Prologue

Fifteenth Century

Romania

"We have to bury her, my son."

Inuyasha stood in the small stone chapel beside his beloved new bride. Kikyo's skin was as cold as the stone bier on which she lay. She wore the pale green wedding gown the servants had found for her on the day their hasty vows had been exchanged. The skirt draped on either side of her, swathing the stone slab in beauty. Her hair, dark as night and endlessly long, spread around her head, as if pillowing her in a cloud.

"My son--" This time the old priest's words were accompanied by his hand clasping Inuyasha's shoulder. Inuyasha whirled on the man. "No! She is not to be put in the ground. Not yet. I won't allow it."

A little fear joined the pity in the old man's eyes. Not enough, not yet. "I know this is difficult---I do. But she deserves to be laid to rest." "I said no," Inuyasha repeated, his tone tired, his heart dead. Then he turned from the priest and focused again where he needed to focus: upon her, upon his bride. Their time together had been too short. One night and then part of a second before he'd been called into battle. It wasn't right.

"Get out, before I draw my blade and send you out in pieces." Inuyasha's words were barely more than a hoarse whisper, yet filled with enough menace to elicit a clipped gasp form the cleric. "I'll send in your father. Perhaps he can-----" Inuyasha turned to send a warning glare over his shoulder. Brief but powerful enough to reduce most mortals to tears. "I'm going, my liege." The priest bowed a little as he backed through the chapel doors.

Inuyasha sighed in relief when the doors closed once more, leaving him alone with his grief. He leaned over Kikyo's body, lowered his head to her chest, and let his tears soak the gown. "Why, my love? Why did you do this? Was our love not worthy of a single day's grieving? I told you I would come back. Why couldn't you have believed in me?" A soft creaking sound accompanied by a stiff night breeze and the gentle clearing of an aging throat told him that his respite was over.

Inuyasha forced himself to straighten, to turn and face his father—for truly, the man had become as much a father to him as any had been, since Utnapishtim. The old king was pale and unsteady. He'd lost a daughter-in-law he'd been close, already, to loving–and for three days he had believed that he had lost his son, as well. He crossed the small room, his gait uneven and slow, then wrapped his frail arms around Inuyasha's shoulders and hugged him hard, as hard as his strength would allow.

"Alive," he muttered. "By the gods, my son, you're alive after all." Inuyasha closed his eyes as he returned his father's embrace. "Alive, father, but none too glad to be, just now." As he said it, he looked back at his bride. His father did, as well, releasing his hold on Inuyasha to move closer to the bier. "I cannot tell you how it grieves me too see you in such pain, much less to witness the loss of such a precious young woman as Kikyo." "I know," Inuyasha said.

"Your friend, the foreign woman—she told you what transpired?" Inuyasha nodded. "Sango is . . . an old friend. And a dear one. She said she arrived here for a visit just after I was called to defend our borders." "So she did. We put her up. Fussy one, she is, and I don't believe she thought highly of your chosen bride. Were the two of you...?"

"As close as two people can be," Inuyasha told him. "But we had no claims on each other. She would not have been jealous." "She called the princess a—now what was the word she used . . . ? Ah yes, a whiner," the king said softly. "To her face, no less." Inuyasha nodded, not doubting it. "When word came that you'd been killed on the field of battle, poor Kikyo took to the tower room and bolted the door. I had men trying to break it down right up until—"

"I know, Father. I know you did all you could." The king lowered his head, perhaps to hide the rush of tears into his clouded amber eyes. "Tell me what I can do to ease your grief." Inuyasha thought about it hard. Sango was no ordinary woman but a former priestess of Isis and daughter of Pharaoh. She was skilled in the occult arts, and she had told Inuyasha that he would find Kikyo again—she had foreseen it—in 500 years' time, if he could live that long. What she hadn't promised was that Kikyo would be the same woman he had loved and lost, or that she would remember him and love him again.

"There is something I can do for you," the king said softly. "I can see it in your eyes. Speak it, my son, and it shall be done, whatever it is." Inuyasha met his father's eyes and felt love for the man. True love, though the king was not his true father. "I cannot let them bury her. Not yet. I need you to send our finest riders upon our fastest mounts, Father. Send them out into the countryside to gather the most skilled sorcerers, diviners, wizards and witches in the land. I don't care what is takes. I must have them here before my beloved is put into the cold ground."

The king looked worriedly into his eyes. "My son. You must know that even the most skilled magician won't be able to bring her back. Buried or not, she resides among the dead now." He nodded once, closed his eyes against that probing, caring stare. "I know that, Father. I only need to be sure she's at peace." "But the priest—"

"His prayers are not enough. I want to be sure. Please, Father, you said you would do anything to ease my pain. This shall ease it, if anything can." The king nodded firmly. "Then it shall be done." "And Father—until they come keep everyone from here. And even then, let them in only by night." The old man was used to Inuyasha's nocturnal nature by now. He nodded, and Inuyasha knew the promise would be kept.

The king left, and Inuyasha drew his blood stained sword, then stood between