Chapter One: The Greatest Show
This was one of his favorite times and Miroku knew that every night that he performed would be etched into his memory. The slow walk into the darkened ring, the smell of sweat and anticipation, the sound of an impatient crowd thumping their feet against the wooden bleachers - it was all something that made him grin. It was time for the show to begin.
"Ladies and gents, this is the moment you're waiting for." His voice is low, the lights are still off, yet the crowd stills.
"You've all been searching for it, all been hungering after it." - the lights are slowly turning on, illuminating Miroku's still bowed head, his face hidden under his tophat's brim as he leaned on the black cane. "And it's here; it's coming at you-" the center light beams on his head, casting his face into further shadow and reminding him of his next cue. "Where the runaways are running the show, where the colored lights replace the sun, tell me crowd -" he quickly swipes his gloved hand over the hat brim and looks up, his face in a cocky grin and his purple eyes alight with mischief, "Are you ready for the show?"
The crowd erupts and the entire room is filled with light as Miroku and his troupe begin their first act of the night. Out of the corner of his eye, Miroku can see his wife Sango and their two daughters laughing as his girls try to mimic the dance the entire circus puts on. He grins at them, then jumps on a box one of the troupe pushes before him. "Are you ready to enter the crown of the circus king?" he shouts, and ignores the crowd's cheers as he continues with his monologue. "Because it is intoxicating, I must warn you!"
The troupe surrounds him as he shouts, "It's everything you'll want! Everything you'll need. For-" here he winks and dips his hat to his girls. "This is the greatest show."
And all at once everything goes quiet.
The crowd's roar is gone.
The sound of feet hitting sand is gone.
Miroku is turning around in an empty tent, continuing a monologue that grows fainter with each word as he tries to find the people he was just speaking to.
And when he looks up, he's staring at the window of the shop that Mushin used to frequent on his way to Taijiya's house. He's only eleven years old and his life is all accounted for in a string of rosary beads.
"Miroku! Keep up" Mushin shouts, carrying a large jar of what Miroku knows is alcohol, and Miroku runs to reach his guardian as he slowly walks toward the large house that is the Taijiya's home.
"Do you think Sango will be in today?" Miroku asks eagerly, and Mushin spares a glance at the young boy walking beside him.
"Miroku-" he begins, but Miroku's happy eyes stop him. "I haven't the faintest idea." Mushin finishes, swallowing his warning to the boy, because the last time the boy had looked this happy, his father was still alive.
"I bet she is." Miroku says, looking expectantly at the road ahead of him, as if he expected Sango to appear right in front of them at his words.
Mushin just swallowed his words and took a drink from his jar. "We're going to be late, Miroku, pick up the pace."
Miroku lengthened his strides to keep up with the monk, his face in a scowl. "Why do we have to be monks, Mushin?" the boy asked as he looked at his fraying robes. "Everyone else has moved on to modern times -"
"It's a way of life, Miroku. Your father wanted you to remain in the family business, especially with your spiritual power."
Miroku said nothing and the pair made their way to the Taijiya's home, a large almost fortress on top of a hill. The family had little spiritual power, which is why Miroku and Mushin would come every week to strengthen the sutras and other weapons the family used in the business. Although demons and humans now lived in a shaky peace, the Taijiya continued to train in demon extermination, the trade that had earned their fortune. Miroku didn't understand it, but every week, he and Mushin had an income, low as it may be, so he never said anything. Besides, there was Sango.
Sango, the beautiful oldest daughter, who had lessons right across the hall every week, learning to use the giant boomerang her father had given her. Sango, the girl who would smile at him, despite his long hair and messy robes. Sango, the girl he loved.
She was practicing with Kirara now, her instructor, as she swung the large bone across the room. Miroku, waiting for Mushin to finish repainting some sutras (a task he said was too delicate for Miroku to do ), watched as Sango nodded sternly at Kirara's instruction, something about keeping balanced and walking in a straight line, before her eyes met Miroku's. He grinned at her, looking back at Mushin, who was chanting over the sutra now, and her father, who was watching the monk with interest. Miroku slowly took his staff, a recent gift from Mushin, and placed it on the ground, where he pretended to tightrope across it and then lost his balance with a comical face. Sango burst out laughing and Kirara frowned at her, while her father's attention jumped to his daughter. Miroku hastily grabbed his staff as he stood up as her father crossed the room to his daughter.
"Is this the way we raised you, Sango? Don't you know the dangers that might come from the demons who choose not to follow the law?"
He was only gathering more steam, so Miroku interrupted him. "Please, sir. It's my fault, I made her laugh."
The man looked at the small boy, clutching a thin staff and still dressed in training clothing that marked a monk still learning the ropes. "Thank you for your honesty, Miroku." he said, causing Mushin to breathe a sigh of relief. Then, without warning, he grabbed the boy and lead him down the hall.
"Let me go! Let me go-o! Mushin, help me!"
"Learn a lesson today, boy," the elder Taijiya said, as he set the boy on a table so he could grab a circular tool and place it in the fire. "Never look at my daughter again." His next words were almost drowned as he branded the boy's right hand and Miroku screamed. "The next time you think of touching her, let this mark on your hand remind you that you can never have her."
"Father!" Sango cried, from her spot at the door. Tears streamed from her eyes as she watched her father torture the boy who had become one of her only friends.
"Be quiet, Sango." Her father snapped. "Mushin, take Miroku away and treat him for the burn."
Mushin rushed in and grabbed the boy. "Farewell, Taijia." he said coldly, holding the boy who was still whimpering and cradling his hand.
"Mushin." Miroku whimpered, as the monk carried him outside the house. "Mushin, I just wanted to see her smile. I just wanted to make someone smile."
"Hush, I know child. Rest now."