The only two things Futo truly remembered about that fateful afternoon were the summer wind on her skin and the sparrow song in her ears.
She had watched the birds flutter from branch to branch from the porch for what felt like hours, at once grateful for the respite and impatient to return to action. Surely the Crown Prince had a use for her even now beyond sitting around doing nothing? Perhaps she ought to go and attempt to overhear some clandestine discussions. One never knew what could be discovered just by keeping one's ears open.
She didn't hear the approaching footsteps. There was only a premonition, a sudden tingling sensation in the back of her neck as the air behind her shifted. She had just enough time to recall she hadn't been alone in the room before the speartip slid between her ribs and pierced her heart as though it had always belonged there.
Too startled to make a sound, too shocked to move, she waited until the spear was retracted from her flesh before twisting around to stare at Tojiko, struggling to believe what had passed even as her back grew wet with blood.
The question fell from her lips as an afterthought. She already knew there would be no answer.
"...Why?"
Tojiko propped the bloody spear against her shoulder as though it was an ornament. Her eyes were hard and reflected no light. They looked past Futo — no, through Futo — as though her death was not merely not worth acknowledging, but something entirely beyond notice.
She exited the room like a whisper.
Futo slowly undid the ribbon on the collar of her jacket and opened it to study the spreading spider lily where her heart had been. She felt little pain just then: the initial shock of the stab had dulled her senses and delayed what would be agony should she live long enough to feel it. For now, she was simply dizzy.
She covered the wound and used her remaining strength to settle herself against the wall, attempting to seek comfort from the solidness of the structure. After that, there was nothing left for her to do but die.
She attempted to close her eyes, but time and time again, she found herself staring into the garden without truly seeing it, unable to shut out the sound of birdsong.
Futo focused on her meal far more closely than usual, holding her bowl almost to her face. When she looked up, she did so surreptitiously through her fringe.
Eventually, Tojiko caught on. After the second time she spotted Futo glancing at her, she frowned, but said nothing. Nor did she stop eating.
Then again, why should she have been suspicious? Futo had learnt more patience over the years than people tended to give her credit for. She had allowed countless opportunities for revenge slip by with a smile, acting as though her murder had never come to pass. It had made her insides twist at times, especially when Tojiko acted equally oblivious to her crime, but she had prevailed.
The rice and fish suddenly tasted like pulped wood. It was too late to stop what was about to happen next, but she found herself dropping the pretence and studying Tojiko in earnest. Tojiko's eyes kept flitting towards the garden, the remnants of a frown giving way to something almost like curiosity. She looked more real somehow than she usually did, like someone who would bleed when struck instead of someone whose stony flesh would break the arrows attempting to pierce it...
Tojiko coughed.
At once Futo's senses were like knives. She watched with undivided attention as Tojiko coughed again more violently, then bent low, shoulders shooting upwards as the fit took her. Her bowl and chopsticks clattered onto the floor as the storm grew and she hurried to cover her mouth. It was to little avail: soon enough, blood began seeping through her closely held fingers and trickling down towards her wrists.
Futo couldn't help it. It was happening so suddenly, planned or not, that she dropped her own chopsticks in turn. She almost reached out, in fact, only to desist at the last moment.
She was very careful in placing her bowl next to her still half-full tray. She stood up with similar care and tiptoed to the door, clutching onto memories of bleeding out alone from a stab wound to prevent herself from feeling anything else.
When her hand was already on the door, she looked back.
Perhaps Tojiko heard the movement, subtle as it was. Perhaps she had instead heard the absence of footsteps. Whatever it was, she looked up, her gaze locking instantaneously with Futo's.
They stared at each other in silence until Futo averted her gaze and slipped out of the door.
For weeks and months, her mind kept worrying over that final look Tojiko had given her like it was a loose tooth. She had been prepared for fury and choked curses, perhaps even regret and an understanding that what was happening to her was retribution. Not that wide-eyed, utterly stunned look as though Futo had transformed into an oni before her very eyes.
No matter how Futo turned the memory around, it never truly made sense to her. Eventually, she simply had to bury it.
You are not allowed to look betrayed after striking the first blow, Soga no Tojiko.
The sky was on fire. Futo admired the blaze of colour, idly wondering if she could make the winds carry her flames high enough to join the ones on the horizon.
She stood low on the mountainside, admiring the view following a day-long storm. Water glided down the final magnolia blossoms still clinging to their branches while their fallen companions dotted the damp grass like strange snowflakes. A lone dragonfly flitted about while all else was still, including the wind.
In spite of the silence she didn't hear the arrow's approach until it lodged itself in her shoulder.
She turned to stare just in time to see Tojiko lower the bow only a few paces uphill. The edges of her tied-back sleeves fluttered in a sudden gust of wind, contrasting with her eyes of pure stone. She could have passed for a goddess of archery if not for the fact that once again, her hand was placed too low on the bowstave.
Futo examined the arrow that was now a part of her body as best she could. It hurt, but not so much that she couldn't move, and as long as the arrow plugged the wound she was at no risk of bleeding to death. She was in no immediate danger, but as often was the case, the risk of infection meant she could already be doomed.
Still, from this distance the arrow should have erupted through her chest. She slowly shook her head. "Your hand was not even touching the grip."
Tojiko lowered the bow. "Is this the time for a lesson?"
"Clearly I have been a poor teacher thus far."
Tojiko took a moment to consider this. "On purpose?"
"Nay." Futo had in fact taught Tojiko to the best of her ability, only now seeing what a poor decision it had been. Then again, Tojiko had also taught her quite a few things without meaning to. "Perhaps another demonstration is in order."
There was a full quiver of arrows slung against Tojiko's back. Futo reached for the air around them and coaxed it to lift the arrows into the open. Another gesture, and they were high overhead, waiting to rain down upon Tojiko.
Days later, during a brief moment of clarity won from the fever which had consumed her body, Futo wondered why Tojiko hadn't made more of an effort to run.
The Crown Prince must have known about it since very early on. Few things escaped her notice to begin with, and the Burning Arrows Incident had caught the attention of far more oblivious souls. Regardless, she never said a single word about it to Futo.
Lady Seiga, on the other hand, would sometimes take a moment during her brief visits to ask for the latest details, smiling as she would at any other diversion as Futo told her what had passed. On rare occasions she would go so far as to offer Futo a piece of advice, but for the most part she seemed content to remain an observer.
"Two spears?" Lady Seiga tilted her head downwards, apparently distracted by a flash of silver in the stream inches below her feet. "How uncharacteristically impractical."
"I believe she intended to prove a point." What that point might have been remained somewhat unclear, as Futo had escaped from the encounter more or less unscathed. "Or mayhap 'twas a joke."
Lady Seiga's laughter rang as clear as the stream. "If that is Lady Tojiko's idea of a joke, I would love to see her being deadly serious."
Futo raised her head to free one of her arms from beneath it and attempted to snatch the streaks of red and green hovering above her. The summer heat had enveloped her so thoroughly she pretended to be lying in flames, but those streaks hardly seemed like heat haze. Whatever they were, they slipped through her fingers.
Lady Seiga idly turned her arm and watched the sunlight paint patterns on the airy fabric of her sleeves. "Have you already planned your next move?"
"I merely take the opportunities which fall upon me."
"Really, now?" The instances when Lady Seiga looked directly at Futo were rare enough that even if her interest lasted for only a moment before moving onto the tree near her head, Futo still felt her gaze as a brand.
Suddenly certain she would fall asleep if she remained still for much longer, Futo pushed herself up with her elbows. "If you were me, would you—"
A sudden dull impact split her skull in half with a crack.
She found herself back on the ground, the streaks in the air suddenly inside her eyes. Through the curtain of coloured haze, she could just about see Tojiko discard a thick tree branch onto the ground. She was gone the next time Futo managed to focus her eyes, leaving behind only a lingering scent of wildflowers and thunder ringing in Futo's ears.
"A blunt weapon rather than a sharp one?" When Lady Seiga had left the river and hovered over to Futo's side remained a mystery. She held something in her hand which transformed between blinks from a tree branch to a thin needle. "For Lady Tojiko, that is practically innovation."
Futo tried to respond, even if she wasn't sure whether it was to agree or disagree. All that came out of her mouth was a choke of surprise as her body made an involuntary spasm.
Lady Seiga's smile was as sharp as the blade of a knife as she aimed it back at Futo. It was the last thing Futo saw before her vision dimmed.
"Best of luck in triumphing, Mononobe."
Tojiko's hand remained firmly in Futo's as they navigated along the slope above the river. "How much further are we going?"
Futo made no response. They were just then walking beneath the branches of a labyrinthine oak tree and she tilted her head to see the moonlight — no, sunlight — no, definitely moonlight — shining to the ground from between its leaves.
"We should turn back."
They were already perfectly alone: even the nesting birds had fallen silent. In fact, Futo couldn't quite understand why she wished to keep wading through the overgrown grass and seemingly endless day-night instead of heading to the river, only that it seemed in the moment like the most natural thing in the world.
Hours later, she turned to look over her shoulder. Tojiko met her gaze with quiet hostility. Her grip on Futo's fingers tightened.
Their trajectory slowly curved towards the river. Futo was not conscious of seeing it at all until they came to a halt and stood side by side staring at the water glittering red in the dawn-dusk. The river ran deep in this particular bend, but its currents merely meandered forward: at times, it seemed as if it didn't move at all.
Slowly, quietly, Futo slipped her hand out of Tojiko's and shoved her into the river.
The splash was muted even as cold water sprayed high enough to reach Futo's face. Futo found herself instead wondering about the sounds she thought she had heard blended into the splash.
She meandered closer until she teetered at the edge. There was a sharp rock jutting out of the riverbed just where she had pushed Tojiko. She would never have guessed it was there, but then, it hardly mattered when it had helped her to accomplish her—
Something locked around her ankle.
For a single heartbeat, she was flying through the air. The next, she was choking on flames clogging up her lungs.
Futo only had a shadowy recollection of her arms stuck in a deathgrip and later of feeling grass beneath her palms. The next time she truly breathed, she was lying on her back on the riverbank with her shoulder against Tojiko's and her eyes blinded by the red sun. Her lungs felt like they where full of fire and water alike, but she had no strength with which to cough anything out.
Eventually she turned her head to her side. Tojiko was corpse-pale and staring dully at the sparse clouds overhead. Several locks of her hair had escaped their bonds and plastered themselves to her face like water plants. Her hand was back in Futo's, her fingers pleasantly cool to touch.
Futo followed her lead and searched for patterns in the clouds in perfect silence, attempting to shake the feeling they were still beneath the river's surface. For whatever reason, she could smell azalea blossoms as vividly as if she was lying on a bed of them.
When she finally spoke again, it was without any real thought. "Have you always known how to swim?"
"I still don't know."
Futo nodded. The azaleas around her smelled so sweet she was content to drift off and possibly sleep as she waited for the ache in her chest to fade. Already she felt like she wasn't quite within her body, but hovering somewhere between the ground and the sunlight.
"What did you say?"
Futo frowned. She had said nothing whatsoever.
At length, she realised Tojiko had referred to her laughter. It had not been intentional — it had slipped out of her alongside a pained exhalation. She couldn't even tell what had amused her so until she gave it some thought.
"I love you."
She re-opened her eyes several moments later. Tojiko had sat up, her hand still in Futo's, her eyes dark as they stared down at her. Half of her forehead was drenched in blood from a cut close to her hairline. The blood mingled with the water dripping from her hair, painting pink streaks on her cheeks.
Futo was suddenly aware there had always been a veil between Tojiko's eyes and the rest of the world, so subtle it was only noticeable now that it had slipped away. Behind wasn't annoyance or hatred or anything else Futo might have expected. Instead, there was only
Fear.
The moment passed. Tojiko fell back onto the grass.
They lay in immaculate silence for a long, long while, long enough for the warm air and stillness around them to blur together into a kind of cocoon. Futo found herself shivering in spite of it.
Finally, Tojiko sat back up. Without a word, she pulled a hitherto hidden blade from within her belt and stabbed it through their interlocked palms.
Futo trembled as Tojiko wrenched the blade free. Blood began streaming from the wounds the moment it was gone with no way to tell which drop had belonged to whom, as though they only had one set of veins between them.
"Tojiko—" But Futo didn't have time to come up with anything more to say before Tojiko raised the blade to plunge it into her chest.
Futo pushed away the shadows attempting to block her path. They parted with ease and folded behind her like fine fabric.
She made her way across the abandoned walkways without hearing so much as the echo of her own footsteps. All was black and white and the red of sunset. She trusted her feet to take her down the correct path, which was just as well since it appeared all she could see were the shadows twisting around her.
Eventually, there was a door. Behind it was a barren room, black and white and the red of sunset. A single person sat in the shadows with her back turned towards Futo, unmoving and stark against the light.
Futo drifted into the room and halted a few steps behind Tojiko. For a brief eternity, she merely considered the figure before her, straight-backed and inert, at once utterly familiar and utterly unknowable. By the time she knelt behind Tojiko, she was convinced the endless night had come to a standstill.
There was no recognition, no struggle. It only took a gentle pull for Tojiko's neck to bend backwards with puppet-like indifference. The flesh of her throat offered equally little resistance to Futo's knife.
Streams of sunset burst forth, transforming the blade into an evening sunbeam before spreading to bathe the room in shades of dusk.
Futo didn't wait to see whether the red ultimately claimed all which had been black and white. Instead, she turned around and sat down with her back against Tojiko's to wait.
At length, Tojiko's shoulders slumped, her chin dipping down to her chest. Still she remained upright, as warm as a real sunset.
Her fingers numb, Futo undid the collar of her jacket. Now came the tricky part. She would have to be dead, but also not dead. She would have to bleed, she would have to skirt close enough to true death to fear she had made a mistake and ...no, the blade couldn't wobble this much if she meant for it to be a clean cut...it had to be done, but the anticipation alone felt like...
There was no sound as the blade fell onto the floor, but somehow, the echo of the sound which hadn't existed reverberated in the air. Pain blossomed instantly, but wilted with shocking speed to a kind of dull background hum before it reached Futo's heart. It would return as fire, assuming it had time to do so before she expired.
She leaned against Tojiko, her nostrils suddenly filled with the scent of a muddy riverside and out of season azaleas. For a moment there was only the sound of a sluggishly flowing stream to match the sunset streaming out of her throat.
As her vision grew dim and she found herself drowning in her own heartbeat, an errant thought crossed her mind with such sudden clarity that it gave her complete pause. Had it been a misunderstanding from the very beginning? Was it possible her death had been completely accidental on that afternoon with the summer breeze and the sparrows? And forgetting that, just what had Tojiko truly feared if it hadn't been...
It was already too late to even finish asking all of her questions. Futo's mind was already one with the sunset, expanding and drifting until it sank into the shadows...
Futo woke up in pitch blackness with static smothering her ears.
Immediately, she knew she had slept for too long. Exactly how long had she been dead to the world? Months? Years? Possibly even decades?
The precise amount of time didn't matter just then. More importantly, she needed to find the Crown Prince at once.
She attempted to launch herself into the darkness. When that failed, she struggled instead to gain some kind of mastery over limbs utterly unaccustomed to movement. At length she found herself wriggling her fingers and toes, slowly finding purchase from stiff ligaments and statue-like flesh.
As her new heart surged into a steady rhythm, her panic began to ebb. There was no need to fret. She would regain her bearings soon enough. Ultimately, what did it matter even if it been a century since she went to sleep? As long as the Crown Prince was there, the future would be bright.
It was then that she first felt she was being watched.
It took time, but eventually the darkness around her transformed into a deep grainy grey. She was in a chamber with a single light source somewhere to her right, small and paler than firelight — a broken-off sliver of the moon which had somehow become trapped deep underground.
Deep underground, along with her, the Crown Prince, and...
With great difficulty, she turned her head to the side.
Even taller than in life, luminous with inner moonlight, the ghost of Soga no Tojiko stared quietly back at her.
Futo opened her mouth even as she struggled to blink away the shadows crowding in once more, but no words came to her. It was not merely that her new body was unaccustomed to speech, to the point where she was not certain her tongue would obey her. There was simply nothing she could say.
"I've dreamt about this moment." In the gloom of the burial chamber, Tojiko's eyes were almost black. She turned to look aside as though someone had called her name elsewhere. "Thought about it, really. Turns out ghosts don't sleep."
"Tojiko..." Futo's throat was lined with dust, but the syllables rang true. They hung in the air until they were smothered by the shadows.
Tojiko turned to face her again. Time came to a standstill as she and Futo observed one another for what felt like the first time ever.
Then, as though she thought nothing of it, Tojiko held out her hand.
"Welcome back."
Futo's never before used sinews groaned as she reached out towards her. The hand she clasped helped her safely back to her feet and into an embrace as warm as life.