The journey east was arduous and long.

Despite the size of their party, traveling by the main roads was out of the question. They were three women to a man, with more than a handful of defenseless children between them. 

Kouta and his kinsmen were tradesmen, not swordsmen. To this end, the expertise of old captain Sanada proved indispensable. Recognizing this early on, Kouta conferred with him often. Sparely in words, which seemed to suit the taciturn captain and reserved merchant both. But rather by nod or glance or frown, they established a firm and unspoken rapport.

Sanada had been a mercenary long ago, a rugged wandering sellsword, before a shattered leg had put an end to his vagabond days. Apart from him, only a few of the other brothel house guards had ever been true fighting men. Avoiding confrontation, as Sanada barked at them in gruff mantra, was the group’s first priority. There were simply not enough swords to defend them from being waylaid—by roving bandits, traveling soldiers or other such armed opportunists. One unlucky encounter would spell disaster for them all.

So they stuck to farmers’ paths, where they could find them. Followed creek beds and picked their way along animal trails. But more often than not, they were forced to tromp through the brush. Their tender feet grew hard and sore from tramping over sticks and stones. Their soft hands grew blistered, then callused, from hauling the carts which they eventually abandoned altogether. 

Shurei’s daughter sobbed when her pretty boxed tea set was committed to the weeds. Neither her mother nor grandmother had the strength to scold her for it. Shurei just took the girl by the arm and dragged her grimly on.

When their meager stores of food ran out, they scavenged for whatever sustenance they could find. Hunting and fishing where they traveled, digging up roots out of the hard rimed earth. They ate no better or worse by Sumire’s estimation than they had back in the city.

By some small mercy, the winter remained mild. No snow fell to reveal their tracks. To men at least. In the night, Sumire often sat raw-eyed and awake, gazing narrowly into the abyssal dark. Shadows darker still seemed to shift at the fringes of her perception. Fists clenched, she willed them away, for what else could she do? Whether this was the cause or not, they slunk off, or dispersed.

Hungry and haggard, the party trudged on through the wilds of the western provinces. Their eyes were flat. Their faces hollowed. Their jaws seemed wired shut more often than not. Even the children kept silent, fearfully so. They did not laugh, or smile even. Sumire was too cold and numb to worry for them that they did not. These poor, war-scarred children…

But they were alive. They were still moving on.

Occasionally, they came across villages which were remote enough to hazard entering. The further east they went, the less wary the residents became. Things improved, bit by bit. They were able to trade. Kouta and his kin felt gladder for the prospect of this than for the goods themselves, which were scanty by any measure. The whores, too, felt useful once again, as they were able to work their charm on these guileless country bumpkins, who were enamored enough to give them the clothes off their backs.

It was a feeling of false security that shattered abruptly, when the harsh terrain forced them near to the road, and Sanada spied from the ridge a band of armed men approaching on horseback.

“Defectors?” Kouta muttered, squinting.

“Like as not.”

Sumire felt a frisson of cold fear. One who forsook his lord forsook his life as well. There was nothing more dangerous, she knew, than a man who had nothing left to lose. From the way Sanada steeled himself as he met her eye, she knew he was thinking the same.

The thin pine forest offered them little cover. The land dropped to a sheer cliff at both sides. Their slim and only chance was to make for the river gorge ahead, to take cover beneath the bridge that spanned it. 

Snatching up the children, they half-skidded, half-ran down the steep, slaggy incline to the shore. The river roared past them, white-edged and frigid. It was impossible to judge the depth of it. In the spring season, swollen by snowmelt from the mountains above, the river would become an impassable torrent. Perhaps it yet was. But they had no recourse except to plunge in.

Their feet sliced open on the jagged rocks as they held to the craggy shore, as they held the children aloft in icy water that rushed up to their chests. Under the shadow of the bridge they huddled together, freezing and clinging to one another with bloodless hands as the river surged against them, threatening to scatter them and sweep them away.

Shuddering, they listened to the thunder of hoofbeats high overhead. Bits of wood and flint rained down on their bowed heads. Next to Sumire, Shurei bit into the heel of her hand to stifle her woeful groans.

The band of armed men passed on above them. In the silence thereafter the party wended their way back to shore. Drenched as they were, they had no choice but to risk a fire in the open. That, or freeze to death. As the men set to scrounging in the scrub, Sumire and the other women saw to warming up the blue-lipped, shivering children as best they could.

So preoccupied with the urgency of this task, it was a few minutes before Sumire realized her daughter was not with her.

Back on the stony bank, Shurei had collapsed to her hands and knees, groaning wretchedly still. At her side, Kouta urged her up as Sumire rushed over. Shurei’s ashen face steamed with tears. Clutching at the quivering, sodden roundness of her belly, she stared right through her mother, her eyes wide with pain and fear.

“No,” she gasped out. “No, it’s too soon, it’s too soon…”

“Kaa-chan!” Kenichi wailed, toddling toward them.

“Go to him!” Sumire snapped at Kouta, who’d been staring at his wife in blank, hapless shock. 

Her command seemed to jolt Kouta out of his stupor. Swiftly, he stood and intercepted his wailing son, as Sumire hefted Shurei to her feet with the help of one of the older whores named Kimiko, who’d come bustling over with blanket in hand. Finding the softest spot of ground they could, in a cove filled with sand, Kimiko laid out the blanket for Shurei, who fought them when they tried to lay her down onto it.

“No, I won’t! I won’t—it’s too soon.” Her dark eyes blazed, frantic and feverish. “Mother…Mother, help me. Help me, please…”

Sumire’s throat worked fruitlessly. Kimiko shook her head and sighed.

“Ye are in travail now, Shurei-chan. Too soon or no, ye must see it through.”

With a whimper Shurei relented. They helped lay her down on the blanket. They removed her clinging wet robes, built a small fire and made her as comfortable as they could. 

Long into the night, her labor pains wracked her. Sumire held her clawlike hand as she thrashed and sobbed. The other whores and Shurei’s kinswomen came and went in a steady trickle, a funereal air about them. But Sumire never left her daughter’s side for a moment. In the grey wash of pre-dawn, Shurei grew bleakly subdued.

At length she said, low and hoarse through cracked lips, “I didn’t want this baby, and now the gods are punishing me for it.”

Sumire’s heart weighed leaden. “Hush, Shurei. No one is punishing you. Save your strength.”

Shurei convulsed. As if wrung from the bitterest depths of her, a last tear bled from the corner of her eye.

“Oh, Mother…how I want him now. But it’s too late.”

“Shurei—”

Between her bent legs, Kimiko said, “I see the head clear now. The babe is nigh. One more push should do it.”

Shurei pushed, all her heart and mind focused upon the life of her child. For Sumire, it was the same. She felt guilty for this after, that she’d had no prayers to spare.

Would it have made any difference, she wondered. 

He was a tiny shriveled thing, Shurei’s baby boy. Perfectly formed, but so small. 

So small…

Dark eyes, so strikingly dark like his mother’s. Like his grandfather’s. But he made no cry. Too weak to latch, at Shurei’s breast he lay quiet and still. 

By the time the sun rose, he was gone.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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