– 32 –
.reunion.
The ruby clatters to the floor.
“Yashamaru,” she breathes.
His smile falters as he steps toward her. “So,” he says, “you haven’t forgotten me.”
Softly, she meets his beloved gaze.
“How could I forget?”
His lips find hers as he gathers her to him, and she feels herself transported back, to that night in the palace where last they stood. Entwined together, on the precipice of ruin.
Reluctantly, she pulls away, head shaking. “No–you should go.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he murmurs against her throat. “Not again.”
“He’ll do more than just kill you if he finds us here like this,” she pleads, taking his face in her hands.
Claw-tipped fingers cover her own. He frowns down at her, crows feet pulling at the corners of his eyes.
“After you left that night, I went to America. I thought to myself, ‘If I go here and stay here, I’ll never see her again. I’ll never be able to find her.’ But then six years ago, you showed up–right here in New York. I couldn’t believe it at first, but I knew it was you. And before I could figure out what to do about it, he showed up, and you were gone again. I felt like such a fucking failure.”
“Yashamaru…”
“It’s all right, Hime-san. I didn’t pity myself for long because I set to work. I was determined to find a way to help you, to free you from that asshole. For years I searched with nothing to show for it, and then…I found this.”
From the pocket of his slacks, he retrieves a small black box and holds it before her. With a rap of his claw, the box vanishes in a cloud of youki.
Her breath catches in her throat.
In the center of his hand, where the box used to be, lies a glowing purple orb.
“The Shikon no Tama,” Yashamaru says. “Take it, Hime-san. It’s yours.”
With trembling fingers, she reaches toward it, the purple glow receding under the shadow of her touch.
In her hand it feels surprisingly light.
Fragile.
“It’s said that the Jewel can grant any wish to the person who possesses it,” Yashamaru tells her. “You can use it, Kagome. You can use it to set yourself free.”
She looks up at him desperately, heart hammering in her chest, terrified even now to hope. “How can you be so sure?”
The corner of his mouth rises. “Because I know that you’ve been searching for it too.”
And she has, she admits. For as long as she can remember, perhaps longer still. Seared into her heart, into her soul, beneath all conscious thought and memory, is the image of the Jewel she now holds.
Yet something bothers her. An uneasiness that grows stronger as she studies the gem in her hand.
She is struggling to make sense of this unease when a dark, familiar presence assaults her senses. Her head snaps up in alarm. Swallowing, she clutches the Jewel to her chest.
“He’s here.”
“Dammit,” Yashamaru growls, moving between her and the door. “Stay back, Hime-san. I’ll hold him off for as long as I can.”
“No you won’t!” she cries, grabbing at his arm.
“Stop saying stupid things. Do you think if I valued my life that much I would have sought you out?”
“You’re the one being stupid,” she seethes, thrusting the Jewel back toward him. “Now use this and escape from this place!”
“That Jewel is of no use to me, Hime-san.” Taking her by the shoulders, he pulls her close to him once more, leaning his forehead against her own. “My only wish,” he says, “was to see you again.”
Darkness encroaches, pressing in on her like smoke. She digs her nails into the fabric of his shirt.
“Please,” she whispers, “don’t do this.”
He pulls back, tipping up her chin with a finger. “Make your wish, Hime-san–but be clear in your purpose. There’s something about that Jewel I don’t trust.”
Screams echo from the floors below. She looks into his golden eyes a moment more, then nods and steps back.
“Perhaps in another life,” he says, smiling ruefully, “we could have been together.”
She smiles in return.
“Perhaps.”
A whiplike crack. A burst of green light. The door to the gallery room splits, then crumbles.
She retreats as Yashamaru lunges forward, cursing.
In a corner of the room, she crouches, concealed behind a large gilt vase. The Jewel burns like a hot coal in her hands.
A Voice sounds in her mind, hollow yet heavy, foreign yet somehow familiar.
So, tell Me, Miko, what is it that you desire most?
Its address catches her off guard. Her gaze hardens.
If you know so much, she answers, why don’t you tell me?
A crackle of laughter, like the crunch of broken glass. Inside her mind, a trapdoor opens, and she is falling, falling fast.
Very well, it laughs.
Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi