DISCLAIMER: All characters are property of Rumiko Takahashi. Any spark of originality is owed to her creative prowess and consequent inspiration.

The night was dark, the moon pale and light-less. No clouds hid the stars. A faint, washed out glow lit the paved road, and seemed to flicker as muffled footfalls broke the silence. A gust of wind almost drowned out the muted thuds, but not quite. The footfalls were faster now, more urgent; the air seemed tense, as though the world was holding its breath. The bushes on the side of the road rustled angrily, and a cursing, swearing bundle of flesh launched itself out of them.

"I'm going to burn down every single one of those damned bushes," muttered the projectile. The silhouetted figure straightened up, pulling thorns and stray foliage from its hair. She, for it was a girl, was not more than five feet tall. Cursing viciously, she whirled around to face the offending bushes and hissed impatiently, "Come on, we're going to be late."

A boy crawled out easily, looking calm and serene. He turned to the fuming girl and chuckled.

"You certainly took the fight out of that bush, Kagome, it didn't give me any trouble," he grinned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness.

"Aw, shut up. We're running late," snapped Kagome. It wasn't fair that he could move so gracefully, she thought sullenly. The boy, Miroku, began walking ahead of Kagome, seemingly unaffected by the darkness. He was a well-built lad with short, bristly black hair and piercing green eyes that glowed eerily in the watery moonlight. Kagome shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms. She shook her head mentally and told herself to snap out of it. Visibly stiffening her spine, she followed Miroku. As they neared a curve in the road, an unpleasant view presented itself to them. Stretching over a good acre or two, blending in with the desolate night, was a very unkempt backyard overgrown with weeds that threatened to spill out into the roadway. Kagome hesitated at the low brick wall running along the perimeter. Was it really worth all that trouble? Then she looked at Miroku, saw the thin, angry red scar running along his left arm and firmed her resolve. It was worth it.

"I don't think we can just jump over that wall," whispered Miroku.

"I don't think so either," Kagome hissed back. "The bitter old hag probably has a barrier around the entire area."

"And you decided to not tell me this before because...?" asked Miroku, lifting an eyebrow.

"I thought you had it all figured out!"

"Well obviously I didn't."

"You little—"

"Shh! Now's not the time to be arguing."

"Don't cut me off!"

"Shh!"

Both children froze as a sharp crack! echoed off the wall. They turned around slowly, but there was nothing behind them. Miroku scanned around him shrugged. The road was still empty and dark, its paved surface still gleaming with a ghostly moonlit sheen. Something isn't right, thought Kagome. The place shouldn't have been so unprotected. She shifted uncomfortably, the movement making her shadow flicker. There was no time, the sun would be up any minute. They had to get to that tree fast. She bit her lip as Miroku reached for the wall. Almost immediately he withdrew, his face showing nothing.

"What happened?" asked Kagome, anxiously. If they didn't get to the orange tree now there wouldn't be another chance. And if they got caught...Kagome let that thought trail off, not wanting to finish it.

"There is a barrier," he replied quietly, holding up his hand. Kagome fought down a wave of nausea at the sight of the burnt, charred flesh. The smell of singed skin wafted along on a puff of wind, and she had to press the back of her hand against her mouth to keep from heaving. Eyes watering, she said hoarsely, "Let me do it." Her throat burned as bitter bile rose up, but she swallowed forcefully, wincing at the feel of acid slipping down her throat.

"Do what?" asked Miroku, confused. "The barrier'll burn you also if you touch it."

Kagome rolled her eyes. "I know that, idiot, I'm not stupid enough to get my hand burned as well," she said.

Miroku raised an eyebrow. Kagome shrugged. Truth was, she had no idea how to get past the barrier. Kagome rubbed her chin thoughtfully. The barrier ran along the perimeter of the field. There were no visible breaks, no way to climb over its domed surface. Kagome glanced up at the sky. Time was running out. She made up her mind.

"Alright. This is what we're going to do," she announced. "You stay here, and I'll go all the way back there"—she twisted and nodded at the winding path they just took-"And run as fast as I can and go right through it." She nodded once. It was settled.

Miroku stared at her.

"You do realize that it's a barrier, right?" he asked incredulously. "You're not going to be able to just bulldoze your way in! Use your head for once!"

Kagome sighed. They were wasting time. In her mind, the only way to find out was to try.

"I don't think the barrier'll prevent me from going in. I think it just burns anyone who tries. If I pretended that it was an open flame and ran through it, I might be able to make it to the other side," she said, already walking back along the road.

Miroku humphed, but didn't say anything. He stood to the side, arms folded across his chest, waiting.

Kagome took a deep breath, crouching low. She closed her eyes for a second and... took off. Clouds of dust mushroomed as she ran, feet pounding on the paved surface of the road. The barrier was a pale blue, but it seemed to get darker as she got nearer. Kagome gulped as the crackling energy singed the hair on her arms. Breath coming in gasps, she jumped over the low fencing, plowing through the translucent shield. The moment she made contact with the sparking barrier, she felt a sharp sting. Her nostrils flared at the smell of burning flesh, followed by a loud thud! that jarred her. Kagome gasped as she fell to her knees on the other side of the barrier. A dark, thick wetness stained the ground, dampening her knees where they rested on the mud. Shaking her head to get rid of the sizzling sound, she stood up. Almost immediately she slid to the earth again- the movement had brought on a wave of dizziness so strong she could almost hear her surroundings spin. She winced. Her chest felt like her ribs had caved in. Setting her teeth against the bite of pain, she gingerly pushed herself off the ground. Her left foot dragged slightly as she staggered over to a gigantic orange tree. Reaching behind her, she pulled out a catapult, its handle worn and grooved where her fingers pressed into the soft wood. The tree was enormous, taller than a castle minaret, its trunk as wide as five well-fed men. Glossy green leaves, silver now because of the moonlight, spread out in a ghostly canopy for almost ten feet in each direction. A shiver ran down Kagome's spine even as a nervous sweat broke out on her forehead. This was the moment that she'd been waiting for- to avenge Miroku, to outwit the old hag Urasue. For every whiplash that Urasue had delivered, for every cut that she and Miroku received, Urasue would pay.

"I'll kill you, you old witch," she breathed, eyes fixed on the maze of wooden tentacles at the foot of the tree. One well-placed cut, and the tree would die, and with it all of Urasue's power. Kagome hobbled over to the tree, trembling with excitement. Nestled between a tangled mass of snaking roots, looking like a lump of charcoal, was the root she sought. It's always either the youngest, or the smallest or the weakest that is most protected, she thought. If this protection could be broken, then nothing else could stand a chance. Carefully aiming the catapult, she hurtled a Sama at her target, and watched in satisfaction as the wood snapped like an over-stressed bow and unraveled.

One second passed. Two.

Kagome held her breath.

Thwack! Kagome dropped to the ground and threw her arms over her head. All around her, pumpkin-sized oranges rained and exploded, spewing arcs of bright orange. Kagome gasped as a particularly swollen fruit slammed into her back. She thought she heard someone say her name; blinking to clear off the splotches of white blotting her vision, she peeked through her arms and saw Miroku waving madly. He seemed to be yelling something out to her, but it was lost in the roar of crashing fruit. Kagome slowly drew herself up, her whole body going rigid with pain. Arms still over her head, she bolted to the fence, groaning inwardly as she approached the barrier. This is going to hurt tomorrow, she thought as she dove into the sizzling blue wall. She gasped sharply, too breathless to curse, and exhaled painfully as darkness enveloped her.

Miroku watched in horror as Kagome plunged into the transparent blue shield. She was injured, blood staining her clothes, drizzling everywhere as she ran. He yelled at her to stop-it would kill her to get burned again. He stared, transfixed, as her limp form hit the ground with a hollow thud, rolling lifelessly toward a clump of bushes.

"Kagome!" he bellowed, praying that she was still alive. There was no way he could explain her death to anyone at the castle. Stubborn girl! Why didn't she ever listen?

His heart sank as he approached her, mentally flinching at the torn, mangled flesh on her arms and legs. Fighting the urge to gag, he bent and slid his arms beneath her unconscious body, hefting it into the air. Behind him, the oranges continued to fall, the dull sounds of impact muffled by the barrier. Miroku wondered how long it would be before Urasue and her guards came to investigate; a part of him was surprised that nobody had arrived already.

A burly, muscled guard paced the balcony of the Western Tower, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. His hands were held rigidly behind his back, his shoulders broad and tense. The sound of shuffling feet echoed in the silent air. The guard broke stride, disappearing from the balcony for a couple of seconds and reappearing at the bottom of the tower. He paused in front of a child carrying someone and folded his arms over his chest.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice deep and commanding.

"She got burned" came the curt reply.

"Oh, I see that, young master," the guard drawled lazily. "What I want to know is why you're covered in glowing orange slime."

"I order you to let me in, Hamed, or my father shall hear about this!" demanded Miroku, knowing that he sounded pitifully desperate.

Hamed snorted. "I really don't think you want your father to hear about this, young master."

Miroku glared at the smiling guard, hobbling around him and vanishing into the darkness of the tower's stairwell. Hamed turned to stare at the boy's retreating back. The girl, Kagome, bothered him. Her body was charred and ravaged, but her expression was one of content, of an almost savage satisfaction. He repressed a shudder. The girl was trouble. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the same expression on another girl's face.

"Warriors," he whispered, unheard in the night. Shaking his head, he headed back into the tower, gently pulling the heavy door close behind him. The dusty stairs creaked under his weight as he slowly ascended them, trying to come up with a way to separate the girl from Miroku. So far, nothing came to mind. Low voices drifted down from the room above.

"The burns shouldn't take that long to heal," said an old, wizened voice. "That orange juice has healing properties. I assume it came from Lady Urasue's garden?"

"None of your business," snapped Miroku, annoyed.

"If you say so, young master," came the reply. Miroku growled irritably at the old man's smiling tone. Hamed chuckled as he heard Miroku stomping in frustration at Mushin's calmness. Mushin had that effect on people, he thought as he reached the top of the stairs. Outside, dawn was approaching. Hamed sighed. He would have to go and sound the gong in about ten minutes. It was the part of the day he hated most; forcing people from the safety of their dreams was not something he cherished. But someone had to do it, and he'd rather be the one doing the awakening than be the one woken. He paused at the doorstep of the first room in the circular landing, where the voices were coming from. Miroku sat with his legs folded and his back against the far wall, facing the door and glowering at Mushin, who was bent over an oblivious Kagome.

"Ah, Hamed! Good to see you lad," Mushin said, turning as he straightened up. He flashed a toothy smile at the hulking figure standing by the door.

"Same here, healer," responded Hamed, grinning. From his post at the wall, Miroku scowled blackly. Why did the stupid old man keep wasting time?

"How long for the bones to heal?" Hamed asked curiously. Strange...the girl seemed to heal extraordinarily fast. The burns had almost completely disappeared.

"About a day or two, at most." said Mushin, shuffling towards a cabinet by the door. For a man of advanced years, he moved surprisingly well-only a slight drag in his left foot gave any indication of impairment.

"As you can see, the orange juice is a healing salve."

"Is it from Lady Urasue's tree?" inquired Hamed innocently, shooting Miroku a knowing glance. Sure enough, Miroku jumped to his feet, his face red and furious.

"I'll be back in two days. If she's not better by then, you'll suffer, I swear," he seethed, storming towards the door.

"Woah, lad! Not so fast!" Hamed caught Miroku's sleeve as the boy tried to sweep past him. "I think you owe us all an explanation."

Miroku kicked and wrenched at his sleeve. "I owe you nothing!", he screamed. Hamed let go of the boy's sleeve and grabbed his arm instead, fingers making a full circle around the limb and then some.

"OW! That hurts, you-"

"Details, if you please, young master," said Hamed quietly, no longer smiling. Through the tiny window, he could see guards swarming the courtyard. The gong sounded, offensively loud in the peaceful morning air. Hamed winced, he'd forgotten about the wake up call. Whoever had had to ring the gong was probably cursing him right now. He would have to find a way to make it up to that man.

"So," said Hamed heavily, thick black eyebrows rising almost to his hairline. "Does the magic orange juice on you and your girlfriend over there-" he nodded at Kagome- " have anything to do with the guards down there?" he asked, jerking his free hand towards roiling mass of gray fifty feet below. Miroku's answer was a blacker scowl and a savage kick to his captor's shin.

In the far corner of the room, Mushin finished taping up Kagome's ribs and started walking over to where Miroku stood struggling wildly.

"Tell us, lad. We need to know," he said gently, looming over the irate prince. The old healer slid a bony finger under Miroku's chin and tipped the boy's head backwards, forcing him to look up. "Such injuries are not commonplace. What did you do?" This time, there was a hint of steel in the old man's words.

Miroku stopped struggling. Something in the set of Mushin's jaw set a snake of discomfort crawling up his spine.

He sighed, shrugging off Hamed's now slack grip.

"Kagome wanted to get back at Urasue for the last time she whipped me," he said resignedly. Hamed and Mushin exchanged puzzled glances.

"I'm not sure I understand...why did she whip you?" asked Mushin, confused. Lady Urasue was the oldest healer in the kingdom of Edo, and consequently demanded respect. True, she wasn't the most affable person on earth, but she surely wouldn't whip a child without reason!

"I don't know, she just really hates me. She thought I was stealing oranges from her stupid tree, and I told her it wasn't me but she wouldn't listen and she whipped me and Kagome tried to stop her and she hit Kagome also and-" the words came pouring out.

"Wait, master Miroku. Are you sure Kagome hadn't been stealing the oranges?" The question came from Hamed this time. Mushin looked at him with raised eyebrows. Hamed pretended not to see.

Miroku didn't respond for a long moment. When he spoke, it was with a forced calm. Clearly enunciating each syllable he said, "Kagome. Doesn't. Lie."

"But how-"

"Anyway," Mushin cut across Hamed. The guard glared at the healer, who deliberately ignored him. "How exactly did she 'get back' at Lady Urasue?"

"She killed her precious tree," said Miroku, a savage smile creeping slowly across his face ."I hope it kills the old hag."

Mushin was horrified. "The Goshinboku!" he squeaked, his voice strangled. The color drained from his face; he looked almost comical, standing there with rounded eyes and his jaw slack. The old physician was almost hysterical. Hamed, on the other hand, was mildly impressed. He'd never really liked the cold Wise woman, but was forced to respect her- he couldn't help but feel a rush of guilty satisfaction at Miroku's words. However, he let nothing show on his face as he looked at Miroku sternly. Miroku glared back belligerently, his green eyes glinting like blades of sunlit grass.

"Pull yourself together, Mushin, it's not as though you could've ever gotten your hands on it," he said to the gaping man. Mushin looked at him disbelievingly for a moment and then shuffled off in disgust to sit on the cot beside Kagome's.

Hamed snorted. "You know I'm right, old man, what are you looking at me like that for?"

"That's not the point. The point is that the Goshinboku is legend. You can't just kill it!" Mushin spluttered indignantly, amazed that no one seemed to understand the value of the divine tree. Mushin, like all healers, had grown up listening to tales of the God Tree. The tree couldn't be dead, it just...couldn't.

Miroku rolled his eyes and Hamed opened his mouth to deliver a sarcastic "Well, there's nothing you can do about it now, is there?", when a rude clanging erupted into the early morning air, pounding relentlessly against protesting ears.

"Uh-oh," whispered Miroku, his entire body going icily numb with fear. The bell marked the start of a thief-hunt.