Archive of Our Own ^beta

They are in the forest, at the bend in the river. They go a little farther every time; Itsuki wants to see what's out here, and Mutsuki follows, always. So far, there's been nothing but more forest. Itsuki goes uphill, hoping to find the river's source, or a viewpoint. He'd like to look down on the village. He'd like to exclaim in amazement how small it looks from here. He'd like it to look small.

But they don't reach anywhere today. They sit by the river, and watch the light on the water. There are two butterflies on the other side, among the trees, dancing round and round each other.

"We'll always be together, you know," says Mutsuki.

Itsuki looks a question at him.

"I know you're scared of the ritual. I am too. It'll be... painful." He puts a hand to his neck and frowns; the river throws light into Itsuki's eyes and he has to look down. "But," Mutsuki says, "it's not for long, and when it's over, I'll be a butterfly, and we'll be one, forever."

Itsuki feels his mouth trembling, sickness churning in his stomach. "Is that what you want?"

Mutsuki knows his brother is upset. He reaches for him. "I just want to be with you. With the ritual, we can – "

"I wish you wouldn't keep saying that."

Mutsuki withdraws, hurt. "But why? What should we do instead?"

"You're not the one who'll have to go on living," Itsuki says through his teeth. "You're not the one who'll have to be alone." He puts his head in his hands. He doesn't want Mutsuki as a butterfly, or a spirit inside him; he wants his brother here, like this, just like this, for the rest of their lives. "It's cruel. It's all so cruel. I wish we could run away."

"We can't," Mutsuki reminds him, horribly gentle. "You know that. If we go, Yae and Sae will be next."

"I know. I know." If Yae and Sae had never been born, if it had only been the two of them, there might have been a chance. The villagers call it a blessing to have two pairs of twins born so close together, but to Itsuki, it's a trap that's closed around him.

He looks up again. He can't look long at Mutsuki's eyes; in their steadiness, their gentleness, they are as fierce as the light of the sun. "I only..." His voice dies away. The butterflies on the other side of the river have broken apart now. They flutter separately between the trees, one getting nearer, the other just the smallest flicker of red, as far away as they can see.

"Let's go back now," says Mutsuki.

Wordless, Itsuki stands. He turns his eyes down, and they go together, back towards the village.

***

When they get back, there's a small commotion in the street outside the Osaka house, a gaggle of excited children gathered around something Itsuki can't see, apparently arguing over it. Chitose is among them, dressed in her bright green today; when given her choice of the village's small collection of clothing, she has always chosen the vivid colours, the ones that stand out to her poor vision. She is talking as loudly as the rest, almost in the middle of the group, and that strikes Itsuki as strange, because Chitose has never sought out crowds.

She doesn't see her brothers approaching, but the other children do, and back away respectfully, so that Itsuki can see what they were arguing over: a wooden basket on the ground, with a crimson butterfly inside it, bobbing in irregular circles around the confined space.

Itsuki frowns at the group of children, who are now standing in a tight cluster under the eaves of the Osaka house, as if by drawing together they can disconnect themselves from any association with twins.

"What's going on?" he asks. "What are you all doing?"

Chitose lifts her head at the sound of his voice, and runs to him. "I caught one!" she says, her voice ringing high with excitement. "We were catching butterflies, and I got one!"

"Only by accident," one of the watching children says boldly, but drops his eyes when Itsuki looks at him, muttering. "By accident. She can't even see them."

"I can," Chitose protests, grasping a handful of Itsuki's sleeve for courage. "I caught it, so I get to wish."

"What are you talking about?" Itsuki asks, baffled.

"If you can get one, they grant wishes. See, you have to keep it in the dark and tell it your wish every day, and – "

"That's horrible," Mutsuki says. His voice is low, but it is so unusual for the younger twin to speak up when the elder is present that everyone looks at him. He ignores them, staring fixedly at Chitose. "Don't you dare keep that butterfly in the dark. They're just children, don't you know that? They're just like you."

The children look at one another uneasily. Of course they have never heard that; none of them have learned to read, and the adults of the village do not speak of the ritual.

"I wasn't going to keep it long," Chitose says. "Just until it granted my wish."

Mutsuki says no more. He has moved into the shade, and looks pale and very tired. Itsuki gives him a worried glance, then turns back to the children.

"Crimson butterflies are divine spirits," he says to the group at large, but with an especially grave look for Chitose. "They're not here to grant wishes, and it's disrespectful to try and trap them. If you keep them in the dark, how can they protect our village?"

He kneels and opens the cage, letting the butterfly loose. It flutters over the rooftops and is lost against the sky.

"Go on," he says, to the row of solemn faces watching him, dark eyes and downturned mouths. "Go home. If any of you have butterflies shut up somewhere, let them go."

As the children scatter, he walks back over to Mutsuki, tugging Chitose by the hand and holding the empty basket tucked under his other arm. He'll keep it in his room so that no one will use it for that purpose again.

"I can't believe they'd do that," Mutsuki says, sounding sick and shaken. "Chitose, how could you? Don't you know better?"

Chitose begins to cry, and Itsuki frowns at his brother. Mutsuki can get upset about this – little more than a children's game, really – but not about the prospect of his own death at Itsuki's hands?

"Don't blame her," he says quietly. "She didn't know. Come on, let's get inside."

***

They don't go out of the village again for a while. Mutsuki tires easily, especially in summer, so they stay close to home. Twins are raised in ease, with no work to do, and at this time of year when everyone is out foraging or farming, they have the whole village nearly to themselves.

Between the well and the storehouse it is quiet and shady, largely hidden from view. The old Tsuchihara house breathes out cool, damp smells, the scents of stone and earth, dust and leaves. Itsuki sees Yae and Sae briefly, passing at the end of the road. They are hand in hand.

He and Mutsuki are almost fifteen, but everything is so peaceful. Even the butterflies seem lazy, setting down on the warm, empty road with their scarlet wings open, catching the sun. Perhaps it will stay this way. Perhaps they'll never have to do the ritual at all; he knows, from reading the old documents in his room, that sometimes twins do live to adulthood. It could happen.

Mutsuki, beside him, reclines in the sun with his head tipped back, his throat exposed. It reminds Itsuki of the butterflies, settling on the road, making themselves vulnerable to soak up a little more sunlight.

He sees Yae and Sae again, this time on the path up to the hill. They move in and out of the sunlight, from brilliance into cool green shadow. They are hand in hand, still. They are together, and content, free from sadness.

Colour catches his eye, and he turns to see that all the butterflies have risen from the ground, darting upwards like a hundred tiny flames, all at once.

And then nothing is still.

The earth lurches beneath them, rolling and shaking. It has come to life, roaring, and he can hear the cracking of wood; he can hear Yae and Sae's voices, crying out; he sees the wooden wall of the Tsuchihara house buckling, splintering, and he's on his feet at once, dragging Mutsuki up and into the open, away from the building that looks on the verge of collapse.

They are, at least, a safe distance away when Mutsuki stumbles and they fall together, landing heavily on the road. The earth is still shaking, and they lie there, holding on to each other. It seems like hours before the rumbling finally subsides, and the earth is still.

They do not move at once. They lie uncomfortably pressed together, elbows digging into ribs, knees tangled. Itsuki feels Mutsuki's breath stirring his hair.

"No," he says. "No, no, not now."

"It's time," says Mutsuki. He sounds serene, almost pleased. "Another ritual. Ours."

Their hands are clasped, fingers interlocked, and Mutsuki squeezes. "No," Itsuki says again, whispering, but fierce, pressing his forehead against Mutsuki's. "No, I won't. I won't. It's not happening."

Denying it won't change a thing. He can feel the earth's unquietness, though it's not moving, and he can see the shadows of the butterflies as they pass before the sun, and he can see Mutsuki's slight smile. But, "No, no, no," he insists, "I won't," as if anyone will care. He stays where he is, feeling that Mutsuki is solid and warm, not some fragile half of a soul waiting for death so he can be completed. Mutsuki is whole, he is real.

"It's all right," Mutsuki says.

"No, it isn't. Stop saying that. It isn't all right." He needs some way to hold on to this reality. He presses his mouth down to taste the dust on Mutsuki's lips.

He feels the shift – not an earthquake this time, but something more devastating. Mutsuki grows tense, resistant. It's over as soon as it began, and Itsuki sits up, raising his hand to his mouth and rubbing reflexively, as if to erase what just happened. Mutsuki sits up too, more slowly, his hands on the ground.

"Are you all right?" They hear the girl's voice from behind them; Yae, running, white sleeves in the sun, towards them. "Did you feel that?"

And they're getting to their feet; Yae and Sae join them, and for a few minutes everyone is reassuring everyone else that they're unhurt. Itsuki sees Sae and Mutsuki look at each other, dark and secret. They are smiling at what is to come. He clenches his fists and sees Yae's face as hard and thin as his must be.

As the people come back to the village, in pairs or small groups, all talk is of the earthquake. The butterflies are everywhere, flying like leaves in an autumn gale, and people are praying.

In all of that, something as small as a kiss need not have happened.

He looks at Mutsuki a little fearfully, but his brother is still there at his side, quietly following, as always. They walk back in silence. Nothing happened after all.

***

The purification will take a month. Itsuki and Mutsuki wear white, as they have since they entered adolescence, but now there's a red cord tied around each of their waists, and once the purification begins in earnest, they can't go outside. Yae and Sae can visit, and the priests make allowances for Chitose; it would be a lot to ask of a child not to speak to her brothers while they continue to share a house.

Itsuki goes out onto the Heaven Bridge whenever he can find an excuse. He feels trapped inside the Twin Houses, and not without reason, he thinks bitterly. All the doors of the Tachibana House are locked, and there's always somebody watching the doors of the Kiryu House. It's not much of a secret that Itsuki would run away if he could, but at least they don't know that he'd go so far as to help Yae and Sae do the same. He hopes they don't know that, anyway.

At first the priests talk about destiny and inevitability in his hearing whenever they can, as if that will change his way of thinking, and he wants to laugh and scream all at once. He pretends to be meek and resigned, stops writing to Ryozo, obeys every instruction without protest. Eventually he supposes they believe he's decided to perform the ritual after all, because the pointed looks and comments cease.

He spends hours in front of the mirror in the twins' room, gazing at his reflection. He is supposed to be meditating on his unity with Mutsuki, becoming unable to distinguish between his brother and his own image. It's impossible. He can't see Mutsuki in himself; all he sees are the differences, small though they are. While he's supposed to be remembering that they are one, all he can think is, We are two. Mutsuki is not me. I do not love him as a part of myself. We are distinct. We are two.

So whenever he can get away, he goes to the Heaven Bridge and breathes the outside air and looks up at the blue, indifferent sky. He can hear the birds calling in the forest, and the villagers in the dry little fields singing their work-songs, and the whispering water-sound of the river and the great pool in front of Kurosawa House. He can see whenever anyone passes below, and he can make out the shapes of the stones on Misono Hill. From out here the world seems close, and the dream of rituals and purifications is distant.

"Why do you come out here?"

He turns to see Mutsuki, staying in the shadows of the Tachibana House but holding the door open to look out. Mutsuki has always preferred to stay inside, where it's warmer in winter or cooler in summer, and where there are plenty of places to sit or lie down if he gets tired.

"We're supposed to be together all the time during our purification," Mutsuki says, shifting uneasily in the doorway. "And if you stay outside for too long, you might need more cleansing."

"I just feel like being in the open air sometimes," Itsuki says. "Why don't you come out here with me for a minute?"

Mutsuki hesitates a moment longer, then comes out. Itsuki hears the lock click into place again as the door falls shut.

"I wish you wouldn't go off by yourself," Mutsuki says. "We don't have much time left together like this, you know."

The pain Itsuki feels at this reminder is sharp enough to make him draw his breath in and look quickly down at the road under the bridge.

"I think you're pretending," says Mutsuki. A crimson butterfly settles on his sleeve, and he brushes it away absently. "You don't want the ritual to happen, so you're pretending it's not going to, and that's why you come out here."

"That's... not it," Itsuki lies, prying a splinter loose from the wooden railing with one fingernail. "I just..."

"Anyway, I don't really want to think about the ritual either," Mutsuki says decidedly. There's another butterfly on his collar, but he hasn't noticed. "It doesn't matter what we want. It'll happen one way or another. So what are you going to do afterwards?"

"Help Yae and Sae," says Itsuki. "You know that. I've written to Ryozo, and..."

He cuts himself off as a serving-woman passes below with a pot cradled in her arms, on her way to the Kurosawa House. When she's gone, Itsuki says, in a lower voice,

"Even if Ryozo doesn't come, I know how to get out of the village now. I can manage."

"I know. I was thinking about Chitose."

"They wouldn’t punish her for something I did, would they?" Itsuki says, alarmed. The thought has only just occurred to him.

"No, I don't think so. But what will you tell her?"

"She's too young," Itsuki says. "I don't... I can't..."

"She'll wonder where I am. She's old enough for that."

"Why can't they tell her?" Itsuki mutters. "The priests, the ceremony master: it's their ritual. Why should I have to be the one to explain it?"

Mutsuki says nothing. Itsuki looks up at him, and his breath catches. "Oh... look at you."

Mutsuki is covered in butterflies. More than a dozen of them cling to his sleeves and shoulders, to his hair. When he holds out his hands, more come to light on his wrists and fingers.

It's as if they know he will soon be one of them; as if they're claiming him as one of their own. From a distance they look mysterious and frail, like sparks flying above a bonfire, but this close Itsuki can see their insect legs and antennae, their black eyes and the long abdomen between the glowing wings. This close, they're not much better than centipedes or crane flies, and they fill him with a primitive kind of horror.

"Get off him," he says, trying to sweep them away. They flutter and grapple and come to rest again, their wings folded upwards like thin red blades, somehow aggressive.

"Get off him," he says again. "Mutsuki, shake them off, get rid of them."

Mutsuki doesn't move. He looks down at his butterfly-laden sleeves with dreamy disbelief.

"It's all right," he says. "They know I'm going to be one of them."

Itsuki shudders helplessly. "Let's go inside," he says. "Let's get away from them."

The butterflies rise from Mutsuki in a cloud, scattering into the sky, their light drowned in the summer blue. Mutsuki gazes after them, half-smiling.

"It's all right," he says again. "I'll be a butterfly, and that will be..." He sighs. "Yes, let's go inside."

He goes to their room to sleep, tired once more, as if standing on the bridge and talking were an exertion. Itsuki seeks out Chitose and finds her in one of the larger closets, weaving a little net out of brown and orange thread, feeling the pattern out with her fingers in the darkness.

Without explanation he kneels down in the cramped space beside her and pulls her into his arms. She's too heavy for him to pick up, the way he did when she was small, but her body is still round and warm and childishly soft.

She doesn't question. She settles against him, putting her woven toy readily to one side.

"I'm making it for brother Mutsuki," she says, "because it's going to be the ceremony soon. It's a good-luck charm. Then I'm making one for you."

He knows the sort of thing. The villagers hang them up in their houses. The story is that if a crimson butterfly gets tangled up in one and someone cuts it free, it will guard that person's household and bring good fortune.

"You're not going to hang it up, are you?" he asks, remembering the butterfly in the cage, and the dull horror on Mutsuki's face when he saw it.

"No, but the priests say just making them is good, if you pray while you're doing it. They told me a special prayer to say for you and Mutsuki. I say it every time I tie a knot. It's a ceremony for twins, so they said I should pray a lot for you."

Itsuki gives a sick little laugh that makes Chitose wriggle, trying to look up at his face.

"Is that wrong?" she asks uncertainly. "Are you sad?"

"It doesn't matter," he says. "If the priests say you should pray, you should." He thinks of the taste of dust on Mutsuki's lips, of clouds of butterflies, of promises to be kept, of things that, he hopes, Chitose will never really understand.