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“How much farther?” Tiny legs struggled to keep up with his father’s as they walked the rocky path, a steep climb to a distant temple.
“Not too much longer, son.” He chuckled, holding out his free hand for him to take. Smiling, Miroku gripped his palm tightly, admiring the comforting jingle of the staff. They had been traveling for almost three full days now, his muscles burning with overuse, but he was determined to show his father that he was capable of being a strong, young man.
Not understanding why they were leaving home, along with all of his friends, Miroku remained silent, but observant. Every so often, he would wake from a nap, or stop mid bite and glance over while his father wasn’t looking, only to see the older man staring at his right hand. Wanting to know what was going on, he bit his lip and looked up, curiosity overshadowing his fear.
“Father, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you keep staring at your hand?” At his question, his father squeezed Miroku’s gently. He watched him take a deep breath before picking him up in his arms. At five years old, this was Miroku’s favorite place to be and he snuggled up against his father’s chest, ready to hear what he had to say.
“Do you remember the story I told about your grandfather?”
“Yes!” He smiled at his father’s chuckle. “He battled against a demon Naraku, who gave him the wind tunnel and that was passed down to you before he died.”
“Very good, Miroku.” Miroku felt his father’s arms hold him tighter as he continued, “Unfortunately, that wind tunnel will be passed down to you when I pass, but should you defeat the evil man, it would cease to exist.”
“I promise I will!”
“I have no doubt that you will, however I did not tell you how your grandfather died, as I will soon.”
“S-soon?” Miroku’s heart skipped a beat, a frown marring his features. “How soon?”
“One’s death is only known by the gods, but I’m afraid it might be sooner than I have realized.” They came to the top of the hill, a large temple across a field, surrounded by a forest of trees.
“Woah.” Miroku breathed, aweing at the sight. Their temple back home was modest compared to this one. “Is that why we are visiting your friend, Mushin?”
“Yes son, it is. Now, before we go greet my old teacher, just know I love you very much.” His father smiled, giving Miroku a hug, but the child knew something was wrong. Clutching his worn purple rob tightly, they headed off towards the new place he would call home.
“Miroku?” His wife called, her voice soft as their twin girls slept between them. Shaking out of his stupor, he smiled softly at her, his eyes tired as it had been a long day.
“Yes, dear Sango?”
“I just wanted to see if you had fallen asleep sitting like that.” She giggled.
“Ah no, I was just thinking back on a memory.” He mused, glancing down at Kin’u, brushing a dark lock away from her nose. When his wife didn’t respond, he knew she was waiting to see if he would explain. “I was thinking about the last good memory I have with my father.”
“You rarely speak of him, except the few times about his death.” She whispered.
“I do not remember much to be honest, he was not around for most of my childhood, even before his passing.” He shrugged.
“Tell me about the good one.” He smiled, grateful for Sango’s kind understanding and proceeded to tell her, laughing softly at his childish reactions to things. “It seems he cared about you.”
“I have no doubt he didn’t. He brought me to Mushin because he cared so much, but it is more of his absence that bothers me.”
“Because of the wind tunnel.” She stated and he nodded.
“I just am grateful we defeated Naraku, with the help of our friends, before we found ourselves having a family.” He sighed, reaching down to pull up the blanket Gyokuto kicked off in her sleep. Sango reached over, placing her hand atop his, understanding and agreeing. They settled themselves on their futon, sleep gradually overcoming them and Miroku’s final thought before succumbing was a vow to give his children the best life they could imagine.