Chapter Four

Even After Death

Kagome felt cold in the pit of her stomach—but it was irrational, she told herself, and could be chased away by reason. "Then it's not a real tomb, but a representation, right?"

"No. According to this, there are actual physical remains here."

"Then . . . it wasn't a demon."

The professor made an amused sound in the back of his throat and she felt a little of the edge taken off her sudden unease, but only a little.

"Of course not—whoever he was, he was most likely a very evil man who was very good at manipulating people. Part of the text details the cremation and preservation of his ashes. Not only did this man have them believing he was some sort of . . . ." He couldn't hide the faint, mildly embarrassed smile playing on his lips. "Lust demon, but that if his remains were preserved then he could return some day."

Her brow furrowed. "Wait, lust demon? What, you mean like an incubus?"

Again, the professor shook his head. "Not exactly. An incubus would appear as a gnarled old man, whereas this 'demon' was considered extraordinarily handsome. An incubus would be brutal in taking his victims, while this man used smoother and more enticing means."

The direction of the conversation had Kagome feeling a little shy now, but she pushed beyond that, vehemently reminding herself that as his future colleague she couldn't simply back away from discoveries just because she was uncomfortable discussing certain mature subject matter with him. "So the unique sacrifices you mentioned were actually . . . ."

He nodded, his eyebrows inching upward just a bit. "They referred to him as The Thief of Bliss. To put it a bit more long-winded yet accurately, He Who Stole From Mortals That Which is Akin to Heaven on Earth."

Face scrunching up again—maybe the shyness was shutting down her innate problem-solving processes—she muttered the question, "What?"

"He seduced women and then murdered them, it seems, but not until after the offered female had . . . ." He ended the sentence with an awkward clearing of his throat.

"Oh," she said simply, giving a quick nod before what the words actually meant hit her and she went a hint wide-eyed. "Oh! So, they would—?"

"Yes."

"And he'd wait until the woman was—?"

"Precisely."

"And then he killed them? Like some kind of . . . black widow-er?"

"I believe so. It doesn't say he killed them, exactly. It explains that offering oneself to The Thief was considered a great honor. He would 'gorge himself' on the bliss he brought to his offerings and inadvertently drain their life entirely. It is a little odd, I feel, that the text stresses that he could feed without killing them, but the people were so generous that he saw no need to control himself."

"That's a far more literal definition of the term sexual predator than one typically hears."

The professor sighed heavily, his broad shoulders slumping a little as he turned the page. "And he had an entire village so brainwashed that they enabled him. This entire scenario is so twisted and . . . ."

He fell quiet again for a time as his gaze roved the written words. His expression grew increasingly somber the further he read. He turned to the next page and all she could do was watch the slow darkening of his eyes. His lips folded inward forming a thin, pained line as he shook his head.

"Professor?"

He didn't meet her gaze, keeping his eyes on the book. "This is an account of The Thief's final days. It almost reads like—."

"Shakespeare, comparatively?"

Professor Taisho nodded somewhat stiffly.

"That's what Bruckner said." She remembered now—the linguist was an American named Something Bruckner. Alright, so she sort of remembered.

"I don't think he realized just how perfectly he hit the nail on the head; it isn't only the way it's portrayed, but the actual story. His forte is ancient languages, not cultures. He knew what he was reading, he just couldn't fully understand how very bizarre it all truly was."

"That still doesn't explain why you look so thunder-struck," Kagome interjected smoothly, her voice quiet.

Finally, he lifted his gaze, turning his head to meet her eyes. "In his final days, The Thief become obsessed with a particular young woman. As I said, it was considered a great honor for a woman to be accepted by him as a sacrifice. Men wanted him to choose their wives because it was considered something like a status symbol. The cult's high priest . . . had a daughter."

A pained look skittered across Kagome's face, certain she knew where this was going.

Professor Taisho gave a brief nod, agreeing with her expression. "The girl wanted to offer herself to the 'demon,' but her father wouldn't allow it. Whether because he loved her too much or he began to doubt The Thief was really what he claimed, it doesn't say. The Thief, of course, found out about the holy man's refusal and, as he'd never been refused anything by these people before, he began to obsess over the idea of having this one young woman . . . and then he learned that she shared his want.

"He convinced her that the only way she would be free to sacrifice herself to him would be if she killed her father. So, she did, or tried to. She poisoned him, but didn't use nearly enough of whatever it was, so he appeared to have expired when really he'd only been rendered unconscious. Understanding what the girl had attempted to do, her father let her think she'd succeeded—he'd once been The Thief's most trusted follower, so he knew the demon's weakness. He was vulnerable enough to be killed by mortal means when he was about to consume a sacrifice's offering.

"The priest waited in hiding until his daughter . . . ." He gave another uncomfortable clearing of his throat. "Until she made her offering, and just as The Thief was about to partake, the man killed them both. Even with his most favored servant turning on him, The Thief still had loyal worshippers. They lamented his death, torturing and killing the priest in an attempt to ease their grief. They then cremated the murdered pair, carefully blessing and storing The Thief's ashes somewhere in this temple. It doesn't say what became of the girl's ashes, or her father's remains."

The professor closed the book and set it back on the altar. A moment of mute thoughtfulness passed between them. Kagome found the story as horrible as it was tragic—and it wasn't even with a saving grace. They hadn't died because of some star-crossed love, or anything precious like that, but over . . . lust? That was just so petty. It only made the tale that much more awful.

"It's a terrible thing that happened here, Professor, but I don't understand why your expression is so severe because of it."

He let out a deep sigh, his eyes moving from hers to stare off again. "I can't say I know exactly why; it is just an ancient scandal and we stumble across those all the time in this line of work. Perhaps it's that, though. Most often it was over something bigger—titles, power, lands. There's just something to this that makes me feel like . . . ." He paused, uncharacteristically at a loss for eloquent or appropriate phrasing for a moment.

He gave a slow, mystified shake of his head. "For the first time in my career I feel like I'm desecrating something."

Without thinking it through, she reached over, gently touching his shoulder, but then let her hand fall away just as quick. "You can't think like that, Professor. That man . . . this Thief was a murderer. All the women he killed would still be forgotten—the priest and his daughter, forgotten—if not for what we're doing here. I understand now, I think. The girl and her father are lost to time, while this deplorable man was cared for and revered, even after his death."

The professor gave a shallow nod, his amber-eyed gaze on the floor. Even though he seemed to contemplate her words, his expression hadn't softened in the least.

She didn't like seeing him so vexed. Kagome's mouth twitched left to right a few times as she tried to come up with something to redirect his thoughts.

And then her attention—wandering the chamber as it'd been—came to rest on the far wall.

"Um . . . we should, maybe, examine that section to see if we can't figure out what's causing those visual anomalies," she said as she glanced over at him, questioning. She hoped he didn't perceive her meager attempt to take charge of the situation as stepping on his toes in some way.

Professor Taisho looked up at the wall and she was relieved to see a spark of interest enter his eyes, though a minute lift of his brows was the only change to his expression. "We certainly should." With a nod, he pushed away from the altar and strode across the chamber to that wall, Kagome following close at his heels.

The designs carved into this particular section were unlike the rest of the text decorating the walls. While still no known deity was shown or referred to, the symbols here were repetitive—the same series of shapes, again and again. The professor stepped directly up to it and then inched sideways, making room for her beside him as he frowned a little.

Pointing to the symbols, he explained, "Now that I know what I'm looking at, this is his name, just his name, over and over. What an ego. This is very probably the room where he took his offerings."

She nodded, running a hand delicately along the age-worn stone. "That likely explains why the altar was placed as it is. It's directly across from this." The run of the wall beneath her fingertips felt even and she found herself borrowing her professor's darkened expression from a few minutes ago.

Not only did this disprove the only real idea she'd had about the cause of those lighting defects, but the symbols themselves bothered her. They were so simple, though—two sharply elongated triangles, laid one atop the other, their tips pointing to a waxing crescent moon and then another pair of triangles laid in the opposite direction so that they, as well, pointed toward the moon. The tips of the moon's crescent were exaggerated, reminding her of the way the moon in the sky had appeared to her tonight.

"I have always wondered something," Professor Taisho said, unwittingly drawing her out of her grim reverie. "That is, I wonder if there's a correlation between genetics and spirituality."

Her bottom lip pulled into a tight, thoughtful little pout as she turned her head to look up at him. "What would make you think so?"

He shrugged as he continued running his fingers over the symbols and moved lower along the wall after a line of shapes proved to have no abnormalities; by now he was hunched down enough that he was nearly eye-level with Kagome. "Well, it's been reported that psychic phenomena are stronger in those who have some family history of it than in those who are an aberration in their line. A child who is deeply psychic may not have a parent who's even a bit spiritually sensitive." He shrugged. "However, they usually have a grandparent or great-grandparent who was."

"O-kay," she said the word in a slow, exaggerated manner, confused by his seemingly directionless observation. "Why are we thinking about this now?"

Glancing at her as he moved to a lower row, Professor Taisho gave another of his short, somewhat self-deprecating chuckles. "I haven't lost my mind yet, Higurashi. I always have valid reasons for the places to which my mind wanders. I am wondering about this because of what you told me when we arrived here—about the feelings you have toward this place. Your grandfather is a shrine priest, yes?"

She nodded as she arched a brow, unsure of where he was going with this.

"Did you or your mother ever receive training in those same rites and traditions?"

Again she nodded. "Yes, both of us. Though I really haven't done any of it since I was little, I barely remember any of that stuff."

At that he gave her a brief look that made her think he was mentally shaking his finger at her. "You have a living tie to an ancient religious tradition and you let yourself forget it? What kind of archeologist are you shaping up to be?"

Kagome shrugged, returning, at last, to inspecting the section of wall he'd left to her. "The kind who knows there's a difference between ancient ways during ancient times and ancient traditions as we know—and practice them—today?"

He gave a long blink, sparing a moment to glance at his watch. "Even at one in the morning, you're sharp as a tack."

"I've been here for an hour? Really?"

The professor offered a distracted nod. "Having fun, time flying and all that."

A small laugh escaped her as she bent to the next row of symbols before her. "What were you saying?"

"I wonder if things like spiritual sensitivity run in families—perhaps that's what makes you feel the way you do around this place. There's text evidence that they performed a very intense rite to bless and preserve The Thief's ashes." He glanced over for only a second, but it was long enough to catch her arched brow of disbelief. "Understand that I'm speaking of the energy a person's mind can subconsciously generate—especially while performing tasks in which they believe deeply, and require focused concentration, like religious ceremonies. Perhaps the energy created during rites performed by his followers left some residual sensation behind and that's what you're feeling."

She smiled—despite already being so far down the wall that they were both sitting on their heels and had not yet seemed to find so much as one of the thin, slivered triangles carved deeper than the rest. "I see, now. Once you get to your point, you really do make a whole lot of sense."

Professor Taisho turned a feigned affronted expression on her. "Are you poking fun at me?"

"I blame the late hour and lack of sleep—oh, and lack of decent coffee."

One of his brows inched ever so slightly upward as he turned back to his inspection. "Hmph. I will let that slide for the moment, then."

"You want to know something weird?" She asked, tipping her head as she spied what might be a crack in the wall.

"Hmm?"

"This is a waxing crescent—same as the current moon phase. I'm sure, because I looked up and saw it on my way from camp."

He took a second to let out a wistful sigh. "I do love bizarre coincidences."

She scowled a little at that—he seriously got loopy late at night, didn't he? Reaching out, she dragged a gentle fingertip along the crack. She realized it must be wider than it looked, because she was almost certain that she could feel air passing from the chamber into the barely visible crevice.

"Professor?"

"Hmm?" he said again, frowning at his apparent lack of finding anything anomalous.

"Take a look at this."

She shuffled over, making room for him to sit just where she'd been, but kept her finger on the crack, pinpointing it for him. The professor took her place, amber eyes narrowing as he pressed his fingers just beneath hers against the wall. He followed it upwards for just a few centimeters before a wisp of a grin tugged at his lips.

"Here, tell me what you notice," he said in a murmur, caught up in the search as he took hold of her fingers with his other hand and dragged them up along the stone to rest just beside his.

Kagome diligently ignored the quick flip-flop her stomach did at his careless touch and focused on the texture of the wall, the rough and faintly jagged line of the crack beneath her skin. Much to her surprise, she did notice something.

Raising her gaze along the wall, she moved her hand from his, tracing the line as it disappeared beneath a symbol and popped up again on the other side to run into the next line. The crack became so narrow, so impossibly thin as it traveled upward, that she understood—without a hint of defeatist self-deprecation—why neither of them had noticed it higher up. "It runs beneath the crescent moons."

"Good girl," he said quietly, following the crack in the other direction. "I think there is a very good reason his name is all over this wall."

She forced a gulp down her throat—she almost didn't want this to house that murder's remains, huge find or not—but then a light grating sound met their ears. Kagome shared a bewildered look with Professor Taisho. They were being so gentle; how could they have disrupted anything?

In the same moment they both realized what was happening.

The cracked section of wall buckled beneath their fingers, snapping into pieces. Kagome was knocked out of the way as a portion fell outward, crashing into the temple floor exactly where they'd been crouched only a second ago. A second piece caved backward, beyond her range of vision, and another sound of stone crashing against stone tore through her.

After several shaky seconds ticked by, she pulled in a trembling breath and let it out slow. She was somehow too frightened to have even a momentary, flickering wayward notion about how Professor Taisho had thrown his body over hers to protect her from the falling stones.

He raised himself off of her, resting his weight on his palms and looking around in a bit of a daze at the clouds of dust which still had yet to settle entirely.

The professor dropped his gaze to hers, his eyes a little wider than she had ever seen them. Professor Taisho Sesshomaru wasn't typically the sort to go wide-eyed at anything.

"Well," he said, pausing to give his head a clearing shake. "That was unexpected. Are you all right?"

"I—I think so, just a little . . . surprised."

Nodding slowly, he climbed to his feet and offered her a hand up. She accepted, fighting a brief wobbly feeling in her legs as she stood—out of fear, not because his body had just been pressed right on top of hers, a little voice in the back of her head reminded her. Though, she was pretty certain the reason was, in fact, a little of both.

He stepped lightly around the shattered section of wall and peered into the deceptively large, darkened alcove that had been revealed.

"Bring me a lantern," he said in a whisper.

Kagome rushed to grab hers from where she'd sent it down near the altar and ran it back to him.

Switching it on, he held the lantern out before him as she gingerly traced his steps, tilting her body to peer around his shoulder. Through the settling, faintly glittering whirls of dust the lantern's beam revealed a row of small, intricately inscribed earthen-clay jars, each capped with a delicately crafted waxing crescent.

"Those almost look like—"

"Canopic jars, I know," Professor Taisho finished the spoken thought for her.

Nothing further about what how odd a find that was needed to be said—canopic jars were an Ancient Egyptian tradition, there seemed no way for this isolated tribe to have borrowed it. Perhaps they'd come up with a similar practice all on their own? But canopic jars been used for storing organs, not cremated remains, unless . . . .

"Professor? Is it possible they removed his organs and cremated all his parts separately?"

His movements cautious, he raised his leg over the cracked bit of wall still standing and set his foot down inside the alcove—confident in his belief that someday, this young woman was going to outshine him. "I should think it's entirely possible. Though, traditionally these people only stored possessions in such a manner, and those ceramics are typically fashioned to resemble baskets."

Kagome was looking around the space while the professor studied the jars with his gaze. He didn't notice the last piece of jagged, unsteady stone slab had worked its way loose from the chamber ceiling.

"Look out!" She latched her hands around his elbow, yanking him back with all her strength and they stumbled a few steps just as it finally broke free and plummeted into the alcove.

The unmistakable sound of shattering ceramic—oddly distinct during the crash—had the professor rushing back to investigate the damage. She was afraid to look, but as soon as he reached the alcove, Professor Taisho fell, his back sharply impacting the ground. He gave into a series of rough, hacking coughs that echoed unnervingly through the chamber.

"Professor!" She was on her knees beside him in an instant, trying to help him to sit up.

For a moment, he appeared to fight with something she just couldn't see. A flicker of light caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she pulled her worried gaze from her violently coughing professor, nearly against her will, to look over her shoulder.

The ash from the shattered containers hung in the air, whirling ever so faintly like the dust clouds had been. The light flickered again, and she realized that bizarre illumination was, impossibly, being cast by the ashes, themselves.

Her arms were still loosely around Professor Taisho's shoulders and she felt him pulling on her. Snapping her attention back to him, she saw his eyes on the whirling ash; he was trying to scramble backward, even as those wracking coughs continued to tear out of his throat. She turned her head in rapid motions, trying to keep her attention on both the professor and the impossible thing occurring in the alcove.

The light began to spin, collecting into a single pin-prick of brightness before suddenly exploding forward and slamming into his body. The force rocketed him away from Kagome and across the floor to collide with the altar.

In the span of a single heartbeat, deafening silence descended on the chamber and she simply watched him for a strained moment. He wasn't moving—from here, she could barely tell if he was even breathing. The entire catastrophe had shaken his hair loose, the long silver locks spilled over his face and onto his neck and chest, obscuring his features entirely.

She couldn't even tell if his eyes were open or closed.

Kagome inched her way over to him on her hands and knees, fighting an upwelling of tears the entire time. The center of her chest clenched painfully as she wondered how severely he was injured—she told herself the pain griping her heart was only her fear for her mentor's well-being. She reached him at last, biting deep into her lower lip to still its trembling as she delicately raked her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

He drew in a loud gasp and she fell back from him, barely restraining herself from screaming. It wasn't the sudden sound that terrified her, but his face. The impossible change to his face.

She blinked a few times, fighting tears that were now, definitely—unquestionably—welling up out of fear. Kagome knew she should be confused, too, but perhaps that fear was blotting out any other emotion right now.

Professor's Taisho's cheeks were stained, each side of his face baring thin, sharply elongated magenta triangles, almost like slashes. A pale blue waxing crescent moon adorned the center of his forehead. And his ears . . . were they . . . pointed?

She felt the color and warmth drain from her entirely as his eyes opened, the lifting of his lids slow, exaggerated—a deliberate show, she realized.

He pulled himself upright as his gaze locked on hers.

All Kagome could do was sit, mute and horror-struck and finally confused, as she stared into a pair of utterly inhuman golden eyes.