Setting the low-burning lantern down on a rock near the shore, Kagome waded fully-clothed into the moonlit stream. Clear, cool water flowed gently past her, tugging at her thin gown and adhering it to her flesh. Lying back, she let herself drift along in the current, her long hair billowing out around her in a soft, inky halo. As the surface of the stream closed over her face, she thought of Mayuri, of Kanako. Of all the girls consigned to a cold and watery grave.

Here, like this, she felt closest to them, imagined their souls floating along with hers in the muted, otherworldly dark. Their sadness, their loss, their bitterness was her own. Mothers and daughters, sisters and wives—why was it that women seemed doomed to bear the brunt of suffering in this life? She grieved for her own mother, who had never known what became of her only daughter. Remembering Kanako’s, perhaps it was better this way.

Her lungs burned, her heart ached. She longed to stay here in the quiet shadowed depths, but the world above was calling her back with harsh glaring tyranny, and while she lived, she had no choice but to obey. Gasping, she broke the glassy surface, beads of water streaming down her face like tears as her feet returned to the earth once again. The shared anguish of the dead returned with her, but their vengeance was hers alone to bear.

Gliding over to the bank, she took up her lantern and sandals and padded back to her home through the slippery pliant grass. Inside, she peeled off her dripping nightdress and strung it up on a line across the wall. Naked, she curled onto her side by the hearth, stoking the coals as she peered long and deep into their fiery red hearts.

Whether she dozed or not was impossible for her to say. The constant exhaustion of her concealment spell blurred the lines of her conscious states. But as dawn crept in with its prying rosy fingers, she stood and dressed herself in full miko attire once again.

The morning proceeded routinely enough. She made her rounds of the village, attending to all the duties she’d neglected the previous day. Her friends and neighbors were relieved to see her—and happy to receive the gifts of her most recent labors, which Kaede had discovered still hanging from Jiro’s saddlebags upon his return.

It was around noon, as she was tilling over the shambles of her garden, burying the remains of her poor mutilated plants beneath a cool layer of loamy dirt, that she felt a touch upon her shoulder. Tensing, Kagome turned.

“Kohaku-kun,” she said, schooling her expression as she leaned the rake against the outer wall of her home.

“Kagome,” he greeted in reply, the lack of honorific disquieting her as much as the gloved fingers tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you?”

Kagome frowned, uncertain how to respond—to the touch and the question both. Brows furrowing slightly, Kohaku stepped closer as she retreated toward the wall.

“You were gone before I awoke,” he said carefully, the corners of his lips pulling down. “I hope what happened last night didn’t upset you.”

She swallowed. “I’m not upset—”

“Good,” he breathed out in relief, slipping his arm around her waist as he drew her into him and crushed his mouth to hers.

Kagome’s eyes flared wide as she pushed against him. His fingers splayed possessively over her lower back, his lips pursuing hers the moment she managed to break free.

“Kagome-chan, I’ve brought you the—”

Still entwined, Kagome and Kohaku froze, both of them turning toward the front of the house, where Rin stood with basket of herbs in hand. Silent and stricken, Kagome’s young apprentice looked between them for a tense moment before dropping the basket and fleeing back toward the village with cheeks aflame. Guilt surged through Kagome at her departure, her palms pressing firmly to Kohaku’s chest as she shoved him forcefully back.

“Kagome,” he said, his jaw tightening as he reached for her again. “If you’re still angry about what I told you—”

“It’s not that,” she snapped, knocking his hand aside. “Listen, Kohaku—I’m sorry, but what happened between us last night was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” he repeated slowly, his gaze narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it was a one-time thing,” Kagome said vehemently. “Not to be repeated again. Ever.”

Kohaku stared at her hard. “A ‘mistake’…a ‘one-time thing’.” He scowled, the hurt that flashed in his dark eyes piercing her to the core. “…What kind of woman are you?”

At a loss, Kagome stared back. After another long, critical glance, the taijiya turned and strode away, sunlight gleaming darkly from the curved edge of his sickle blade.

Bracing one hand against the wall, Kagome closed her eyes, his last condemning words resounding within her. What kind of woman are you…

As her eyes opened again, she hardly knew. What she had done to Kohaku was reprehensible. Clasping a trembling hand to her mouth, Kagome hunched over, overcome with sudden shame. Necessary as it was, she had used her body to cover for Sesshoumaru. She had deceived another man on his behalf. On behalf of a killer.

Rage, pure and raw, boiled up from her soul. What was she doing, idling about in Edo while Sesshoumaru roamed free? As she set out from her home, her path was clear. She would do what she should have done from the very start: Destroy Sesshoumaru, or die in the attempt.

She had slain hundreds of vile demons—what was one more? Even if it cost Kagome her life, she could at least seal him away. He would be as good as dead then. And if not…

She would finish him in the next life.

Shifting her bow and quiver over her shoulder, she stalked up to Kaede’s hut, the elder miko meeting her at the door.

“Baa-chan,” Kagome said without preamble. “May I borrow your horse?”

Clearly surprised, the old woman nodded nonetheless, her eyes moving cautiously over Kagome’s fierce expression. “Of course ye may.”

Kagome walked around to the paddock. Meeting Jiro’s stubborn resistance as expected, she offered him the last bit of sugar she had left from the Modern Era. Placated by this, the horse allowed her to saddle and mount him, and now seemingly accustomed to her domineering ways, to spur him on toward the west at breakneck pace.

Concealed still, Kagome extended her senses outward, seeking that familiar youki signature. At home in his own lands, Sesshoumaru was easy enough for her to locate—his demonic aura exuding in powerful, dominant waves. Eyes narrowed, Kagome urged the aged horse furiously onward toward the source, bolstering him with her reiki when he began to tire.

Ascending the steep slope of a mountain path, Kagome rode hard past a baffled Jakken and Ah-Un—drawing Jiro to a sudden halt at the top of a cliff, where Sesshoumaru was holding council with two other tall, stately youkai. The silver-haired, coral-ornamented demons eyed what appeared to be a lone, sweating horse with obvious confusion—though the Lord of the Western Lands was more circumspect.

Dropping her concealment spell to the varying shock of the assembled youkai, she slipped breathlessly down from Jiro’s back as she fixed her brother-in-law with a venomous glare.

“We need to talk.”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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