Chapter Forty-Nine: The Journal
With her arms crossed and her mouth fixed into a scowl, Bikini Girl stood, her back against the slate wall of the smithy workshop. Amber light flickered against her tanned skin, its source the embers of the dying forge. Fluttering the edges of her sarong, a soft breeze blew, but she paid it no mind. Dark and unwavering, her eyes stared ahead past a stone workbench cluttered with clay casts and beads of cooling metal and past iron tools strewn about the ground.
Beyond her, a sharp exhalation ending in a grunt punctuated the air and the breeze faded. A scent akin to ozone rose above the molten odors native to the smithy. And, so did the smell of seared of flesh.
"Stop," she directed staidly, her tone lacking its usual mischievous quality, "You're done for tonight."
Panting lightly as he caught his breath, Sesshoumaru shook his head, "Do not concern yourself. I'm fine. I will still—"
"No, you won't," she interrupted, pointing a finger in his direction. "Have you taken a look at yourself this evening?"
Clothed in an old, soot-stained haori coat with its sleeves tied back, he stood before her, sweat and black ash streaking his once porcelain skin. Even the bright, silver hair that capped his head appeared dull and dirty. Cleanliness was the due paid in a smithy and he had satisfied it in full. Only his gold eyes remained clear and brilliant as he met her glare.
"I can bathe later," he assured, and he tugged at his coat's lapel disdainfully. "It's nothing more than dirt."
She scoffed. "You know that I'm not talking about dirt. Or sweat for that matter." She thrust out her chin. "Look at your hands."
His eyes fell downward. Ornate swirls of shining metal laced his forearms, forming gauntlets that flowed onward over his hands. They were skeletal in design with tendrils of metal following every bone and hinged at the joints to give him full mobility. And at his fingertips, the pieces converged into claws, sharp and vicious. They were his hands, reborn as they once were, graceful yet deadly. But under the beauty, his skin blistered at contact points along his wrists and knuckles and his swelling flesh pressed against the metal, making it worst.
His impassive gaze rose to meet hers. "I'm fine. We will continue."
A sigh burst from her and she ran her hand through her curly hair. "No, you're not fine. You're just willful, which isn't the finest quality to have in a disciple, let me tell you. But your body is going to give out before that thick head of yours and I'm just trying to get out of having to deal with a dead youkai on my smithy floor."
"I'm not going to die."
"You will," she assured. "You don't feel it yet, but if you keep training at this rate, you'll deplete what little youki you possess and that will be that."
"I'm a daiyoukai and—"
"Were a daiyoukai. Right now, you're barely a youkai at all."
"I still possess my power. In the parking garage—"
"You realized that your life was still worth living. That you were more than your mistakes and your loss. That you had found happiness and you deserved it. Yes, your power is growing, but that was a moment. A bit of fortune when you needed it most and not something you can rely upon." She gestured to the gauntlets. "To wield those, you need more than believing in yourself. You need time to train."
"I don't have the luxury of time, he sighed. "The city is in peril and I'm in hiding. In the past, I have forced weapons to heed my desires and I will do the same now."
"I know, but this isn't like any other enchanted weapon. It feeds on you to generate power."
"And amplifies that power before returning it to me."
"But it hasn't returned anything yet. It's only draining you and while you haven't noticed it, your youki is flagging. Look at your hands. Before the flesh was regenerating as fast as it was burning, but now your wounds are worsening without even beginning to heal."
He frowned.
She blew out a breath. "Your body is like a tree right now and these gauntlets are pruning shears. We're trimming back some branches and hopefully you'll grow back ten times as strong, but if we go too far, you might not grow back at all. Understand?"
"Perhaps," he acquiesced and flexed his fingers, feeling the tightness from the swelling.
"You're gifted and you'll figure it out soon," she added, her hard expression softening. "And I still can't believe you made those in an afternoon. It would have taken a master blacksmith months to pull that off."
He snorted. "I once manifested a sword from my own body. This was crude by comparison."
A chuckle bubbled from her. "Of course, you did. I'm not the least bit surprised." Then she nodded towards the door. "Let's go. Maybe there's some leftover boar meat that we can have for supper."
OOOOOOOOOO
Under the glow of lanternlight, Kagome sat forward, her elbow resting on the desk and her cheek in her hand. Stacked high on the desk, leather-bound books and ancient scrolls surrounded her, sorted by subject and time. The pungent scents of cleaning agents and wood polish hung in the air, still strong despite the cool, evening draft blowing in through the open windows. With shining floors and neatly organized bookcases, the library barely resembled the dusty mess she had been abandoned in earlier that day and the endless yawns that erupted from her were proof of her efforts.
An icy breeze gusted through the windows, sending her shivering.
Though it was summertime, it was still the mountains and as much as she wanted to air the room out longer, the cold evening persuaded her otherwise. Stretching her back and neck to work out her soreness, she stood up. Then she shuffled to each window, closing them up tight. Somewhere downstairs, she could hear Tora chatting, worry in his voice. He'd gone down to the train station that afternoon seeking cellphone reception in the hopes of contacting her mother, but every attempt to call her went to voicemail. He hadn't even gotten a ring.
She sighed heavily and finished securing the last window latch.
It had been barely more than a day since they had departed Tokyo. Before they had left, Mama had assured her that she would be safe. She had promised Souta that everything would be okay. But now they couldn't contact her. They couldn't confirm that the dread they felt was no more real than a bad dream. And what made it worse, is that if the yakuza had come for her, then returning to save her put them in even more danger. Because their enemy would be waiting.
The image of opalescent eyes burned in her memory and she swallowed down, pushing it away.
"All right," she whispered to herself as she turned on her heel to face the desk and the books piled upon it like a mountain range. "There's one thing that I can do right now and that's find some answers."
She approached the desk and turned the dial on the lantern up until it lent more light to the space. Swishes of black calligraphy appeared on the light-colored covers and she methodically began to pore through the literature. One-by-one, she picked up each book and carefully flipped through it as she skimmed its contents. With their subjects revolving around youkai, many read like nature documentaries, observational descriptions and thoughtful deductions. Passionate explorations of their biology, behaviors, and cultures. The sum of their existence nothing more than faded print on old paper.
A pang of sorrow glossed her eyes as she read. The world had truly lost so much richness with their extinction and as she sorted the promising books from the disappointments, she hoped that a clue to save them could still be found. Something that had been overlooked. Something she could take back with her when the time came, and perhaps she could save a world for the second time in her life.
Slowly, the mountain range upon the desk shrank, eroding away with every book and scroll she removed. The honey-gold grain of the oak desk appeared as she cleared out pile after pile. Then as she reached for a final, hand-bound book, her hand paused above it. Under the brighter lanternlight, the character of its title appeared starkly against its soft-green, leather cover and what drowsiness she felt evaporated. She recognized the handwriting. It was hers.
A Miko's Journal During the Bleakest Hour
Reverently, she scooped the book up and blindly made her way to the chair, her eyes never leaving its cover. After finding her seat, she set it down gently and continued to stare at the familiar scrawl, transfixed. Nervously, she licked her lips. Then her hands fell upon the book and she opened it to the first page.
This journal is dedicated to the many who fought valiantly against the inevitable. Their bodies may be gone, but the spirit of their resilience and courage live on, immortal in our memories even as all else becomes dust.
She had found what she was looking for and penned by her own hand no less. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach and she turned the page.
What I've feared for the past few years has begun. Inuyasha found it in the forest. A type of spider youkai, tiny in size. He thought it was a jewel glimmering in the grass, like a lost Shikon-no-Tama shard. Maybe that's why it caught his eye. We'd spent so long traveling the country looking for them that he couldn't miss it. But I knew what it really was. Sometimes I think I should have told him about the plague sooner, but it didn't seem fair to put that burden on him or anyone else. They'd bear it soon enough.
He took the news better than I thought he would. As someone who had visited the modern day, it made sense to him. To live in a place overflowing with youkai and then discover a future where they were nothing more than a myth. He looked to me and asked what the plan was. He knew I was ready. He trusted that I'd figure out a way to fight this. In the past, the future is still unmade and full of possibilities. And he was right, I had spent my last two years in the present day studying every text I could find on epidemiology and environment science. I went through each book in Bikini Girl's library dozens of times. I was the leading expert that youkaikind needed and it was time for war.
Looking up from the book, she scanned the library and its hundreds of tomes. The future was speaking to her from the past about a moment that had yet to come. And a tingling chill raced up her spine, spreading a field of goose flesh across her back and arms.
Except for those who knew I was from the future, most people didn't believe me right away, both youkai and humans alike. But together with Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, Shippou, and Kouga, our combined reputations carried weight. We started a triage center at Midoriko's Cave. I didn't tell them why it had to be there. I only knew that it slowed the disease from what was written in the texts. It was time that we needed, and they trusted that I knew what was best. But it also exemplified how strange it all was. I had spent so much time studying types of transmission and nothing fit. It had all the earmarks of an infectious disease, but every test has proven insignificant.
And the spider scar on their chests. I can't stop thinking about the spiders on their chests.
Her thumbnail found her lips and she began to gently nibble on it, the knot inside her swelling.
Inuyasha showed me his scar today. His eyes were glowing, and he was shaking so badly that I had to pull him in for a hug and hold him. As we laid on the futon, hours must have passed and when I thought he had fallen asleep, he asked me what was going to happen. It was the first time that he had asked. Before then, I don't think he wanted to know. He wanted to live in a world without fate. I told him that he would live in a world with it, too.
Her hand started to tremble as she reached for the next page.
Inuyasha got into an argument with Sesshoumaru today. Ever since the beginning, I've been pestering him to reach out and recruit his brother, vowing that under that aristocratic asshole exterior was a good person. A lord that had the potential of becoming a worthy guardian to his people. Inuyasha was still pissed off when he made it back to the cave and then astounded that I still believed in Sesshoumaru. I'll always believe in him, even when he fails, because he needs every lesson that's coming to him. Whether no one else knows it, the world has more in store for him even when it's done with the rest of us.
That night the new moon arrived, and the convulsion episodes that crippled Inuyasha subsided when he assumed his human form. It was the last time he suffered the effects of the disease, because in the morning, his youkai half never returned.
I cried as much as he did.
The tightness in her stomach climbed into her ribcage and she rubbed absently at her chest, the feeling almost unbearable.
The rate at which the disease spreads is growing exponentially. At first, it was just the ones who lived near the village, but we're seeing the afflicted arrive from as far as Shikoku and Kyushu. I wouldn't be surprised if some from the mainland show up soon. I've stopped looking at it as some sort of infectious contagion. Maybe it's something environmental. Most mass extinctions were believed to be just that. I've taken air, water, and soil samples, but nothing looks promising. We're running out of time.
As she turned the next page and discovered it speckled with droplet stains, muddling the handwriting.
Shippou and Kirara died today.
Saltiness built in her mouth and throat. Her eyes turned red and glossy with impending tears and she turned the page again to avoid adding more to what she had already shed. But every page was filled with more droplets and more loss. Names and memories turned to crystal. Each a battle lost.
Rubbing her face dry with the heel of her hand, she flipped through the journal, desperate to avoid another obituary, when a clean page arrived and her hand stopped.
Tonight, I finally figured it out. It struck me like a shooting star as I journeyed back from meeting with the old, magnolia youkai, seeking its wisdom one final time in a bid to save Sesshoumaru, the last of their kind. It was a clear night and the full moon hung so bright that I could easily find my way. In that moment, deep in the inky beauty of the galactic sky, I realized that I had never considered the cosmic. The balance between powers and the consequences of disrupting them.
We had made so many assumptions in our final battle against Naraku, especially about the nature of the Shikon-no-Tama. What kind of hubris must we have had to think that by simply wishing the jewel away, we would be free of its consequences? How many times had it been corrupted and purified throughout the years and why did we believe that the souls trapped within it would be unaffected by that state of constant flux? It was even incinerated once in a funeral pyre only to be reborn centuries later in my body. And to have its final bearer be Naraku, a hanyou born of regret and evil sentiment, what else could we have expected? We assumed his wish was Kikyou, but perhaps it was something else. A different kind of ending. A finish to the battle that raged within him and the jewel. A victor where the prize won was survival and the loser ceased to be. Had it been chance? A cosmic coin flip between youkaikind and humanity? Could I have been the one who turned to crystal instead of all my youkai friends?
And if this is true, then do I even matter? If the ending was decided years before I returned to the past, why am I here? To bear witness to the suffering of an entire people? To be powerless as I watch them fade from existence?
I wanted to save the world. It's what I was supposed to do. And I was doomed to fail before I even started.