THERE WAS A SHIP
Scribe Figaro
Chapter Ten
An Orphan's Curse
An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
I.
Shippou clung to Kagome's shirt as long as he could; even after the pain of the bullet and his smashed face drove him unconscious his grip was so tight that Inuyasha ran and lept nearly an hour before the kitsune's death grip failed, sending him into thick brush, whereupon he bled and slept until nightfall.
When he awoke, hours after the samurai tracking Inuyasha's blood trail passed him without notice, he took stock of his injuries. His vision was blurry, and his head ached in a way that nothing had ever ached before, and when he touched his face with his hands he found the flesh on the left side was torn, and then a round piece of metal, thick clots of blood, and most of his left eye fell into his cupped hands.
Shippou threw up for a little while.
If Kagome was there, he would have cried on her lap for days straight. But Kagome was not there, and though he wanted so badly to curl up with his tail and sleep, he wanted to find Kagome even more. Besides, as bad as things looked, he knew Kagome had no problem fixing something like this with her medicines.
Shippou squinted. Already he was getting used to seeing only out his right eye. And his face, though encrusted with blood, stopped bleeding long ago.
He tore a bit of his belt off, bandaging his face to protect the wound, and set off on his journey.
II.
He followed Inuyasha's scent to a low mound of dirt, and then he began to realize how very, very wrong everything had gone. But he was a child yet, and thus it was obvious to him the mound of dirt with no markings meant nothing, a mere diversionary tactic. Inuyasha probably buried his clothes there, and bathed, and the scent he left when he left the false grave was far too weak for Shippou to pick up.
As well, when he circled the grave he could pick up the weaker but oh so pleasant scent. There was now the Kagome smell, very strong, very clear. Old, yes, nearly days old, but his belly rose and fell with each taste of her, and with no care of pacing himself he followed her trail, nearly at a full run, without sleep, without food, for three days and three nights
III.
Not even death could corrupt Kagome.
He found her in the mountains, on the rock altar of the destroyed wolf clan, beside a bloody, comatose Kouga. He had tried to save her, clearly, and for the half-second or so he afforded Kouga – he could not bear to not look at Kagome for longer – he realized the wolf youkai had attempted some blood-letting ceremony, to give Kagome strength from his own veins. But though he made every inch of the altar red, and though – from the looks of her – he made Kagome drink in wolf blood, and then bathe in wolf blood, it seemed the stuff left her faster than he could put it in.
This was probably clear to Kouga at some point, and the depth and careless zig-zag of the cuts on his forearms and his thighs seemed to imply that, near the end, he was simply trying to kill himself.
But still, the wolf youkai breathed, and his days-old cuts long ago closed, and though his face was pale and pained he seemed ready to awake at any moment, coming out of one nightmare, headlong into another.
Shippou stared at the serene, sleeping, long-dead Kagome, and felt himself age ten years each time he blinked his eye.
But not even death could corrupt Kagome: though pale and blood-encrusted, her eyes were closed, her lips relaxed and serene, her arms and legs only slightly splayed, palms up, hands in loose fists with thumbs partly drawn in, as if she had just recently lain down and, in mid-stretch, fallen fast asleep atop her downy sleeping bag.
She even smelled sweet.
Shippou approached, and seeing her skirt had flipped up with the wind some time ago, pulled it back down, tucked the edges beneath her thighs to keep it in place, and pressed her legs together to keep her decent and dignified. He took her arms too, pressing them to her sides, intertwining her fingers on her belly. And now he stood beside her face, and kissed her forehead, and kissed her cheeks, and kissed her lips, and he rested his head against her breasts, cold, but still so soft, and Shippou softly realized he had no choice at that moment but to be an adult, and always be an adult, and he would most likely not ever find anything remotely good in all this world.
Morning came, and Kouga still slept, and Shippou knew with every hour he was risking the possibility of seeing Kagome decay before him, and Shippou threw up a little again, or dry-heaved, as he had not eaten in days, and the exertion made his bad eye hurt like hell. And he understood there was no one here to help him bury Kagome, or even explain to him how you bury a Kagome, and Shippou decided he'd have to come up with a ceremony himself.
Shippou carried Kagome to the river, and undressed her there, and washed her body, and washed her hair. Kagome had been wearing her backpack, and Kouga brought it all this way, leaving it beside the altar, between two incense burners which still burned. Shippou emptied their contents reverently. Books, almost entirely. But he found her soaps, and her shampoos, and her extra underwear, and her perfumes and her deodorants and her make-up and a large number of things he simply could not identify.
With the soaps and the liquids in sweet-smelling bottles he washed her, and made her smell beautiful, and dressed her in her spare clothes, and just to make sure he did everything possible for her, everything he ever remembered seeing Kagome do, he painted her fingernails and toenails a soft red, and brushed her hair a thousand strokes, and used her make-up just as he had seen her do – foundation and blush and mascara and lipstick and – within about twenty minutes he realized that was harder than it looked, and he apologized profusely, and washed her face clean. Just a touch of lipstick. There. That's all.
He made the pyre. He knew if he did it incorrectly, and it did not burn hot enough, the results would be bad enough that he would be forced to gouge out his other eye. So he was very, very meticulous. Only the driest wood. Build it up well. Kindling. Three grades of kindling. Then the heavy logs. Tent it up, to chimney the flames. Get it very, very hot. Hotter. There. Now place the bark turnings. Light it in at least two places. No. Six, to be safe. Eight places, then. Start the fire a little ways away. Ready the branches. Good.
That was it. He was ready to send Kagome away.
He did not think about it. He could not think about it. He simply picked her up, placed her atop the pyre, and set the platform alight. In nine places. And he kneeled and he prayed for seven hours, until the last ash went grey, and then he collected her bones and buried them.
The Shikon shards would not burn. The goddamned Shikon shards would not burn. He did not even bother to collect them. Five Shikon shards, calling out to every demon in the land, and he just left them there. How dare they not burn. How dare they survive what Kagome could not.
IV.
He had no place to go, not yet. He could wait for Kouga to awake. He was nearing that point. Kouga could take the shards, take them far away. Shippou made camp, collected food and water, and every hour, on the hour, he prayed for Kagome.
Kouga awoke. Sort of. He sat up, and his eyes were open, but he would not speak, and would not eat. He just stared. Stared at something. Off in the distance. Once in a while, he laughed. A short burst, a chuckle. He would smile, and it would be there and gone like a flicker of flame, and then he would stare at the horrible thing off on the horizon again. He did this several times a day for about two days.
VI.
Hakakku and Ginta came, and carried Kouga to a place to sleep, and fed him, and spoke to him, and – this was so unusual – even embraced him. Kouga still did not speak, but he ate again, and slept again, and that was a bit of an improvement.
VII.
Kikyou came, seeking the shards. She likely found it amazing that they had not been taken yet. But Shippou knew no foul creature, no matter how strong, could ever approach the place where Kagome's ashes were buried.
Shippou was still too numb to react when told the bad news he already expected: Inuyasha was dead, and the fate of Miroku and Kirara was not certain.
But Sango was alive?
"Stories of a captured taijiya have passed me on the road here, and spread like wildfire at the places I rested. None of these stories have said she was executed. If you return to the South Road and go East you will find the guardhouse where she was most likely taken."
Kikyou agreed to stay here long enough to pray for Kagome on the proper days. Shippou left Kagome's backpack here, as the first part of his shrine to her.
VIII.
After Shippou left, while Kikyou bathed – a miko should never do funeral duties; tending Kagome's grave weakened her spiritual powers and made it necessary to purify herself daily – a creature of mud and hair, wearing a baboon pelt, stole Kagome's shrine.
Later that day, the yellow sack was delivered to Hitomi Kagewaki at Hojo Castle.
Three days later, Shippou tracked Sango to the guardhouse, and from then to Hojo Castle.
The trail ended there. Whatever her fate, Hojo kept it secret. Months passed. He did not gain information on Sango. But he found Koharu. She was pregnant. Shippou protected her.
One year later, Takeda Kuranosuke was killed. The killers' descriptions were of Sango and Kohaku.
Koharu knew she was going to die.
She begged Shippou to take the infant son of Miroku and travel hard and fast to the West.