Blind by FireFalcon1414

Disclaimer: I do not own, in whole or in part, the Inuyasha series. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko. The poems at the beginning and end of each chapter can be found in the book “Ogura Hyakunin Isshu”, or “100 Poems by 100 Poets”, a collection of traditional Japanese poetry.

 

*** *** ***

 

Chapter One: Autumn 1999 to Spring 2004

As I view the moon,
Many things come into my mind,
And my thoughts are sad;
Yet it's not for me alone,
That the autumn time has come.
--Oe no Chisato

 

My story begins in the autumn of my seventeenth year, my second year after falling into the Sengoku Jidai. It begins with a feud – over fifty years old, at the time, yet still heated, and still bloody. It was between two half-brothers: one, my best friend, who I, at the time, thought to be the love of my life; the other, a cold, sadistic bastard, who I thought to be nothing more than that. My, how times have changed.

 

In any case, – my contradicting feelings aside – these two brothers were fighting over a sword called the Tetsusaiga, the “Steel Cleaving Fang”, forged with the fang of their father by the great smith, Toutousai, to have the ability to slay an army of demons, all at once. Not a power you want to fool around with, if you ask me, but, of course, nobody did. Both brothers wanted the sword: Inuyasha, my half-demon friend, who had inherited it from previously mentioned father, and Sesshoumaru, his full-demon foe, who had inherited another sword, opposite in nature, which restored life to the dead, yet could not harm the living, and thus was considered utterly useless by its esteemed owner, whose favorite attack shot poisonous acid out of his claws (which says a bit about his character), and who happened to be the current Lord of the Western Lands. No, they didn’t have a more original name for the western part of Japan back then; the Feudal Era, that is; for that is where the beginning – if not the majority – of my story lies. Approximately five hundred years away; or, more simply, a few steps from my house, through a conveniently placed well.

 

However, I have gone off on a tangent, and I apologize; I tend to do that often, I am told.

 

At the moment in time that I am trying to tell you about, my entire traveling group – with the exception of the fighting Inuyasha, of course – was huddled behind a large rock, observing the battle from a distance. We were a very diverse group, consisting of Sango, a demon exterminator whose village of similarly employed people was entirely annihilated by Naraku – who, by the way, is our arch-foe – and whose only remaining “living” relative was her brother, Kohaku, whose dead body was animated and given a semblance of life by said arch-foe, who used him against us whenever the possibility arose of causing even more emotional pain to my friend; and Miroku, a Buddhist monk who was cursed by that same Naraku to have a void in his hand that would eventually grow to encompass him in entirety, as it did his father and grandfather before him; he had known he would die at a young age for as long as he could remember, and the only way to discharge the curse was to destroy Naraku. Also joining us was Kirara, a small cat demon that transformed into a larger one – with much larger teeth – when there was need of battle, who had been Sango’s companion for as long as we knew them, and Shippou, a young fox demon whose parents were slain by the Thunder Brothers, who were searching for Shikon Jewel shards that Shippou’s parents happened to have obtained somehow. After Inuyasha and I – more Inuyasha than I, I admit – killed the brothers, he took to following us, and was slowly becoming more adept at his skills of illusion and trickery; they came in handy in sticky situations, saving our lives more than once, I am sure.

 

I mentioned the Shikon Jewel, did I not? In essence, the Jewel of Four Souls, or Shikon no Tama – we often shorten it to “Shikon Jewel” because it is shorter, though grammatically it does not make sense – was a, well, jewel… that had the power to grant any wish. Upon first arriving in the Feudal Era, I made the horrible and regrettable mistake of shattering it into more pieces than I would care to count; and so my duty was to collect all these fragments and reassemble the jewel before any of them fell into the wrong hands. The “wrong hands” being those of Naraku, who’d gotten a similar idea into his cruel mind, though instead of wanting it to keep it from being used, he wanted it to keep it for himself, to use as he pleased. Therefore, basically, we just really did not like him. Moreover, did I mention he was the one who turned Inuyasha against his first love, and vice versa, so that they killed each other (in effect)? Well, now I have. Because he did. And he is a very, very bad man.

 

And there goes another tangent. Get used to it. They will probably decrease, now that I have informed you of the basic plot up to this point.

 

A recap: Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru were fighting over the Tetsusaiga, for the umpteenth time. Sango, Miroku, Kirara, Shippou, and I were staying back and out of the way, out of respect for the brotherly feud or out of fear of the demon lord, I am not really sure; though we always said the first reason when faced with the question. Across from us, on the other side of the clash, hid Lord Sesshoumaru’s companions, in a similar position and behind a similar rock as us. They included of an ugly toad-like imp demon thing – I never found out what exactly he was – named Jaken, whose voice and personality were each as abhorrent as his disgusting looks. In addition to the gross (and probably slimy) toad thing, there was an absolutely adorable little girl, Rin, who was sunny and bright and everything her two companions were not. I regret not knowing much about this child, but what is done is done and in the past.

 

What I did know about her was that she was a young girl, and did not deserve to be exposed to such gore, and so – in an attempt to save the child from being traumatized too much – I ran headlong, idiotically, and regrettably into the midst of battle, just as Sesshoumaru was attacking Inuyasha with his Dokkasou attack – basically, meaning he was spraying highly acidic poison at Inuyasha through his claws; don’t ask me how. I, stupidly, happened to be in the way of this, and the acid got into my previously 20-20 vision eyes. Needless to say, the pain was excruciating. My senses overloaded, and I blacked out.

 

*** *** ***

 

I awoke late the next day, briefly, in the hut of my elderly friend and mentor, Kaede, a miko of small power and stature but great spunk, as I like to say. I woke slowly, and it took me a while to realize I had a thick cloth blindfold on. I shifted to put a hand up and touch it, and heard the slight scuffing sound of Kaede’s step.

 

“Are you awake, child?” her voice asked.

 

I think the stress was a bit much for me, and the anxiety leaked into my voice as I responded, "Yeah," quickly followed by the questions, “What happened? Why am I wearing a blindfold? Where is Inuyasha? And Sango, Miroku, Shippou and Kirara? Did we beat Sesshoumaru? Are they alright?”

 

“Your friends are fine, dear. There was a… accident. The blindfold and what happened will be explained when Inuyasha returns,” Kaede said quietly as she smoothed the hair from my forehead.

 

“Returns? From where?” I insisted, refusing to let the soothing sensation put me to sleep just yet.

 

“Jinenji’s farm, dear. He has just gone for some herbs I requested. Sleep, now, child; you will need your rest for the disquiet that awaits you.”

 

I obeyed, sleeping a bit longer, before reawakening to the sounds of familiar voices, though I did not let them know I was awake just yet. I wanted to hear a few things, first.

 

Shippou’s shrill voice was the first thing I heard. “Inuyasha! You’re back!” was shortly followed by the sound of a small body impacting with a larger, and being shoved off.

 

The quiet voice of Sango asked, “Did you bring the plants, Inuyasha?”

 

Inuyasha’s voice, quiet as well, for once, answered, “Yeah. She awake yet?”

 

“She awoke earlier to ask what happened, but I reassured her that answers were in the coming and bade her sleep on. She has not opened her eyes since,” Kaede informed him. A pause followed. “She hasn’t spoken since.” There was a moment of silence, and I thought I could make out the sounds of Shippou beginning to cry.

 

Inuyasha snapped back with his usual harshness towards the boy. “Cool it, brat. I’ll take all the extra time we can get before I have to tell her what happened.”

 

Miroku spoke up in accord. “I agree, Inuyasha. Telling Lady Kagome of her injuries… we could all use a bit more time to consider how best to break it to her gently.”

 

“True,” Sango judged. “Though I wish she would wake up, just so I could be sure she’s… otherwise alright.”

 

“She’s fine, Sango. I would’ve smelled it if anything else were wrong,” Inuyasha declared, though I detected the hint of a doubt in his sure voice.

 

Shippou, still sniffling, said, “Inuyasha, what’s Kagome gonna do if she can’t track the shards any more? She’ll still stay here with us, right?” Inuyasha’s response was a sigh, and Shippou pushed a bit more, “Inuyasha? Kagome will be able to stay with us, right?” Silence. “Or… or visit, at least.”

 

“No, Shippou. Kagome will have to stay in her world. No visits,” Inuyasha said.

 

I shot upright. “What?”

 

“Ka-Kagome!”

 

“I am not staying in my time! I am staying right here with you guys until my job is done, and maybe even longer if it suits me, thank you very much! Besides, I can still sit you, even with a blindfold! So sit! Sit, sit, sit, sit, sit!” I got up slowly, carefully, and inched my way towards where Inuyasha’s voice had been until I felt the edge of the crater beneath my bare toes. “I don’t want to stay at home while my best friends in the world, who I love dearly, risk their lives to fix something I broke when I should be there with them helping out! I will not, under any condition! So you’d better damn well tell me what your reasoning is before I s-i-t you all the way down to America!” I stopped when I felt Inuyasha’s hand grab my wrist, and his breath on my ear.

 

He spoke very simply, in a whisper: “You’re blind, Kagome.”

 

I stumbled backwards, but was caught by Inuyasha’s hand on my back. I could only whisper, “What?”

 

I felt Shippou hug my leg, sobbing. “Kagome, you’re blind! You can’t see me anymore, but I’m still here!”

 

I felt numb, but found the strength to stoop down and give the child a hug, as warm as I could make it. “It is okay, Shippou. I can still hear you, and feel you. I’ll be okay.” My blindfold, regrettably, hid my glare, though it was in Inuyasha’s general direction. I bit my words off, especially for him. “And I am not leaving you for good. Just until I get better. There are doctors in my time who can fix this sort of thing, so I’m sure I’ll be better in no time.”

 

“I hope so, Kagome.” Inuyasha’s quiet response to my biting tone was what convinced me that this was my new reality, and I began to weep silently; although the blindfold soaked up most of my tears, they soon leaked out, and Inuyasha simply wrapped his arms around me and let me cry on him without comment.

 

*** *** ***

 

The group made their slow way up the path to the Bone-Eater’s Well, my hands firmly held by Miroku and Sango, Shippou and Kirara perched on each shoulder, my blindfolded face upturned to feel the limited warmth of the early morning sun. One of the few advantages of blindness, I had realized by then, was that I noticed things more; small things, like temperatures, smells, sounds. Though I did miss my vision sorely, I was ever the optimist, and was determined to find that silver lining, even without being able to see it.

 

I knew when we entered the clearing. I felt the tug from the Well, the same tug I felt whenever I was near it, though stronger now that I was less distracted from it; the feeling that the time I belonged in, that I had been born and raised in, was but a few steps away.

 

Sadly, going to that home meant leaving this one, potentially forever. And that meant goodbyes. And I notoriously suck at goodbyes.

 

I turned to Miroku first, trying to break the ice with a bad joke: “Lecher, if you grope me…”

 

“I won’t,” he said, pulling me into a tight hug, his hands, for once, staying where they should.

 

I hugged him back, and felt a big of wetness trickle through my hair. “Miroku, are you crying?”

 

“Of course not,” he disclaimed, a cracking voice proving the lie. “We’ll see you again soon, right, Sango?”

 

Sango, more obviously crying, answered, “Right. Nevertheless, I am still crying. And so are you.”

 

I lurched into her arms, saying, “I’ll miss you both so much; you were like brother and sister to me, respectively.”

 

Miroku, following my lead of bad jokes, gave a small laugh as he said, “Sometimes I feel like even I am more feminine than Sango.”

 

She followed up with an equally horrible joke and small laugh. “And sometimes I feel more masculine than you, pervert.”

 

I gave a big, forced laugh, before reaching up to cuddle Kirara a moment before passing her to her mistress. Shippou replaced the cat’s place in my arms, a plaintive cry reaching my ears: “Don’t forget me, Kagome!”

 

I hugged him and said in a reassuring voice, “Of course not, Shippou! How could I ever forget my little fox?”

 

Shippou, suddenly serious, said, “I’ll never forget you if you never forget me, Kagome. Deal?”

 

I nodded sternly, as serious as he, and replied, “Deal. I could never forget any of you guys. I love you too much.”

 

“Pinky promise?” Shippou begged.

 

“Pinky promise.” I extended my pinky finger, waiting for his smaller finger to join before clasping and shaking decidedly.

 

“I love you, too, Kagome,” he said quietly, wrapping his little arms about my neck in a weak embrace, which I returned more strongly, reminded more than ever that he was just a small child. I wish I could have taken him with me. It would have made both of our lives far easier.

 

Miroku and Sango were murmuring their agreement when Inuyasha’s coarse yell, coming from the direction of the Well, reached us: “Oi! Sap-fest! Time to turn off the waterworks; Kagome should be going home now if I’m getting back in time for dinner.”

 

“Inuyasha!” Miroku yelled back angrily, “How could you be so heartless? This could be the last time we ever see Kagome!”

 

“Of course I’m heartless, monk! I am a demon! What’d you expect?”

 

Shippou protested, “I’m more of a demon than you are, Inuyasha, and I’m not heartless!”

 

“You? You are no demon! You’re just a puffy fur-ball!” Inuyasha said scornfully, and I had to hold onto Shippou more tightly in response to the aggressive movement I felt him make.

 

I bent my head to whisper to him, “Don’t worry about it, Shippou. Inuyasha just is not as good at expressing sadness as we are. Just leave him alone for now, okay?”

 

I could tell he was sulking, but he still answered, “Okay.”

 

I handed Shippou to Miroku and took a hesitant step toward Inuyasha. “Alright, alright, Inuyasha. I’m coming.”

 

“Good.” He grabbed me around the waist, waited politely (for him) for me to wave to my friends one last time, and jumped into the well. I felt the familiar warmth and… rightness – I suppose would be the word – which jumping through the well always gave me, but I couldn’t help thinking how different it was without the shining blue light billowing about me, welcoming me into the new time.

 

*** *** ***

 

I felt the rush of air as Inuyasha leapt up and out of the Well, with me still secured in his arms, and set me down when we got outside. He led me to the house in silence, and I was not inclined to break it. Mom came out to greet us at the doorstep: “Welcome home, de – Why are you wearing a blindfold?” She brushed her hand against the side of my face, touching the new fashion accessory.

 

My mother’s proximity was a bit much for me, I guess, and I broke into sobs and ran into her arms. I think she must have given Inuyasha a speculative look over my head, but she hugged me tightly.

 

“We had… better go inside,” Inuyasha said respectfully. “There’s a lot to explain, and you should sit down.”

 

‘He’s being more considerate than usual. I guess this has shaken him more than even I thought,’ I thought, letting my mother take me by the hand and following obediently, groping for the couch before sitting. I felt the cushions sink comfortably as my mother’s familiar weight fell beside me.

 

Inuyasha began. “Missus Higurashi, there’s… no better way to say this, which I know of, but…” I could almost see him shifting nervously. “Your daughter was in an accident while trying to stop me from fighting the other day, and… she’s…”

 

I cut in; she had a right to hear it from me. “I’m blind, Mom.”

 

Her voice was very quiet when she spoke, and a bit hoarse. “You’re… blind?” I nodded. There was a moment of silence. Mom cleared her throat. “Well, then.” Her damp voice informed me that she had been crying. “We have health insurance. It will take a while, but we can save up the money… Eye surgery is not entirely out of reach. We will call in a few debts, borrow some money… We will manage. However… it will take several years… And with Grandpa’s medical problems, on top of that…”

 

I heard the worry in my mother’s voice and cut in quietly. “It is okay, Mom. I can wait. Just focus on Grandpa’s health; my vision is nothing compared to his life.”

 

“You’re sure? Without your vision, you can’t… be an active part of society.” Her voice cracked again. “He’s an old man, at the end of his life; you’re just beginning yours. It’s up to you how you want us to prioritize; I’m sure he’d happily give up his health for yours.”

 

I shook my head decisively. “No; if the blindness doesn’t drive me mad, the guilt of Grandpa dying would. We should help him as long as we can, and when he is beyond our reach… Then, we will do whatever is best for the family at the time. Nevertheless, for now, just focus on what Grandpa needs. I can live without sight.” There was another moment of silence.

 

“Kagome, you’ve… become more… mature, since your loss. Even though it has only been two days, you have grown up in just that time. Or, maybe…” Another sniffle. “Maybe you’ve grown up while you’ve been away, and I just haven’t noticed it until now. Maybe I just haven’t seen you enough to know you at all.”

 

I had to reassure her. “No, Mom; no. You know me better than anyone; you gave birth to me, remember?” I tried to get a laugh; failed. “And besides, this injury will slightly hinder my ability to leave the house; I think we’ll be spending more time together than ever before.” This did get a small, dry laugh from my mother, who then said:

 

“Not exactly how I’d go about it, dearest. But we’ll take what we can get, I suppose; and be thankful for it.” She held me close, and there was a lull in conversation before, reminding me of the other presence in the room, all but forgotten, she added as she rose from her seat, “Well, you two should probably say goodbye now. I’ll give you some privacy.” I heard the footsteps as she left the room, leaving us, two long-time companions, in an uncomfortable silence.

 

“So,” he said into the living room.

 

“So,” I echoed. There was a pause, before I asked quickly, anxiously, “Will you visit?”

 

His voice was passionate. “Every week. Sometimes more. And I will bring things back and forth, too, like letters to and from the others. And crayons for Shippou. And Ramen. I… I only wish I could bring you. That’s what we’d all really want, anyway.” I nodded. There was another uncomfortable silence, and I heard Inuyasha stand. “Well, I guess this is goodbye.”

 

I stood as well. “For now,” I finished quickly for him. “Only goodbye for now. Nothing permanent.”

 

He barely hesitated – I caught it, though – before answering, “No, nothing permanent.”

 

I launched suddenly into his arms, holding on tightly to his rough fire-rat kimono. “I don’t want you to go…”

 

He hugged me back instantly. “I don’t want to go; but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to… because of responsibility. It is my responsibility to get the rest of the shards, and to destroy Naraku. It is my responsibility to take care of Shippou, and keep an eye on that lecherous monk and Sango. I… can’t just stay here with you, in safety, forever.”

 

I nodded against him. “I know. But I want you to.”

 

It was a day for bad jokes. “What happened to that new maturity your mom was talking about a moment ago, hm? Now you’re acting more like that wimpy, cry-baby fifteen-year-old I met two years ago, waking me up with your irritating, sweet smell.” I heard him take a deep breath from my hair, before feeling him let go of me and step away. I was cold. “I have to go now. I’ll… see you in a week.”

 

“Y-yeah,” I whispered. “See you… in a week. Bye, Inuyasha.”

 

He hesitated. “…Bye, Kagome.” Then I heard his quiet footsteps quickly leaving the room, and the door snapping shut behind them. My mother came in next, slowly.

 

“Kagome? Are you alright?” she asked me gently.

 

I turned my tearstained, blindfolded face in my mother’s direction. “I… I will be, Mom. I think.”

 

Mom sat beside me and rubbed my back soothingly. “Good. Grandpa should be coming in from the shrine in about half an hour and Souta an hour after that. We will break the news to them at dinner. Any requests?”

 

I forced a smile. “Oden?”

 

I heard a decided clap from her. “Done! I’ll go prepare that; do you need me to help you to your room?”

 

I grimaced at the thought of needing help to find my own room, but nodded. My words sounded ashamed, even to myself: “Yes, please.” I stood, letting my mom take me upstairs by the arm.

 

*** *** ***

 

Inuyasha’s first visit was, as would be expected, earlier than the predestined week; three days earlier, specifically. He came bearing reassurances that Miroku had made plans to pick up Shippou’s reading lessons where I had left off, a letter from Sango, and news of a Jewel Shard to the North, along with more reassurances that they would be back in under a week. It was not said that the hunt would be considerably more difficult without my abilities. It was, however, thought by us both.

 

He came again a week later, when, apparently, the group had returned empty-handed from the North. He returned a few days after that, and again just under a week later. Thus, the pattern – if it could be called that – of Inuyasha’s visits was set.

 

My friends from my time turned out to be somewhat shallow. They came by a couple of times that first month, but after that, I heard nothing from them, nor did I particularly want to. The friends I wanted to hear from could not come, and I could not go to them.

 

So the time passed. As I said, Inuyasha’s visits had developed a pattern of sorts, but, little by little, the visits become more spread out. What was twice a week, became once; thrice every other week became once. Eventually it was only once a month, where it seemed to settle for a while. This lack of visitation was by no means to be blamed upon my half-demon friend; I believe seeing me simply caused him too much pain, and I now understand this. Then, however, I was too young, and understood nothing. I spent nearly every night sitting awake, awaiting Inuyasha’s presence, to no avail; and yet I would not hesitate to stay up just as late the next night. I regret worrying my mother so; yet nothing she could say would detain me. She eventually set up a futon in the living room for me, and I hardly ever used the stairs after that.

 

Souta – my brother, if I hadn’t mentioned that before – was surprisingly helpful in all things inconvenient: helping me around the house, fetching things for me, and keeping an eye on me when left alone being only a few of the many chores he did for me in that time. Grandpa also took it well, though I think he disagreed with me on the issue of medical priority. He never said anything about it, though, for which I am extremely grateful.

 

In any case, time passed, and Inuyasha and I grew distant. I cannot say when, precisely – somewhere between the second and third year since my blindness – Inuyasha stopped coming. I remember his last visit vaguely – only that it was a warm day, and I think Mom had commented to me on how bright the sunlight was. Inuyasha had come late – just in time for dinner, as opposed to his usual arrival in the morning. All I really remember clearly is that he had seemed distracted throughout the entire visit, and had not stayed long; he had answered clearly none of my questions about the others, whereas the time before we had talked for hours about Sango and Miroku’s upcoming wedding. Even Shippou, who he’d previously told me was growing like a weed, and whose fighting lessons had been the topic of many of our discussions, wasn’t a subject he’d been able to pick up on to my full satisfaction. He had left early, having said next to nothing, and I cried for a while that night.

 

Grandpa died one year later, on July 3, 2002. I had just turned twenty that spring. I tried to cry. I could not.

 

Until then, the doctors had been saying that an eye surgery was possible, though not affordable; but I was miserable in that house. I couldn’t stand being there any more; so close to the portal between times, yet unable to use it, to visit my friends, or find out if they were even still alive. I was depressed; I saw it, my mother saw it, I am sure even Souta saw it. Leaving was not a luxury; it was a necessity. Therefore, when presented with the option of moving or surgery, I chose moving in an instant.

 

The search for a house was begun. Mom and Souta would look at them, and I would sense them – despite being blind, I was still a miko of some power. Sensing the auras of houses was a simple enough task; even in my budding insanity – looking back, I can now call it that – I could tell if a house was fit to be our home. For example, one of the ones we explored had experienced murder with the last owners; another had been repeatedly robbed. I guided my family away from these negative vibes.

 

Nearly a year after we began our search – we were yet to find a house within our price range upon which we could all settle – we found a small house about an hour’s drive from our current place of residence. It was a good size for three people, with room for a guest or two, should extended family come over for a holiday sometime. It was not a shrine – the chances of mystical wells turning up were minimal. It was a short distance from the city, so there were not likely to be loud noises or disturbances, but the conveniences of the city were still accessible. There was a bedroom available in the back of the ground floor that I would be happy with – I had gotten into the habit of sleeping downstairs. Souta had a few friends who lived in the neighborhood, and Mom liked the view.

 

Personally, I thought I felt a slight disturbance in the air. I passed it off as gas.

 

We moved in half a year later – we had to wait for Souta to finish school – and called it my twenty-second birthday present. I was overjoyed at the move; getting away from the house I had grown up in was good for my mental stability – especially since I had gotten into the habit of speaking to Inuyasha, Sango, Miroku, or Shippou. A moment after telling one of them a thought I’d had, I would realize that they weren’t there; hadn’t been there, in fact, for five years; hadn’t been alive in nearly five-hundred.

 

Needless to say, my mental state was precarious.

 

Under a week after moving in, I felt a presence in my room. It was raining that day, and I was alone in the house; Souta was at school and Mom at work. I did not know who this was; so I said nothing, suspecting my precarious mental state had fallen into a condition of utter disrepair. The feeling receded in under an hour, and I was alone with my memories once more.

 

The situation repeated itself a couple of days later: a presence was in my room when there should not have been one. I recognized it this time as the same presence as the one from the other day, and recognized that presence as the cause of the disturbance I had felt upon initially visiting the house. I was curious as to what the disturbance was – I suspected a ghost, like the little girl, Mayu, I had saved from the shinigami early on in my travels with Inuyasha – yet could not gather my courage to speak.

 

During the third such visit, I gathered my wits enough to say a few words: “Hello. I know you’re there.”

 

I sensed startlement from my companion; yet they said nothing in reply.

 

I did not mind the silence; I only wanted company. The lack of threat their aura portrayed gave me strength to continue, “Will you stay here with me? I am lonely, staying here alone all day, every day; and my fate is unlikely to change in the near future. Will you keep a blind girl company?”

 

I thought they would not respond; I expected them to leave, as they had before. Instead, I heard a low, masculine voice, hoarse from disuse, answer, “Yes.”

 

“Aha! So, you are a man. Tell me, Sir, are you a ghost?” I asked curiously, aware of the fact that this was one of the very few people outside of my family whom I was given the chance to converse with since Inuyasha’s absence.

 

A pause, then, “You could call me that; a ghost of the past.”

 

A grinned amiably upwards in his general direction. “I suppose you could call me a ghost of the past, as well. Tell me, Sir Ghost, will not the shinigami come for you if you do not move on soon? I would hate for you to go to hell; it cannot be terribly pleasant there.”

 

I was growing used to his way of pausing before speech. “No shinigami would come for me,” he eventually responded.

 

“In that case, you may stay here as long as you wish.” I extended my hand to shake in greeting. “My name is Kagome. What is yours?”

 

“My name faded in the dust of crumbled histories,” he said quietly, as he said all things. “It is of no consequence now. Call me what you will.”

 

“Alright, then; I’ll have to name you something. What do you think of…” I paused, trying to think of something appropriate; my hand lowered to my lap. “Keiji?”

 

“Keiji?” he asked. “Why this name?”

 

“As you can probably tell, I am blind. I must be led everywhere I go. The name ‘Keiji’ means ‘Lead Cautiously’; will you do this for me?”

 

His pause was followed by a monotonous, “As you wish.”

 

I grinned, overjoyed at the prospect of company in the long days ahead; I raised my hand again for him to shake, and this time he took it. I felt the skin of his hand; it was cool to the touch, with a soft back but a callused palm. “You can use a sword?” I asked him as he withdrew. I sensed his shock at the question.

 

“Yes,” he answered after a slightly longer pause than usual. “I used to.”

 

I smiled again, more softly now. “I once had a friend who used a sword.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Oh.”

 

I was going to ask him about himself, but was interrupted by the sound of my mother’s key turning in the front door; she was home early. I opened my mouth to warn him to disappear back to wherever he came from, only to realize he was already gone. I rose to meet my mother in the front hall.

 

Truly, this is where
Travelers who go or come
Over parting ways--
Friends or strangers--all must meet:
The gate of "Meeting Hill."
--Semimaru

 

*** *** ***

 

Author’s Note: Well, here I go, posting the first chapter of Blind all over again. Sort of a nice feeling to come back to. Who knows, maybe it'll inspire me to work on something new. Speaking of which! I'm starting a poll on my FFdotnet profile to figure out just that, so stop by when you have a chance and give it a look-see. Thank you very much for reading my humble story, and thank you even more if you review it!

~FireFalcon1414

Blind by FireFalcon1414

Disclaimer: I do not own, in whole or in part, the Inuyasha series. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko. The story of “The Tongue-Cut Sparrow” is a Japanese fairy tale; I found the version I use here at www[dot]blackmask[dot]com, and it is not mine, either.

*** *** ***

Chapter Two: Summer 2004 to Autumn 2004

In the summer night,
The evening still seems present,
But the dawn is here.
To what region of the clouds
Has the wandering moon come home?
--Kiyohara no Fukayabu

*** *** ***

“Keiji,” I said quietly to my companion several weeks later. “Would you do me a favor?” I heard the rustle of cloth as he nodded, and stood slowly, extending my hand for him. “Would you lead me somewhere?”

There was a moment when I was unsure of whether he would comply or not, but then my hand was supported by his; his fingers clasped mine, and he asked in his low voice, “Where would you like to go?”

“The library, please,” I requested, and let myself follow him out of my room and through the hallways I was yet to know to the room of books I could not read. “Thank you,” I said when I breathed in the scent of old books. Our library really was not much; only a small room with two armchairs, as Souta described it to me, with bookshelves lining two of the walls, a pair of windows in another, and the door through which we entered in the last. I moved to the side, feeling my way to a shelf and pulling out one of the tomes, bringing it back with me to my silent escort. “What is this, Keiji?”

“A book.”

“Well, yes, Keiji, I knew that much! What is the title of this book?” I specified with a smile, offering it to him to look at.

He took it from my hands to study it. “It appears to be a book of traditional Japanese myths,” he informed me.

My smile widened. “Would you please do me another favor, Keiji?” I asked, putting on my most hopeful face. He did not respond, so I assumed that was an affirmation. “Would you please read me some of the stories?”

I barely caught his almost-silent sigh; nevertheless, he led me to one of the armchairs, and I heard him seat himself in the other. “Which would you like to start with?” he said quietly, and I giggled in childish delight.

“Does this book have one called ‘The Tongue-Cut Sparrow’?” I asked eagerly.

“Yes,” he said; I heard the turning of the pages, and he began:

“Long, long ago in Japan there lived an old man and his wife. The old man was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working old fellow, but his wife was a cruel woman, who spoiled the happiness of her home by her scolding tongue, and who was always complaining. The old man had for a long time ceased to take any notice of her crossness, as he was out most of the day at work in the fields; and, since they had no child, he kept a tame sparrow whom he loved just as much as if she had been his child.

“When he came back at night after his hard day's work in the open air it was his only pleasure to pet the sparrow, to talk to her and to teach her little tricks, which she learned very quickly. The old man would open her cage and let her fly about the room, and he always saved some small tidbits of dinner for his friend.

“One day, the old man went out to chop wood in the forest, and the old woman stayed at home to wash clothes. The day before, she had made some starch, and now when she came to look for it, it was all gone; the bowl which she had filled full yesterday was quite empty.

“While she was wondering who could have used or stolen the starch, down flew the pet sparrow, and, bowing her little feathered head—a trick which she had been taught by her master—the pretty bird chirped and said, ‘It is I who have taken the starch. I thought it was some food put out for me in that basin, and I ate it all. If I have made a mistake I beg you to forgive me!’ From this, you see that that the sparrow was a truthful bird, and the old woman ought to have been willing to forgive her at once when she asked her pardon so nicely – but not so.

“The old woman had never loved the sparrow, and had often quarreled with her husband for keeping a ‘dirty bird’ about the house, saying that it only made extra work for her. Now she was quite delighted to have some cause of complaint against the pet. She scolded and cursed the poor little bird for her bad behavior; and, not content with using these harsh words, she seized the sparrow, fetched the scissors, and cut off the poor little bird's tongue.

“‘I suppose you took my starch with that tongue! Now you may see what it is like to go without it!’ With these dreadful words, she drove the bird away, not caring in the least what might happen to it and without the smallest pity for its suffering.

“In the evening, the old man came home. As usual, on the way back he looked forward to the time when he should reach his gate and see his pet come flying and chirping to meet him; but tonight the old man was very disappointed, for not even the shadow of his dear sparrow was to be seen, and so he went to his wife to ask after the bird. ‘Where is Suzume-san today?’

“The old woman pretended not to know at first, and answered, ‘Your sparrow? I am sure I do not know. Now I come to think of it, I have not seen her all the afternoon. I shouldn't wonder if the ungrateful bird had flown away and left you after all your petting!’ but at last, when the old man gave her no peace, she confessed all. She told him crossly how the sparrow had eaten the rice-paste she had specially made for starching her clothes, how when the sparrow had confessed to what she had done, in great anger she had taken her scissors and cut out her tongue, and how finally she had driven the bird away and forbidden her to return to the house again. Then the old woman showed her husband the sparrow's tongue, saying, ‘Here is the tongue I cut off! Horrid little bird, why did it eat all my starch?’

“‘How could you be so cruel? Oh! How could you be so cruel?’ was all that the old man could answer. ‘What a dreadful misfortune for my poor Suzume-san to lose her tongue!’ he said to himself. ‘She won't be able to chirp any more, and surely the pain of the cutting of it out in that rough way must have made her ill! Is there nothing to be done?’

“The old man shed many tears after his cross wife had gone to sleep. While he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his cotton robe, a bright thought comforted him: he would go and look for the sparrow on the morrow. Having decided this he was able to go to sleep at last.

“The next morning he rose early, as soon as the day broke, and, snatching a hasty breakfast, started out over the hills and through the woods, stopping at every clump of bamboos to cry: ‘Where, oh where does my tongue-cut sparrow stay? Where, oh where, does my tongue-cut sparrow stay?’

“He never stopped to rest for his noonday meal, and it was far on in the afternoon when he found himself near a large bamboo wood. Bamboo groves are the favorite haunts of sparrows, and there, at the edge of the wood, he saw his own dear sparrow waiting to welcome him. He could hardly believe his eyes for joy, and ran forward quickly to greet her. She bowed her little head and, wonderful to relate, she could talk as of old. The old man told her how sorry he was for all that had happened, and inquired after her tongue, wondering how she could speak so well without it. Then the sparrow opened her beak and showed him that a new tongue had grown in place of the old one, and begged him not to think any more about the past, for she was quite well now. Then the old man knew that his sparrow was a fairy, and no common bird. He forgot all his troubles, he forgot even how tired he was, for he had found his lost sparrow, and instead of being ill and without a tongue as he had feared and expected to find her, she was well and happy and with a new tongue, and without a sign of the ill-treatment she had received from his wife.

“The sparrow asked him to follow her, and she led him to a beautiful house in the heart of the bamboo grove. The old man was utterly astonished when he entered the house to find what a beautiful place it was. It was built of the whitest wood, the soft cream-colored mats were the finest he had ever seen, and the cushions that the sparrow brought out for him to sit on were made of the finest silk and crape. Beautiful vases and lacquer boxes adorned the tokonoma of every room.

“The sparrow led the old man to the place of honor, and then, taking her place at a humble distance, she thanked him with many polite bows for all the kindness he had shown her for many long years. Then the Lady Sparrow, introduced all her family to the old man. This done, her daughters, robed in dainty crape gowns, brought in a feast of all kinds of delicious foods, until the old man began to think he must have been dreaming. In the middle of the dinner, some of the Sparrow's daughters performed a wonderful dance to amuse the guest. Never had the old man enjoyed himself so much. The hours flew by too quickly in this lovely spot, with all these fairy sparrows to wait upon him, to feast him, and to dance before him.

“Nevertheless, the night came on, and the darkness reminded him that he had a long way to go and must think about taking his leave and returning home. He thanked his kind hostess for her splendid entertainment, and begged her for his sake to forget all she had suffered at the hands of his cross old wife. He told the Lady Sparrow that it was a great comfort and happiness to him to find her in such a beautiful home and to know that she wanted for nothing. It was his anxiety to know how she fared and what had really happened to her that had led him to seek her. Now he knew that all was well he could return home with a light heart.

“The Lady Sparrow begged him to stay and rest several days, but the old man said he must return to his old wife—who would probably be cross at his not coming home at the usual time— and to his work, and, much as he wished to do so, he could not accept her kind invitation. Now that he knew where the Lady Sparrow lived, though, he would come to see her whenever he had the time.

“When the Lady Sparrow saw that she could not persuade the old man to stay longer, she gave an order to some of her servants, and they at once brought in two boxes, one large and the other small. These were placed before the old man, and the Lady Sparrow asked him to choose whichever he liked for a present, which she wished to give him. The old man could not refuse this kind proposal, and he chose the smaller box, saying, ‘I am now too old and feeble to carry the big and heavy box. As you are so kind as to say that I may take whichever I like, I will choose the small one, which will be easier for me to carry.’

“Then the sparrows all helped him put it on his back and went to the gate to see him off, bidding him good-bye with many bows and entreating him to come again whenever he had the time. Thus, the old man and his pet sparrow separated quite happily, the sparrow showing not the least ill-will for all the unkindness she had suffered at the hands of the old wife. Indeed, she only felt sorrow for the old man who had to put up with it all his life.

“When the old man reached home, he found his wife even crosser than usual, for it was late on in the night and she had been waiting up for him for a long time. ‘Where have you been all this time?’ she asked him angrily. ‘Why do you come back so late?’

“The old man tried to pacify her by showing her the box of presents he had brought back with him, and then he told her of all that had happened to him, and how wonderfully he had been entertained at the sparrow's house.

“‘Now, let us see what is in the box,’ said the old man, not giving her time to grumble again. ‘You must help me open it.’ They both sat down before the box and opened it.

“To their utter astonishment they found the box filled to the brim with gold and silver coins and many other precious things. The mats of their little cottage fairly glittered as they took out the things one by one and put them down and handled them over and over again. The old man was overjoyed at the sight of the riches that were now his. Beyond his brightest expectations was the Sparrow's gift, which would enable him to give up work and live in ease and comfort the rest of his days. He said, ‘Thanks to my good little Sparrow! Thanks to my good little Sparrow!’ many times. The old woman, however, after the first moments of surprise and satisfaction at the sight of the gold and silver were over, could not suppress the greed of her wicked nature. She now began to reproach the old man for not having brought home the big box of presents, for in the innocence of his heart he had told her how he had refused the large box of presents, which the sparrows had offered him, preferring the smaller one because it was light and easy to carry home.

“‘You silly old man,’ said she, ‘Why did you not bring the large box? Just think what we have lost. We might have had twice as much silver and gold as this. You are certainly an old fool!’ The old man now wished that he had said nothing about the big box, but it was too late; the greedy old woman, not contented with the good luck which had so unexpectedly befallen them and which she so little deserved, made up her mind, if possible, to get more.

“Early the next morning she got up and asked the old man to describe the way to the sparrow's house. It did not even enter her thoughts that the sparrows might be angry with her— as, indeed, they were—and might punish her for what she had done. Ever since the Lady Sparrow had returned home in the sad plight in which they had first found her, weeping and bleeding from the mouth, her whole family and relations had done little else but speak of the cruelty of the old woman. ‘How could she,’ they asked each other, ‘inflict such a heavy punishment for such a trifling offense as that of eating some rice-paste by mistake?’ They all loved the old man who was so kind and good and patient under all his troubles, but the old woman they hated, and they determined, if ever they had the chance, to punish her as she deserved.

“After walking for some hours, the old woman at last found the bamboo grove which she had made her husband carefully describe, and now she stood before it crying out, ‘Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house? Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house?’ At last, she saw the eaves of the house peeping out from amongst the bamboo foliage. She hastened to the door and knocked loudly.

“When the servants told the Lady Sparrow that her old mistress was at the door asking to see her, she was somewhat surprised at the unexpected visit, after all that had taken place, and she wondered not a little at the boldness of the old woman in venturing to come to the house. The Lady Sparrow, however, was a polite bird, and so she went out to greet the old woman, remembering that she had once been her mistress.

“The old woman intended, however, to waste no time in words, she went right to the point, without the least shame, and said, ‘You need not trouble to entertain me as you did my old man. I have come myself to get the box which he so stupidly left behind. I shall soon take my leave if you will give me the big box—that is all I want!’ The Lady Sparrow at once consented, and told her servants to bring out the big box. The old woman eagerly seized it and hoisted it on her back, and, without even stopping to thank the Lady Sparrow, began to hurry homewards.

“The box was so heavy that she could not walk quickly, much less run, and she had often to sit down and rest her self by the way. While she was staggering along under the heavy load, her desire to open the box became too great to resist. She could wait no longer, for she supposed this big box to be full of gold, silver, and precious jewels, like the small one her husband had received.

“At last this greedy and selfish old woman put down the box by the wayside and opened it carefully, expecting to gloat her eyes on a mine of wealth. However, as soon as she lifted the lid, a number of horrible and frightful looking demons bounced out of the box and surrounded her as if they intended to kill her. Not even in nightmares had she ever seen such horrible creatures as her much-coveted box contained. A demon with one huge eye right in the middle of its forehead came and glared at her, monsters with gaping mouths looked as if they would devour her, a huge snake coiled and hissed about her, and a big frog hopped and croaked towards her. The old woman had never been so frightened in her life, and ran from the spot as fast as her quaking legs would carry her, glad to escape alive. When she reached home, she fell to the floor and told her husband with tears all that had happened to her, and how she had been nearly killed by the demons in the box.

“Then she began to blame the sparrow, but the old man stopped her at once, saying, ‘Don't blame the sparrow, it is your wickedness which has at last met with its reward. I only hope this may be a lesson to you in the future!’

“The old woman said nothing more, and from that day she repented for her cross, unkind ways, and by degrees became a good old woman, so that her husband hardly knew her to be the same person; and they spent their last days together happily, free from want or care, spending carefully the treasure the old man had received from his pet, the Tongue-Cut Sparrow.”

We sat quietly for a while, pondering the story, until his voice broke the silence: “Why did you ask for this myth?”

I smiled, lowering my head. “I do not know. I suppose it reminds me of myself, a bit.”

His hesitation was a bit longer than usual before he asked me, “Who was the old woman who cut out your tongue, little Sparrow?”

I faced him, not letting my smile falter. “My tongue was cut out by my own foolishness, Keiji; and one day it will grow back.”

The silence returned; in the end, we read several more stories from the anthology before Mom’s key turning in the lock startled us; my ghost was gone before I could warn him, and I felt my way to the front hall to greet my mother.

*** *** ***

We finished the book of mythology the next day, and the day after that we moved onto another book on the shelf, and another. When Keiji asked me where my family had gotten so many old books, I responded that Grandpa had collected them; he had always been slightly obsessed with history, so my answer was probably true. Besides, even if it was not true, it did not do either of us any harm.

My family remained oblivious of our friendship – of Keiji’s existence, for that matter – though they did comment a few times on my improved temperament. I laughed and smiled more, they said, and was less “gloomy”, in Souta’s words.

Mom got a promotion, which meant that she would be around less, but that our income increased significantly. She worried, at first, that I would be unhappy, home alone so much; but I assured her that I was fine, and that the better profit would bring the day of my surgery – the return of my eyesight – that much sooner. I never doubted that I would, some day, regain my ability to see; and I wanted it more than ever then, if only to see the face of my ghost.

I sat upon the window-sill of the library one day, leaning listlessly against the pane of glass, cold rain drenching the other side. I had long since mastered the journey between this room and my own, and no longer required Keiji’s assistance, choosing to meet here instead. I sat there, waiting, the chilled glass pressed against my side, and yearned to be outside.

“Kagome,” came his voice, the one I always looked forward to. “Come down, away from the window; you’ll catch cold.”

I turned my head to smile at him, but remained where I was, motioning him instead to come to me. He complied, as he always did, and I felt his warmth on the side opposite that of the icy windowpane. “Can you see the rainbow, Keiji?” I asked him, leaning my head once more against the glass.

“Silly girl,” he said, his voice as cold as the rain. “Have you forgotten that the rainbow comes after the rain, and not during it?”

I smiled again, continuing to gaze out the window with my sightless eyes. “Ah, but it is there during the storm as well, and more brilliant despite it. The rainbow is formed by the sunlight being filtered through the falling water; it is easier to see after the rain has let up, but if one would only look, they would see it now, as well… and the later arch would seem all the paler in comparison. People just are not inclined to look up, through the rain; they fear the water falling into their eyes.”

“I fear nothing.”

“There is that pride,” I said teasingly. “But please, do look; if you do, I am sure you will see it.”

He did look; I felt him leaning across me to peer upwards and out of the window. By his lack of response, I could tell he had found my rainbow.

“Tell me, now: what does it look like?”

“It is as you describe; like any other rainbow, only more vibrant.”

My smile reappeared, and I leaned against him, off the windowpane of my prior support. “Thank you, Keiji.”

He stood for a moment, allowing me to rest, before repeating quietly, “Come down, away from the window; you’ll catch cold.”

My response was different this time, as I leaned further into him, wrapping an arm around his neck; he interpreted this correctly, and lifted me from the sill to my regular armchair, then went to the shelf to fetch a book before seating himself and beginning to read aloud for me while I reclined in my seat, thoroughly content as I listened to the rain fall outside the window in sweet harmony with his voice as he read the title of the book, sounding surprised.

“Ogura Hyakunin Isshu: a book of a hundred poems by a hundred poets; a… very old book of poems. I read it when I was young.”

“Really?” I asked eagerly.

“Yes. Shall we begin in the beginning?” he asked me.

“No; that’s so clichéd! Just open to a random page and read a poem. I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

I heard the pages flip apart and him draw breath to read from a book that was written centuries ago. “This one is by Fujiwara no Sadakata:

“If your name is true,
Trailing vine of ‘Meeting Hill,’
Isn't there some way,
Hidden from people's gaze,
That you can draw her to my side?”

I propped my elbow on the arm of my chair, leaning my cheek into my palm. “That is a very sad poem…” I said wistfully.

“It is hopeful,” he corrected.

I glared in his direction. “Well, we can agree that the writer is lonely, at least,” I snapped back.

He did not respond for a moment. Then, quietly, he responded with “He isn’t necessarily lonely; he simply wants only one person, who is not there.”

“Oh, just read the next poem!” I cried, in a huff. He complied, of course, but I detected a bit of smugness in his voice as he moved on to another poem.

We continued reading the anthology throughout that week, each poem followed by what Keiji called “stimulating conversation”. The book remains dear to me, even now, years later.

*** *** ***

In the autumn fields
When the heedless wind blows by
Over the pure-white dew,
How the myriad unstrung gems
Are scattered everywhere around
--Fun'ya no Asayasu

*** *** ***

Author’s Note: Here's the second chapter! I hope you enjoyed it; I'll post the next one in a couple days. Also, a reminder to please visit my FFdotnet profile to vote on what I should write next. Thank you for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!

--FireFalcon1414

Blind by FireFalcon1414

Disclaimer: I do not own, in whole or in part, the Inuyasha series. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko. Kisaragi Koharu and Fukuzawa Yukichi are actual Japanese authors and not of my fabrication.

*** *** ***

Chapter 3: Winter 2004 to Autumn 2005

It is for your sake
That I walk the fields in spring,
Gathering green herbs,
While my garment's hanging sleeves
Are speckled with falling snow.
--Emperor Koko

*** *** ***

I was sick that winter: not deathly so, but sick enough to be more miserable than necessary considering my condition. I was nauseous, easily tired, and had a fever of 103 degrees. Moreover, to make matters worse, my mother would not leave my side for the first week – a fact that would have made me happy a few months ago, now an annoyance as it meant I had no visits from my secret friend. It was understandable why she did not want me to be alone; apparently, I had been delirious for the first couple of days.

I do not remember much of that, but my mother briefly told me that I had not called out for Inuyasha and the others, as I had the last time I had been severely ill, but for someone named “Keiji,” who she did not know. She asked me about where I would have heard of this person, but I shrugged it off as something I had heard on the radio.

Luckily, she had to leave after that week to go to work, and I was left happily alone. “Keiji!” I exclaimed gleefully when I felt his presence in the room. I rose up my arms expectantly of a greeting, but in reply, I felt him push me back down into the mattress and tucking my blankets around me.

“You are ill. Stay in bed,” he ordered.

I pouted. “You haven’t visited in forever, and now you won’t even give me a proper greeting!” I complained noisily.

I heard his sigh, but grinned when I felt a large hand come to settle atop my head. “I am going to the library to get a book. I will return shortly.”

“Okay!” I chirped. He left and returned as he had promised, sitting beside me on the bed and allowing me to curl up around him with my head in his lap for warmth. His hand settled in my hair, and he was about to begin reading when I interrupted him.

“You know, you are very agreeable when you are in ‘mother hen mode’,” I commented.

He snorted. “You would prefer I pushed you off of me?”

“No, but you probably would if I were healthy.”

“I would politely ask you to remove yourself.”

“Same thing.”

He paused, then said, “You are very delicate.”

It was my turn to snort. “Now, maybe; but you should’ve seen me when I had my sight! I was running all over the country, fighting dangerous battles and taking care of my friends’ wounds and not getting sick.”

“You were probably hiding behind big rocks, as opposed to fighting; shoving painkillers down your friends’ throats until you could find a trained healer, as opposed to healing; and getting sick as often as you do now.”

I scowled, severely irked at his accurate guesswork. “Start reading! What book is it this time?”

*** *** ***

He continued in his “mother hen mode” for the rest of my illness, letting me lean on him and bringing me meals in my room. The entire first day I was up and about the house again he followed me around like my shadow, insisting that I lay down or at least sit quietly in the library, asking if I was feeling at all tired or hungry. I brushed him off every time, wandering the house with my “ghost” in tow, seeing how long I could go without losing my breath.

He eagerly took any offered opportunity to usher me back into the library or my room and read to me until my mother came home and ushered me just as eagerly back to bed. I had not one caretaker with a “mother hen” complex, but two! I could not escape them, so I had no choice but to allow myself to be ushered here and there and spoon-fed herbal soups and teas at every mention of needing substance. By the time another week had passed, I was in dire need of solid food, and welcomed it with open arms and a more widely open mouth. Of course, as my health returned, Keiji’s “mother hen” complex dissipated, and with it went his willingness to allow prolonged contact with me. I must admit to being sorry at having to say goodbye to it.

Time passed, as it often will, until springtime came again, and with it that eagerly awaited date of my birth. Souta bugged me endlessly about what I wanted for the day, until I eventually told him to get me some new books. He was confused by this – understandably – but I explained that I enjoyed being read to, and he went along with it. I told my mother the same thing, and she, being a mother, took it the wrong way, apologizing profusely for not being around more often to read aloud to me and spend time with me, and explaining that she really couldn’t be around any more often because of work, but I shouldn’t be afraid to ask her to read to me if she was ever at home, et cetera, et cetera. I smiled and nodded, letting her think what she would.

When Keiji asked me what I wanted, though, I just smiled and said something silly. “I want the sky to fall,” I told him once. “I want to go dancing,” “I want to feel grass between my toes,” and “I want to smell water,” were also favorites. I laughed when I said them.

The day did come, and my mother and brother gave me their gifts that morning before leaving for work and school, respectively. My mother had gotten me the latest book by Kisaragi Koharu, a well-known drama writer. As she read the back of a book – which I could not help imagining as having a pink cover – to me, I couldn’t help thinking sarcastically that Keiji would really have fun with this one. From Souta, there was a book on philosophy by Fukazawa Yukichi of the late 1800s, which seemed much more like something my daily companion would enjoy. I hugged them both, thanking them for their gifts before sending them off to their daily destinations to do the piles of paperwork I knew awaited them there.

Once my family was gone, I took my newest possessions with me to the library, where I sat in my chair and felt the differences in their covers. Both were paperback, and of recent print, but one of them still managed to feel old to me… I assumed this to be the one by Fukuzawa, and the other by Kisaragi.

I started at the sound of my companion seating himself in the armchair across from my own, not having heard his entrance, and grinned at him. My grin transformed into a scowl when he remained silent. “What? No ‘Happy birthday, Kagome!’ for the birthday girl?” I said grumpily. He snorted, and I got up and tottered over to him to lean against the arm of his seat. “Well?” I asked, changing tactics. “What did you get me?”

Instead of answering – either with words or a package shoved into my hands, as I’d half expected – he moved to the shelf to get a book, and I flopped down into the vacated cushions with a pout. “If you’re not giving me anything, would you at least like to see what my family got me?” I asked, pulling the two new books from my pockets. His footsteps turned from the bookcase to return to my side, where he leaned over to see the new additions to our collection. Pulling forth the one I had decided was by Kisaragi, I shoved it at him with a playful laugh. “From my mother,” I specified.

He grunted. I heard him handle the book, turning it back and forth in his hands. “It looks… interesting.”

“I thought you’d say that. Here, this one’s from Souta; you’ll probably find it less ‘interesting’ and more interesting,” I said, saying the first in a low, sarcastic voice as I handed him the other book.

I could just imagine his eyebrows rising at the sight as he said with traces of surprise evident in his smooth voice, “Fukuzawa Yukichi? I did not think your brother one for philosophy.”

“Neither did I,” I said with a laugh.

We were silent for a moment. I fidgeted with my hands. He did not move. Finally, he said, “Your mother and brother have left?”

I raised my head, caught off guard. “Yeah, they’ll be gone until this evening, just like normal; you know that. Why do you ask?”

Rather than answer, he grabbed me by the hand, tugging me up and out of the armchair. He hardly allowed me the time to gain my balance on my feet before setting off, pulling me along so that I had to run to keep up.

“Keiji!” I cried, pulling back and managing to escape his grasp for a moment. “Where are we going?”

He grabbed my hand again, setting off at a slightly slower rate, though still quicker than I would choose. “To your gift.”

“Oh! Alright,” I said with a grin around my panting breaths. I was not used to running anymore; my life had a slightly slower pace now than it had years before.

“Hn.”

I scowled at his rudeness, but even this could not sufficiently cover up my joy at receiving another birthday present, and the grin returned in record time.

He stopped short. I paused a moment to orient myself. “We’re… by the back door,” I decided. I heard the knob turn and the door turn slowly on its hinges, opening before me. A hand on my lower back, urging me forward; I complied numbly. I had not been outside since we had moved in, save the twice-yearly doctor visits.

The feeling of pavement on my feet shocked me; I had forgotten to put shoes on, but could not bring myself to care. Keiji took me by the hand again, leading my bewildered form off the porch and onto the overgrown lawn, the dew and wet grass between my toes surprising me. A small smile spread across my face, took root, and grew there, flowering into a laugh as I released my companion, stepping away to twirl in a circle, feeling my skirt billow about my ankles. I twirled until I was too dizzy to continue, then fell backwards into the soft flora, where I lay, laughing in delight.

After a moment of joyful exhaustion, I raised my arms, allowing Keiji to pull me back to a standing position, where I promptly threw my arms around him and hugged his as tightly as my dwindling strength would allow. When I pulled back, he placed something in my hands, positioning it away from us, and I heard the sound of flaps separating and opening. He moved the object to cover us, just as the sounds of millions of drops of water hitting the ground and roof surrounded us.

“Rain!” I exclaimed, flinging the umbrella away from myself despite Keiji’s protestations and reaching for his hand to pull him farther from the house, then swinging around to grab his other hand as well. “Dance with me?” I asked plaintively, knowing he would refuse me nothing at this point, and, not to disappoint, one hand moved to my waist as the other found a firmer grip on mine. I was not an amazing dancer, but I managed to keep up with him as he twirled me around the yard.

The excitement that motivated my movements could only last so long, and soon I leaned against him, too tired to continue. I smiled lazily at the drops of water I felt dripping from my hair to my nose to my chin to the ground, listening to them plop into the puddle at our feet. “Thank you, Keiji,” I said languidly, burying my damp nose in his shirt. “This has been the best birthday ever.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he said, the vibrations of his low voice tickling my face, making me giggle again.

I stood up straight again, maintaining my grasp on his hand. “Let’s go inside now, okay? My mom is probably home by now, and worried about me.” For some reason, the thought of my mother wondering where I was did not concern me, as it should have.

“Yes. We stayed out longer than I expected.” He led me back towards the house, pausing in front of the door. “I will not enter with you. Your mother would see.”

“Oh. Alright, then,” I said, preoccupied with wringing the water from the cuffs of my sleeves. “Will you come back this evening? Or tomorrow?”

“This evening, if you are alone.”

“Okay. Bye.” I opened the screen door and stepped inside, letting it crash closed behind me.

“Kagome!” I heard my mother cry from the front room, and her hurried footsteps toward me. “Kagome, you went outside?” she exclaimed in a tense voice as she reached me and pulled me to her in a hug that made my bones creak. “I was so worried! What were you doing out there alone? And all wet! Come, now, let’s get you a towel.”

“I wasn’t alone, Mom,” I said absently, as though it was the most obvious statement in the world. Common sense, really.

“What? Who was with you? Souta is in school. Was it a stranger? Did someone break in?” Her voice was slowly growing higher in pitch; I said the first thing I could think of to calm her down.

“No, Mom; not a stranger, a friend.”

She stopped in her motions. “Kagome… please tell me you didn’t think Inuyasha was with you.”

I paused, surprised. That had not even entered my mind. “No, of course not, Mom. Why would Inuyasha be here? No, this friend is a ghost. He’s been visiting me since we moved in here.”

“Kagome…” my mother began skeptically, but I cut her off.

“Mom, I’m not kidding! His name is Keiji, and he reads to me in the library while you and Souta are away. He took me outside today for my birthday. Please, Mom; please believe me!”

“Kagome, calm down! You’re not making any sense.” I felt her hand on my forehead, and pulled away defensively. “Hold on, dear; are you feeling alright?”

“I’m not sick! Please, Mom, it is the truth. Keiji is real! You have to trust me–”

“Mom, Kagome, I’m home!” Souta’s voice came from the entry hall, shortly followed by his footsteps toward us. “Hey, what’s going on? Why’s everything so tense?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but my mother got in first. “Your sister was outside alone when I got home.”

“What? Kagome?”

“I wasn’t alone, Mom! Souta, I was not alone. I have made friends with a ghost.”

“A ghost, Kagome?” asked my mother. I could not tell if she was worried or just exasperated. “I’m sure you will understand if we are a bit skeptical.”

I turned quickly to Souta, taking his hand in mine and asking in a pleading voice, “You believe me, don’t you?” No answer. “Souta?”

“Kagome…” he began, sounding tired, before hesitating and starting over. “Kagome, a ghost? I thought this fantasy of yours was over, but… Kagome…”

I felt the tears gathering. Neither of them believed me! Throwing my little brother’s hand away – my little brother who had once idolized me and trusted everything I’d told him, no matter how unlikely it may seem; who knew me well enough to know I’d never lie – and ran from the hallway, dropping the towel my mother had wrapped around my shoulders on the floor as I made my way to my room, slamming the door we never closed behind me and falling face first into my pillow.

I cringed when I felt someone gently place a towel – either a new one or the discarded one – carefully under my still-wet hair and wrap it up and around, getting the dampness away from my back and neck. I sat up and turned violently, knocking them away. “Why don’t you believe me?” I sobbed, the angry tears returning. “I’m not lying! I have never lied to you! He’s real, and I’m not alone!”

An arm around my back pulled me forward until I was sobbing my protests into a shirt. “Hush,” Keiji’s voice told me after a moment. “I know.”

I quieted, though still distressed, and when my sobs diminished, I remained as I was, face pressed against his chest, slightly tilted for the necessary breathing function. I was surprised, though, when his hand settled against the back of my head.

“I apologize,” he said quietly.

I pulled back partially, confused. “For what?”

“I ruined your birthday. You would not be distressed, as you are now, if not for my presence.”

I pulled back completely, then. “What are you talking about?” I asked, letting irritation tint my voice. “Your presence gives me all of the small amount happiness I have experienced since my loss, and your gift today made me happier than any other. You gave me everything I asked for: we went dancing on the lawn in the rain. Why should you apologize for making me happy? My mother and brother should be the ones apologizing for not believing me, not you!”

He did not answer, and after a moment, I moved to sit close beside him, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Why don’t they believe me?” I asked the air in front of my nose, not expecting him to say anything in response to the question any more than I did that air.

Not one to do as expected, though, he did answer. “Most humans of this time do not believe in ghosts, demons, or anything else beyond themselves and their futile existences. Why should your family be any different?” he said reasonably, coldly.

I could not be angry with him, despite the futility comment – it was too much something he would say. So I answered that question, “Because they know better. They have both met Inuyasha, and Souta was with me when I was attacked by a demon Noh mask and when I helped his friend’s sister’s ghost move on to the afterlife. Not to mention, we lived in a shrine! Grandpa believed in demons and ghosts more than he did in humanity, it seems to me – it seems everyone he met, he tried to exorcize at least once. How could they not believe in ghosts, when they’ve seen so much evidence?”

He was silent for a moment, and I thought he would not answer, but he did. “Perhaps they do not want to believe. Perhaps believing causes them too much pain – remembering the time when demons and ghosts were a main part of your life, and when your grandfather was alive, since those times are now gone and sorely missed.”

I lowered my face. “I… suppose that makes sense.”

“Of course it does. Your brother is coming now; we will speak tomorrow.” I nodded, and I felt his presence dissipate just as I heard a knock on the door.

“Come in, Souta,” I called, and he obeyed.

“How’d you know it was me?”

I smiled secretively. “Oh, I have my ways. What are you doing here?”

He was shifting nervously. I could tell. “I wanted to apologize. You… You never gave us reason not to trust you, but you have to admit, a ghost is a bit… far-fetched, Kagome.”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t have you believe me, Souta.”

“Why the sudden change of heart, sis?”

I laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He chuckled awkwardly, making his way to the bed to sit beside me.

“We haven’t spoken much, recently, have we?” he began.

“No. We haven’t.”

This time I felt his nervous shifting through the springs of my bed. “I… I want to apologize for that, too. You must get lonely, here alone every day.”

I rolled my sightless eyes, but what could I say to that? “I keep telling you, I’m not alone! My ghost-friend keeps me company”? Oh, yes. That would go over beautifully. Straight to the loony bin for me. I wonder if Keiji would be able to get through the padded walls… Instead, I responded with, “Don’t worry about me; I like the privacy.” Smooth. Very smooth. Like silk.

If I knew my little brother – and I did – he was giving me a very strange look out of the corner of his eye right then. “You never liked privacy before,” he said suspiciously. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you never wanted to be alone. You were always at school with or on the phone with those ditzes you called friends, and then you were always with your friends from the Feudal Era, where you didn’t even bathe alone.” I laughed at that, and this time the chuckle that joined mine was an honest one. “Really, though, I am sorry. For everything,” he added, suddenly serious. “Especially for not believing in… you know. It’s just–”

“Yeah, I know,” I cut him off, just as serious, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder and mildly annoyed to realize that I had to reach up above my own shoulder. “You just can’t stand to remember the time when the supernatural – ghosts, demons, spirits and legends – were as much a part of this family’s daily life as eating, sleeping, and breathing. I can’t really blame you for that, Souta.” I offered a warm smile, and knew it was accepted when he enveloped me in an equally warm hug. “So,” I said casually once we’d parted, “since when are you taller than me?” I narrowed my blind eyes in a mock-glare and poked him hard in the chest. “You used to be so short and cute! I thought I told you to stop growing!”

He laughed at the old joke – I had been telling him to stop growing for as long as either of us could remember – and stood to go, saying that he had to help Mom with dinner. I heard his steps pause, though, not two feet from the bed. I felt the passing air as he bent down, heard the brush of his hand against the fabric of my blankets, and felt him stand upright again, apparently examining whatever he’d found. “Hey, Kagome,” he started slowly, “what’s this?”

“What’s what? You know I can’t see that, Souta,” I said, annoyed and curious.

“It… looks like a hair. It can’t be yours, though; your hair is black, and this one is pure white.”

“Really?” I asked excitedly. There was only one other person who frequented my room! “How long is it?” I must admit to being a bit eager for any information on my mysterious ghost.

“Long,” Souta said, sounding impressed. “Longer than yours, even. I wonder whose it could be?”

I had known his hair was long, but even longer than mine was, which had only been trimmed half-heartedly since the accident? He must have been growing it out for a while… Until I could pester him about his hairdo, I just grinned up at my brother, said “Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you!” and laughed maniacally. My pre-affirmed knowledge of my brother guarantees another of those strange looks before he repeated that Mom needed help with dinner and escaped my room, leaving the precious hair in my eager hands.

I smiled secretively as I looped the long strand around my wrist again and again until I got to the end, which I tucked in carefully so that it would not fall off, before rising to join my family for dinner. My mother did not mention my earlier hysterics, so I felt no need to. The small smile remained throughout the evening.

*** *** ***

On a mountain slope,
Solitary, uncompanioned,
Stands a cherry tree.
Except for you, lonely friend,
To others I am unknown.
--Abbot Gyoson

*** *** ***

Author’s Note: Here's the third chapter! Plenty of fluff for you, and I hope you enjoyed it; I'll post the next one in a couple days. Also, a reminder to please visit my FFdotnet profile (fanfiction(dot)net(slash)~firefalcon1414) to vote on what I should write next. Thank you for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!

~FireFalcon1414

Blind by FireFalcon1414

Disclaimer: I do not own, in whole or in part, the Inuyasha series. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko.

*** *** ***

Chapter 4: Winter 2005 to Autumn 2006

I have met my love.
When I compare this present
With feelings of the past,
My passion is now as if
I have never loved before.
--Fujiwara no Atsutada

I tapped my fingers lightly against the outside of the windowpane I was leaning against, listening absently to the quick, irregular pattern, feeling the slight vibrations travel through the glass to reach my side, the side within the house, the side sheltered from the wind, from the world. I was waiting for Keiji in the library, sitting on the windowsill, as I sometimes did, and in my idleness, I had managed to push open the window so as to feel and breathe the cold, bitter air.

I felt the touch upon my shoulder, signaling my dear companion’s entrance, and reluctantly drew my hand back within the house, within my cage. I was reminded of the song the children sometimes sang when I had lived among them: “Kagome, Kagome, bird in the cage…”

As I reflected on this gloomy thought, I allowed myself to be helped down from my window, allowed myself to be led to the armchair I resided in day after day, though I stopped Keiji when he tried to close the window, saying that the cool air was refreshing. He obeyed my wishes, as he nearly always did, and moved to his seat. He did not begin to read, and I did not ask it of him, too lost in thought was I.

A while later – it is difficult for me to say how long; inability to see clocks or the changing colors of the sky tends to hinder one’s ability to reliably tell time – I broke the silence, not with the cause of my reflection, but with some classic small-talk: weather.

“It’s going to snow soon,” I said quietly, “I can smell it on the wind when it blows through the window.” He did not comment, so I went on, “I give it about a week, maybe less.”

I heard a deep breath in, followed by a short “Six days.”

I did not question him. “I made a pretty good guess, then.” Nothing. “It will be the first snow of the year, too. Do you like the snow?”

“Well enough.”

“Oh?” I prodded.

A hesitation, and he responded, “I do not have particular preferences concerning the weather. It cannot be controlled, and so what use is it to prefer one sort to the other? That would only lead to joy or misery depending on chance. I would prefer to know.”

I grinned. “One day, scientists will develop technology to control the weather. Then will you have a favorite sort of weather?”

Rather than answer my question, he instead said, “You truly believe that?”

My grin nearly faltered, and although I maintained it, I fear my voice must have dipped a moment as I quietly told him, “I have to. If I lose faith in technology, I lose faith in the return of my eyesight; and if I lose faith in that, then I lose faith in my future. If I lose faith in my future, well, I may as well just die now, right?” I do not think my smile remained as I finished.

He did not answer for a moment. When he did, his voice was even lower, even quieter than it usually was. “Why is it that you wish for your eyesight so much? What is it you want to see so badly? It cannot be your friends who abandoned you so easily; I find it difficult to believe that you yearn to see your mother and brother to this extent. What is it?”

The smile returned, slowly, as I answered him. “I want to see the rain falling, and the rainbow through the rain. I want to see a butterfly open its wings just before the blur of taking flight. I want to see the trees change color in the autumn. I want to see the glare of the sun off of newly fallen snow. I want to see this library that has been my haven these past few years, and I want to see the view from that window, and from all the windows of this house. I want to see the doctors who have been so kind and helpful. I do want to see my mother and brother, and my grandfather’s grave.” My hesitation was brief; I am unsure of whether he even noticed it. “But, more than any of those things, I want to see you; you, whom I have never seen before.”

“Me?” His voice was coarse as he scoffed the word scornfully. “You would not wish to see me if you knew my looks. I would be the one you least wish to see.”

I think I surprised him with my laugh. “Oh, but don’t you understand? I do not know your looks, so whether I would wish to see you or not if I did does not matter. And how would you know who I would least wish to see? There is no one, that I can think of, who I would actively wish not to see.”

“Perhaps you do not think hard enough, girl,” he growled.

My eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start calling me that! I have a name, and you should know it as well as you do your own, since you learned them on the same day, Keiji,” I scolded.

I heard him sigh, so I stopped my rant to listen to him expectantly. He said nothing, yet interrupted when I opened my mouth to continue it with a quiet, “Do not argue with me on this point, Kagome.” I shut my mouth with a snap, folded my arms unhappily, and leaned back into my chair with an indignant huff, though I did not argue any more.

I spoke a while later, moved by some unknown thought or emotion. “You’ll never forget me, will you, Keiji?” I asked, reminded of a similar question asked of me by a small redheaded fox demon over five hundred years ago.

He snorted. “Why would you ask such a silly question?” he asked. “Of course I won’t forget you. You wouldn’t let me.”

I snorted right back. “Of course I wouldn’t let you! But… if I wasn’t around to remind you of my presence every two seconds, you wouldn’t forget me, would you?”

He paused. “No,” he answered quietly, “I would not forget you.”

“Pinky promise?” I asked, extending my little finger across the gap between our armchairs.

“Excuse me?” he asked, sounding a bit confused, though I am sure he would never admit to the emotion.

I sighed exasperatedly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a way of sealing a promise, so that you can never break it. You just link your pinky fingers together, and that’s it. There is no going back on a pinky promise,” I said unquestionably. He did not respond. “So? Do you promise to never ever forget me?” I prodded, adding “I’ll never forget you if you never forget me, Keiji,” to sweeten the deal.

I heard a sigh that echoed mine from earlier before a slim digit found its way to mine. I grinned, clasping my pinky finger around his and waving the joined hands decidedly. “There!” I declared once we had both withdrawn our fingers. “Now neither of us can ever forget!” He answered with a grunt, but I accepted it and flopped back into my seat contentedly.

We sat the rest of the day in silence rather than over a book, neither of us really in the mood to break it. I spoke, finally, when we were nearing the time when my mother would arrive home. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so you will not see me. It is just a check-up; the doctor will tell us the latest news on optometry – new technology and such – and the nurses will run a few tests to see if they have the technology to operate on me yet. It is really no big deal; we do this twice a year, as you know. So… that is all. I will not be here tomorrow.”

“We will meet the next day, then,” he said absently, as though entirely absorbed in his own thoughts.

I nodded. “Yeah. The next day. Well… good night, Keiji.” He grunted a response, and I left the room just as the familiar sound of my mother’s key turning in the lock resounded through the house, empty now save myself.

*** *** ***

I went to and returned from my appointment with the doctor, just as I had done twice every year since my injury. At this point, the only obstacle between my recovery and me was the slow advancement of technology, our financial situation having improved steadily since my mother’s promotion. They had told my mother and me of the new treatments available for blindness; it was difficult to tell, they said as they did every time, how to help me, because the cause of the blindness was such a mystery. I had told them, of course, that I had gotten acid in my eyes somehow; no, I did not know the name of the exact chemical; and no, I could not give them any more detail of how I had gotten that chemical there, of all places. They took samples of my eye tissue for tests, as they had at all of my visits, with promises of calling with the results in two to three days.

The phone rang just as we were sitting around the table for dinner on the second night after the doctor’s appointment. My mother stood up swiftly, grumbling something about “wringing telemarketers’ necks” for “interrupting our nice family meal.”

She answered the phone with a brusque “Hello?” closely followed by a more polite “Oh, Dr. Hiroshi’s office, thank you for calling…” A pause to listen. “You have the results of my daughter’s tests?” She did not say anything for a moment, but Souta did.

“Mom, are you alright?” At my questioning sound, he explained to me as I heard him move toward our mother, “She’s crying.”

Mom’s voice, damp but light, spoke into the receiver. “Thank you, Ms. Nozomi... Thank you so much! Yes, we will be down tomorrow morning at eleven to set a date… Thank you! Good night!” I heard the click of the phone, and before I could ask what was happening I felt a pair of arms encircle me, pulling me against my mother, and I heard that same damp voice telling me, “They did it, Kagome! They found a cure! You will be able to see again!”

We went to the doctor’s office the next morning to arrange a day for the operation; it was set for a week from that day – my mother was very insistent, though I heard some of the nurses commenting on my comparable serenity.

My mother left to go to work directly upon our return home, apologizing to me repeatedly for not being able to stay with me to celebrate the good news. I waved her off with a smile and moved to my usual post in the library, eagerly waiting for Keiji’s arrival so that I could tell him all that had happened.

He did not come that day, nor did he the next, as I sat on my windowsill patiently. He did visit, finally, on the day of our previous discussion; the day it snowed.

I was sitting, as I had been for the past few days, when he came upon me. I was pressed up against the pane of glass, as close as I could get to the snow, every muscle in my body tense with the yearning to be on the other side; yet, when I felt his light touch upon my arm, I abandoned my post and threw my arms around him, scolding him for staying away for so long while I had such good news.

He did not respond to my flurry of emotion, save to place a steady hand against the top of my head, so by the time I drew away I knew the reason for his silence. “You already know, don’t you?” Silence. “You already know that I will be operated on in five days.”

A pause, then the short, affirmative “Yes.”

I turned my face away from him. “Oh.”

“You are… disappointed?”

“Yeah. I wanted to tell you.”

“Then tell me.”

“But you already know!”

“That doesn’t hinder your ability to tell me.”

“Well… yes, that’s true.” I straightened and faced him again. “Keiji?” I said stiffly.

“Yes?”

“The receptionist from the doctor’s office called the other day. My blindness can be treated. I am due for operation in five days. I’ll be able to see again,” I said, maintaining the formal stance as long as I could before breaking into a grin. “Isn’t it wonderful?” I said through joyful giggles as I threw my arms around him again. “I will finally be able to see you!”

“It is a very joyful occasion,” he said stiffly.

I pulled back. “So you say, but you are hardly acting like it. What is wrong?”

He hesitated. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment. Tell me! What is bothering you?”

“Nothing, I said,” he repeated, beginning to sound agitated; I did not push him, but jumped down from my perch and flounced my way to the armchair.

“Are we going to read today?” I asked, flopping backward.

I heard his footsteps drawing closer to my seat, and raised my face accordingly. “No,” he answered.

“Oh? Then what will we do?” I said playfully, as though it was a riddle that I was searching for the answer to. “Talk? You are not much one for that. Sit in silence? I’m hardly in the mood,” I puzzled onward until I felt his sudden grip on my hand pulling me up quickly.

“We will go outside.”

“We… We will?” I asked, straightening my skirts absently, head reeling slightly from the fast change in altitude.

“Yes. We will.” His hand found mine again, and we were moving, out of the library, down the hall, to the back door.

“But… it is snowing out!” I protested, even as I quickly slipped into the shoes he handed me. “I don’t have a coat!”

He paused. “You do not wish to go outside?”

I hesitated. “Well… I do, but…”

I heard the door open swiftly, felt his hand on my back guiding me forward. “Then we will.”

The gust of cold air hit me in the face full-blast, drawing a laugh from my throat, and it seemed my feet moved of their own accord as they carried me forward, into the drifting snow. A shiver ran up my spine at the sharp cold of the snow on my ankles, seeping through my thin socks, and I laughed again. It had not been snowing long, yet already it was deep enough to bury my feet; “It must be coming down pretty hard,” I said.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “though I would not call it a blizzard.”

“No, of course not. You would not have brought me out if there were any chance of danger.” I ducked suddenly, scooping up a handful of the soft fluff in my bare hand, packing it quickly and efficiently with the other and lobbing it in his general direction. I burst into a victory dance, complete with another gale of laughter, when I heard the dull thud of my snowball hitting its target.

“Do you think that wise?” he asked coolly.

“Probably not,” I said around my giggles and chattering teeth. “I mean, you have the definite advantage when it comes to a snowball fight – being able to see your opponent, and all – and now I can’t feel my fingers, but it was still fun, so it was worth it!”

I heard his sigh, though I had to strain to hear the following mutter, “I will never understand females…”

I giggled again. “So stop trying! You will only hurt yourself. I know I gave up on understanding males years ago, and I haven’t once regretted the decision!”

The heavy feeling of his hand on my head followed another sigh and the crunching sounds of footsteps in snow. I grinned cheerfully up at him, shivering violently with the intense cold and entirely incapable of caring. I pulled the sleeves of my sweater down to cover my steadily numbing hands, clutching them closer to my chest, and leaned against him for warmth. “Cold now…” I mumbled, and felt him nod.

“Shall we go inside?” he asked, placing a hand on my elbow to guide me.

“No,” I denied, moving my arm from his grasp. “I want to stay out just a bit longer; the snow is too nice for us to just leave.” He sighed for the third time since we came outside, so I turned to him. “What is wrong?” I asked. “I know you well enough to know that something is bothering you. You keep sighing, and you would not have brought me out here for just any reason. What’s going on?”

I heard the crunching footsteps move away from where I stood, and then turn back to where they had originated. Another sigh. “I will not visit you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

My smile wavered, but returned. “So? You will come the next day, won’t you?”

“No,” he said. “Nor the day after that.”

I frowned slightly. “When will you return, then?” He did not answer, so I prodded him further, my frown growing. “In a week? A month? Please say something, Keiji.”

He paused, and I nearly spoke again, but he cut me off. “I will not return, Kagome. You will not see me again.”

“Again? There is no again! Why won’t you let me see you?” I demanded, tears beginning to form as I slipped into hysterics.

“Because it would cause you pain to see my face,” he said rationally, calmly; so calmly that I wanted to hit him with a large, blunt object.

“And you don’t think it would cause me more pain not to?” I insisted, moving forward to grab his sleeve. He tore it roughly from my grasp, and I fell to my knees, unsupported. “How could you do this to me, Keiji?” I sobbed, hardly feeling the cold snow on my bare legs. “How could you leave me like this, so easily? I needed you and you came! I still need you, but you insist on walking out of my life as simply as you walked into it! I won’t let you, dammit!” I lunged forward, grabbing his sleeve again, and there was the harsh sound of ripping silk as a bit of the cloth came away in my hands. I clutched it to myself, crying over it, and I thought that he had left. His voice proved me wrong.

“It is not easy,” he said quietly, “and it is not simple. It must be done, though, because not leaving would cause you more pain and distress in the long run than leaving would.”

“How can that be possible?” I sobbed. He did not answer, and silence fell for a moment in a blanket as thick as the snow, neither of us moving. Finally, I whispered, “Why is it that everyone I love leaves me?”

I did not expect an answer, but he always did surprise me. “I do not know why Inuyasha left,” he told me gently, “but this Keiji is deeply sorry for bringing you grief.” I heard a rustling of silks, putting me in mind of a deep, graceful bow – I could not imagine him as being anything less than graceful – and the crunching of footsteps leaving. I continued to hear the steady beat of footsteps long after I knew he was gone, and it took me a moment to realize that the rhythm was that of my own heartbeat. My tears had stopped, and I raised the bit of cloth from his sleeve to my face to wipe away the salty remains before standing slowly and making my slow, careful way to the back door, groping for the doorknob and letting the screen door slam behind me, not even flinching at the sudden noise as I walked confidently now to the library; lifted myself to the windowsill, raised the pane of glass, and held my hand out to catch the drifting snowflakes.

*** *** ***

My mother noticed my wet clothing when she came home that afternoon; I apologized and said that I had spilled a glass of water on myself. She then noticed that the back door was unlocked; I said I had opened it briefly to let in some fresh air. It did not occur to me that I was lying to my mother, and she did not notice the untruths. She did observe, however, my unusually sullen and depressed nature, and made a weak attempt to cheer me up by offering to make oden for dinner. I plastered on a fake smile that even she must have seen through and thanked her, adding that I was tired and excusing myself to go to my room, where I stayed for the rest of the evening, leaving only briefly for dinner.

Both of my family members commented on my sallow complexion the next morning, saying that I looked as though I had not slept well the night before. I did not tell them that I had not slept at all, nor that I had spent the majority of the night sitting on the windowsill in the library, waiting for someone who would not come. Similar comments greeted me the following morning, and the next.

The day of the operation came; my mother had insisted that I take sleeping pills the night before, saying that I needed to be well rested. I slept better that night than I had since Keiji’s leaving, though my dreams were restless, of searching for something I would never find, a needle in a haystack, a thousand and one shards of a shattered jewel, a shattered heart… The operation went as planned, and I returned a week later to the large, empty house, a blindfold tied securely over my eyes, due to be removed the next week.

That day, too, came; the sun had set, and I heard the clicks of switches as Souta turned off all of the lights in my room in preparation. My first view of the world would be one of total darkness.

I felt my mother’s hands behind me, moving in the darkness, removing my blindfold slowly, gently, until all that shielded my eyes from the world were my eyelids and the salty grime that collected from their being closed for so long at a time that sealed them shut. I raised a hand, using a nail to peel it carefully away one eye at a time, until even that shield was gone, leaving only my thin eyelids, which opened soon afterward. The first things I saw were the dim outlines of my room and family, so dim in the faint light that I was unsure of whether I was actually seeing them or not. The former was confirmed to be truth when the outline I’d decided to be Souta moved to light a candle, his back turned to me to protect my sensitive eyes from even that, the weakest light source we had been able to think of. I squinted against that little brightness, seeing more in that moment than I had in over six years before it all blurred together. I do not know if that was because my eyes had trouble adjusting, or if I had started crying; I assume the latter, as the next thing I remember was sitting in my mother’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder even as I felt her tears falling into my hair.

*** *** ***

The next morning I awoke before my family, rising from my bed and dressing quickly before slipping out of the door to make my way to the library. I was disoriented at first – I was so used to making the journey without the use of my vision that I was unsure of how to do it with – but I always managed to orient myself by closing my eyes and feeling for the wall. I finally reached the room I had spent so much time in over the year and a half since meeting my missing companion and took it all in: the soft leather armchairs, the bookcases lining the walls, the windows with the windowsills deep enough for a person to sit comfortably upon them. I moved immediately to the window I so often inhabited, perching on the sill and wedging the pane of glass up enough to stick my hand out in the all-too-familiar position. The cold air swept in, warmer than it had been a week ago, and I turned my studies from the library I had lived in to the outer world I had not.

The window provided a view from the side of the house, and the snow, so thick and soft when Keiji had been a part of my life, was thin and nearly melted now – it would be gone entirely all too soon. Storm clouds lay heavily overhead; too warm for snow, rain would soon fall from them, washing away even what little remained of the snow I had enjoyed so dearly.

I looked, now, away from the ground and sky, to what lay between. A fence divided our yard from that next to it, and a house stood on the other side of it; one, I figured, which was probably quite similar in appearance to my own, though I had never seen it from the outside. I soon tired of examining the house across the fence – like a child seeing the world for the first time, I wanted to see everything at once, leading to a notoriously short attention span – and, withdrawing my now-cold hand from the window and stuffing it into my sweater pocket, I felt there a material quite unlike the heavy wool that sheltered me from the chill.

Pulling it forth, I found it to be silk; From Keiji’s sleeve, my mind registered slowly, sadly, as I turned it in my hands, examining it as I wondered, What are the chances that the sweater I grabbed from the closet this morning was the same one I wore that day in the snow? It was a fairly large piece of cloth –I must have had a pretty good grip on it to rip so much off – with a red and white floral pattern; I could not figure out from the bit the I had whether it was a white pattern on a red background, or a red pattern on a white background, but it seemed so very familiar, somehow…

Try as I might, I could not place where I had last seen that pattern – it had been so long since I had last seen anything at all – and I must have been thinking over it, lost in the memories I had buried away, for longer than I had originally expected, for my mother found me there half an hour later.

“Kagome, dear, I went to your room and you weren’t there; I was worried!” she scolded me half-heartedly. “Come, now; I’ll fix you a warm breakfast. I took the day off from work so I could drive you down to Grandpa’s grave; didn’t you mention you wanted to see it?”

She did not seem to notice the patterned silk I hurriedly stuffed into my pocket at her approach – what would I tell her if she asked where I had found it? “Remember that ghost, Mom? The one you don’t believe exists? Well, I tore this from his sleeve, and it seems familiar… Have you ever seen it before?” In addition, I would then have to convince her that no, I have not lost my mind, and that would have taken far more time than I was willing to waste, so I just nodded absently and followed her into the kitchen.

We went that day, as she said, to Grandpa’s grave. I knelt there, in front of the head stone, and traced his name and dates carved there with my index finger before bowing my head low to the ground, letting the tears fall that had not fallen on the day of his funeral. My mother and brother stood to the side at a respectful distance, allowing me to mourn for the ancestor who had done so much for me: making up diseases for when I could not go to school, trying to protect me from what he saw as being “threatening demons,” putting up with those demons he’d been raised to hate because I’d asked it of him, telling me myths and stories I didn’t listen to or believe until they came true, being a constant source of knowledge… The list went on and on, and I cried for its ending.

We stopped by the hospital on the way home to meet with the doctors who had made my vision possible; I looked at them with joyful grins, and thanked them repeatedly for what they had done for me.

It started to rain as we pulled into the driveway, and my mother and brother hurried into the house, my mother holding a newspaper over her head to shelter her hair, my brother just ducking and running. I took my time walking to the front door, watching the streaks of water falling from the sky, the puddles forming and the ripples spreading, the droplets sticking to my coat and to the hair hanging in my face. I looked up, searching for the rainbow I had told my once-companion of, but could not find it before my mother called for me to come in, saying that I would catch a nasty cold, standing in the rain like that.

*** *** ***

Time passed, and I spent many hours puzzling over that piece of cloth; sometimes, I thought I almost had it, as though the answer was right there, staring me in the face, if I could only put a name to it… Every time this happened, though, my mother would call for me to help with dinner, or Souta would come bouncing hyperly in to ask me to play Super Smash Brothers with him, and who could refuse beating their little brother’s sorry little Link ass with Princess Peach? I never could.

The spring came, and with it came heavy rains; I searched every day, yet never could find my rainbow. They let up briefly very early on the morning of my birthday, and I was privileged enough to see a butterfly dry its wings in the dawning sunlight by my window before taking off, those newly-dried wings now only a multicolored blur surrounding the delicate body as it fluttered away. Rain was falling again by the time my mother served breakfast, and I wondered if the butterfly had found shelter in time.

My time over the spring and summer was spent with a tutor, getting back on track with my education; I had missed the entirety of my high school senior year, yet had been accepted into a small college an easy walking distance from home on the condition that I work to catch up. I worked hard; my tutor was a good teacher, if a bit more distant than I would have wished for someone with whom I had to spend the majority of my day alone, five days a week; I didn’t complain, though, as she probably had places where she would rather be than stuck with a high school dropout with atrocious mathematical skills.

Despite my numeric ability – or lack thereof –, I did manage to “graduate” by the time the new school year came around, if only barely. I got into several of the courses I was most interested in – I was in the philosophy class centering around Fukuzawa Yukichi, the author of the novel my brother gave me for my birthday last year, and a class on the study of the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu, as well as another class on myths and fairytales, though I missed out on the one on the Warring States Era; somehow, I was less disappointed about that than I had expected to be.

Every day, as I walked or rode my new pink bike to and from college, I looked up at the light filtering through the trees, and watched the leaves change color; green to yellow to orange to that rich, deep red, fading from one to the next so smoothly it was impossible to say which moment it was the former and which the latter. Of course, once they had been dyed their variety of colors, they fell from the trees that had held them for so long to the ground, where they curled inward and grew dry and brittle; faded from the deep red to a dull brown; crunched underfoot and were gone in so many dead leaf particles.

Despite my joyful awe at the sights and colors of the world around me, I gradually grew more and more unhappy. I missed Keiji utterly, and had difficulty making friends among my new peers; they were all so much younger, fresh out of high school, and I was a mature young woman of twenty-four who had not had anything even slightly resembling a social life in roughly seven years. They did not know how to act around me, and I had long since forgotten how to act around them. I took to spending my free time in between classes reading or talking to teachers; I did enjoy my time with my philosophy instructor, arguing the points of Fukuzawa – independence and equality of opportunity – versus the earlier Chinese viewpoints such as Shushi’s scientific philosophy and Ōyōmei’s idealistic intuitionalism. Really, I think these conversations did me a lot of good; they reminded me of other, similar conversations, and the person I had had them with. These memories plagued me each day, and each day I grew more reclusive and depressed, drawing within myself. My mother worried; my brother worried; Keiji remained absent; and my emotions curled in on themselves like the leaves I observed.

Autumn was well in place when I got sick again.

Though he forsook me,
For myself I do not care:
He made a promise,
And his life, who is forsworn,
Oh how pitiful that is.
--Lady Ukon

*** *** ***

 

Author’s Note: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter – work just got work-ier, so posting didn’t happen yesterday. I hope you enjoyed it anyway, though! The next (and last) chapter will be up in another couple of days, so keep an eye out. And remember that poll I keep writing about in these notes? I’m writing about it again! So please go vote at fanfiction(dot)net(slash)~FireFalcon1414 for what I’ll write next, as it takes about two seconds and makes me terribly happy. As do reviews. But you didn’t hear it from me.

~FireFalcon1414

 

Blind by FireFalcon1414

Disclaimer: I do not own, in whole or in part, the Inuyasha series. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko.

*** *** ***

Chapter 5: Autumn 2006 to Autumn 20--

As dew promises
New life to the thirsty plant,
So did your vow to me.
Yet the year has passed away,
And autumn has come again.
--Fujiwara no Mototoshi

*** **** ***

Poor health does not improve one’s disposition; and a poor disposition does not improve one’s health. This said, it is understandable that, seeing as I had both poor health and a poor disposition, each of these qualities fed off the other in a steadily worsening overall condition. In other words, this illness was considerably more miserable than the last.

I was confined to bed rest for a week before my mother managed to convince a doctor to come and see me, as I was far too sick to leave my room. I was a bit delirious; according to my mother’s later account, I at first thought the physician to be a demon, and had asked Souta to run and get my bow and arrows from behind the well house. Consciousness came and went arbitrarily, leaving me with sparse patches of the beginnings and endings of various conversations, one fading to the other in a vague blur of recollection and dreams; it was impossible to tell the actual from the imaginary.

One conversation that I overheard and am fairly certain was not a delusion, between my mother and the doctor roughly two weeks after he had first visited, went as such:

“… afraid I’ve done as much as I can,” the doctor’s voice faded in through the haziness; they were speaking quietly just outside of my room, yet I would not have been able to see them even they had been right beside my bed, as my eyes were sealed shut by the grime of prolonged sleep; once more, I was left blind. “The rest is up to your daughter, Mrs. Higurashi.”

“Doctor, please, you have been so kind to us,” answered my mother’s voice quietly, and I dimly registered that she sounded as though she had been crying, and that I could almost remember her holding my hand through the night, and her sobs asking me to please, please get better, she couldn’t stand losing me, she was so afraid, I was her only daughter, please, please… “Please tell me, why is her condition only getting worse?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

The doctor sighed. “As I told you, I’ve done all I can for her. It is only… she seems to have lost all will, all joy in life. Have you not noticed anything peculiar about her behavior before this? Any depression?”

A hesitation. “Well… no, not really. We were all just so happy for her to have her sight back; I suppose she could have been unhappy without us noticing. She just… She never said anything to us about it. Oh, gods, we should have paid more attention! Oh, gods…” She was crying again, and in my mind’s eye, I saw the doctor trying to comfort her.

A moment or an hour later, he spoke again. “Your daughter seemed enthusiastic and eager about regaining her sight while she was blind, did she not?”

“Yes,” my mother said damply. “She always said she wanted to see again, that she wanted to see the world around her, and this house, and everything, really. I mean… there was a while when she seemed not to care anymore what happened to her, but shortly after we moved here she regained her hopes of vision, returned more to the girl she was before Inu – before her friends stopped coming by to visit. It was as though they were still visiting, but no one ever did come.”

“Oh? You are sure that no one ever came to see her while she was blind? She had no friends?” the doctor asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes, I am certain.” She paused. “Though… once, nearly two years ago, she claimed that she had befriended a ghost, but we brushed it off as ridiculous. I mean, really, a ghost? In any case, she only mentioned him the one time, and it isn’t as though ghosts exist anyway.”

“You do not believe in ghosts, Mrs. Higurashi?”

The sound of a skeptical snort reached me as I lay, reclined on my bed, my eyes sealed tightly shut. “Of course not! I am a reasonable woman; why should I believe in children’s fairy tales?”

“I could not help but see from your records, Mrs. Higurashi, that both you and your children grew up on the grounds of an old shrine; and yet you sneer at the thought of the supernatural?” asked the doctor.

“I once believed in these things, yet… times have changed. Kind sir, you are a doctor, a man of science. Surely you do not believe in this nonsense?”

He answered quietly, “I will say only this, madam: I, too, was raised on the grounds of an old shrine not far from here; my mother was a miko, my foster-father was a monk, and my foster-mother believed strongly in demons and the supernatural. Denying the existence of these things would be like denying my own existence.”

I am certain that my mother must have replied to that somehow, yet my weak body could sustain my consciousness no longer, and I fell into a light, restless, dream-filled sleep, my last thought echoing through my fogged mind: It’s been nearly a year, now…

*** **** ***

I awoke again late that night; Mom was dozing fitfully on a chair beside my bed; Souta had long since gone to sleep, and the doctor was rooming in the guest room down the hall, asleep as well. I clenched my hand weakly around my mother’s, and she jumped slightly as though shocked.

“Kagome… How are you feeling, honey?” she asked me worriedly. That was all I heard from her – worry and more worry.

“Thirsty,” I rasped around my dry throat, too exhausted to even try opening my still-sealed eyes.

“Alright; I’ll go make you some nice herbal soup for your throat; how does that sound? Do you think you can keep it down?”

I whispered an affirmative, though I was unsure of the truth on that second question; I hoped that she would take this response as something positive, and perhaps worry about me a bit less.

In any case, she released my limp hand and stood, patting the blankets more firmly around me before moving toward the door, pausing at the door to ask if I wanted the light on. I repeated my quiet confirmation and watched my world change from pitch dark to a deep red, the light filtering through the thin veins of my eyelids carrying blood to where it was needed. Even this, however, was not enough to inspire the energy necessary to open my eyes, and so I merely retreated deeper into my mind and tried to go back to sleep.

My attempts were interrupted, however, by the sound of someone seating themselves in the nearby chair. “Mom?” I asked expectantly, though my lips remained closed, so it came out sounding more like “Mm?”

A lower voice than my mother’s surprised me. “Kagome, what kind of foolishness is this?” He always did surprise me.

“Keiji?” I exclaimed as loudly as I could, considering I had not had anything to drink since the morning before. My eyes flew open, the energy I had been missing suddenly there, like a presence just behind me, ready and willing to be used for whatever task I required of it, yet impossible to be seen, always just out of sight. Despite the sudden influx of energy, however, my eyes blurred and ran, unaccustomed to the sudden light and itching from the grime I had not wiped away in days. My hands moved quickly to do just that, but even as I began lowering them back to my lap another, larger hand covered my eyes, sheltering them from what they wished so badly to see. “Keiji?” I asked, bewildered and a bit angry now that he would so hide his visage from me, my hands trying to pull his away from me while I moved back, but he was stronger than I, and my makeshift blindfold followed my frantic movements exactly.

“Do no look upon me with your eyes,” he said in that same deep, quiet, smooth voice I had missed for so long.

“Keiji, why won’t you let me see you?” I solicited, anger and distress slowly growing to overwhelm the befuddlement, yet I stomped the urge to cry down ruthlessly; I had cried enough, I told myself, though that turned out not to be reason enough for the few tears that managed to escape, wetting his palm so that it slipped on my face just enough for me to break away and look at him even as he lowered his dampened hand to his lap, his familiar golden eyes locked to mine, showing no shame in losing even so small a fight to a human, one of the race he had once professed so vehemently to hate in those days before I knew him…

“Sesshoumaru…” I whispered, not because of a dry throat. The tears I’d repressed returned to drip from my eyes to my cheeks to my chin, where they came together to drip down and form a growing salt stain on my blanket, and the next thing I knew I had flung myself at him, arms around his neck as I sobbed against his shoulder, “It was you… All that time, it was you…”

He remained silent, allowing the prolonged contact just as he had when I had been ill before, waiting out the flow of emotion until I pulled back to kneel on my bed, facing him.

“Why?” he finally asked. “Why do you embrace your most hated enemy?”

“I don’t,” I answered, having regained a grain or two of my lost composure. “I embrace my most beloved friend, who decided to go missing nearly a year ago.” I couldn’t so much as try to keep my blossoming smile down; it grew and flowered, similarly to the way it had grown and flowered on the day we danced in the rain. “What kind of foolishness was that?” I mimicked playfully, smiling gleefully up at him.

“How can you not hate me?” he asked rather than answer my half-rhetorical question.

“Why should I?” I responded easily, moving without thought to pick up his hand. When his fingers did not curl around mine, I contented myself to simply examine this long-lost artifact, tracing the lines of his palm and the stripes down his wrist, carefully fingering the long, delicate nails that I knew to have the capability to slice a human body in half as easily as a heated steak knife through warm butter, absently wondering how I’d managed not to injure myself in all that time of ignorant grabbing.

“I stole your eyesight with that hand,” he said, watching me manipulate each finger one at a time. “How can you not hate me?” he repeated.

“I told you before,” I said, not looking from my detailed inspection, “it was my own fault, if anyone’s; I chose to run out there knowing full well the possible outcomes of my actions. Really, it was just an accident. You’re dwelling on this more than anyone else, I think.”

“I have had over five centuries to dwell on my mistake; to mourn the loss of my brother and his human companions; to mourn the loss of an innocent child who knew no better than to aid an injured demon lord; to mourn the loss of the innocence of a young woman who knew no better than to aid that child. I have spent more of my life in mourning and dwelling on my mistakes than I have not.”

“So,” I said reasonably, grasping his hand in mine despite its lack of response, “don’t you think it is past time to stop mourning and regretting?”

He blinked, and slowly, slowly, his fingers curled up and around mine to grasp my hand as tightly as mine did his.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the doctor’s warm voice from down the hall. “Kagome,” he was calling to me as he approached, “Your mother was exhausted, so I sent her to bed with a sleeping pill.” The voice was getting closer, and I looked to Keiji – Sesshoumaru, I knew now –, expecting him to release me and fade away somehow, as he always had when anyone came upon us, yet he remained as he was, hand gripping mine, watching the open doorway expectantly. The doctor continued, “I hope you don’t mind that I’m bringing you your soup instead of her.” Sesshoumaru was not moving. The doctor arrived in the doorway, his hair a mass of red-brown, his eyes a friendly, sparkling emerald green.

Sesshoumaru was still not moving; his grip did not loosen; he continued to stare intently at the doctor, who set about staring intently back, and I set about staring intently at them both and worrying.

The kind doctor broke the awkward silence with an amiable grin, chatting as he handed me the fragrant soup, “So, I see you’re feeling better! You have finally opened those lovely eyes of yours; and look, you are even sitting up! Sesshoumaru, I would have insisted that you come earlier if I had known what a wonderful effect you would have on her. Why did you choose to make your presence known now, by the way?” He stood from his stoop over me, stretching to crack his back.

“It was necessary,” was all that was said.

In the meantime, I was entirely preoccupied with looking from one to the other, wondering how they seemed to know each other. I watched as the doctor reached into his pants pocket and pull out a small top, which he proceeded to fiddle with while he continued to speak. “I’ll say! This is a gigantic leap on the road to recovery, Kagome. Remember, though, you are still sick, so get back in bed! Sesshoumaru, help her out like a gentlemanly chap, hm?”

Sesshoumaru shot the doctor one of those cold glares I remembered, but complied, taking my bowl from me as I shifted down under the blankets, handing the bowl back once I was settled and tucking the blankets in around me.

“Ah, Sesshoumaru, you certainly do have practice with that, don’t you?” the doctor spoke on. “For an evil demon lord, you do have a soft side for children. And Kagome, it would seem, eh?” He chuckled.

“Do you want to live, pup?” Sesshoumaru growled.

I smacked his hand lightly with the back of my spoon. “Don’t kill my doctor!” I scolded, then looked between them again. “How do you know each other, anyway?” I finally asked.

The doctor, who was seeming more and more familiar as time went on, laughed at that. “You should know, Kagome! You introduced us!”

I looked to Sesshoumaru. “I did?” I asked quizzically.

“In a sense,” he said quietly. “It was more that I just noticed him hiding behind one of those convenient rocks you were so skilled at finding every time I attacked your group.”

“Oh?” I mused thoughtfully as I slurped the last remains of my soup, studying my doctor as I did so. Red hair… I pondered as I licked my spoon. Green eyes… It hit me, then, and I opened my mouth to announce my findings, but he spoke first.

“I was a bit smaller then,” he said helpfully, and, in a puff of smoke was… well, smaller; and even more familiar.

“Shippou!” I squealed, pulling the child up onto my lap and hugging the breath out of him. “Oh, my little fox, I missed you! You grew so big I hardly recognized you.”

“You didn’t forget me, did you, Kagome?” he asked, looking up at me with those huge, sparkling green eyes, teardrops beginning to gather at the corners.

“No, of course not! I promised you I wouldn’t, didn’t I? And I can see by the fact that you’re here that you didn’t forget me!”

“No, I didn’t, Kagome! I always remembered you!” he cried, bursting into tears and throwing his little arms around my neck to sob on my shoulder. I held him close, just as I had when he had been this size in fact instead of illusion, and let him cry on me, though I myself was all cried out.

Once he had calmed down, he sat back on his heels on my lap, scrubbing at his eyes with his little fox paws. “Aw, Kagome, I missed you so much!” he sniveled, and would have gone on if Sesshoumaru hadn’t chosen this time to make his presence known by picking him up by the scruff of his neck and pulling him off of me to dangle over the carpet. He immediately poofed back into his full-sized self, glaring angrily at Sesshoumaru, mouth opened wide to yell at him for being so rude, when I broke in on the budding fight with a laugh. They both stopped what they were doing – Shippou scolding, Sesshoumaru enduring – to watch my mirth at their antics, until a pair of slow smiles spread across their faces, and all was peaceful.

Of course, my illness decided that this was the perfect moment to remind us all of the fact that I was still its victim, and I broke into a fit of coughing. Shippou was immediately transformed into the contrite-yet-professional doctor I had been acquainted with for the past few weeks, standing over me, feeling my forehead, handing me a glass of water and an aspirin to bring my fever down, and advising that I get some rest. I accepted all of these save the last one, insisting that I wanted to stay up and talk a bit longer, and he could not very well refuse me that.

“So, Shippou, you’re really a doctor now?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah; it was Sango’s idea, actually. She said that since I was always fixing her and Miroku up after their battles, I should get some training. I did as she said, but only became truly passionate about it when they died of an illness I could not help them with. Now, I would be able to diagnose their symptoms and tell them that they have tuberculosis, give them a vaccination, and they would be better in a matter of days. As it was, I did not have a clue, and they paid the ultimate price. After that, I went to the only person I knew left: Sesshoumaru. He took me in – put up with me, more like – and agreed to hire the most knowledgeable doctors and surgeons of the time to teach me all they knew. So now I’m the best in the field; possibly in the entire career, in Japan, at least,” he finished, puffing his chest out proudly.

“So,” I asked quietly, “Sango and Miroku died of tuberculosis?”

His chest fell with a sigh of expelled breath. “Yeah. It was really sudden. An epidemic, according to the history texts. Sango had just gotten pregnant… and Miroku was so proud. They had gotten married shortly after we killed Naraku, you know, and moved into an old shrine that stood pretty close by here, until it was torn down a couple decades ago. The epidemic struck about five years later. It was… so sudden…” He trailed off, eyes unfocussed, lost in the tragic memories. I touched his arm lightly.

“What happened to Inuyasha?” I asked him gently.

He sagged slightly under my hand. “The guilt ate at him every day… The guilt of losing you, especially on top of losing Kikyou, which you know was still an open wound on his conscience. He made up his mind, not long after the wedding, and went to see you one more time, then just… left. We never saw him again. We… presumed he had died.” I nodded sadly, and he looked up at me. “You… don’t seem as distressed by this as I’d expected.”

“I never expected them to live the five hundred years, Shippou,” I explained. “The only news you are relating to me is how it happened, not that it happened. I cried over their deaths – over the fact that I would never see them again – the day Inuyasha stopped visiting.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Do you know if the well will still accept you? Can you still go through?” Shippou asked eventually.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t know.”

“If… If you could go through… would you?”

I hesitated, then shook my head again. “No, Shippou. I don’t think I would.”

His voice trembled slightly. “Why not?” he asked.

“Because, by now, they’d all already be gone,” I whispered, staring at my hands, clenched on the bedspread; I was surprised at the blossoming spot of water that appeared there, closely followed by another, spreading out and soaking in to the cloth. “Why am I crying?” I asked myself aloud. “I already knew they were dead. So why am I crying?” Despite the illogicality of them, the tears continued to appear on my bedspread, picking up speed until I was sure I was done, yet they continued. “Why am I crying?” I asked myself again, but no one had an answer.

A heavy hand came to rest on my tremulous shoulder, and I turned to see Sesshoumaru looking at me, compassion, for once, in his eyes.

“What happened to Rin?” I asked before I could stop myself, somehow knowing that it had to be said.

“She died,” he said quietly. “She was old. She was mortal. I knew it would happen.” I looked down, unable to hold his gaze, and almost missed what he said afterwards. “I still cried when it happened.” My eyes flew back up to his, and he continued. “I sat there, on her deathbed, and cried over the little girl I had lost; and, as I cried, I asked myself, over and over, ‘Why am I crying? I always knew she would die.’ Yet I cried nonetheless.” He raised his hand from my shoulder to my hair, stroking it gently, just as he had stroked the hair of a young child, of a young woman, and, later, of an old woman, and I sobbed heavily and leaned over until I was crying into his chest, my tears soaking into the cloth of his shirt rather than that of the bedspread, and he sat calmly and stroked my hair.

“We are ghosts of the past, aren’t we, Sesshoumaru?” I asked weakly when I had finished. “Living for those who died centuries ago; ghosts of the past, that’s all we are.”

“Perhaps we are ghosts of the past,” he consented. “But that is not all we are. We are friends, are we not?”

I nodded. “Yes; we are friends,” I agreed, taking Shippou’s hand as he came to sit beside me.

“And so we live not only for those who have died, but for those who still live as well, do we not?”

I smiled, holding my friends’ hands in my own. “Yes; we do.”

*** **** ***

If my mother and brother were surprised at finding that the doctor who had been living with them for weeks had a tail and pointed ears, they took it fairly well after finding a demon lord making breakfast the next morning. I regret not getting to see their faces, but Shippou described them to me in great detail when he brought my share of the meal to my room; I was still confined to bed rest until I was actually well again. Although I was not yet the exact picture of health, I was well on the way to recovery; I suppose the old proverb, “If there’s a will, there’s a way,” was true in this case, as I began improving the moment I regained my enthusiasm for getting well.

*** **** ***

In this ancient house,
Paved with a hundred stones,
Ferns grow in the eaves;
But numerous as they are,
My old memories are more.
--Emperor Juntoku

*** *** ***

End.

*** *** *** 

 

Author's Note: Well, here's the last chapter of Blind. I'm still thoroughly not happy with it, but... Meh. Anyway, now that you've read it, would you please do me an itty bitty favor and go vote for what I should work on next? The poll's on my fanfiction.net profile, right at the top. More votes mean more direction for my writing, and more direction means easier writing, and easier writing means faster writing, and faster writing means finished writing sooner. And I know you want more finished writing. You wouldn't be reading this otherwise, would you? Anyway, thanks again for reading (and reviewing) Blind; I hope you read and review whatever I do next, too.

~FireFalcon1414