Tamaji had not gotten off lightly for his little adventure, despite having come back with Sango and her mother, though, once again, it could have gone far worse. Public humiliation in the center of town came to mind, as well as castration. But his father would never allow that, of course; his son needed to create heirs to his proverbial throne, after all.
Tamaji still held the opinion that his father and the elders hadn't settled on a proper punishment for him, though he suspected they were getting close: he sometimes overheard them talking, saying such things as "latrine duty in the field", "burying carcasses", or, his personal favorite, "practice calligraphy". Writing had never been his strong point- it was not unusual to go months without touching ink to parchment in the village, and he considered it unfair that all the other villagers were only encouraged to practice, while he was forced to do so.
In the meantime, while a truly horrendous punishment was being concocted, Tamaji was ordered to help the healer with his increased workload. Not only did the man toil over Sango's mother for days on end, scarlet fever had begun to plague the village, and the healer constantly hurried between the sick tent and the quarantine area. Tamaji wasn't trusted with the scarlet fever victims, of course, but he tended to the injured girl when the healer needed to rest or things were uneventful. He was not fetched for the duty often, as she was still in delicate health and required an experienced eye, but when he was he called down he simply changed her bandages or gave her water and fed her. The help was needed, too.
It had been a little more a month, but there was little change in her condition. Almost overnight the girl's wounds had become infected despite the healer's best efforts; this, combined with the shock from the wounds, gave her a high fever and tended to make the young woman hallucinate and spout nonsense. The healer suspected internal bleeding, as well, from the blood that constantly added a red tinge to her white teeth. The visible wounds had mostly closed, but those that were left were inflamed an angry red. The healer kept them open, saying that they "needed to drain", pouring unguents into them almost constantly.
For the first week or so after their discovery, Tamaji's father had dropped by every few days for an update on her progress, though Tamaji didn't really know why. It wasn't like the old man really cared. One night he'd overheard the healer tell his father something about "demonic toxins", and "blood thinner". His father didn't come anymore.
His hours with the healer had been steadily decreased, he'd noticed, being gradually replaced with various onerous tasks. It seemed the elders had come up with something suitable after all. After another week or so, he wouldn't be spending time watching over the woman at all. He wasn't very sure how he felt about that.
During his watch in the healer's tent on the thirty-second night since finding the woman and her child, he happened to notice that the cool cloth on her forehead had dried up. Moving carefully so as not to wake her, he removed the cloth and dunked it in a small wooden pail at his feet that was filled with chilled water. Grasping both ends, he twisted, draining out excess water. Assured that the cloth was thoroughly dried, he turned about with cloth in hand to find the young woman (who had slept like one dead for more than fifteen hours) awake, glazed brown eyes staring (roughly) in his direction.
"I met a young woman in the forest yesterday," she said, slurring every word. "Very pretty, but very strange." He noticed that her head was tilted, so that the whole time she was speaking, her remarks were directed to an empty spot on the wall a few feet to his left. Not, of course, that he would call attention to this.
Tamaji had no idea what the woman was speaking of or even whether she was referring to the correct day, but had no inclination to stop her chatter. The ill were allowed to babble in his mind- taking advantage of one of the few times you could do so before senility set in. "Strange, how so?"
The young woman continued prattling like she hadn't heard a word. "She asked me where the slayer's village was- very intent on finding it, she was. I had no idea where it was, and I'd just given birth to my daughter in a hollow log- I couldn't move if I wanted to. I told her so." Resting her hands on the futon, she struggled to push herself upwards.
Tamaji noticed, in a kind of morbid fascination, that the skin covering those frail hands seemed translucent, as if he could see every drop of blood that rushed through her veins… Shaking his head slightly, Tamaji seized her shoulders in a light grip and gently pushed her back onto the futon. Picking up the abandoned cloth with his other hand, Tamaji dabbed at the sweat beading the girl's forehead. "What happened then?"
For a moment feverish chocolate eyes stared at him, startled at the sound of his voice. Then she smiled, red-flecked lips quivering. "She turned into a bear and drank my blood."
"Did she." It would later astound him that his voice was as steady as it sounded.
"Yes," she said faintly, shifting slightly under the think blanket. "Didn't touch Sango, though. She must've not taken a liking to my taste."
A rustle of cloth at his back drew his atttention. The old healer was kneeling next to him on the floor, carefully setting out bowls of dried herbs. A gnarled hand waved at him, shooing him away from the woman.
Obligingly scooting over, Tamaji watched in silent fascination as the old man changed bandages, sniffed the wounds, and did mysterious things with herbs. The healer said nothing during the course of his initial examination, then, as he finished up, with a glance in Tamaji's direction, he loudly snorted and spit off to the side. When it became apparent that Tamaji wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon, the old man squinted in his direction. "Get out of here, boy," he barked gruffly. "I need quiet to work."
"But what about-"
"Go bother Kasumi." Knowing better than to argue with the man while he was examining a patient, Tamaji agreed, and headed off for Kasumi's hut.
As he entered, soft snores from the futon on the other side of the fire told him of the wet-nurse's whereabouts. Kasumi fully welcomed visitors into her hut at all times, following the theory that when the baby would wake up in the night, she might as well have willing company when Kasumi herself was too tired. If Sango was sleeping, however… A soft cry in the cradle to the side, packed high with blankets, drew his gaze as Kasumi rolled over on her other side, murmuring sleepily. Striding quickly across the room, the youkai slayer peered into the cradle.
Kirara was, as usual, curled about the baby, making soft little mews with every exhalation, which he assumed were the cat demon's version of a snore. Surrounded by the tawny fur, curious brown eyes blinked solemnly up at him. "Hello, little one," he whispered, lifting Sango carefully from the cradle and settling her in the crook of his elbow, pacing the room in a swaying motion like Kasumi had shown him. Talking softly to the child, he absently checked to see if her changing cloth was wet. "Did you pine for me?" Silencing quickly at the rocking motion, Sango stared mutely up at him.
"You did? I have to tell you, though, that our love can never be. I am but a simple warrior. It would never work." A small pink tongue flashed as Sango yawned, large brown eyes blinking slowly. "Yes," he whispered dramatically in the face of an unasked question, "Our true love was doomed from the start." Reaching out a pudgy hand, Sango grasped a strand of the exposed dark hair, gripping it tightly.
Gently replacing the hair with one of his fingers, the slayer gasped quietly in feigned distress. "An attack on my person! A fiendish assassination attempt, my lady!" Sango didn't hear him, though, as she'd fallen back asleep. Shifting Sango in his arms, Tamaji lay her back in the nest of youkai and soft cloth. As the infant shifted, a single gold eye flicked open as Kirara mewed tiredly. "Sango was just talkative," he assured the youkai. Apparently taking him at his word, Kirara rolled about on her back, stretching out her tails. With a farewell pat for Kirara, Tamaji left Kasumi's hut, heading up the dirt path for the hut he and his father shared.
An unexpected voice by the healer's hut stopped him. It was the healer, obviously. No one else loitered about here if they could help it. Besides, that familiar gravelly tone, one that had coldly reprimanded him for playing around in the rain on many occasions, but most notably shortly after his return, was unmistakable. "Hello, elder," he said politely.
"Don't come visiting that injured girl anymore." The old man said bluntly, face glowing in a lurid reddish light as the old man lit up a pipe.
Tamaji wrinkled his nose reflexively at the sour smell of burning opium. Why a healer would smoke it was beyond him. "What? Whyever not? She's getting better-"
The healer took a heavy drag and breathed out, smoke curling from his nose like mist. "No she's not. That girl is going to die, probably within the next few days if not this very night."
In his chest, Tamaji's heart gave a small despairing cry. That girl, who he'd barely met, would die, leaving an infant to be raised by strangers, an infant who would never know, much less speak, to the small woman who'd smiled at him in her pain and bore a child all alone in the woods. It was quite possible that his father, out of some mysterious paternal feelings, would allow another child, one he would never praise, never tell her how beautiful she'd been as a baby, to grow up all but abandoned- No. I won't let that happen. "How can you possibly know that! You're supposed to help people! If no one else does, you should have hope!"
Setting aside his pipe, the healer shoved his weathered face close to the young slayer's. "Yes," he growled slowly. "I do, but I do not hold onto hope when reality stares me in the face. That girl. Will. Die. I cannot do anything. Nothing that wouldn't draw out her existence in a pointless and painful sham," the old man sighed, leaning heavily against the wall. "Nothing."
"Why not!"
"Because," the old healer ground out, taking another deep puff from his pipe, "she's been poisoned. I'm not an expert on such things, but I know youkai poison when I see it. I don't have the skills necessary for this."
Stepping closer to old man, one he held in the deepest respect, Tamaji seized his yukata by the neck and drew him closer. "Then tell me who does."
Rheumy eyes scrutinized him. "None, save perhaps a priest or priestess, they train themselves for such things better than I. But as you may have noticed," he said dryly, "we have none. Our Buddhist shrine is for Miatsu's benefit."
"Why don't we go get one of them?" Tamaji asked desperately.
"It would take too long with a squad, which is only way you'd get through the mountains alive. She'd be long dead by the time you got back, and she'd never survive the journey."
He had a moment of indecision, a moment that seemed to last aeons. The rumors of bloodthirsty demons inhabiting this mountain had been spread with good cause. The woman he wanted to save was enough of an example of that. If he left, there was no guarantee he'd return anyway. Scores of slayers, many far more experienced and talented than himself had disappeared in these mountains over the years, but… His own voice broke the spell that had descended on him when, unbidden, it tumbled from his throat. Surprisingly, it was exactly what he wanted to do. "Then I'll go."
Spinning on his heel, he walked toward the town gates. The old healer's voice followed him, grown shrill in urgency. "Wait!" Tamaji didn't stop walking. "You don't even know what way to go, idiot boy. …Head west. If memory serves, there's a small shrine at the foot of the mountain. I can't guarantee anyone'll be there, but it's all I have."
Tamaji hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you. If I don't come back…"
"I'll make sure Sango grows up knowing of you and her mother," the old healer finshed.
The rest of the journey to the gate itself was unimpeded. The guard at the gate, a friend of his named Koartsu who'd been in training as a slayer with him, raised an eyebrow. "Ging somewhere, 'Maji?"
Grunting noncomfirmingly, Tamaji stalked past him, moving at a distance eating lope.
"Hey! Wait! I almost forgot to tell you. That monk, whatsiname, Miato, left a message for you. He left last night. He left a message for you and your father. No idea what your father's said, but I still have yours."
Tamaji grabbed it and stuffed it in his boot for later. "Thank you. I'm going out," he mumbled, giving Koartsu a pat on the shoulder as he passed.
"All right," the guard said doubtfully, casting his gaze up the street to the home of Tamaji and the chieftain. "What should I-"
"Tell Father I ran away again."
"…Whatever you say."
Under must circumstances, the suggestion to "head west" would probably not have been extraordinarily helpful. A lot of things lay in the west, after all, any number of which could lay between him and a shrine. In addition to that, a great deal of the old paths were no longer maintained, and simply ended after treking perhaps several hundred miles through the mountains. This particular path, however, was the main path traveling slayers used to leave the mountains, and he was reasonably sure that it would eventually lead to a shrine or temple.
He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd run, as after the first hour time blurred together as it always did when he ran a great distance, but it was long enough for the sun and moon to chase each other across the sky, ending with the moon before him.
In a similar way, he had no idea how far he'd run, judging only by how close he was to the bottom of the mountain, than how far past it. He estimated he'd run fifteen miles since reaching the base when he tripped, the force of training hammered into him since he would walk making him instantly slap the ground with his hands, rolling to the side to minimize the damage. Still, his face slammed into the dirt despite his efforts.
For a time he remained there, breath heaving into his lungs with gasping sobs. A strange tingling in his lip made him raise a finger to it curiously. It came away wet. Shrugging away the pain, the demon slayer forced himself to his knees, glancing in an absent sort of way at what had tripped him.
The beginning of a stone path that led off the main road, heading off into the shade of the pine forest. Unconsciously his gaze followed that road to it's end, a squat building with a triangular roof that was nestled between two fallen trees that looked to have been there since the dawn of time.
A shrine.
Stumbling in his haste, Tamaji bolted to his feet and up the set of steps that led inside. "Hey! Is anybody there? I need help!" The interior of the shrine was hardly imposing, filled with a thick layer on aging dust, a dented bronze cast of Buddha that looked to have seen significant battle damage, a few moldering sticks of incense, and what looked to be a whole town of rats. One thing it did not have, however, was a monk or priest. No one was here. There was no priest or priestess to bring back to the village, no one who could help.
Abruptly remembering Miatsu's, Tamaji hastily drew it from his boot, almost tearing it in his hurry. The message was written on a scrap of old silk, calligraphy penned neatly in large letters. After a moment of squinting, his eyes remembered how to decipher the smooth strokes of ink. Tamaji, the letter read I regret leaving without notice, having just made your official acquaintance, but I have just received word that the object of my quest is closeby, within a tenday's walk. If I am successful, I will come back to the village with news of my success. I suspect, however, that I will not be so fortunate.
That was it. Frantically Tamaji flipped it over, but there was no more to the message, only a dutiful and plain pattern of faded green ivy. What had I expected, though? He asked himself despairingly, slumping to the dusty floor. A map to the nearest temple? Miatsu had left far before him, if Koartsu was to be believed, and had had no idea of Tamaji's plans. At the time, neither had Tamaji. He was a fool. Before he even started, he was in grave danger of failing.
If he didn't succeed, she would die. Without conscious thought, Tamaji began to laugh, harsh, hysterical sounds that tore at his throat. I don't even know her name.