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In the hazy setting sunlight, Atsu has trouble hearing anything other than her own tears. Her tunnel vision is laser-focused on the man below her, covered in his own blood, his eyes staring unblinkingly ahead. Somehow, she manages to reach forward, closing Jubei’s eyes one last time. Her touch is gentle, as if he can still somehow feel it wherever he is now.
A sudden wind blows, and despite herself, she whips her head to follow it, looking at the little girl a few feet away. The girl wears her face, though she’s much smaller and sadder than she is now, and Atsu wonders if she truly was this small when her life was ripped from her. Her feet move before her mind, and she hugs her younger self, telling her she’s here. Kiku grabs fistfuls of clothes at Atsu’s back as she cries, her face pressed into her shoulder.
They don’t let go of each other for a long time. Atsu isn’t sure exactly how long, but what she does know is that by the time it’s dark and Kiku’s sobs have made way for quiet, stunted breaths, Oyuki is beside them, placing a gentle hand on Atsu’s shoulder.
Kiku pulls back slowly, wiping her eyes with her palms, her small body still shaking. She exhales unsteadily, her eyes flicking to the side. Before she can look at her father’s body again, Atsu steps in front of her gaze, taking her gently by the shoulders. “We will bury him together,” she promises softly, “but I’m going to clean him up first. He deserves that much.”
For a moment, it seems like Kiku might argue, but as Atsu looks to Oyuki for help, the older woman looks down at her. “Come, Kiku. We will go pick some flowers for your father. He likes flowers, doesn’t he?”
She stifles another sob and nods, taking Oyuki’s hand in her own. “Okay.”
Atsu looks at Oyuki, giving her a silent look of acknowledgement. Oyuki smiles somewhat sadly, leading Kiku out of the homestead. She’s alone again.
Before she does the hard part, she turns away from her brother, stalking up to the body that she pinned to the tree. She looks at the man who had taken everything from her, at the small trail of blood that dribbled from the corner of his mouth, his eyes blankly staring ahead. Atsu feels nothing as she pulls her father’s katana from Saito’s shoulder, flicking the blood onto the leaves that skitter across the ground. Sheathing it carefully, she exhales and bends down, tossing the man over her shoulder.
For everything he’d done, in the end, he was just a man. He died like everyone else will.
Atsu drops him in a heap just outside the homestead. With any luck, seeing their leader dead will scare away the rest of his followers across Ezo, and the only way to spread that word is to give the body to the Matsumae. Her feelings are still complicated about the samurai, but she doesn’t want to look at Saito anymore, even like this.
“We are our father’s twin wolves. No one can take that from us.”
Jubei’s voice echoes in her mind as she pulls her hair out of her face, stepping back inside the garden. She whistles, somewhat half-heartedly, and her horse rushes to her side, nudging her arm with his snout. He whimpers softly, as if he can feel her despair, as if their hearts are connected.
“Thank you, boy” she breathes, reaching up to pat his snout the way he likes it. Despite the fact that she has to be alone right now, she’s glad he’s here.
Atsu walks on shaky knees toward the trough that used to belong to her father’s horses. The wind ruffles her clothes and hair as she finds the wooden bucket, carefully leaning over the edge to fill the bucket with the rainwater that had collected in the trough. As the bucket grows heavier, she can imagine her father’s strong chest behind her, tough calloused hands leaning forward to help her lift the bucket.
With both hands, she drags the bucket back toward her horse and Jubei, placing it on the ground beside his arm. Exhaling quietly, she turns to the bag wrapped around her horse’s saddle and pulls out a large piece of cloth that she’d acquired after liberating one of Saito’s outposts. She kneels beside the bucket and dumps the cloth in the water, which immediately sends a chill down her spine, and gets to work wiping the blood away.
The blood from his face first; his unruly stubble poking her hand through the cloth. She tries not to look at the splatter on the dirt beside her, knowing it had come from his cough as he struggled to speak to her one last time. She dunks the cloth into the water and gets to work on his torso, pulling back fabric to carefully dab at the wound that had stopped bleeding at some point. She can almost hear her mother’s soft voice on the wind, gently guiding her shaking hands.
As she wrings the cloth above the bucket, watching the red droplets stain the water below, Atsu stifles a sob. She wants to shove him like she used to when they were children, fighting over who was better with the bokken, fighting over who would get the best bit of meat at dinner. She wants to scream, asking how he could leave her for a second time..
Instead, she places the cloth back into the bucket and tucks her legs beneath her, taking his hair between her fingers, gently working through the knots. From his time in captivity, his hair is dirty and messy, but she is determined to fix it. She pulls the hair band from her own hair, feeling it fall in a knotted mess around her shoulders, and takes a section of his hair to pull into his usual top knot. It’s messier than she would have liked by the time she’s done, but he already looks more like himself.
She fastens up his clothes over his torso again, trying to ignore the glaring red stain on his side. She wants to bury him in his armor, but knows that Saito had probably burned it the second he captured him. Hesitating, she unsheaths her father’s katana, whispering a silent prayer for his guidance. More gently than she has ever wielded the weapon, she works on Jubei’s stubble, remembering the way Kengo used to crouch by the water some mornings, carefully dragging a razor across his face. She thinks she had asked him if it hurt, and he assured her it didn’t.
Carefully, Atsu stands up, feeling the wind carry her tears from her cheeks. From this angle, Jubei looks peaceful, like he knows for certain that Atsu would never break her promise to him, even if he isn’t around to see it. She sheaths the katana, wiping her eyes with the end of her palm, and draws in breath quickly at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Kiku’s face is blotchy and swollen, streaked with tears that perhaps hadn’t stopped in all this time. Her jaw is slack, holding onto a hastily put-together bundle of flowers, with Oyuki right beside her. Her eyes swim with tears as she looks up at Atsu, her voice quiet and broken. “He looks like he’s sleeping.”
“Yes.” She nearly chokes on the word, feeling the emotions she had been trying so hard to push down bubble back up. Mercifully, Oyuki separates herself and walks toward the stable to grab the shovel. She walks to the ginkgo tree beside the graves of Atsu’s parents, and begins to dig, giving Atsu and Kiku some time to themselves. “I didn’t get to do this with my parents. With…your grandparents. I thought Jubei deserved a proper burial.”
Atsu remembers small, shaky hands covered in blood, grabbing the small stool that had been turned on its side. She remembers standing on it as the rain falls, putting out the fire from the tree as she tries and fails a couple of times to undo the knot around her mother’s neck. She remembers the loud thud her body makes when it falls to the ground and the scream of anguish that rips from her throat. She remembers dragging her parents through the mud to the base of the tree, her shoulder screaming in pain as she digs graves that are deep enough to hold them.
As she looks at Kiku, she wonders how she was able to do all that when she was her age. More importantly, she’s grateful that Kiku is not alone like she was.
“Thank you, Aunt Atsu,” she murmurs, tightening her grip around the flowers. “Can I…can I say goodbye now, please?”
Atsu thinks about how Oyuki had held Kiku back with Jubei’s dying breath, wanting to shield her from that at the very least. Now that he is clean and at peace, she doesn’t see why not. She nods, wordlessly taking the bundle of flowers from her. The girl begins with cautious steps, but moves quickly after a moment, falling to her knees beside Jubei.
“It’s not fair, Father,” she sobs, taking one of his hands in her own. “You were going to show me new places in Ezo. Why did you have to go?” She throws herself over Jubei’s chest, her small shoulders shaking with the now muffled sobbing that follows.
“The grave is ready when you are ready to say goodbye.” A small nudge, barely a whisper, and Oyuki is at her side, her hands stained with dirt. She speaks in a voice that brings up so many emotions for Atsu; a voice that she had once heard in her nightmares, now a voice she doesn’t think she could bear to be without.
Atsu hesitates, not moving her gaze from her niece. “Thank you, Oyuki.”
“It is only fair,” she answers after a long pause. “I am sorry I could not do more.”
The anger and rage Atsu has been feeling for over a decade is suddenly a low hum in the back of her mind, replaced by an overwhelming sadness and exhaustion. She shakes her head slowly. “You protected Kiku. That’s all I could ask of you.”
A breeze blows by, ruffling their hair as Kiku slowly brings herself to sit back on her knees, with some of Jubei’s robe bunched up in her fists. Atsu walks forward, crouching down beside her niece, and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s time to let him rest.”
Sniffling, Kiku wipes her cheeks again. Her voice is small as one hand slips into Atsu’s, the other still clutching her father for dear life. “I don’t want to.”
“I know, Kiku. I don’t want to either.” She squeezes her hand gently. “But we don’t have to do this alone.”
Kiku heaves a labored breath, giving a slight nod. “O-Okay.”
With as much gentleness as she can muster, Atsu helps Kiku to her feet, leading her to the ginkgo tree. Without having to say a word, Oyuki joins her at her side, and they walk together toward Jubei. Carefully, they lift him up, with Atsu supporting his back and neck, and Oyuki supporting his legs. The walk to the grave that sits beside her parents feels familiar and unfamiliar all the same.
They lower him down, and Atsu lays his hands gently over his chest and torso, hiding the sword wound. As quiet as the wind, Kiku appears at her side, crouching down to lay a kiku flower beneath his right hand. “Goodbye, Father.”
Together, they stand, taking one last look at Jubei. Atsu bites on her lip so hard she almost draws blood, remembering there was a time where she knew she’d never see his face again, and she was proven wrong. This time, she was certain.
“Goodbye, dear brother.”
A gentle breeze blows by once more, and Atsu remembers her mother’s words about loved ones and the wind. She smiles a little as a tear rolls down her cheek.
Oyuki appears at her side, her voice a gentle comfort. “Atsu, you should play him something. I will fill the grave.”
It doesn’t take more convincing than that. She places a hand on Kiku’s shoulder and guides her backward, situating them both on the dirt not too far from the tree. Sitting on her knees, she pulls out her shamisen, making eye contact with Oyuki. The former Kitsune, now her dearest friend, simply gives her an encouraging nod.
Atsu breathes in, thinking of the night they found each other again. She smells the embers from their campfire, watches the dark sky above them littered with stars, feels the goosebumps along her skin at the words that changed her. She hadn’t known it then, but this was the beginning of the end of the onryō.
Experiencing all this again, she plays the shamisen, channeling every single one of her web of feelings into the song. By the time it’s over, she realizes that tears have been rolling down her cheeks, Oyuki has finished with the grave, and Kiku is looking up at her with wonder in watery eyes. Atsu musters a smile in her niece’s direction, switching her shamisen to her back, and gets to her feet. Oyuki is beside her in an instant, offering silent support as she sways a little.
“That was a beautiful song, Atsu.”
Kiku nods, getting to her feet beside her. “Will you teach me to play like that, Aunt Atsu?”
The realization that she is no longer the student, but the teacher, nearly knocks the wind out of her. Instead, she nods. “Of course.”
Almost an hour later, the three of them are huddled in Atsu’s childhood home, sitting around the hearth in the living room. Kiku is asleep, her head pillowed by Atsu’s lap, having not wanted to be apart from her. It’s a strange feeling, Atsu thinks, when she had always known that she would never have kids. Despite this fact, she loves Kiku like she’s her own.
“I noticed you removed Saito’s body,” Oyuki says after a long moment of silence. “Would you like me to take care of him?”
Atsu bites her tongue to prevent herself from answering instinctually. She lets out a quiet breath, her shoulders sagging. “His body belongs with the Matsumae. They will be able to spread word. And…I think that it’s time I lay the onryō to rest.” The look of pride on Oyuki’s face is not lost on her as she continues. “I would…appreciate it if you got rid of him for me. I should stay with Kiku.”
Oyuki nods. “Do not worry. I will take care of it.”
Quiet falls between them again, exhaustion wrapping Atsu up in a tight embrace. She leans against the wall, looking at her friend again. Her voice is uncharacteristically sad, not unlike a child’s. “Will you be…leaving in the morning?”
With a simple blink of surprise, Oyuki’s face makes way for a cautious smile, shaking her head. “I will take Saito to the nearest Matsumae encampment. Then, I will return here. We once joked we could travel the world together to make music, but I believe we have someone much more important to teach it to right here.”
Despite herself, Atsu feels her eyes burn again as she smiles. “Thank you, Oyuki. I…don’t think I could do this without you.”
“Of course you could.” Oyuki stands up, taking the old, tattered blanket from the corner of the room. She gently lays it over Kiku’s sleeping form. “But you do not have to.”
Atsu barely manages a thank you before her eyes slip closed.