.”

“Thus you understand, that all truths must be true and verifiable when spoken by one of high estate.”

“Yes, Sama.”

“Then I will enlighten you further; those of low estate need never speak of some occurrences at all, even when questioned by the most stringent of methods.”

The monk blinked, this was news to him.

“Kindly regard that bush. Tonight our doddering old gardener was out in the storm and stumbled off the path into it, braking his lamp.”

The young man obediently turned his gaze, “Sama, I am sorry, but I do not see any evidence…”

Quicker than it can be told the venerable abbot used his staff to neatly hook his servant’s legs out from under him and precipitated him into the bush, spilling the oil of his lamp to flare briefly before extinguishing itself in the wet grass. “Now you do.” He said gently. “Such is part of the nature of truth.”

The young monk, Rengyo contemplated this statement as he disentangled himself from the embraces of the gingko bush and, indeed, considered some other truths as well. When he had regained the path he studied the retreating back of his abbot and smiled however; Abbot Motouji was one to follow and his lessons worthwhile. With a light toss, the now ruined lamp was cast aside; obviously, the old gardener had abandoned it when he fell.

OoOO0.0OOoo.

Meanwhile, back at the Higurashi Shrine…

It was full dusk when the truck arrived in a light drizzle. It backed its way up the short driveway at the shrine’s rear entrance and came to a stop behind the family’s elderly Nissan, which was still up on blocks.

Higurashi-San was alone in the kitchen after seeing the caterers and the members of the remarkable Nakamura family of the Kabuki-Za off.

The kimono lady had disappeared along with the bulk of the wedding guests but the Nakamuras had stayed behind stowing their instruments and helping the caterers and their crew to take down the tables and pack their van. They were so efficient and so likely to break into song or act out a brief sketch that it was impossible to begrudge them the leftovers which they all ate with such gusto.

Bandi-Sama had pulled out an old Chinese lute and plucked its strings as he sang an old wandering tune which seemed half-familiar to the Higurashis. The story referred to derring-do, adventures and romance. It involved mythical creatures and a great quest which ended joyfully and yet, left the listeners dissatisfied somehow, as if the story was yet unfinished.

After that, Jijii-Chan, Jukuryo and Souta had adjourned to the shrine offices to confer about something and Higurashi-San had found herself alone in the empty music pavilion. She had put out the lights and wandered up the weedy path that led to her own kitchen door; there to survey the stale remains of breakfast and take a look at the living room where the stand and kimono wrappings were scattered about amid a sprinkling of twigs and wilted petals still on the floor where they had fallen from Rin’s kimono. She slowly cleaned them up.

She was just pouring tea for herself in the kitchen when the rumble of the truck broke into her pensive musings and caused her to drop her cup in the sink. The kettle was smacked down by the side of it as Higurashi-San took in the image of the small box van rapidly backing up her driveway. She gave a squawk and bolted out the door as the van stopped within scant inches of the back of her disabled Nissan.

The passenger door opened and she recognized Jaken as he hopped from the seat to the ground and gave her a stiff little bow, “This delivery is compliments of Sesshoumaru-Sama. He told me to tell you that Inuyasha could explain it.” With that he opened the side panel of the van and, with the help of the driver began unloading the van of its contents and bringing them into the kitchen.

Soon, every surface in the kitchen became loaded with chafing dishes and blenders, a variety of vases of different sizes, a silverware set in a mahogany case, a bin full of onions and another of potatoes. The vegetables puzzled Higurashi-San very much and she was turning them over in her fingers when Jaken came in pulling an upright vacuum cleaner and a crumpled five-gallon plastic bucket. Except for the bucket, all the items were in very good condition. None of it was boxed, however, and Higurashi-San could not make herself think that any of it was new.

A last load of folded tablecloths and placemats was thumped down on the kitchen table and Jaken and his driver were bowing their way out the door.

”But, Jaken-San please wait!”

Jaken did not wait but, rather, tipped his hat before scrambling into the van in a hurried manner.

“Jaken-San!”

The van was already rolling down the driveway even before it had its lights on and Higurashi-San returned to the kitchen to survey the welter of things that were there. After a moment’s thought she located her purse underneath the pile of tablecloths and fished around in it. She extracted a hand-written note with a phone number on it and went over to the phone to make her call.

A cool voice responded on the other end, “Moshi-moshi.”

“Sesshoumaru-Sama,” Higurashi-San began without preamble, “Inuyasha and Kagome are not here. Perhaps you could tell me why I appear to have the contents of your pantry sitting in my kitchen?” There was a long silence on the other end of the line.