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Sen had never had a talent for poetry, but Chizuru often made her wish she did.
Or, perhaps, painting would be a better fit for this current scene. Sen wanted to take ink to paper and commemorate the curve of Chizuru’s neck as she leaned over her book. She wanted to mix pigments until she captured the exact color of afternoon burnishing Chizuru’s skin. Sen’s hands had always been deft, and she was certain she could maneuver a brush to depict the way wind pulled at Chizuru’s sleeves. As though even the breeze dreamed of being close to her, too.
Yes, poems had multiple meanings nested within words or entire phrases. However even that was not enough to immortalize Chizuru’s nuances.
They had traveled here alone and, for reasons of safety, they had decided Chizuru would disguise herself again. She no longer wore the garb of a youthful man because there was no mistaking her for anything but an adult. As such, the two of them had traveled as husband and wife, and Chizuru had dressed to match. Her clothes were dark and, when she was unsmiling (as she was now), it became easy to see why the Yukimura clan had had a reputation for an aloof sort of beauty. It was easy to see why some of the demons had joked that the Yukimura’s garbed themselves in fervent ideals rather than the fashions of the day.
Chizuru’s enthusiasms attracted Sen as much as the features on her face, or the unwitting grace of her body. The more they pretended to be married, the less she looked forward to the day they must stop.
As Sen stepped closer, Chizuru’s book came into focus. Her index finger traced a drawing of a western demon. Someone a world away had sketched in the skeletal base, the foundation that held the body together. They had illustrated all the nerves that unfurled like floral veins, and the organs that would repair themselves even after grievous injury. Sen suspected that, when this book had first been produced, the heart had been a deeper shade of red. Time and sea-saturated wind had stripped vibrancy from the ink.
“This book again?” Sen asked, taking her place beside Chizuru. They sat on a blanket taken from one of the villages abandoned houses. By now it mostly smelled of sun and grass, but when they’d first found it had given off the distinct scent of mothballs. However, it had had no scorch marks on it, and that made it special. Strangely auspicious, even.
“If I stare at it long enough, maybe I will spontaneously learn how to read French.” Chizuru laughed, but her brow remained furrowed as usual. Even at her young age, a human would have a faint wrinkle there by now. Chizuru’s demon heritage erased even these miniscule injuries caused by fear and care.
“Do you regret coming here?” Sen asked, her fingers alighting against Chizuru’s shoulder. Something within her turned over when her companion pressed back into her touch. “I don’t think you have any cause for shame.”
“Not exactly. By now I’m certain the water will help the remaining rasetsu. All the reading I’ve done confirms that idea. Also there are medicinal plants growing here that I’ve seen nowhere else. They seem to match the ingredients they use in France to help demons with all their side effects.” Chizuru sprawled her hands out behind her, leaned back, and stared up at the sky. She was probably picturing the long process they would have to endure; using the Yukimura spring to fill the jars and then loading them onto the cart. How they would slow their traveling home.
Sen wished she had asked Kimigiku to come along as well. Then she promptly reprimanded herself. She had insisted on going alone with Chizuru partially due to her own selfishness; Sen wanted to spend time alone with Chizuru. Solitude was more precious than gold. More precious, even, than the coal and bullets desired by the government. But it was crass to miss Kimigiku now that Sen was in need of practical assistance. Her long-time protector deserved better than that.
“Are you worried that the government will be angry with us?” Sen watched as the breeze flipped through Chizuru’s book. As if the very air was curious about this influx of new tomes, distant knowledge. When it stopped, the resultant pages had no pictures at all. Just row after cramped row of unusual western script. “I don’t think they expected you to find a cure.”
“No, but...” Chizuru pulled her knees into her chest, as though trying to curl around the few things she did know for certain. “But I think that I expected that. Or I hoped for it at least.”
Oh, I’m so, so sorry. Sen had enough discipline to avoid pulling Chizuru into an embrace, considering how her companion looked like a statue carved from stone. But pins and needles dotted Sen’s arms, in her attempt to stem her natural sympathy.
A few months ago, Meiji officials had paid a visit to Sen’s manor. It was one thing to issue a decree abolishing the samurai class. It was another thing entirely to deal with practical issues of land, inheritance, and new types of occupation.
And then there was the matter of the rasetsu armies. An entire class of men considered deceased in battle. However, the deceased did not thirst for blood. They did not petition for the government for assistance or restitution, nor did they did not return to families that had mourned them. They certainly didn’t make scenes in front of visiting foreign dignitaries.
The government had conscripted Sen’s help in navigating this difficult matter. She supposed her reputation for being eternally cordial towards human governments had made her the best candidate for something so delicate. However, during one such hush-hush negotiation, a normally silent Chizuru had abruptly offered her services in treating the ailments of the rasetsu. The Meiji officials had remained opaque in much of what they said, but Sen suspected they hoped for steady resolution to this problem. Most of the rasetsu had taken the ochimizu at the same time as one another. Thus, it was likely they would all truly die at the exact same time, their corpses flaking into the wind like incense ash.
It would be difficult, indeed, to begin a new era if everyone choked on dust from the previous war.
Thus, many months had followed in which Chizuru had devoured medical information. She’d pored over her father’s study, drinking in knowledge that had belonged to her family for generations. And Sen also gladly gifted her with the foreign books that had begun to appear in the market. From these two wells of knowledge, Chizuru had sewn together a patchwork hypothesis on how to treat the rasetsu.
“You’ve done enough.” Sen said, at last. You are enough.
Chizuru’s mouth opened and closed. Her eyes slid from side-to-side, like someone watching a small bird darting here and there. And Sen waited. Whenever Chizuru was consumed with guilt or grief, she might be frustratingly diffident. In darker moments she might stare down at her clasped hands, self-directed poison spilling from her lips.
But sometimes- more and more lately, with Sen- she took another route entirely.
“You’re the hardest worker I know,” she said, in the midst of letting her head drop into Sen’s lap. Even though her hair was tied back, some of it spilled out. The dark strands scattered and crisscrossed over the blue of Sen’s yukata; embroidery more beautiful than gold or silver. “So hearing you say I’m doing alright means a lot. More than I can say, really.”
“Enough of that.” She poked Chizuru in the forehead. “I don’t give compliments lightly.”
It was nice to arrive in a place where speech was unnecessary. Chizuru didn’t respond. She didn’t even seem to think about weighing her words. Instead her eyes closed, and her lips curved into a smile. It was brittle and small, but hard-earned in its truth.
Sen looked up and around. So many houses clustered around them, as hushed as ancient ghosts. Sometimes, in this echoing valley, she thought she could feel laughter floating like petals in the wind. She thought she could see demon children out of the corner of her eyes, ducking behind trees, or climbing up into the branches. She could hear their parents calling them home, into safety.
And then there was Chizuru. Despite her clothing, she looked like the very picture of a Yukimura maiden dozing in the sun. It was as though two possibilities lay on top of one another. Sen thought she saw the Chizuru that knew she was a demon, and who had spent her life here. She thought she saw the Chizuru that believed herself a human, and who had experienced so much of the world.
Not even a painting could capture this impression, but that was fine. Sen was able to run her fingers through Chizuru’s hair, and see the way sleep made her worries disappear from her face. Something about this moment was painted on Sen’s soul in ink that could never wash away.
*
Chizuru woke to a burning sky, but the sunset was too pink to be flames or blood. Her cheek was on Sen’s thigh, and there was nothing to fear. Her heart pounded, even though she knew she’d slept deep and well.
On their journey here, pretending to be married had meant sharing rooms in the inns that dotted the countryside. Every morning, Chizuru had woken tangled up in Sen. Every morning she savored a sense of peace that was akin to a convalescing person found joy in diminishing pain.
It would be very difficult to sleep alone once they returned to Sen’s manor. It would be a loss, for sure.
“I hope I didn’t drool on you,” Chizuru said, before covering her mouth. “Ack!” Her grumbling was muffled against her hand. “Why do I say embarrassing things?”
Sen laughed and helped Chizuru sit up. “It’s fine! Especially since it’s good to see you joking again.”
She deliberately steered away from another apology. I’m sorry I’ve been so gloomy all this time. She resisted it because it wasn’t entirely true. She resisted it because, more than anything, Chizuru understood the value of compassion.
The two of them held hands without conscious thought, and they watched as the sun hid beneath the tree tops. The sky grew purple- like a plum, like a bruise- and Chizuru thought of everyone she knew who’d fallen in battle. She was developing medicine to help rasetsu, but it was useless to nearly all of her friends now. Shinpachi still lived, but he had never taken the ochimizu. There was no consensus on Saito’s fate. If he survived, he would have used up much of his lifespan in order to increase his strength. He was nothing if not practical. He rarely thought past the grace he found in battle or war. He would not have planned to survive.
And he was like a windup clock at the base of her skull; find Saito, make him take the medicine if necessary, buy him a few more years, he deserves it.
Everyone else was unquestionable, irrevocably dead.
The unyielding nature of that thought often stole breath from her lungs. But the sense of Sen’s hand in hers reminded her how to breathe again. So she held on tight until the past burned low. It was like a wick in a candle that never burned itself out, but it could be managed with care.
And when Sen smiled, it was like a lantern that helped Chizuru catch a glimpse of a future that was peaceful and good.
“You know,” Sen said, “I think today is the moon-viewing festival.”
Chizuru began to count the days since their departure, but the night sky knocked all numbers out of her head. The stars had not yet woken up, but the moon was a perfect sphere. Somehow, it burned her eyes more than the sun, but she could not look away.
“I don’t think we have any eggs,” Chizuru said. “Making dango would be impossible too.”
“Do you mind sparing some of the sweet potatoes?”
“Oh, right! I forgot about those.”
On their way back to the house they stayed in, Chizuru lagged behind. She sometimes wondered if Sen floated above the ground. Her feet never seemed to leave footprints on the grass. Even here, with no one to see, Sen’s clothing still conveyed an aura of command and control. Chizuru knew that a favorable impression was like armor for Sen; a woman and a demon in a world frequently unwelcoming to both things.
But it also made Chizuru wondered what might happen if she freed Sen from all the layers that she wore. She watched those hips sway back and forth, and imagined holding them in place as she kissed Sen full on the mouth.
For now, she contented herself with their playful conversation they prepared the sweet potatoes. Chizuru told herself this would be good enough for the rest of her life. After all, she had left with Sen- a woman she barely knew- in order to keep the Shinsengumi safe from Kazama. But she had stayed with Sen because their shared laughter kept Chizuru safe.
Over the years, that sense of safety had become something else. Something she only allowed herself to name during the night.
“Do you remember when they changed the calendar just before the war?” Chizuru carefully arranged their offerings. “And how the date of this festival had to change?”
“Of course I do.” Sen said, leading the way to the porch. “It caused all sorts of confusion in Kyoto. I guess that was a harbinger of everything to come.”
They sat down side-by-side. Still no stars, but a few clouds wreathed around the moon. They shimmered like mother-of-pearl embedded in dark wood.
“In some ways it feels nice to have a festival fall at the beginning of a month, though. Makes everything seem new.”
“Oh yes.” Sen took a sip of tea, and then leaned against Chizuru. “Everyone back home must be happy, too.”
Chizuru knew that meant Kimigiku, of course. It also meant Sen’s many patrons. She also knew almost everything that happened in the city. It was common for demon men to impregnate human women and then refuse to acknowledge these same offspring. Most of the mothers kept their children, but a few of them entrusted them to Sen. They were fed, schooled, and prepared for an ever-shifting world.
From there, Chizuru’s thoughts expanded to the many, many people that must be participating in the same festival. She thought of all the fervent wishes that would be drifting up like smoke or steam, traveling to that same moon. All the families that had lost someone during the war. All the broken households that had cleaved together after the war. Chizuru suspected that many of these arrangements would have been once been branded as untraditional, but now they were well-suited to the beginning of an era.
She elbowed Sen, as gently as possible. “When you were a child, did you pray for anything on this night? If you don’t mind me asking. I was very boring, I used to pray that my father would get more patients.” She shivered, even though the night was cold. She suddenly realized her childish hopes had been answered in a way she would never have condoned.
Sen was silent a moment. The moonlight cascaded over her like cloth made entirely of the finest silver. Chizuru wanted to cup Sen’s face in her hands. Pull that intangible veil aside.
“I used to pray to be like Suzuka Gozen. I also wanted an improbable love story with a human. I wanted this even though it was often impressed upon me that I was unlikely to ever find love. Maybe that’s why I wanted it.”
“Were your prayers answered?” Chizuru asked. She should be afraid. She should feel as though she was toppling from the highest of cliffs. But being with Sen had long been like immersing herself in this village’s sacred spring. It healed her, rejuvenated her, she would never drown.
“Somewhat. I fell in love with someone who thought she was a human.” Sen wouldn’t meet Chizuru’s eyes. “I think the gods though that ‘improbability’ was the most important aspect in my prayers.”
Chizuru slid her thumb under Sen’s chin, and tilted her face up. The moon shone in Sen’s hair before cascading down her forehead. It sliced across the hollow in her throat. Chizuru kissed all these places, before landing on Sen’s gasping lips. Chizuru hadn’t seen any fire in the sky, but she burned as they did this. When Sen pulled her close, she went willingly. Their arms wrapped around each other, but there was nothing constricting about it. Sen’s fingers dug into Chizuru’s skin, even through her layers of clothes, but it didn’t hurt. It grounded her, like the roots of an ancient tree.
They kissed and kissed their way through months- years, really- of longing and hoping. It was hurried and unhurried all it once. It satisfied needs while awakening unexpected ones. When they were done, they lay sprawled out on the porch. They were the one bit of life in this long-neglected village, and Sen’s blushing face outshone the moon. It was a miracle they hadn’t kicked over their offerings.
“The government will probably do something about the remains of Yukimura village,” Sen said. She sounded like someone who had been crying for a long time, but her voice was the opposite of miserable. “Japan doesn’t have much land. They won’t just let this place stay as it is.”
“Please don’t tell me you thought about that while kissing me.” Even in the midst of her mock indignation, Chizuru finally allowed her hands to roam Sen’s torso and waist. Her companion was not an illustration, or a person to mend. She was someone for Chizuru to love, someone who took delight in Chizuru’s presence.
“No, no. Mostly I thought about taking you to bed,” Sen said. She slid her leg up, in between Chizuru’s thighs and, oh yes. For that shimmering moment, Chizuru didn’t think of anything at all. She wanted to seek that all-encompassing brightness again and again. She wanted Sen to feel the same.
“Tonight, hopefully. And when we get back home?”
“Oh, yes.”
The stars had made their appearance at last. But, when Sen blew out their lantern, Chizuru wondered why she’d hoped for them with such excitement. When it came to seeing Sen, the moon was more than enough.