“Y-you,” the girl stammered out in a hushed, reverent tone, her bulging eyes protruding that much farther, “you remember me…”

In truth, it was the name that Kagome had remembered—the name of a victim she had sworn never to forget. The name of the spirit who had led her to the killing ground, who had led her down the path toward the truth.

It was only by bitter coincidence, by some twisted irony of nature, that Kagome knew the girl standing before her now. Plain to the point of being completely unrecognizable, this Kanako was the one she had met in the squalid fishing village outside of Tatsumi castle. If not for that unforgettable name, Kagome would have struggled to recall anything about her—despite how vividly the image of discovering Mayuri’s corpse was seared into her memories.

Memories that were now welling up—sharp-edged images of horror, rising afresh from the depths of her mind.

“What are you doing here?” the miko demanded, not bothering to soften her tone. “Why have you been following me?”

Flinching, the waif met her gaze. “I learned your name, at the castle,” she replied, moistening her thin, dry lips. “I learned that you were here, and so I came—to see you.”

Kagome’s eyes hardened. The girl had a cagey way of speaking which the miko took an intense dislike to—in addition to Kanako’s overall sneaky, skulking manner.

“Tell me directly what you want from me, Kanako.”

A visible, almost obscene shiver wracked the girl, the sight making Kagome’s skin crawl. “They said that she—the dead woman—was to be your novice…” Abruptly, Kanako collapsed into a miserable bony heap. “Please, Kagome-sama—take me in her stead!”

Kagome stepped toward her in the gathering dusk. Perhaps the only thing less remarkable than Kanako’s appearance was her soul—a weak, common thing. Attempting to tap reiki from it would be like trying to draw water from a rock.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” the miko said, “but you’re not cut out to be a priestess, Kanako-chan.” At the girl’s wounded look, Kagome shook her head. “There’s no shame in it. Only a few men and women are born with the ability.”

A gift and a curse, Kagome reflected as she began to turn away—frail spindly fingers clasping at her feet.

“Please, Kagome-sama, I beg you—let me serve you!”

Sighing wearily, Kagome glanced down, stepping out of the girl’s prying hold. “I don’t need a servant, Kanako-chan. I’m a miko—not a daimyo. Go home to your grandfather and brother now.”

“I cannot go back, Kagome-sama—there is nothing for me there! Worse than nothing. They will think I ran off with an outsider, with a man. They will lash me, Kagome-sama…they will lash me for whoring, and they will drive me out, with curses and whips and stones!”

Seized by fear, Kanako’s whole body shuddered, the whites of her eyes huge and glaring as her panicked gaze roved over Kagome’s face. The miko was not unfamiliar with such brutish village practices. In all likelihood, what Kanako said was true. Still, she was far from Kagome’s responsibility. There were plenty of convents that would take the girl in, or help her get established elsewhere. As Kagome opened her mouth to tell her this, Kanako’s pleading voice cut her off.

“Please, Kagome-sama…take me under your protection. Please, do not send me away.”

Her plaintive words gave Kagome pause, her brow creasing as she looked upon the waif anew. Here was a frightened and defenseless girl, begging for sanctuary. Another Kanako, another chance for Kagome to save a young woman who might very well otherwise fall prey to the whims of some dark, violent creature.

Was it truly a coincidence that their paths had crossed? A mirage of order in the chaos, or another thread in the pattern of destiny?

“Come on,” the miko said as she resumed her course at last. “My home’s this way. I’ll fix you something to eat—you’re nothing but skin and bones.”

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi