The Sacred Tree

Kagome stood in the doorway, looking out into the yard. The sun was shining brightly, the birds singing a heavenly tune, the wind carrying the soft scent of the ocean. She groaned and smoothed out the creases in her skirt.

Why does everything seem so happy when I’m at my lowest? She grimaced at the thought and scoffed at the world around her.

“Stupid world,” she grumbled, kicking at a stone just outside the door frame. She followed it with her eyes as it bounced across the sidewalk and came to rest in the roots of the family sacred tree. She looked up to the poem she had put there yesterday, and sighed. She was stupid to think that a tree could solve any problem…the parchment was still there…

…wait…parchment?

Kagome jogged over to the tree, stopping within arms reach of the bark. The poem she had written had been put on ordinary loose leaf paper, but the paper she was looking at was a creamier color and much sturdier than hers, and lacked the standard ruled lines. She looked around, trying to figure out who had replaced hers with this. Had it been her little brother? Maybe her mother? She shook her head at that thought, groaning. Why couldn’t her mother just leave well enough alone?

Kagome tore the parchment from the tree and started to crumple it into a tight ball, but…

“Maybe she wrote something nice…I could at least read it…”

Opening the parchment again and smoothing it out, she read what was written.

As morning breaks on the forest
And the rose buds open for the dew
The maiden’s kiss awakens the beast
Quenches the thirst in his soul
There is respect there

Kennin 1203

“What the hell is this?” She turned the parchment over, but there was nothing written on the back, no “Love you” from her mother, no “Everything will be ok,” just a blank sheet. She turned it back over and read it again, even if the handwriting was so atrocious that is was nearly impossible to read.

“Hold on, everyone can read mom’s handwriting…”

She turned and started walking towards the front gate, reading the parchment again and again. If it wasn’t her mother, then who had it been? Souta was too young to be able to write something like this, and her grandfather’s handwriting had a distinct style to it, nothing like what she held in her hands.

She stopped as she reached the archway, barely paying attention to the cars as they sped by. Something about this poem seemed familiar…

“Kennin…where have I heard that before?”

She jumped as she felt someone grab her wrist.

“Kagome?” Yuka waved her hand in front of Kagome’s face and let out a shrill whistle, breaking her out of her daze.

“You ok, Kagome? I’ve been calling your name for a while.”

Kagome stared into her friend’s concerned eyes and forced herself to smile and laugh.

“I’m just fine, Yuka,” she said shakily, stuffing the parchment into her pocket before Yuka could see it.

From the look Yuka was giving her, Kagome knew that her lie was crystal clear, leaving all of her pain and fear open to the world. However, Yuka only smiled and put a caring hand on her companion’s shoulder.

“Well, we’re going to be late for class if we don’t hurry up!” she said. Kagome thumbed the parchment in her pocket, and allowed herself to be led away.

* * *

“Alright class, for homework, I want you to read chapters 11 and 12, and write a page summary on each.”

The entire room groaned loudly.

“Mr. Kikuchi, can’t we just have a free evening for once?” one of the girls in the back of the room piped up.

“Not if you want a chance to pass the entrance exams.”

Kagome lifted her forehead from the edge of the desk and looked up at her teacher. He was a very tall man, possibly the tallest she had ever seen, but his body frame was so skinny that it seemed as if someone had taken an average height man and stretched him out. The circular lenses of his glasses reflected the glow of the ceiling lights constantly, shielding his eyes from everyone. Kagome could barely remember what color his eyes really were. Blue? Green? No, maybe brown…

Mr. Kikuchi picked up the text book lying on his desk and lowered his glasses down to the tip of his nose, revealing his hazel eyes.

Kagome chuffed. Glad I didn’t bet on that one, she thought to herself. As he started to read a paragraph out of the book, she put her forehead back onto the edge of the desk, directing her eyes back to the crumpled parchment that lie in her lap.

‘Kennin 1203’… and what’s with this ancient style and wording? Nobody talks like this anymore…

“Ahem…”

Kagome shifted her gaze to the pair of shining black shoes beside her desk leg. One foot tapped softly on the linoleum. She lifted her head, and smiled softly.

“Maybe you would like to see me after class, Miss Higurashi?” Mr. Kikuchi said flatly, one eyebrow cocked and his arms crossed in front of his chest. Kagome cleared her throat and sighed heavily.

“Yes, Mr. Kikuchi…” her voice trailed off as he continued his stroll down towards the back of his classroom. Kagome saw Yuka staring at her from across the room.

‘You ok?’ she mouthed out silently.

Kagome nodded slightly, and turned away from her to face the board. She couldn’t stand to see Yuka so worried about her. It was almost as bad as having her mother see her cry.

* * *

Mr. Kikuchi had been Kagome’s history teacher for nearly two years now, and had grown into more of a mentor for her than a simple teacher. Kagome always felt as if she could trust him, but as she approached his desk when the class emptied out, the parchment clutched tightly to her chest, all she wanted to do was run. It was such a stupid notion to ask him about the poem, and that weird subscript, but she had nowhere else to turn.

Mr. Kikuchi sat behind the large, oak desk, his hands clasped on top of the large monthly planner that ruled his life.

“Alright, something is wrong, you know it, I know it, so why don’t you just tell me,” he said, sitting back in his chair, leaving his hands on his desk.

Kagome tightened her grip on the parchment, as if that single piece of paper could give her some form of comfort.

Mr. Kikuchi took a deep breath and leaned forward.

“I know that things didn’t work out between you and Toshi, but you’re a strong girl, Kagome. You can’t let a boy tear you down.”

Kagome was shocked. She wasn’t even thinking about Toshi before, though now the thought of him and that Hitomi girl flooded her mind once again. The thought of the poem and subscript had consumed her mind for the day, forcing everything else out.

She shook her head.

“It’s not that. I’m ok, really I am.” She sniffled slightly, and handed the parchment over to him tentatively.

“What’s this, Kagome?” Mr. Kikuchi took it from her and read it quietly. He looked up at her and smiled.

“Did you write this? Really, Kagome, it’s quite good, exceptional even.”

“No, it wasn’t me?” She shook her head.

“If not you, then who?” He narrowed his eyebrows at her, and then returned his gaze to the written words.

“I…I don’t know, Mr. Kikuchi…it…it was pinned to my family’s sacred tree…” She let her voice trail off as she said those words…sacred tree… God, how stupid he must think I am! Kagome reached out to take the parchment back, but he leaned back, gripping it in his hands. Keeping his face down to the parchment, he gazed at her curiously over the rim of his glasses.

“Kennin 1203, huh?” He chuckled and handed the parchment back to her. She took it quickly from his hands and held it close to her chest. “Well, whoever wrote this knows his history.”

Kagome looked down at the paper. ‘Kennin 1203’…

“What do you mean, Mr. Kikuchi?”

“Kennin 1203 is a date in history. To be more specific, a date during the Feudal Era of Japan.”

Kagome cocked her head to the side. Feudal Era…

Mr. Kikuchi motioned to the parchment, and she handed it over.

“I’m surprised, though, to see that someone knows the intricate dating system. You see…” He pointed to the subscript. “Kennin 1203 is really Kennin 2, or the second year of the Kennin Era, when Emperor Tsuchimikado ruled Japan.” He smiled up at her, thoroughly enjoying himself as he relayed the information. “But things get even more confusing, because the year is not really 1203; it’s actually 1225, by our standards today.”

Mr. Kikuchi pulled out a pen and began writing on the corner of his planner…

1203-1 = 1202+23 = 1225

“Our ancestors never could make it easy for us, could they?” He smiled brightly up at her.

Kagome furrowed her eyebrows at him.

“So wait, what you’re telling me is that this letter was written in 1225?”

Mr. Kikuchi laughed and stood from his chair.

“No, not that at all. If this parchment were from 1225, it would be falling apart from the humidity. No, a paper from that time would have to be preserved and monitored constantly to be kept in such pristine condition. Someone must have written it and just put that date down there. However…” He turned the parchment over in his hands, running his palms along its surface, feeling the density and fibers with his perceptive fingertips. “…I’ve only ever seen this kind of parchment in museums…whoever wrote this wanted to seem genuine.”

He shook his head and handed the letter back to her.

“I’d like to meet whoever wrote it, Kagome. I’d like to know where they got the parchment from.” His voice returned to his stoic, professor tone.

Kagome nodded and bowed as she left the room. As she walked down the empty hall, she read the poem again…and again…the words seemed to capture her, and that date, it was so strange…

…1225.

***

And just as a side note, I did my homework on this one, and everything is accurate!
~Raven