Father's Daughter

She drew the bow softly, fingers firmly yet gently holding the tip of the arrow. She looked at the swinging target, yet did not really see it, except with her inner eye, which knew precisely where it was, how strong the errant breeze was, how much strength was needed to speed the arrow on its way. Her mind was still; serene.

The arrow snapped forward, impelled by the taut string as slender fingers released it. She did not need to watch it fly, another arrow caught in her fingers, to lie across the still vibrating bow. She fired again, and again, a full round of five, before lowering her bow. Blinking, she came back to herself, and saw the five arrows all bunched into the center of the roughly woven, stuffed bag swinging from the rope.

"Kami, girl, you're going to be better than your old man, if you keep going like this."

Kikyo looked up as the man ruffled her hair. "I'll never be that good, father," she protested.

He chuckled, and ruffled her hair again. "Don't contradict your father, girl," he chided her with a smile. "If I say you're good, you're good."

"Yes, father."

He glanced at the sky, before heading towards the target. "We'd better head back. You've got your chores with the herb-woman, and I've got to my own work to do."

The eight-year-old girl nodded, then trotted behind her long-striding father as he headed towards the tree and the dangling target he had set up. She took the arrows as he handed them to her, quickly inspecting each shaft before stowing it in her quiver. Looping the coiled rope and bag across his back, he shifted his black bow to his hand, checking to make sure his quiver of arrows was within easy reach.

They started back towards the village in silence, Kikyo stretching her legs to keep pace. She loved these lessons with her father. She knew he wasn't like other fathers in the village -- he rarely helped with the farming, he was frequently gone for several days, and he always carried his big black bow.

She also knew that being trained by her father was just as unusual. It puzzled her, but her father didn't like it when she asked questions. She also felt uncomfortable when she saw some of the older girls looking at her and whispering behind their hands, or when her friends teased her about becoming a boy.

But learning the bow more than made up for the puzzlement and occasional discomfort. She couldn't have said why, only that with the bow in her hand, she felt different. Stronger, more certain. The bow had never felt strange to her, from the first bow her father had put in her hands. She had hit the target almost from the first arrow; it was if she somehow always knew where the arrow would go. The bow just felt right. As if it were part of her.

There was a commotion in front of their hut, she saw as they returned to the village. Women were gathered in front of the hut, their voices agitated. And then, someone screamed.

"Mama!" The cry broke from Kikyo as she recognized the scream. She ran, quickly falling behind her father as he dashed towards the hut. She saw him nearly bowl over the nearest women before he could skid to a stop, and she could hear his curses.

"Tell me it's not happening again, damn it! Tell me!"

But it was.

Kikyo was supposed to be asleep, but it was all she could do was pretend, lying on her side on the other side of the screen, one hand outstretched to touch her bow. Her mother was actually asleep, finally, drugged by the midwife for her pain and grief.

Her father was ... well, where she didn't know. Somewhere with the other men, she thought, having vague recollections of him being dragged away from outside the hut. But she wished he was there, sitting beside her. Just being there.

The baby had come too soon, just like the last two. It had been a boy. Just like the last two. She had been kept busy, running errands, but she'd heard enough of her mother's cries and pleadings to know that she was heartbroken.

Why do women lose their babies? she'd asked of one of her friends' mother, who had brought her supper and stood over her to make sure she ate. I don't know, had been the reply. Nobody knows, except the kami.

The girl closed her eyes against tears. A lot of babies died, either as they were born, or in the first year or so of life. She knew that--it simply was. But three in a row? It wasn't fair. She'd been looking forward to having a baby sister or brother--especially this time, when she understood more. She'd daydreamed about teaching her little sibling about the bow, just like father had taught her, and show it all about herbs, just like she was learning from the heal-woman. Most of her friends had siblings, both older and younger. Why didn't she have any?

The tears insisted on coming. Kikyo pulled the cloth over her head, and fell asleep, crying.

What woke her up was a sound something like a snarl. Startled and scared, Kikyo did what her father had told her to do when he wasn't there: grabbed her bow and arrows and scrambled to her feet, scuttling around the screen as she slapped the first arrow against the bow's wood.

There was a terrible sound of flesh meeting flesh, and then the snarl resolved into thick, barely intelligible words. "Damn you, woman! Why do you keep killing my sons?"

In the faint light from the moon, she saw her father leaning over her mother, one hand pulling her up by her yukata, the other hand clenched in a fist. He struck her mother's face, cursing. Then again--

"Stop it!" Kikyo shrieked. "Father, please, stop it!"

He looked up at her, dull eyes enraged, and then surprised. He straightened, dropping her mother. "Ki--kyo?"

Only then, did she realize that she had drawn her bow, the arrow pointing at him. Her arm trembled, drooping. "Yes, father. It's me."

"Don't dro' y'r arm..." he muttered, swaying a little. "Tau' you -- taught you better'n that..."

She straightened her arm. "Father? Please, don't hurt mother. You know she wanted this baby. You know she wanted a boy, just like you. She tried! She tried to be so careful! She didn't want it to die, you know she didn't!"

He swayed, took a few steps towards her. She backed away. He took one more step, then staggered and went down in a heap. Kikyo dropped her bow and arrows, and went to him. At first, she thought he had lost consciousness, but as she shook his shoulder, he broken into drunken sobs.

"All I wanted was a boy," she made out in broken words. "All I ever asked of her. A son. Give her anything, hunt biggest bear, wolf, build house, just--just as long as I get a boy. And all I get is a girl. Good girl. But a girl. Should've been a boy. Handling the bow like that ... should've been a boy..."

Kikyo bit her lip, eyes burning. "I-I know I'm not a boy, father, but I can be, be like a boy to you, can't I? I-I'll do, I'll do everything a son would do, if you want me to. You know I can use the bow. You can teach me all the rest, right? How-how to hunt, and, and everything? I'll—I'll even not get married, so I can take care of you and mother, when you get old…"

His head lolled back and forth. "Can't … he's coming back, you know … the priest who talked to you … said you'd have power … had to be a miko … miko protects … against youkai…"

"Miko?" She vaguely recalled a priest who had visited a couple of years ago. She didn't even remember what he had talked to be about. "I don't want to be a miko!"

"No choice," he slurred. "Why I taught you … bow works best… against youkai … m'little girl … gotta protect herself … can't … do it … for her…"

His words stumbled into incoherency, and then snores. And the girl sat by him, stunned and hurt.

She was to be a miko? That was why the training? Why hadn't he told her?

"Why can't I be a miko and stay here?" she whispered.

And there was no answer. Kikyo moved away and picked up her bow, checking that it had taken no damage, testing the string. She sat with it in her lap, arrows beside her, sleepless, haunted, wondering why they hadn't told her. Did they think it would really hurt less, not knowing?

She didn't know the answer.

Author's Note: This one-shot was written for the Wilted Rose community at LiveJournal, week 5: Abuse theme. It was originally posted on 7/17/08. It received the Moderator's Choice award. (Note: Edited for grammer and spelling, from the original posting.)