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The boy set down his empty bucket and carefully hefted the
wide square lid from the well. The inside of the well was pitch
black; the starlight shining from the cold, clear sky was unable to
reach far enough into the darkness to touch the still, silent
water. As the boy reached for the rope to haul up the water,
something rustled in the nearby bushes, and he froze, his eyes
wide and scared, staring out into the dark forest
Inuyasha stifled the urge to laugh. It was nothing more than
a squirrel, from the smell of it. But the boy didn't have his
sensitive nose, and couldn't tell, of course.
"Sho!" the man called, and the boy at the well started from
his frozen fear, and turned to look up the path.
The boy looked up into his father's face. "I was just getting
water for Mother to make supper," he said shakily. "I just wanted
to help."
"You know these woods are filled with Youkai. They are
monsters, evil and merciless, as fast and silent as the wind. They
kill humans with their terrible teeth and claws, they have the
power to melt flesh with a touch, and they would feast on your
blood if they were to catch you. Do you want to end up like that
boy, Asami, or the old woman Moto?"
Inuyasha snapped his eyes closed, and held very, very still.
The father and son walked quickly, almost running up the hill
that led to the village. Inuyasha listened to them leave, and
opened his eyes just in time to see them disappear over the rise.
~*~
"Taketeru-sama."
The old priest opened his eyes from his meditation to see
his young charge standing before him. Kikyo was no more than a
child, yet already she wore the robes of a priestess. In her small
hands, she held a pile of stiff, white feathers. "Will you help me
make more arrows?" she asked politely.
"If you feel that your arrows are inferior," he said, not
unkindly, "all the more reason for you to make them yourself. For
you need the practice, and only you can know when the wardings
are powerful enough to satisfy yourself."
The man raised his head. His weathered, lined face was pale.
"No, honored one. I have come to tell you that I have just seen a
Youkai at the edge of the village."
"Yes," the priest said at last, clearing his throat. "Well, that
does seem to fit the description of the demon that killed Moto-
san in the fields, doesn't it."
"What should we do, honored one?" Nishi's face had gone
waxy with terror at the priest's confirmation of his demon
sighting.
"You have the wards I gave you and your family, don't you?"
Nishi nodded.
Kikyo blinked. Her master and teacher had never called her
by the honorific before, and she felt a sudden flush of pride and
fear rise to her cheeks.
She thought furiously. Could she do it? She was only ten
years old. Well, almost ten. And she had stopped several spirits,
wandering ghosts bent on mischief, with her spells. But were her
arrows enough to stop a powerful Youkai? Destroy it?
And this Youkai, with the long, bone-white hair, was back;
intent, it seemed, on stalking her village, her friends and family,
for sport.
Her fists clenched, and she realized that her eyes were wet
with tears. She was trembling.
~*~
She quickly came over and removed the ward -- sacred kanji
painted on stiff parchment hanging from a thick silken cord over
the entrance -- and set it out of the way on the dirt floor, along
with the lamp. Immediately, Inuyasha felt the strange prickling
pressure ease, and he pounced through the opening, flinging
himself up into his mother's waiting arms.
She held him tight as he wrapped his small arms around her
neck, and she whispered into his pale hair. "Inuyasha, my son, my
joy... my wild child. You've come back to me."
She said this every time. It was almost ritual, and Inuyasha
had long stopped wondering why his mother should be so
surprised at his return each night.
His father had made this place for his mother, he knew, long
before he was born. Which was about all he knew of his Youkai
sire. He often found himself standing at the walls of the cave,
running his fingers across the deep, smooth gouges in the wall,
gazing in quiet amazement at the huge claw marks, and wondering
once again about the demon father he'd never known. If the
great canine Youkai, the ruler of all the West lands, had ever
deigned to show his terrible demonic form or even his semi-human
guise to his half-human son before his death, Inuyasha could not
remember.
He knelt on the tatami mat next to the fire, and allowed his
mother to serve him a vegetable broth soup, laced with salty
strips of pork. He brought the bowl to his lips and sipped
carefully, looking at his mother across the rim of the bowl. She
was gazing at him with that familiar affection that always made
him feel warm inside.
Inuyasha cocked his head to one side. "Well, you smell like a
human," he said matter-of-factly, "but you don't look like one."
His mother raised her eyebrows. "Why do you think so?"
"I've seen the women of the village when they work in the
fields. They don't look like you at all. They're all stooped over,
and they have small droopy eyes and their skin is tough and
wrinkled. You're not like that at all."
His mother laughed softly. "It sounds like you've only seen
the old women. Not all women look like that, but some do, when
they get older. In fact, someday I might look like those women in
the fields."
She held him gently, and stroked his hair and his soft,
velvet-furred ears. Her smile was sad. "Sometimes we don't
always get what we want."
His mother paused, then held him close. "I don't know," she
said quietly. "I don't know."
Inuyasha closed his eyes and sighed. Too often, that was
the answer to many of his questions.
~*~
It was like being smothered slowly, and yet still being able
to breathe. First, the scents of everything, his mother, the
lingering odor of smoke and cooked food, the earth and stone... it
all faded to almost nothing. He found himself inhaling deeply with
quick desperation, as if trying to recapture the lost sense. He had
to force himself to calm down, to breathe normally, because it
was gone.
Now that his hands had found the wall, though, he was
nearly there. Cautiously, he felt his way down the corridor,
inching his way around the bend until he felt a cool breeze against
his face.
The vine covered entrance was right before him. And above
him, the ward hung from its silken cord.
~*~