Water jugs filled to the brim, Kagome and Sango returned to the house. The children had been called in from the yard, fed, and put down to sleep it seemed, but Miroku remained just outside the door, watching their approach. His arms were crossed at his chest, his violet eyes hard and unsmiling as they caught Kagome’s. A current of unease ran through her at the look. Shrugging it aside, she stepped past him into the kitchen, Sango trailing in her wake.

The former taijiya said hardly a word as they finished cooking dinner and setting the long low table. By then, Kaede and Rin had arrived with fresh-made sweet buns for dessert. At Sango’s unusual reticence, a slight frown creased the youngest miko’s features, her dark gaze flicking to her mentor in question. Deflecting the glance, Kagome seated herself at the head of the table—the lone spot she had taken to occupying at all tables, since Inuyasha’s untimely death.

Miroku sat crisply down at her left—Kaede at her right. In the quiet gloom of twilight, they began to eat, already halfway through the meal by the time the heavy curtain swung back and Kohaku entered with a hesitant Kirara in tow. Involuntarily, Kagome stiffened at the waves of hostility rolling off of him, though her attention remained fixed upon the rice bowl and chopsticks in her hands.

Muttering a terse apology to his sister, the taijiya ignored the empty spaces beside her and Rin. Instead, he strode purposefully over to the foot of the table, which afforded him an unbroken line of sight for staring Kagome down. Casually, the miko placed the dish she was holding back to the table, her cool gaze locking with his as she took a sip of water from her cup. Undeterred by her silent reproach, Kohaku glared on, Rin looking between them with a deepening frown.

Inwardly, Kagome cursed at all the added tension he was creating. Next to her, Miroku sat rigid, no longer even pretending to pick at his meal.

“This new decree forbidding women from leaving the bounds of the village,” the monk began, his pointed expression belying his deceptively neutral tone. “Can you tell me, Kaede-sama, what prompted the elders to put such an extreme measure in place?”

As the weight of Kaede’s eyes shifted to her, Kagome set her cup down with a snap. There was no point in denying her part in this—and no need to.

“The mandate was my recommendation,” the miko stated, meeting Miroku’s gaze.

As if expecting this to be the case, the monk’s flinty look didn’t waver in the slightest. “Perhaps,” he suggested, in a voice that strongly indicated otherwise, “rather than restricting the villagers’ movements, the threat should be dealt with directly.”

Kagome bristled. “This isn’t about a particular threat, Miroku-san. It’s about the general safety of the villagers.”

“Yet I wonder why you are so insistent upon this now,” he pressed her keenly. “If there is a demon that inspired this notion—”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” the miko cut him off, a forbidding heat flashing in her eyes. “This isn’t about any one demon. This is about the countless youkai continually striving to disrupt the peace of this place. These monsters will never stop. They’ll strike given any opportunity. Just one second—one mistake, one misstep, and your whole life can be torn from you.” Kagome swallowed as her voice threatened to break with emotion. “The future you envisioned for yourself—up in flames in the blink of an eye.”

“Kagome, child,” Kaede said, placing her wrinkled hand atop Kagome’s furled slightly shaking one. “Ye cannot possibly prevent every tragedy from taking place. ‘Tis better to live freely, knowing the risks, than to be bound by fear.”

Sharply, Kagome withdrew her hand, looking at her elder in piercing censure. “Before I became head priestess, how many people in this region perished each year due to demonic attacks?—Dozens. And how many have died so far this year?” she demanded, answering herself swiftly in turn, “None.” Taking up her bowl and chopsticks again, she glared around at them all. “Maybe I can’t prevent every misfortune, but to not strive toward that goal would be the greatest tragedy of all. So stop questioning my judgment and just do as I say.”

A heavy, brooding silence ensued. Now, not a single pair of eyes rested upon her. Even Kohaku’s narrowed gaze was directed downward, the muscle of his jaw locked tight. As Kagome ate mechanically, somehow the room seemed smaller than before, the shadows denser, pressing in on her with tangible weight.

Stifled, she looked to the open door. Beyond, she could just see the distant wood, a cold bitter rage filling her heart as she stared out through the dark gaps between the trees.

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi