For days Miroku rode with Kirara through the countryside, riding through grassy plains bordered by mountains blanketed in green that rose high into the sky. Some mountains towered so high their peaks disappeared among the clouds. The sky remained mostly clear with only some dark clouds appearing once in a while, but he had been fortunate to see no rain. He took in as much as he could, for he had never ventured so far from the village and may not have the chance to see such sights again before the curse took him. As they rode west, he wondered how much time he had left. How many more times would feel the wind blow through is hair? Ride with Kirara through the wilderness? Feel soft grass beneath his feet? He felt like an old man on his deathbed. Once, he was a young prince with a bright future ahead of him. Now, he was cursed and contemplating his own death. Even if he survived, he could never return to his people. What would he do then?
He tried not to think too much about his future and continued to follow the boar's trail.
Along his journey, he came upon a village filled with samurai warriors.
"A battle?" he wondered aloud.
Upon closer inspection, he saw that the warriors were attacking the villagers and not each other. Swords, spears, and guns were being turned on innocent civilians. Miroku watched as a samurai stabbed a man to death with a spear and immediately turn his weapon on another man as he tried to escape, cutting open the sack on his back and spilling its contents on the ground as he attacked him.
"No, this is a massacre."
Miroku watched as a samurai stabbed a man repeatedly with his spear where he had tripped and fallen as he tried to get away. As much as the violence turned his stomach, Miroku did not interfere. He knew that if he did he would most certainly contribute more casualties to the mounting death toll.
"Look up there!" shouted a warrior. "On that hill!"
"It's a warrior!" said another.
A crowd of samurai were quickly gathering at the base of the hill, training arrows and spears at Miroku.
"His head is mine!" shouted a third.
After dodging several arrows, Miroku rode away from the crowd. He saw a samurai knock a woman to the ground and raise his spear above her, ready to plunge into her belly.
"You, stop!" Miroku shouted, drawing an arrow through his bow. His cursed arm began to twitch violently as he approached the warrior, causing a painful spasm as he fired his arrow.
The samurai ignored the order and was about to strike his victim when his arms were shot off at the elbows by Miroku's arrow, giving her time to make her escape.
"My arm! What's happening to me?" Said Miroku to himself as he winced in pain, clutching his arm.
"Stop him! Don't let him get away!" Someone shouted.
A samurai had begun to pursue him on horseback on the road across the rice paddies, an arrow aimed at his head.
"Let me pass!" commanded Miroku, "I'm warning you!"
The samurai did not obey. He fired his arrow at Miroku and missed. Miroku fired back, severing the warrior's head from his shoulders.
A samurai captain rode up the slope to see the warrior who had killed two of his men getting away unscathed. The horse carrying the body of the decapitated samurai approached the captain, it's rider sliding off the saddle and falling to the ground.
"A demon," muttered the captain.
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When he was safe at last in the cover of trees, Miroku spotted a spring and stopped to rest. Dismounting Kirara and removing his mask and cape, he knelt by the spring to wash his cursed arm. The cool water did little to abate the pain.
Miroku withdrew his arm from the running water and his face fell at the sight.
"The mark is getting bigger."
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In the next village over, news of the attack on the neighboring village was on everyone's mind. There was talk of a warrior riding a flaming nekomata who dispatched two men and left the other samurai running away in fear. One man was especially interested in this mysterious warrior, pondering him as he ate his meal.
"Is this soup or donkey piss?" said Naraku, grimacing and scrutinizing the offending stew.
Some commotion was coming from the villagers as the masked man rode through the street on a nekomata as the people had been yammering about. Naraku was eager to introduce himself.
"There he is now," he murmured as he hastily finished his soup and left the food stall where he'd been eating.
The masked man was buying rice at one of the stalls in the market place when Naraku found him. A whole crowd had gathered around the masked stranger and watched the transaction with visible curiosity.
"Will this be enough?" asked Miroku as he handed his payment to the woman who had filled his bag of rice.
"Hey, what is this?" she asked angrily after inspecting the small stone she'd been given. "What are you trying to pull? This isn't money. Give me back my rice, you thief!"
"Excuse me, but might I inspect that?" asked Naraku as he approached them.
"Go ahead." The woman handed him the stone.
Naraku held it up for closer inspection, then jerked back in shock.
"My God! This is a lump of pure gold, you silly woman!"
There were surprised murmurs from the crowd. Miroku stood watching in silence.
"If it's money you want, I'll pay for the rice and take this nugget off your hands. What do you say?"
Naraku turned to the crowd.
"My good people," he called, "is there a money changer who can tell us how much this is worth? No? Alright. Now, I'm just a monk, but I would say this worth three bags of rice at least."
More shocked murmurs rose from the crowd.
"That's right. Maybe even more!"
Miroku left the stall, leaving his rice and his gold.
"Hey, where are you going?" Naraku called after him.
"Where are you going?" the woman repeated, snatching his hand back. "Give me my gold!"
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"Hey, what's your hurry?" asked Naraku as he ran to catch up with Miroku. "You can't just rush off now. We've only just met!"
Miroku continued riding without a word, but he kept a leisurely pace alongside Naraku.
"Well, you've got your rice and everything is fine. You're a man of few words, I understand. Don't even think about thanking me. It was my pleasure. In fact, I should be thanking you. You see, I caught you in that battle. I saw what you did to those samurai. You fight like a demon. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
As he listened, Miroku had seen from the corner of his eye that they were not alone. He turned his head slightly and noticed two armed men and a woman followed behind them at a distance.
"I see you've noticed we're being followed," said Naraku in a low voice, "That's what we get for waving around that gold nugget. They'll wait until we're asleep and then slit our throats. Why don't we give them a demonstration of how fast we can run, huh?"
Naraku broke into a run and Miroku followed suit. They soon left their bewildered pursuers in the dust as they ran off into the sunset.
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The two men were sat by a fire in the forest outside of the village. Seated on stones, Naraku stirred a steaming pot of stew as Miroku recounted what had happened to him.
"So, the monster turned out to be a giant boar?" Naraku asked.
"I followed it's trail westward through the mountains to that village where the samurai were attacking, but-"
"You lost it. That's life. You see that place over there?" Naraku pointed his chopsticks at the scattered stone slabs and shrines some feet away from their camp.
"When I last came here, this was lovely little village. Then there must have been a flood, or landslide, or a fire. The only sure thing is that everyone is dead."
He took the lid off his basket and retrieved a package of spice to put in their stew.
"These days," he said as he scooped the spice into the stew with his ladle, "there are angry ghosts all around us. Dead from wars, sickness, starvation, and no one cares. You say you're under a curse? So, what? So's the whole damn world."
After stirring the stew, he lifted the ladle to taste it and found it satisfactory.
"I was wrong to fight in that village. Two men are dead because of me."
"They were samurai thugs. You win some, you lose some."
Naraku reached out his hand to his companion. "Hand me your bowl."
Miroku handed him a polished red bowl.
"My point is everyone dies, boy. Some now, some later. From brothel girl to emperor."
He inspected the bowl before he ladled out the stew.
"I've heard them say that the emperor will offer an entire hill of gold to anyone who can help him live forever."
He handed the bowl back to Miroku.
"Beautiful bowl. I've seen one other like it."
Naraku filled his bowl.
"Have you ever heard of the Emishi people? They're said to ride red elks. They use stone arrowheads, just like you do."
Miroku said nothing, ignoring the question and eating his stew in silence.
Naraku took his silence for an affirmative answer and ate a few bites of his stew.
"Don't worry," he assured his friend, "I won't tell anyone where you're from. I've got much bigger fish to fry."
Miroku stopped eating and reached into the pouch hanging from his side, presenting a metal ball about the size of his palm.
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" he asked.
Naraku used his chopsticks to take the ball from Miroku for a better look.
After a moment, he looked back at his companion. "Never have."
"It came from the giant boar. It was found inside him and I'm sure it's that little ball of iron that killed him."
Naraku handed the iron ball back to Miroku and continued eating his stew.
After swallowing another mouthful, he spoke again.
"There is a place high in the mountains far to the west of here. It's where the Spirit of the Forest dwells and it is a very dangerous place for humans. To enter there is certain death."
"The Spirit of the Forest?" echoed Miroku.
Naraku nodded. "They say the beasts there are all giants just as they were at the beginning of time."
Leaving Miroku to ponder his words, Naraku ladled himself another serving of stew. They both continued their meal in silence.
Early the next morning, Miroku set off with Kirara to find the Spirit of the Forest. He bowed once before he left the sleeping Naraku and headed West.
Naraku opened his eyes sleepily as he heard the soft padding of the nekomata's feet against the earth.
"See you there, my friend." He whispered, and drifted back to sleep.
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The rain poured that night. The sky was dark and the rain was so thick it was hard to see. The men of Iron Town were trying their best to move their oxen carefully along the narrow path through the mountains without making them panic. They carried the rice that would feed them and their families. They had to move as quickly as possible, for they were being hunted.
An elaborately dressed woman and a soldier stood above the men, directing them.
"The sooner we get home, the sooner we eat!" said Kikyo, Mistress of Iron Town, to her men. "Let's move!"
Two men carrying weapons broke away from the line and approached their leader.
"Wolves! Coming this way!" they said frantically.
Kikyo and the soldier at her side, InuYasha, looked to their right to see two giant wolves approaching from the mountain top. A masked figure rode atop one of the beasts.
"Don't let the oxen panic!" shouted Kikyo to her men, "Keep calm and take up your positions!"
The men not driving the oxen knelt on the wet ground and took up arms, kneeling under umbrellas and removing the seals from their canons.
"Keep your powder dry!" ordered InuYasha, "Make sure you wait for them to come within range."
The men waited with their weapons ready to attack the wolves.
Kikyo gave the order.
"Ready! Fire!"
The men fired one canon ball after the other, but the wolves and the masked rider dodged them effortlessly. They headed back in the direction they came and came back around to approach the men again.
"Second round! Fire" Kikyo commanded.
Again, the wolves dodged, but the masked rider directed them to split up and run in opposite directions up the mountain. During both encounters, none of them had attempted to attack the men directly.
"That was it?" asked InuYasha, smugly. "They weren't so big."
"They're just pups. Wait until you see their mother."
From up ahead of the line, a giant wolf with two tails came running down the mountain towards the unsuspecting men.
"It's Moro!" shouted Kikyo, unsealing her canon and preparing to fire.
Moro leapt down on top of an ox, breaking its neck between her jaws. She barreled through the men and oxen, knocking several over the cliff as she went. Some men fired their canons, but missed their target due to poor aim and intense fear.
"Come on," said Kikyo, her canon ready to fire.
As Moro got closer, Kikyo shot a cannon ball into the wolf's chest. The wolf did not stop until InuYasha used his canon to set her ablaze, forcing her over the cliff. InuYasha laughed as she fell.
"We killed her!" he said triumphantly.
"You forget she is a god," said Kikyo. "It will take more than that."
InuYasha surveyed the wounded on the mountain path. "She certainly did some damage."
"Let's move on."
"What about the men she pushed over the cliff?"
"They're dead. Let's get the living home."
