I Fell for Myself by Stella Mira

That Is Unfortunate

It was a strange place, this forest, this dwelling of old souls, brimming with life, with knowledge. Kagome could feel it – in everything. The winds whispered secrets; the sunrays crafted paintings; the trees narrated stories; the birds sang myths. Sesshōmaru didn't much care for them, kept his strides even, unhurried, but she knew he could feel them, perhaps even more than she. When he came to a stop before a great tree, abounding with green leaves, dark wood and aged lines, she almost regretted the end of their journey. Perhaps she would visit this forest once more, later, much later, and hear more of its voices – but, for now, silence prevailed. Birds, insects, animals, all stilled their tongues, hid their claws. The forest grew quiet but for one voice.

"Greetings, Sesshōmaru, eldest of the Inu no Taishō. I have not seen you since you came to claim your heirloom, Tenseiga. You did not seem much pleased then – neither do you now. Why have you come this time?"

Bokusenō. Kagome stared at the tree yōkai, at its ovoid face, pale eyes, no more than slits, aquiline nose and deep lines, heard the strain in his voice, as if he had not spoken for a very long time – and perhaps he hadn't.

"Greetings, ancient one. We have come for your insight."

It was the first time Kagome had witnessed such respect from Sesshōmaru, but perhaps the nature of their journey, the severity of their predicament, guaranteed such courtesies.

Bokusenō made a rough sound that could be laughter or coughing or both, but his eyes weren't on Sesshōmaru. "Yes, I see. Come forward, child – let me have a look at your face."

When she came closer, met the dulled gleam of the tree's gaze, Kagome knew it had to be laughter. Bokusenō seemed amused by her presence – and she soon learned why.

"A human, a miko, you have brought. Not far from the tree then…"

"I did not come for your senile blither."

The tree laughed again, shaking bark and falling leaves and ridged curves – then he ceased all motion, serious, solemn.

"I feel the reason for your coming, Sesshōmaru – I feel it on my bark, on my leaves, down to my old roots."

"Then speak of it and spare us your riddles." Sesshōmaru might have abandoned the courtesies but he never raised his voice.

"Power, sinister, ancient, older than even I. An exchange of souls is heavy magic…it cannot be done by everyone. Who has placed this curse upon you, child?"

"It was a dark miko."

"A human…no – it cannot be. Unless…" The tree yōkai's voice withered, died away in rumination.

Minutes passed, long, agonizing, until Kagome could take it no more. "Unless?"

As if waking from a slumber, Bokusenō quaked with slight tremors, harrumphed then focused on Kagome. "Whom did she serve, child? Upon which Kami did she draw power? No human can cast such potent, vile spells without the aid of a god."

Dread filled her at the tree's implications, plucked the fibers of her heart, one by one. Her voice was thin, stretched with awareness, when she gave her reply. "I don't know…she's dead. There's no way to know…"

"That is unfortunate, most unfortunate…"

"There will come a day when you will regret this, Sesshōmaru." Naraku's last words, his dying mockery, rang and howled in Sesshōmaru's ears, bladed phantoms ripping and slashing through the warp of his mind. Regret. Yes, indeed, he felt it now, this abhorrent sentiment – for killing him too soon.

Rage suffused his being – at the hanyō, at the dead miko, at himself. Grave, with hints of recalcitrance, Sesshōmaru's voice echoed in the quiet that succeeded the tree yōkai's disclosure. "Can the change be halted, can it be reversed?"

Bokusenō hummed, a rustling of leaves, weightless breeze, but his answer was harrowing, unpalatable – for both he and the miko. "It can be done – but only by the caster…or the Kami who lent their power."

A strangled sound, a biting of lips, Kagome refused to believe this, even though she could taste the truth of it, could feel it in the marrow of her bones, hot-spread toxicity. "I thought there could be other ways. We lifted the original curse with a ritual. It appeared to work, for a while…" Breath in. A trickle of sweat. Breath out. "But it…didn't – not completely."

The earth sighed alongside the elder tree, soft vibrations, coursing through her weak knees. Sesshōmaru's stillness, his passivity to what was being said was eerie, roused her anger, steeled her shaking bones. If he would not break, would not show emotion, then neither would she.

"Soul exchanges are not to be taken lightly, child. You cannot force a soul into another vessel without repercussions, without residual effects. The ritual you performed was only half the answer, incomplete."

Silence befell Kagome but not Sesshōmaru. He had more questions to ask; Bokusenō had more answers to give. "Do you know what this change is then, the extent of it?"

A chuckle, forlorn, not as booming as it used to be, palliated with age, spilled from the tree yōkai. "Yes, I know it well. You see it happening in nature quite often, if you have lived as long as I. Plants, animals, yōkai, humans – all must adapt to the changes of nature, must evolve to survive. It is called metamorphosis, young daiyōkai. Your souls left their mark upon your bodies, traces of power – and weakness. You are turning into something else, neither yōkai nor ningen but something in-between. To change is the only way to survive."

Venom drizzled, scarred the earth. Drop after drop. Once again, Kagome chose silence – and Sesshōmaru forced himself to utter the remainder of his questions.

"And what of the change itself? What will become of us? What is this power, this weakness, you speak of?"