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"I wanted to protect her. I wanted to risk my life for her. I wanted to go home together."
-Kanao Tsuyuri
“She hasn’t left her room or eaten in days,” Aoi said, worry plain on her face as she ladled miso soup into a black, lacquered bowl. “Maybe…”
Kanao watched Aoi chew on her bottom lip. She made no mention of how haggard Aoi looked when she stooped down to pick up the tray of food.
“Maybe you can get through to her. She’s always had a soft spot for you.”
Kanao’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly in surprise at Aoi’s words. In the dark of the night, the silence between them was interrupted only by the sound of trees outside, rustling in the wind.
Indecision rooted Kanao in place. All the while, steam from the hot food wafted into the air, forming a spindly tower between them.
Should I try? Kanao wondered. Shinobu and her had never been especially close. Not nearly at the level that they each had been to Kanae. Falling back into old habits, Kanao reached for Kanae’s coin in the inner pocket of her robes.
She had meant to pull it out, to let chance guide her hand, but froze when she met Aoi’s beseeching, watery gaze.
Kanao inhaled sharply at the sight.
She thought of Kanae as her fingertips grazed the cool metal surface of the coin. She thought of the lady of the manor who had been both her mentor and her friend, and the promise that Kanao had made to her on that last, fateful day.
With trembling hands, Kanao reached out to take the tray from Aoi.
The Butterfly Manor was a grand, old house. In contrast to Kanao's linage, the Kocho family could trace its roots centuries back to when the shogunate stood tall, and their ancestors were vassals in service of a lord and master. Lining the floors of the manor were planks of well-worn and well-polished wood that would squeak, creak, and make any number of chirping sounds were an intruder to tread, clumsy-footed into their home.
Nightingale floors, Kanae had explained one day, with a serene smile. She had turned training into a game for Kanao to play, of memory and footwork.
A butterfly needs to hone its wings, Kanae had explained as she booped Kanao on the tip of her nose with a finger before then speeding away.
For countless days,
Kanao flit between great halls and surrounding hallways with her wooden training sword, dodging and parrying attacks from her master, all while remembering not to set off any unexpected sounds underfoot.
In contrast, the first time Kanao had trained with Shinobu, it had taken her weeks to recover from the volley of bruises and injuries. Shinobu hadn’t held back her strength then, nor taken pity on her protege.
“You’re sloppy,” Shinobu chided as she knocked the sword from Kanao’s hands. In the empty hall, it clattered upon the polished, wooden floor with a deafening sound. Kanao scrambled to pick it up. By the time she reached it, Shinobu had it anchored down with the weight of her foot and half her body.
“The way you are right now, you’re small and weak,” said Shinobu. With no hint of malice, she tilted Kanao's chin up with the tip of her own wooden blade. ”Just like me.”
“This is your first lesson: on the battlefield, you can’t afford to be sloppy. Your opponent will not pity you, Kanao. Demons will exploit any weakness you show, and one mistake can mean your death. So use your cunning. Use your wits. Turn your body into a weapon, and use it to survive.”
Shinobu’s violet eyes then had burned bright and defiant, and her girlish voice had been laced with steel. Kanao had looked up at her, captivated by the sight. In her mind’s eye, the past and the present overlapped as she recalled the day that they met.
On that day, Kanao had carved an image into her heart. The way sunlight had flit through Shinobu’s black hair as they ran together hand-in-hand across that wooden bridge reminded her of a bird taking flight. Before that day, Kanao had not known that the world could be so bright.
Here and now, Kanao forced herself to hold Shinobu’s steely gaze even though her battered body trembled with exhaustion.
“You look tired,” Shinobu calmly noted.
“Shall we stop for today?”
Kanao drew a steadying breath before vigorously shaking her head. Her heart swelled with pride when Shinobu flashed a smile as she knelt down to help her up.
“That’s the spirit,” said Shinobu as she handed Kanao's sword back to her. Soon, they both assumed their fighting stances anew.
“If you die before me, I will never forgive you.”
In the aftermath, Kanao had sat in seiza under the spindly branches of the Victory Tree as Kanae tended to her wounds. About them, cherry blossoms fell gently like the powdered sugar Aoi used to dust the top of her desserts.
“You’re not afraid of getting hurt, are you?” asked Kanae as she applied ointment upon the many bruises mottling Kanao's shoulder and back.
Kanao glanced at the spot. Her skin had already burnished into inkblot stains of purplish-black and blue. It looked like the shape of a continent she had seen before in one of Kanae’s many books. It looked like the darkest shade of Shinobu's eyes. Am I afraid? Kanao wondered. In the palm of her hand, a cherry blossom petal landed, light-pink and pristine.
In truth, the bite of pain itched more than it stung.
Once, there was a time Kanao felt nothing at all.
“I don’t know,” answered Kanao. It was the bare-faced truth. On the other side of the training grounds, she could spot Shinobu still training. Kanao watched, entranced as Shinobu rained blow upon blow upon the training dummy, hacking and slashing until eventually its head was shorn from its shoulders.
It was hard to tear her gaze away. Watching Shinobu felt like gazing at the peak of a distant mountain Kanao hoped someday to reach.
Kanao snapped out of her trance only because of the curious sensation spreading at the skin of her left shoulder. It felt like the pitter-patter of warm summer rain. Kanao looked behind her once more. Only then did she realize that Kanae was weeping. Kanao’s heart trembled at the sight, but she could not understand why. Why is Kanae crying? Kanao wondered. Have I done something wrong? Uneasiness gnawed at her, and yet Kanao knew not how to make amends. Instead she fidgeted, restless and uneasy.
“I’m sorry,” Kanao said quietly, and tilted her head down in apology.
Kanae had done so much for her already, but Kanao did not even know how to offer words of solace, or comfort. There were times that she felt like she wasn’t a real human being. It was a sombre and startling thought.
Suddenly, she felt too vulnerable.
Her hands shook as she hiked her robes back over her shoulder and refastened the sash securing her robe in place back around her waist.
“I’m sorry,” Kanao said again. She clenched and unclenched her hands, mindlessly crushing the flower petal in her palm as she tested the pull of her bandages.
“There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”
“No,” Kanae answered without missing a beat, and knelt down beside her in the grass.
“No. Dear girl, you have nothing to apologize for. You’re strong. Stronger than most… You’re still a child, but you’ve been through so much hardship already. I just… I just wish that you lived in a less cruel world.”
Kanao’s fists were clenched so tight, her fingernails were pressing red, half-moon indents into her skin. Kanae took her hand in her own in an attempt to soothe her. Kanao let her, staring curiously as Kanae examined her fingers, murmuring her worry about leaving behind scars.
“Please forgive my sister,” said Kanae as she wiped her tears upon her sleeve. Kanae didn’t understand. In her mind, there was nothing at all to forgive.
“Shinobu shows her concern in her own way. The world is dark and it is cruel. She thinks it all a part of training, that being kind now will only do you a disservice were you to clash swords with the worst that the world has to offer.”
Something in Kanae’s smile made Kanao think she was somewhere far away.
“There is a cruel beauty in that reasoning, don’t you think?” said Kanae wanly.
“It is said that the most beautiful roses have the sharpest of thorns, but you are a child, still. Tsuyuri Kanao, what I wish for you... is not to follow in our footsteps as demonslayers when you grow up, or even to take over the Butterfly Manor. If you get the chance to live as yourself, and find happiness in this world… that is enough for me.”
“I’ll talk to Shinobu about your training. We disagree about many things… but you are both very dear to me. I hope that the two of you will get along well one day. I think... I think that the name you chose for yourself is very apt. Flowers need butterflies as butterflies need flowers. They do well to help each other bloom.”
The hand that Kanae laid upon the crown of Kanao’s head was warm and gentle. The tightness in Kanao’s chest unspooled at her master’s words.
Kanao lingered at the entrance to Shinobu’s quarters, demure as a mouse.
She hadn’t entered this room since she was ten. After wandering the halls at night after getting lost, Shinobu had mistaken her for an intruder and had a knife pressed to the side of her neck. Shinobu’s eyes back then had been wild with anger and bright with tears as they darted about the room. Kanao had never before seen Shinobu look so frightened. It was as if she had just woken up from a nightmare.
In the aftermath, Shinobu had apologized hastily with a deep bow, then escorted Kanao dutifully to the bathroom, and then back to her own quarters, all while she clutched her sword in her hands.
Kanao had recounted the event to Kanae the morning after, as the taller girl braided flowers into Kanao’s hair. Kanae had hummed mournfully before telling her the story of how she and Shinobu had lost both their parents to demons in the same house when they were children.
That had been then. What words of wisdom would Kanae say to her now, if she were by her side? The truth was that Kanao didn’t know. Unlike Shinobu, Kanao never even had the chance to say goodbye. All she had left to remember Kanae by were her memories. She knew that Kanae wouldn’t have wanted either of them to be sad. But how could they not be, when they had both lost someone so precious and irreplaceable?
Kanao could make out a faint glow from under Shinobu’s door. In the unfathomable sea of Kanao’s heart, Kanae’s words bobbed up to the surface.
As long as its given a chance, a person’s soul will open up…
Like a moth to the flame, something bid Kanao to follow the light. Underfoot, the wooden floorboards creaked as Kanao stepped into Shinobu's room.
She was greeted by Shinobu’s back, slumped over her desk. Upon the floor, books were piled high and spread out. Thick tomes on herbology and toxicology, medicinal scrolls from a bygone era, and books on physiology about both humans and demons. They covered almost every inch of the floor in spiral patterns reminiscent to Kanao of a nautilus shell.
Kanao tiptoed over the books with the grace of a crane until she reached the end of the maze. Upon Shinobu's wooden desk, she carefully set the sumptuous spread Aoi had painstakingly prepared.
“Master,” Kanao called out softly to rouse Shinobu from slumber, to no avail. When lightly shaking Shinobu’s shoulder didn’t work, Kanao flipped her coin to decide whether to wake Shinobu up in earnest, or to instead tuck her properly into bed.
The thin metal glinted in the faint light of the gas lamp as the coin landed in the palm of her hand.
Heads.
“Master,” Kanao tried again and reached for Shinobu’s pale, delicate hand. Kanao’s eyebrows creased in worry. Shinobu’s skin was cold to the touch. Without a thought, Kanao slipped the haori she had been wearing over the thin frame of Shinobu’s shoulders.
The air shifted as Shinobu stirred from slumber. There was only the jarring scrape of Shinobu’s chair against the floor. Before Kanao knew what had happened, Shinobu had already whirled around to press a slim dagger against the jugular vein of Kanao's neck.
Shinobu’s violet eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot as she glared at her. When Kanao swallowed, the sharp edge of the cold blade pressed against her skin.
“Kanao.” The shame in Shinobu’s eyes was unmistakable. In one fluid motion, Shinobu bowed in apology and sheathed the blade. “I… I’m sorry.” Shinobu’s sheepish, guilt-ridden voice was raw from crying. Her face looked gaunt, and pale as the moon. “Are you okay?”
Kanao nodded and bowed in turn. “I’m sorry for intruding. Aoi made dinner. We can… eat it together, if you’d like?” Kanao looked up at her, expression hopeful.
Instead of capitulating, Shinobu glanced back down to her half-opened book. “I still have work to do,” Shinobu declared, curt and dismissive as she turned away.
Kanao felt her heart tremble. She couldn’t pin down exactly, what spurred her to reach for Shinobu’s hand, but she did, nonetheless.
“Please!” Kanao cried out.
Drawing closer, she clutched desperately at Shinobu’s robes.
Shinobu’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. Something strange flit then, across her expression as she looked at Kanao. It was an emotion Kanao could not discern.
“Please…” Kanao continued, softer and more uncertain than ever before.
“I don’t…”
Her unspoken words lingered in the air between them.
Kanao’s grip on Shinobu tightened as Kanao stepped closer to lay her forehead upon Shinobu’s shoulder.
“I don’t want to lose you too,” Kanao confessed, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
The day the Lady of the Butterfly Manor left them had felt like any other. The weather was crisp and sunny and Kanao had just finished with her afternoon training. Pleased with her progress, Kanae had promised to take them for a picnic at a nearby lake after her mission. Kanae’s figure was haloed by the setting sun as she entrusted Kanao to look after the manor in her absence. Her smile then had been kind, and nothing had felt out of the ordinary.
The morning after, Shinobu had returned carrying the cold and broken body of her sister upon her back.
Kanao’s heart had clenched tight at the sight. Life was so cruel, stealing Kanae away like a thief.
It had only sunk in now, that Kanae was gone and nothing they did would ever bring her back. Kanao didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye, to thank her for giving her a name, a home, a future.
She didn’t know what it was she was feeling. Anger or sadness, fear or despair…
Whatever it was, it was overwhelming. Like a door she had long shut had suddenly been thrown wide open.
The beasts plaguing her had no name, and they raged and churned in the depths of her heart until all that remained was a roiling black sea.
It was frightening.
Kanao had never before felt so lost and alone.
Like a newborn foal, Kanao shook, and shook as her hands fisted the fabric of Shinobu's robes.
It hurt. It hurt so much. Kanao wanted to scream, to shout, to cry.
But she didn’t know how.
Grief was a wound with no name. It was the phantom ache of a missing limb.
At some point, it had gotten hard to breathe. Kanao hadn’t noticed until Shinobu had drawn her into a hug.
“In all the years I’ve known you, this is the first time I’ve heard you raise your voice.” Shinobu chuckled ruefully as she tucked her chin over Kanao’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry for not being there. You must be hurting, too. I don’t know what to say to make it hurt less. I miss her too. Just know that you’re not alone.”
Shinobu was a familiar and comforting presence. Is all pain the same? Kanao wondered as she thought about what Shinobu had to say.
Kanao anchored herself in the rhythm of Shinobu's heartbeat, and then she thought about her late master, the brilliant and kindhearted young woman who had taught her how to wield the blade.
In her mind’s eye, she could see Kanae go through each form of Flower Breathing with precision and grace.
The memory was enough to ground her.
They leaned against each other until Kanao stopped trembling and calmed down enough again to properly breathe.
Dinner was had in silence. Aoi had prepared all of Shinobu’s favorites, Kanao thought, as Shinobu cleaned her plate with great efficiency. Despite everything, it made Kanao smile, just a bit, when Shinobu let her have her stick of dango. Between them, it was Kanao who had the sweet-tooth.
When Kanao finally turned off the gas-lamp, all was quiet in the dark of the night. Kanao sat in seiza by the edge of the bed, demurely standing guard as Shinobu tucked herself into her western-style bed.
“You don’t have to stay up with me, you know?” Shinobu cracked open a tired, violet eye to regard her. She looked like she had aged ten years in three days. “This isn’t a sleepover. We stopped being children the moment we picked up a sword.”
The words slipped from Kanao’s mouth without forethought. “I… I’m staying. I want to be here. If I leave, you won’t sleep. Am I wrong?” Shinobu grudgingly conceded with a shake of her head. “Geez. Who knew I was so easy to read? Still, I can’t believe you’re talking back to your master! Who taught you to be so impudent, anyway?”
Kanao tilted her head towards her. She smiled placidly. “You.”
Shinobu laughed. There was a cheeky slant to her smile.
Kanao had missed seeing it. Her heart ached at the sight. It was a different kind of ache, from before.
“I could just order you to go back to your quarters, you know?”
“No,” Kanao said, calm and resolute. She would not waiver. She had learned that from Shinobu, too. “I promised Kanae.”
“You made a promise with Kanae too, huh?” Shinobu smiled, wan and mysterious as the dark side of the moon. “Of course you did.” Her voice cracked, and neither made mention of it.
“Hey…” Shinobu lifted her blanket and motioned for Kanae to slip under the covers. “You can rest here until I fall asleep. Kanae would scold me if I made her cute tsuguko catch a cold.”
Kanao made an unintelligible noise, then fished the coin from out of her pocket to decide for her.
Before long, she was slipping under the covers as well.
It was a strange sensation. After years spent sleeping in the dirt, the soft comfort of a warm bed was something Kanao still needed getting used to. She drew comfort from the warmth emanating from Shinobu’s body and the gentle fragrance of her perfume. She felt at peace here. Safe, and protected. Wanted, and welcome. It felt... It felt like home.
Eventually, her mind started drowsing.
Where do the dead call home? The thought bobbed up from an ocean of idle thoughts, unbidden...
Kanao prayed that Kanae was at peace, wherever she was right now, and wondered if an afterlife even existed.
“Hey, Kanao?”
“Mm?” Half asleep, Kanao shifted so she could properly face her.
“I’m sorry for worrying you, all of you.“ Shinobu was staring intently up at the ceiling with a pained look on her face.
“You shouldn’t have to see me like this. Sometimes... Sometimes, I think that you’ve always seen the worst parts of me, right from the day that we met."
No, Kanao thought fiercely, and hated how she could not will her tongue to bring that thought to life. That day, you and Kanae were the first people in the world to treat me with kindness. I still… Kanao bit her bottom-lip so hard, she tasted iron. I still remember the warmth of your hands in mine.
Shinobu chuckled self-derisively as she wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her kimono.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you back then, too. Maybe you were too young to remember. But that’s no excuse. Know that I…”
Shinobu clucked her tongue as she tried to find the right words. “I never hated you. After my parents died, I was just... I was so angry and afraid of losing the people I loved. Kanae was right. She was right about a lot of things. I know…"
"I know that it’s not right, but a part of me wished that I had fought the demon and died instead."
"Unlike me, Kanae would know what to do."
"And I’m tired and angry, and sick of being left behind.”
“I... I’m angry. I’m so angry. A part of me still can’t believe it. It feels like a nightmare, and any moment now, I’ll wake up. And if I run into her room, she’ll still be there, sleeping peacefully.” Shinobu turned away from Kanao and curled into herself, a half moon crescent.
“But we buried her two days ago.” Shinobu’s voice cracked then, and her tears started flowing freely. “Just like my parents, I know she’s never coming back.”
Kanao watched silently, her heart in pain. I loved her too, Kanao wanted to say, though she was weighed down by despair. I’m sorry. It hurts, but it’s going to be okay.
Her heart lurched towards her.
Coin forgotten, Kanao reached for Shinobu’s hand. It was all she knew how to do.
When did your hand become smaller than mine? Kanao thought. The hands that had guided her, and protected her, and spirited her away from danger when she was a child, were small and delicate and riddled with callouses from years spent wielding a blade.
She thought of how Shinobu had hugged her earlier, and held Shinobu now in turn as sobs wracked her lithe frame. Ever since Kanao had been a small child, Shinobu had felt larger than life, like the heroine of a grand story who could bend fate with the sheer strength of her will. It was true back then, and it remained true now.
But this was Shinobu, too. A different side of her, a young woman made of flesh and blood, who could bend and break and bleed, who fit like a puzzle piece in Kanao's arms.
It’s okay to be yourself, Kanao thought, recalling Kanae’s words to her, before. It's okay to be angry, and frightened. It's okay to cry. You don't always have to be strong.
I wish you relied on me more, Kanao thought now as her thumb ran soothingly over the callouses on Shinobu’s palms with the clumsiness of a child. I want to be useful to you. I want to help however I can.
She held her tight and prayed that Shinobu understood without words that she didn’t have to face her grief alone.
Kanao woke up cocooned in soft, warm blankets. Did last night really happen? Kanao wondered. A part of her felt like a caterpillar still dreaming in its chrysalis.
She wiggled out of the blankets before chancing a glance at Shinobu’s desk. True enough, she was back to pouring over her books.
“You’re up,” Shinobu said, turning to face her with a small smile.
It was one of the few times Kanao had seen her with her hair down. Shinobu made no mention of what had transpired the night before, but beckoned Kanao forward all the same.
Kanao nodded curtly in response as she rounded the desk. Shinobu looked better. More rested, and less like a waif. It brought no small relief to Kanao’s heart.
“Here. She would have wanted you to have this,” Shinobu said, as she pressed Kanae’s butterfly hairpin into Kanao’s palm.
It gleamed in the light of the morning sun.
Kanao stared hard at it, swept away by melancholy.
“Will you be my Tsuguko, Kanao?”
Kanao’s attention snapped up to Shinobu’s face at the question. She understood the implications.
“I’m not a Flower Breathing Style user, but-”
“Yes,” Kanao answered unerringly.
Shinobu blinked, and then her lips parted into a beatific smile.
“Are you sure? Think carefully before you speak. I will not go easy on your training, and the road ahead will be even more treacherous than before. I swear to kill the demon that took Kanae away from us. I swear it on my life. But I’m not strong enough, with the way I am now. It will not be an easy feat. I may well die on this road. And there’s a chance you will, too. Knowing this, do you want to be my Tsuguko, Kanao?”
“Yes,” Kanao answered again, and clutched Kanae's butterfly pin tightly in her hand as she bowed low.
Shinobu blinked in surprise, and smiled once more.
One summer day, years in the future, Kanao puts together a bouquet. In the gentle rustling of the trees, she can almost feel Kanae by her side. Only the most beautiful and the most deadly of flowers will suffice, Kanao thinks resolutely.
In truth, she would have gone overboard had she not remembered Kanae’s lessons.
Flower arrangement is an art, Kanae had once said. It is a living canvas on which we can paint, and in doing so, meditate on life, and express ourselves.
Nee-san! Why waste time teaching her such frivolous things? Shinobu had once groused a little ways away while she sharpened her Nichirin blade.
Once upon a time,
Kanae had simply smiled. If we are to believe in what we are doing right now as Hashira, then we must also prepare her for a world that doesn’t believe in the sword.
Shinobu had rolled her eyes then, but had sheathed her blade all the same.
You’ll make her soft, Shinobu had once complained as she handed Kanao the stalk of a wisteria flower. You’ll make us all soft.
Is that so bad? Kanae’s carefree laughter had a way of teasing a smile from the both of them, no matter the occasion.
The memory is a bright spot in Kanao’s life. It is one of many. They shimmer in her mind, like sun rays breaking through the thick canopy of a forest.
Kanao regards her canvas and thinks now, not of war, but of balance. Of heaven and hell, and the earth: a bridge between the two realms. She ponders herself, and Kanae, and Shinobu, and wonders which of them are which. With precision and grace, Kanao slips in nightshades and angel’s trumpets, foxgloves and baby’s breath.
Kanao hears a sound then, thin in the distance, but growing ever louder. The voice is bright and tinkling as a wind chime. It is the sound of home. It is Shinobu calling out her name.
Kanao smiles then, small and contented as she places a wisteria flower at the heart of her arrangement.
Holding the bouquet carefully, Kanao runs towards her.
Together with Aoi, they visit Kanae’s grave later that day. Kanao lays the bouquet reverently down upon the stone slab. And they hold hands as they say their prayers.
While Shinobu teases Aoi by telling Kanae about her latest growth spurt, Kanao bends down to brush the dust away from her master's tombstone with her hands.
Thank you for everything you have ever done for me, Kanao thinks reverently as the pads of her fingers glide over the characters of Kanae’s name. I don’t know if there is an afterlife, but if we get the chance, I hope that we can meet again one day.
Kanao opens her eyes when she feels a warm hand upon her shoulder. When she looks up, she sees Shinobu smiling down at her, beckoning her home.
Shinobu always wears a strange expression whenever they visit Kanae’s grave. Even now.
Kanao still doesn't know what it means.
She hopes that someday, she will.
When Kanao takes the hand that Shinobu offers her, Kanao grabs Aoi's hand too. The two young women exchange shocked looks when Kanao doesn't let go, but play along all the same as they make their way home.
Kanao doesn't know what challenge tomorrow will bring, but the future is not something that she has to face alone.
Kanae lives on in Kanao’s memories, in every lesson she has ever imparted, in the smile that Shinobu wears every day.
If Kanao closes her eyes, she can imagine her walking, tall and regal beside them.