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Taisha smells just as sweet as bamboo shoots. It’s a fitting scent, one both feminine and homely, yet it’s somehow sweeter than what Kuchiba had imagined her to smell like; and, oh, does Kuchiba imagine. She imagines so many things about the other woman, dreaming about a sort of closeness they would never be able to share.
It doesn’t matter anymore, those dreams and no-nos insignificant now that her ear is resting against Taisha’s chest. Kuchiba’s arm is draped over her waist, covering the area from the right side of the ribs to her left hip-bone. The other half of Taisha’s chest is left bare. Kuchiba’s hand twitches against the fabric of her Mayor’s tunic, fingers curling, but not quite managing to grasp. Even now she couldn’t bring herself to hold her properly. Kuchiba cracks one of her eyes open. It’s a hard feat to overcome, but eventually she manages to fight off unconsciousness.
There she lies, pale and beautiful, walnut hair spread out against dark-beige sand. Her lips are parted slightly, still caught in the middle of a shouted warning, a desperate attempt to save her people. She had been loyal to the Mud Whale until her dying breath. Red blossoms across her chest. An ugly mockery of a rose spreads all over Taisha’s left side, soaking more and more fabric by the second. Kuchiba can’t do anything to stop it, when she tries to move her arm it sinks back down to the ground as if it were made of lead. Tears pool in her eyes as consciousness slips from her, the insistent burning of her shoulder nothing against the agony in her heart. The last thing she sees before darkness claims her are Taisha’s lifeless, olive eyes.
Time swims for a bit while Kuchiba is lost to the realm of unconsciousness. When she finally starts to resurface it’s to a sharp pain in her shoulder. The dizziness muddles the sensation enough to not make her faint all over again, but it does make her whine in pain.
“Hey! Easy there.” Instructs a deep voice, a warm hand applies gentle pressure in-between her shoulderblades. Masoh’s brown eyes swim into her vision, his usually energetic boyish face haunted by both worry and sadness.
“Taisha,” Kuchiba gasps in between pained breaths. Masoh’s hovering hands freeze mid-air. “Where is she? Where is Mayor Taisha?” Her breaths come faster with every word and her eyes flit from left to right. Desperately, Kuchiba hopes. After all, if she had somehow survived the attack then Taisha surely must have too, and what would her life be without Taisha? When she meets Masoh’s sad gaze though, any grain of hope she had still dared to have instantly slips through her hands.
Masoh sits by her side as she sobs and shakes, his hand tentatively placed on her shoulder. He doesn’t know what to say. No one does in the face of such tragedy.
–
“You have to eat something, Kuchiba,” Shinono says gently as she places a bowl of cut-up fruits next to her. “You have to replenish your lost blood somehow.”
Kuchiba stares at the ceiling. Muddy browns and yellows swirl and bleed into each other, forming a rough and sandy surface that would rain dust particles any time the weather grew too dry.
“Kuchiba?” Shinono tries again, her voice soft like well-loved linen.
“It should have been me instead.” The words fall from her mouth against her will and with them come tears. Their saltiness burns against her already raw cheeks.
“Don’t say that.” Shinono is quick to scold, taking Kuchiba’s hand into her own.
“Someone please turn back time,” she begs pathetically, clinging to Shinono’s hand like a lifeline. If she were to close her eyes she could almost imagine them to be Taisha’s instead.
Her friend looks at her with sympathy and softly strokes Kuchiba’s uninjured shoulder with her knuckles. “No one has that power, dear, as much as we would want it.”
Kuchiba turns to look at Shinono. Her hair frames her face like a golden-shining halo and it makes her look more like some divine hallucination than a mortal woman.
It makes Kuchiba feel small, like she is receiving judgement from the heavens instead of comfort from her old friend. “It should have been me,” she whispers again.
Shinono’s face grows stern. “Stop saying that Kuchiba! I won’t hear it anymore.” The sudden anger in her voice dries her tears. Kuchiba goes quiet and stares at the other woman.
Shinono sighs sadly, looking at Kuchiba like she is some wounded little bird. “Your death wouldn’t have stopped this cycle of grief. How do you think Taisha would have felt if you had died protecting her?” Shinono’s voice breaks as she speaks the other woman’s name. She’s grieving too. “Think of her guilt, of her sadness. Think of the tears I would have shed. Think of how poor Masoh would have felt.”
“That meat-head would have been happy to be rid of a nagging old hag like me,” Kuchiba counters and looks down at their still interlocked hands. Shinono’s grip had suddenly gone so tight.
“He cares about you, stupid,” Shinono says and laughs wetly, now wiping at her own eyes.
That makes Kuchiba smile a little. She knows that despite their constant teasing of one another, she and Masoh are friends. Good friends. And Shinono is right, the man doesn’t deserve any more grief in his life, he had already lost his daughter to the sandy sea. Still– “It’s different.” Kuchiba withdraws from Shinono’s grip and tucks her hand close to her chest. “Taisha is different. She was the Mayor, a good and experienced one, she'd be much more valuable in times of crisis than me. The people need her. I– “ Kuchiba bites the inside of her cheek. No, she couldn’t say that. “She is much smarter than I, and–”
“And you loved her?”
Her breath catches in the middle of the sentence. She gapes at Shinono like a fish out of water, unsure about how to react. She doesn’t talk about that side of herself openly. She doesn’t talk about her affections for other women, no, more importantly, she doesn't talk about her affections for Taisha. Never had. She knows better than anyone that the Mayor isn't supposed to marry.
The watery smile Shinono gives her does nothing for the chaos in her head. “You were rather obvious about it, you know? And I’ve been in love before, I know what it looks like, your eyes were full of it whenever you were around her, ” Shinono explains. “Even as kids.”
Kuchiba sinks back against the headboard, her spine sitting uncomfortably against the hard wood.
She knew her admiration for the other woman had been obvious. Masoh teased her about it relentlessly, especially when he had been younger, pulling at her braids and calling her a teacher’s pet and then going to hide in the bushes when the older girl predictably got mad. The elders had scolded her with a warning tone, knowing looks painted onto their grey and sunken faces, but they had never dared to name the thing that was Kuchiba’s feelings out loud.
Until they eventually married her off to Sumi, as if that would solve anything.
She still remembers that day, the day their engagement had been made official by the elders. Sumi had been a cute boy. His bright blonde hair and freckled face had made him look like a little sunflower, and he had always been much, much brighter than Kuchiba ever was.
Truly, it had never been Sumi’s fault that Kuchiba was unhappy with their marriage. He had always been sweet to her, used to follow her around similarly to how she used to with Taisha, but even so, she had never been able to bring herself to love him in a way that would have made everything easier. They were never meant to love each other anyway; their union had always been meant to serve a greater purpose, for them to stay loyal to their responsibilities, despite the fact that Sumi had been so young at the time. Ten whole years younger than Kuchiba. He was marked, though, and sickly; everyone knew that his time would run out sooner rather than later. Maybe the committee had thought that they did Kuchiba a favour by picking him for her husband. It wouldn’t be the last time that they had been wrong. Kuchiba still mourns the kind boy that he had once been.
However, that fateful day they had been told the supposed joyous news of their marriage, Kuchiba, in her immaturity, had torn herself from Sumi’s hug and had run to the one person whose side she would always feel safe next to.
Taisha.
“Mayor Taisha…” Kuchiba's voice had sounded monotone then, lacking the usual soft quality it gained whenever she said the other woman’s name.
If it hadn’t been for what Taisha had said to her next, maybe Kuchiba would have told the other woman about the true nature of her feelings right then and there.
“Oh good, Kuchiba,” she greeted with her usual vigour, her smile warm and kind like it always was. “I’ve been waiting for you!”
“Huh?” Kuchiba had said dumbly, her face flushed at the attention despite her low mood.
“Come here,” the older woman instructed as she cupped the red head’s hands to gently pull her closer. Taisha’s hands were warm and surprisingly calloused. It was like being held by sun-warmed rocks.
“I have something for you,” Taisha said and reached behind her back. Kuchiba mourned the loss of contact, craving the closeness of the other woman, but her thoughts were brought to a halt when her eyes landed on the woven necklace Taisha presented.
“I just finished making it. Please wear it on your wedding day.”
Kuchiba didn’t make a move to grab the hand-woven jewellery. It hurt how perfectly it had been crafted, the many strings of fibre woven together tightly yet delicately. The Mayor was supposed to give out handmade adornments to celebrate special occasions. It was supposed to bring luck.
“I hope you like it,” Taisha continued in response to Kuchiba’s lasting silence. “I wasn’t sure what type of jewellery you liked; I never saw you wear any, so I hope this is up to your standards.” She placed the beautiful thing around Kuchiba’s neck and circled her to tie the ends together at the back. To this day Kuchiba remembers the sensation of her hands ghosting over the back of her neck.
“You seem nervous,” Taisha had said gently and took her time to adjust the necklace. “I imagine it must feel a bit intimidating to soon be a married woman. Try to not let it ruin the experience for you, alright?” And Taisha shone so brightly then that one could have looked at the sun but wouldn't have dared to look at her. “I added some switchgrass to it; its blooms will match your lovely hair.”
A knot formed in Kuchiba’s stomach. Taisha had made this especially for her. She had taken time out of her day to craft it, even picking a plant that would almost exactly match the shade of Kuchiba’s hair. Any other time, she would have melted at the thoughtful attention to details, but at that moment she didn’t want this present.
Not like that.
Taisha took a step back to admire her handiwork and smiled, the mole next to her mouth moving with the curve of her lip. “You’ll make a beautiful bride, Kuchiba.”
Kuchiba reached up to her neck, touching the necklace that rested against her collarbones. “I—” Her voice failed. Even Taisha’s sweet words couldn't soothe this hurt. She had never wanted to be a bride. She understood her duty to this island; she understood it better than any other. Despite that, a younger Kuchiba had fallen for the one person she could never have. Taisha looked so beautiful then, her walnut hair dancing in the breeze like trailing branches, her honey skin shone almost golden in the warm afternoon sun.
“Thank you,” she had said that day. “It’s beautiful.”
Kuchiba would find herself pregnant with Kikujin only a few months later. Once again, Taisha was there, Taisha was the first one to know, Taisha was the one by her side when she suddenly felt sick to her stomach and almost threw up all over some documents they were reviewing together.
Kuchiba had been terribly sick for the first two trimesters of her pregnancy and it had made performing her duties as Mayor’s aid a gruelling task. She had insisted on keeping working anyways, ashamed of her body's inability to function properly. It wasn’t until Taisha had sat her down to have a word that she slowed down a little.
“You’re making yourself sick,” Taisha said in a scolding tone that made the saliva in Kuchiba’s mouth taste bitter. Or maybe that was just the acid reflux.
“I’m fine,” the red head insisted.
Taisha frowned and folded her hands in front of her stomach.
“I wouldn’t mind one bit if you took some time off, I hope you know that. I don’t expect you to keep working in your delicate condition.”
Kuchiba bit her lower lip. How could she have explained that it wasn’t about that one bit, that she wanted to keep working just so that she could keep seeing Taisha every day? That despite grating on her physical health, the work was the only thing that seemed to keep her sane. The reality that she would soon be someone’s mother had started to set in during that time and the accompanying panic kept her awake at night. The slight swell of her belly was no longer ignorable, not to mention the near constant queasy feeling in her stomach and exhaustion that no amount of breaks and rest seemed to be able to lift. She’d never thought that one day she’d be in this position, but then again, she’d never thought she’d become someone else’s wife either. Even as a child the thought had been unappealing, yet there she sat, a woman aged 29, having no say in the matter.
Something scraped against the dirty ground and a chair was pulled next to hers. Taisha sat down, back straight, legs crossed elegantly.
“You’re scared?”
Kuchiba opened her mouth to protest, but Taisha cut her off swiftly.
“Don’t try to deny it. We’ve known each other since we were just girls, I can tell when something is bothering you,” she said.
Kuchiba swallowed, her throat dry at the older woman’s proximity to her.
“Please don’t worry about me, Mayor Taisha. I’ll be fine, there are much more important matters to attend to.”
Taisha was quiet for a few seconds. It was rare that the woman was at a loss for words and for a few seconds Kuchiba worried that she had said something terrible to offend her.
“One of my duties as my Mayor is to make sure that every citizen of the Mud Whale is well,” she said in a soft tone. “That includes you, Kuchiba.”
She placed a hand on her thigh and leaned in even closer. “Please take some time off, at least until this bout of sickness has passed, longer if you need. Please, if not for you then for my peace of mind?”
And even back then Kuchiba would have done anything for the Mayor. If taking some time for herself would make the worries on Taisha’s back lessen she’d do so without a heartbeat, so she had done so the very next day. It had proven to be the right decision as it had been practically impossible for her to get out of bed by the time the last third of pregnancy had rolled around. She truly had never been meant for this.
However, when she finally brought her child into the world –a healthy boy with red tufts of her just like her own– everything felt just a little bit less terrible, and when Taisha had visited soon after to inquire about hers and the child’s health, she had started to feel downright peaceful.
Taisha had been delighted to meet Kikujin, giving the newborn one of her rare genuine smiles that Kuchiba so adored. Yet, despite the joy, something sad had reflected in her eyes as she beheld mother and child. It was the first time Kuchiba had wondered if this was something Taisha might have wanted in another lifetime. In a lifetime where she wasn’t chosen as Mayor and was allowed to have something aching to a family.
Suddenly, Kuchiba’s own unhappiness and longing had felt insignificant then.
Taisha’s sorrowful face is still the thing that Kuchiba remembers about her the most.
Even after her death, even now, surrounded by soldiers, a sword drawn that she doesn’t even know how to use properly, it’s not Taisha’s smile, or laugh, or smell she remembers, but her sadness.
She always lived for others, wasted away so she could make every citizen of this island happy. These masked soldiers in front of her could never comprehend the enormity of her life. Tears leak from her eyes, sand whips against her cheeks, Kuchiba raises the silver blade over her head.
“I’ll kill you,” she cries. “All of you who were involved in this attack.”
The soldier in front of her shows no signs of remorse, they cock their gun, but the threatening klick goes to deaf ears. Kuchiba finds that she simply doesn’t care anymore. That damned bullet should have ended her the first time around.
The soldier never gets to shoot. An arrow forcefully pierces their flank and they go down with a clatter. Some of the blood lands on Kuchiba’s cheek and the wet sensation shocks some sense, or fear, back into her.
“What the hell are you doing you stupid bean sprout?” A gruff voice cries. Kuchiba would recognize it anywhere, and there is only one person on this entire island that calls her a ‘bean sprout’ too.
“S-Stay out of my way.” She snaps at Masoh, whipping around to meet his disapproving gaze.
“I’m not in the way!” The man shouts appalled. “You’ve got one arm and no thymia! Do you want to die in vain, old lady?”
“Just shut up!” Her voice breaks. She has to do this. Where else should she put all of this pain? How else is she supposed to live with herself knowing she couldn’t do anything to save the woman she had loved? The woman she still loves.
"Disgusting. Just Disgusting.” This voice belongs to the prone, but still very much alive, soldier Masoh had just shot. Both of them turn around to face the bleeding figure.
“People with emotions are always so quick to abuse. So full of hate and anger. You Fálaina criminals are so despicable.” Their voice is a raspy monotone, weakened by slowly approaching death. It grates on Kuchiba's ears.
“Well, what’s so wrong with that?” She asks.
This anger certainly feels better than the all-encompassing grief. And what does this soldier know of emotions anyways? They have never loved. Never pined. Never woken up every single day with the knowledge that they would never truly feel fulfilled with the role they are required to play for this god-forsaken, floating clump of clay.
Her hand shakes around the blade as she lifts it again. “I’m capable of doing all sorts of despicable things right now,” Kuchiba confesses.
If not even Masoh, her supposed friend, could understand the magnitude of her hurt, this scum couldn’t in a thousand years.
“Let’s have a look at the face of a killer.”
She pries the mask off the soldier’s face with the tip of her sword. The wooden thing falls away with a clatter revealing– a woman. No, not even a woman, a girl that can’t be any older than 14. One with big eyes, round cheeks and freckles just like Kikujin’s. She is pale, weakened from blood loss and battles.
Kuchiba is going to be sick.
She is no different than the kids fighting for the Mud Whale.
“What’s wrong? Can't kill me?” She asks as if the refusal to kill a child was somehow a weakness. Her dull eyes seem to look right through Kuchiba while she waits for her to answer. "No? Then…” The girl reaches for the sword lying by her side and grips it, ready to take out the woman leaned over her. Once again, she doesn’t get to strike. Masoh’s blade impales her chest and she is dead within seconds. A heartbreaking sound leaves Kuchiba’s lungs as the soldier's head lolls to the side. Masoh pants over her cold body, hands still tightly gripped around the blade. His eyes look distant.
“You still have a long life ahead of you. No need for you to live with this bad memory.” The young man laughs wetly. “I only need to live with it for a little while longer.”
Kuchiba looks between her friend and the dead girl on the ground. There is no feeling of satisfaction, no balm for the heartache. Revenge doesn’t fix anything, the only thing it brought was the death of another child.
Masoh looks at her sadly and Kuchiba hates seeing the tears shine in his eyes. She put them there. This is all her fault. Her friend is now a killer all because of trying to protect her.
“I will avenge Mayor Taisha,” Masoh says. “You’ve got a brat – don’t get your hands dirty.”
Kuchiba lowers her head, shame weighs on her like a million bricks.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers with tears dripping down her cheeks.
“Hey, I have to protect my old lady, don’t I?” Masoh says with no humour in his voice.
He pulls the sword from the dead girl’s chest with a sick squelch. They are surrounded by soldiers.
“I wonder how my daughter would have turned out if she had lived.”
Masoh’s hands tremble with age as he wields his sword.
.
.
.
The people on this island seem free, but none of them actually are.