Chapter 14

Silence and Memory

The swirling blue around them slowed. It was like being underwater, and yet they could breathe. It was fluid, and yet there was the sense of being encased in sturdy walls. This must be how it feels inside a gemstone, Kagome thought.

Then the blue water/air in front of them seemed to… iris open, like a strange kind of window, to reveal a forest. Kagome reached out, but her hand stopped before she could reach through the window. Although it looked like her hand had been stopped in midair, she could feel cool stone beneath her fingers. The sensation of floating stopped and

Inuyasha and Kagome were hovering before the window when a figure stepped out from the bushes. Kagome gasped. It was Namida… but much younger. She looked like she was only a few years older than Miroku or Sango, although hanyou aged much slowly than humans. Inuyasha was about a hundred years old but only looked fifteen. Namida's robes were simple light blue cotton, stained and torn from travel, and there was a lean, wary look to her face.

"What the hell?" Inuyasha said, floating to Kagome's side.

"I think… we're looking at the past," Kagome said slowly. "This… this must be one of Namida's memories."

"Huh," Inuyasha huffed, but it lacked conviction. The memory of Namida looked around carefully before moving on through the trees, nostrils flared and ears pricked to catch the slightest sound. Either she was in a dangerous place… or she was being hunted. For some reason, the memory was completely silent, sharing only the images.

The window followed Namida as she slunk from shadow to shadow. Then she paused, sniffing. With a few quick movements, Naimda chambered up a nearby tree and crept forward along the branches. The view shifted and Kagome and Inuyasha could see what had caught Namida's attention: a break in the trees revealed a small shrine perched atop a small, steep hill. The place was small, but well-cared for. A rocky stream wound past the base of the hill. Sunlight dappled the long grass. The whole scene was peaceful, picturesque.

Namida stayed in the tree, eying the shrine with an unreadable expression. Maybe she was looking for shelter? Or perhaps food? She leaned forward, as if nerving herself up to leap down, when there was movement at the shrine's door. A young monk a few years older than Miroku stepped outside into the sunlight with a basket on his arm. Namida shrank back into the shadow of the leaves and watched as the monk walked down the stone steps of the shrine and began gathering herbs and berries at the edge of the forest. He looked calm and content; in fact, he even seemed to be singing as he gathered. His face was pleasent, if unremarkable, and his shaggy curtain of hair hung hung around his shoulders. Namida watched, tense as a coiled spring, until the monk returned to the shrine before she retreated into the forest.

The scene shifted, and Namida was back in her tree by the shrine, watching the monk. This happened several times, the monk's activities changing with the seasons. Namida never seemed to venture far from the sunlit hill. Sometimes travelers would come by and pause at the shrine. The monk would always greet them with warmth and motion them in to rest. There were a few other monks at the shrine, perhaps four or five, but Namida never showed any interest in them.

As time passed, the monk seemed to become forgetful. He often ate outside on the hill when the weather was fine, but started leaving the remnants. Or he would take two baskets out to forage, but accidentally leave one behind. Once he left several overcooked fish by the stream. Namida took advantage of these lapses and devoured the leftovers. For every successful hunt, there were three failures. Without the food the monk left behind, she might have starved.

Which made Kagome wonder, was the monk really that forgetful? Or was he aware of his silent shadow and deliberately leaving food behind? She suspected the latter as the offering got bigger and better made. Entire rice balls, loaves of bread, and slightly scorched meat became part of a now-daily ritual.

Now it was autumn, and the monk took a seat under a tree to eat lunch. The smell must have drawn Namida; she eased out onto the branches above, peering through the red-gold foliage. But this time she leaned out too far. The branch snapped, and Namida practically fell into the monk's lap. She rolled away into a crouch, ready to fight. Red leaves fluttered down around them as the half demon and the human monk stared at one another. Then the monk smiled and extended a rice ball towards her. Namida hesitated, eyeing the food. Then she looked at the monk again, who smiled encouragingly. Never taking her eyes off him, Namida snatched the rice ball and backed away. But she didn't run away with it. She crouched just out of arm's reach, still watching the monk as she devoured the rice ball. The monk gestured to the second food-filled basket, inviting Namida to help herself.

The images flew faster now, a tumble of snippets of time as Namida and the monk grew older. Holding a calligraphy brush as he taught her to read and write. Trying to catch fish with his bare hands. The two of them sitting and talking together. There was no indication that the other monks knew about Namida; she always hid from anyone besides the young monk. Then they were on the road with packs on their back and a staff in his hand. They were adults now, though still young. Namida smiling, laughing at something her companion had said. Holding hands as they walked. Namida gnawing on a bone by a campfire. Laying back and watching the stars as the monk sneaked a kiss on her cheek.

Then the scene stabilized on a small house on a spring evening. They were sitting outside with a modest picnic, like when they first met, except this time, Namida was radient with health and love. Her round belly showed she was far along in a pregnancy. She guided his hand to her stomach and watched as his face glowed with wonder at the signs of life kicking from within. The image swirled, and there they were again, but this time, Namida was holding a female infant. She was small and pale with white hair and blue eyes like her mother, but her ears were human. A child who was three parts human to one part demon. A quarter-blood.

The image darkened with smoke and blood, obscuring the happy scene. There were a few brief flashes within: bared fangs, the monk's face pale with shock, blood splattering grass. Then it cleared, and Kagome wished it hadn't.

Namida knelt on the ground, holding the still, bloody body of the monk. She threw her head back, tears streaming down her face and screamed, the grief and agony palatable despite the memory's silence. Then Namida was walking away, hand in hand with her young daughter, leaving a fresh grave and the burned ruins of their home behind.

Everything turned grey and foggy. The forms of young women formed in the mist for a few seconds, then vanished. The first was Namida's daughter, solemn and grown up. She was followed by another girl, also with white hair, but this one's eyes were a normal, warm brown. The next had dark hair, but blue eyes. And so it went, a line of women whose demonic heritage became less and less noticeable until they were indistinguishable from a full-blooded human. Finally, the last form appeared: Kikyo.

Suddenly, all of Namida's strange references made sense. Kikyo was literally her last descendant. And that made Kagome, the reincarnation of Kikyo, her descendent as well.

Another image started to form in the mist, another woman, but with a different face than the others, somone how was not one of Namida's kin, dressed in rich robes. Inuyasha let out a small, strangled cry of recognition. But before the image could fully form, Kagome felt a clawed hand grasp her shoulder. "It's time to come back now," said Namida. Gently, but firmly, she pulled them away from the foggy images. Kagome felt something cold press against her back and resistance, as if she was being pulled through a wall of jello. For a second, she couldn't breathe. Then, they were out of the stone and back in the scrying chamber. The hands on their shoulders released.

Namida watched them with a still face, arms folded across her chest and muscles taunt as they turned to face her.

I'm so sorry it was an accident we didn't mean- So many words swirled in Kagome's head as she tried to think of what to say. But the words that managed to break free were, "Who was he?"

The tension left Namida's body, and she slumped. For the first time in their short acquaintance, she looked old and tired. "He was my husband. Matomo."

"And the little girl… she is your daughter."

Namida flinched. "Was. Kanki... died. Many years ago."

"I'm sorry," said Kagome. The words felt inadequate, but Namida gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and gratitude.

"So all that stuff we saw in the stone were your memories," said Inuyasha, voice flat.

Another nod. "This is the cornerstone of my power. Much of myself was poured into its creation. Its unique properties make it possible to scry over vast distances… or into past memories. But only as an observer."

Inuyasha took a step forward, hand on the hilt of Tetsaiga. "I want to know what my mother has to do with any of this," he growled.

Namida looked away. "Yes," she said softly. "You should know. It was part of the story I wanted to tell you… before Akaaka disappeared." She held out her hands. "And, since you are here, I can show you as well."

Kagome and Inuyasha glanced at each other, then Kagome clasped Namida's hand. With a slight grumble, Inuyasha relaxed his grip on the Tetsaiga and took the older hanyou's other hand.

Together, the three of them stepped back into the scrying stone.