InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ InuYasha: War of the Youkai ❯ The Winds of Change ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1 - The Winds of Change

For an indeterminable amount of time, Inuyasha rested peacefully inside the cave, undisturbed by the world outside. Not an ounce of daylight penetrated his hiding spot and the air around him remained stale and still as the years began to pass. In the years following the defeat of the great and evil Naraku, a general calm beset itself upon the islands of Japan. One man in particular, named Oda Nobunaga, brought unity to the battling peoples of the Sengoku era. Establishing a shogunate ruling class, a few humans consolidated ruling power, bringing an end to centuries of warfare.

With the Shikon no Tama effectively purified by the "mythical" miko Kagome, petty squabbling among demons also began to subside as the years passed. Long tribal disputes drifted into memory and the youkai established their own ruling class, a council of leading tribal members who would discuss all matters pertaining to youkai throughout the land. Although there were many disagreements, this kept the intelligent, samurai youkai from fighting each other, furthering the general peace.

But one day, a stiff breeze funneled into the cave where Inuyasha hid. It signaled the winds of change.

Those very same winds brought a flotilla of massive sea vessels into the harbor outside a sleepy little village of Edo, the very village where centuries ago the great miko Kaede resided and where Inuyasha and Kagome began their quest to defeat the evil Naraku. These vessels, with their towering masts and massive tangles of rope, pulled into the harbor, flying a banner never before seen to the eyes of those living in Japan. The Japanese, a people always suspicious and hostile towards foreigners, tried to scare off the approaching vessels. The boat, in turn, discharged its massive cannons, forever signaling its presence. Commodore Mathew Perry and the Americans had arrived.

The year was A.D. 1853.

What happened next shattered the tenuous status quo that had ruled over Japan since the Sengoku era. The superior weaponry of the foreigners unnerved many of the human shogunate that had resisted foreign influence for generations. For a millennium the sword stood as the symbol of power in Japan. Permission to carry a sword was seen as the highest societal honor and mastering that weapon could take an entire lifetime. The introduction of powerful western weapons such as the Enfield Muzzle Loading Rifle and Howitzer Cannons, cracked the long-standing Bushido tradition in Japan. Now any man could pick up a rifle and kill indiscriminately with little training and skill. With chaos and fear ensuing among the humans living in Japan, blood began to run in the streets and the fields.

Infighting between the shogunate exploded into civil war, not unlike what the Sengoku era. Some samurai desired the expulsion of foreign influence and technologies, while others demanded embracing western methods to ensure the future survival of the people of Japan. Those supporting westernization and the toppling of the long Tokugawa state made their bold move on the night of January 3, 1868, when they "restored" the fifteen year-old Emperor Meiji to the Japanese throne. Almost overnight, the young puppet emperor sanctioned the radical transformation of Japan. This bold, swift stroke signaled the death of the feudal era and the beginning of modern Japan.

And through all of this, the youkai waited, anticipating that the brewing hatred between the humans would keep mankind weak and allow the youkai to continue effectively ruling over the islands. That too would come to an end…

Humans always had difficulty hunting lesser-youkai. Slaying the samurai youkai, such as the Lord Sesshomaru, proved virtually impossible. Responsibility for the protection of the human race for centuries lied with the mystical power of priests and the crafty skill of demon slayers. The rifle, requiring little skill and harboring impressively easy power to kill, changed the relationship between human and youkai forever. Massive hunting parties, armed with muskets and fueled by generations-old fear and hatred, began the wholesale destruction of lesser-youkai. Within several years, the blood of lesser-youkai rained down on Japan, littering the land with carcasses and odorizing the air with the stench of death.

Then, the dominant human samurai turned on the samurai youkai class. It began with the spider demon clan, where armies raised by the human lords used gattling guns to wipe out an entire hive in a matter of minutes. The wolf youkai discovered soon thereafter that even their impressive speed could not outrun the bullet of a musket. Soon all the clans fought with the humans and the council of youkai lords quarreled with each other on how best to stop the slaughter.

The conflict tore apart the very fabric of Japan. The battles that would come would forever shape the soul of that nation, threatening the fates of both humans and youkai alike.

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"Alright, y'all. Stay really still for just a moment longer!"

The same winds of chaos that swept over the world edged the British merchant vessel Neptune ever closer to the main island of Japan, Honshu. Aboard the deck, a young man adjusted the lens of a tripod camera, carefully focusing it on the captain of the vessel with Tokyo harbor approaching in the background. The captain stood perfectly still, with his right hand resting in between the buttons of his coat. When ready, the young photographer opened the lens and remained completely still for two minutes, while the photographic plate captured the captain's image.

"And that does it captain! I'll have your photograph ready in a few days," stated the young man, still hiding behind the black shawl that covered the back of the camera.

The British captain ended his pose and replied, "I have never had a posing for a photograph that has been so short. Less than two minutes… simply splendid!"

The young photographer emerged from the camera and tipped his bowler hat to the captain. "My pleasure sir. These new dry plates have dramatically cut the time. I can now do three times the photographs in a single day. Give me a few hours once we get to Tokyo and I'll deliver your picture."

"Excellent," replied the captain, tipping his hat in a return gesture to the photographer.

With the captain returning to the bridge, the young photographer turned away and leaned against the railing of the ship, gazing out over the water to Honshu Island and Tokyo Bay. To the far port side, the young man could see the towering snowcap of Mt. Fuji rising from the fog-covered sea. Dead ahead, small, billowing clouds of smoke revealed the approximate location of the ship's final destination: the formerly sleepy town called Edo, now known as the expanding Japanese capital of Tokyo. The photographer, Ian McCallister, smiled slightly as the coastline appeared evermore clearly on the horizon. It had taken several years, but he had finally made it to Japan.

Ian had been traveling the world since the age of fifteen, when a terrible civil war forced him to flee his home in Richmond, Virginia. Feeling forever homeless after his country was defeated in that war, Ian developed an itching wanderlust, meandering from country to country, peddling his photographs to make ends meet. He barely scraped by legitimately, often resorting to dishonest means to keep his stomach full. His ever-so-slight southern draw charmed foreigners, making his ventures slightly easier. But his poor, American, country manners often caused trouble in the refined socialite atmosphere of Europe. Yet, at the same time, the gritty and raw nature of the European slums repulsed him, resulting in his outcast status from London to Paris to Rome. Because of his outcast status, Ian never remained in one place too long. Traveling on more than one occasion likely saved his life.

Ian was a young man of keen intellect. In an age when scientists were independently minded rogues searching for the truth, Ian desired to stand at the forefront of solving some of the greatest mysteries of all time. Studies in the paranormal fascinated him and the desire to explain unnatural phenomena fueled his need to wander the Earth. While taking a year to study independently at Cambridge, Ian stumbled across testimonials of Japanese mythology, speaking of times when humans squabbled over the scraps left to them by their demon overlords. Ian knew that every culture, both civilized and savage, believed in some form of the paranormal. Whether it was witches in New England, dragons in Mexico, England, and China, vampires in Central Europe, cat gods in Egypt, or the gods of pagan Greece, the world appeared full of stories of monstrous overlords that once controlled the destiny of man. Japan's accounts of such demons seemed much fresher than their European counterparts. Desiring to chase evidence of demons before it was too late, Ian planned to set out for the mystical Japanese isles.

Standing there on the deck of the Neptune, tweaking his thick mustache with his worn tweed jacket blowing in the wind, Ian realized he was only moments from his destination, but still a long way from realizing his goal. He had proposed the notion of demons walking among humans to the intellectual elite of Europe, drawing heavy laughs and criticism. To those skeptics, such accounts of the paranormal amounted to nothing more than ancient paranoia of then unexplainable acts of nature passed down from generation to generation. Every day now, scientists and new technologies unlocked the secrets of the world, blowing away the mythology that had dominated human life into the realm of the forgotten.

Ian was determined to change that. Japan was the key. And on March 14, 1875, he would arrive to begin his quest for truth.

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Tokyo looked like a city caught between two times. As Ian stepped off the boat with his tripod camera over his shoulder, he could not tell whether he was in China or a European port of call. Signs of deep oriental tradition lingered everywhere, from shingled, arched oriental roofs to houses made of paper. Yet at the same time, signs of infectious westernism cropped up in between oriental structures in the form of brick buildings and massive tangles of telegraph wires overhead. The whole picture confused Ian slightly. The sight he saw looked nothing like the description in a book on Japan that was published only a few years earlier. It described Japan as a savage, backward nation without a single trapping of western life. Before his eyes, however, he saw signs of "prosperity" that the book claimed the Japanese lacked. Men wearing kimonos and styling top knots were indeed being replaced by men in tuxedos and top hats.

Dragging his steamer chest behind him, Ian looked for the nearest street corner with heavy pedestrian traffic. Being careful to cross the street without being hit by the horse-drawn carriages, Ian found the perfect corner, set down his chest and prepared his camera. After polishing the lens, he opened his steamer trunk and removed a sign with his name and profession painted on it. 'Let the peddling begin," he thought to himself.

"Step right up ladies and gents and take this opportunity to experience one of the true technological marvels of the modern era! That's right, y'all! Why sit in front of a portrait artist for several hours, when you can have an accurate photograph taken of you in just a few minutes! It's practically instant, thanks to the miracle of dry photographic plates! Come capture a moment of living history…"

"Hey, idiot!" a voice called out to Ian across the street, interrupting his sales pitch in the heart of Tokyo. Ian looked over to the man who spoke to him in a rather thick French accent.

"I said, hey idiot!"

Ian tipped his hat to the stranger. "Yes my good sir, can I interest you in the technological marvel that is the photograph?"

The Frenchman shook his head and laughed. "You expect to sell something here? These people barely know their own language, let alone that useless Yankee drivel you try to pass off as English."

Ian, with a marked look of annoyance, put his hat tightly back on his head. "I am not a Yankee, sir," he replied coldly. "I am from Dixie."

"Yankee, Dixie, Canuck… it does not matter idiot. You still cannot sell anything without knowing Japanese."

Ian smiled, catching the Frenchman off guard. Ian hopped back on top of his steamer chest and again tried to address the crowd of people that had now gathered to watch the two foreigners argue. "Sanshuu Tokyo, waga shougou Ian McCallister yori Richmond, Virginia," began Ian as he addressed the crowd in Japanese. His Japanese was far from perfect. In fact, he was not even sure he was using the correct context for the words he translated, but the people outside clearly understood enough of what he said, for they began to queue up to have their photographs taken for the small fee he proposed. Tipping his hat once again to the now stunned Frenchman, Ian smiled, realizing that yet again he bested someone who had dared to challenge him. With a gleeful attitude, he began snapping the photographs of the eager citizens of Tokyo.

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Several hours later, Ian sought the only place he believed would give him any solace in such a foreign land: a saloon. With the influx of foreigners, a watering hole would never be far away, and Ian found exactly what he was looking for just off the docks. The bar had no name and looked like a shoddy shack that would blow over with a weak wind. On the outer front wall, the proprietor hung four foreign flags as an open invitation to foreign travelers: the Union Jack, the Tricolore, the German Cross, and the Stars and Stripes. The sight of that last flag in particular infused queasiness in Ian. In nearly ten years of travel, he had not seen the flag of his homeland. In fact, he avoided all things American with an almost childish passion.

Once inside Ian quickly realized this bar was his kind of dive. The sounds of a badly out of tune player piano and a sailor drunkenly playing an accordion echoed throughout the room. Chalked full of sailors and reeking of sea brine and urine, the seedy environment immediately relaxed him. Dragging himself to a barstool, he then tapped the bartender's shoulder.

"Barkeep, whiskey," said Ian with a smile.

The bartender scoffed, "Whiskey? We ain't got no whiskey here mate. You got two choices, sake or sake."

Ian scratched his head. "Sake? What the hell is sake?"

"I ain't got time for questions mate! You want the sake or not Yank?" yelled the bartender in annoyance.

Ian scowled at the bartender, "I'm not a 'Yank'…"

The bartender grunted in reply, slamming the small glass of sake onto the counter. "Drink up Yankee boy, and we'll see how well you can handle your liquor."

Several hours and too many glasses of sake later, Ian continued humiliating himself by dancing atop the table, screaming the lyrics to Bonnie Blue Flag at the top of his lungs. "Hurrah! Hurrah! For Southern rights hurrah! Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!" Some of the sailors joined in with the singing and dancing drunkard with one of them playing the tune on the accordion.

Without warning a squad of goons smashed open the door to the saloon. About a dozen men swarmed into the bar, brandishing rifles and menacing glares. Dressed in indigo blue uniforms with black overcoats, the squad clearly belonged to the nascent Japanese military. The drunkards in the bar quickly stopped singing, instead looking down silently at their drinks attempting to avoid the attention of guards. Meanwhile, Ian remained on top of the bar table in a drunken stupor, unaware of the notoriously vicious reputation of the Japanese military guard.

The commander of the guardsmen strolled quietly into the bar. He stopped first at a sailor passed out in a pool of sake at the counter. The commander lifted up the head of the unconscious sailor, by the hair, and sniffed his face. Turning to one of his subordinates, the commander quietly mentioned, "Throw this man into the harbor… if he wakes up and gets out, let him live. If he does not awaken, make sure he drowns."

"Hai, Captain Neada!" replied the soldier who then dragged the unconscious sailor out of the saloon.

Ian, now realizing the danger, began looking for the way out of the saloon. Instead, he noticed that every viable exit sealed.

Captain Neada, dressed in his dark, modest uniform, then began surveying the room. "I am looking for a Mr. McCallister. He is an American. He arrived this morning."

"I am not an Amer…" cried out Ian instinctively. He slapped his hand over his mouth, suddenly realizing his alcohol induced mistake.

Captain Neada quickly approached Ian, who at the moment was still standing atop the bar table. "Mr. McCallister, Minister Okubo Toshimichi, requests your immediate presence. If you would come with us, please." The commander finished his invitation with a slight bow and a sinister smile. Ian swallowed hard.

"Lead the way," said the foreigner nervously.

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Meanwhile, as the purple haze of dusk encroached upon the sky, a young boy played with his ball in the distant outskirts of Tokyo. Ignoring the advice of his friends who desired to return home before sunset, the young lad stayed and continued to bounce his ball off the grass and the trees. He felt the odd wind blowing across the islands that day too, but enjoyed it immensely as he spent the day playing in the fields and woods outside the city.

He bounced the ball off the tree again, but this time the wind appeared to pick the ball up out of the sky, hurling it towards the opening of a small cave several meters away.

"No! Wait, comeback!" the boy cried as he ran after the ball. But the ball continued to bounce, falling into the cave. The intrepid boy, not fearing the ominous aura that surrounded the cave, chased right after the ball. So focused on the ball was he, he did not notice he passed right through a demonic barrier.

The stale air of the cave made the young boy sneeze. "It smells funny in here," he complained. It was then when the boy noticed a stick-like object protruding from the rocky surface. Upon further inspection, the boy discovered it was a rusted and cracked sword.

"Neat!" cried the boy as he lifted the sword out of the rock with inexplicable ease. He began to play with the sword which was almost as long as he was tall. Taking blind swipes at the air, the boy pretended to slay mythical demons and murderous marauders. "Take that villain! Samurai Haru Higurashi will save the day!"

The boy played so foolishly, he failed to notice the stone at his feet. One thing led to another, and the young Haru tripped, falling flat on his face near the rear wall of the cave. When he looked up, he saw a sight he would never forget.

"Youkai! Youkai!" he screamed, dashing to his feet to run out of the cave, dragging the sword with him.

Inuyasha never noticed the boy, the hanyou continued to sleep.

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Obligatory disclaimers and stuff: InuYasha and its characters are copyrighted by Rumiko Takahashi and I thank her for giving me some excellent characters to work with and the inspiration to write this fan-fiction. All original characters are copyrighted by myself. Please do not use these characters without my permission. You can always ask :) And, well there are some characters featured who are real people who actually existed and thus, I can't claim any rights to them :)!