FF2 OC's - The Outsider's Daughters

Fatal Frame - The Outsider’s Daughters

“I do wish you wouldn’t fight so much.”

It wasn’t the first time Jan had ever heard her sister say those words. It also wasn’t the first time they’d knelt together on the tatami, Jan doing her very best to sit still while San cleaned and bound her cuts and bruises. Her answer was always the same.

“I don’t fight. People fight with me.”

San sighed a long-suffering sigh and dabbed away the dirt and blood from Jan’s knuckles with a wet cloth. It was sore, but nothing that would provoke a wince from her. There was always more pain. She’d save her reactions for when it hurt a lot more.

“What was it about this time?”

Jan shrugged. “Do they need a reason?”

Presumably there always was one. Maybe it was because their skin was whiter, or because their hair was red and not the uniform black, or because their parents weren’t really their parents, or because they were twins, and in All Gods Village things always happened to twins that other people didn’t want to think about.

Fear and ignorance tended to go hand-in-hand with violence. Like twins.

“Did you hurt them?”

“Maybe.”

The answer was definitely. There was a sure way to get a beating from Jan, and it was to say an unkind word about her sister.

She handed back the cloth San had given her to press to her swollen bottom lip. There was blood soaked into it. Her mouth had gone numb from the cold water. She smiled, and when the skin split it felt like someone was poking something sharp into her mouth. Not as numb as she’d thought.

“What are those bruises on your neck?” San asked, “they look like a handprint.”

Jan stopped smiling and adjusted the neckline of her kimono. “One of them must have grabbed me by the throat.”

A door banged out in the corridor. The shadow of their mother glided past behind the paper wall.

Not their real mother, obviously. Kira Tsuchihara was the woman chosen to care for them by the village elder when they had been babies. Kira’s husband and son had both died before they’d been born. Jan had been told they were the family’s last pass. Their last chance to continue the line.

She’d been a good mum. Good with concepts like duty and honour, but not so much with hugs. She was about as warm as a ritual slab. Which was fortunate, since that was where they were going, so there’d be no surprises there.

It might have been because they were not her own kids. It might have been because she knew what was going to happen to them. Either way, the effect was the same.

She and San both rose to their feet and hurried out into the hall. Kira paused in mid-stride when she saw them. She looked grave, which was usual. It was helped along by her thin face, sharp features and tight bun with its grey streaks.

“Hi, mom,” San greeted. She looked them both up and down disapprovingly. That was also usual.

“The land is unstable,” she told them, instead of saying hello, “the elder tells me that we cannot dare to wait much longer. A ritual may be needed soon.”

Jan’s heart sank. She knew what that meant. And her sister did too. She saw the way her shoulders sagged under her kimono.

Apparently, Kira did too, because the look of disapproval deepened.

Jan wasn’t necessarily afraid to die. She didn’t think San was either. But that wasn’t what the ritual was about. The truth was so much worse.

“There are only two others who could perform the Crimson Sacrifice ritual in our village. Would you rather that Kurosawa would choose them?”

“No!” they said in unison.

It was surprising. They both knew what the ritual entailed, but they would both rather go through with it than force it upon someone else. Especially a pair of six-year-olds.

Kira nodded. This was the correct answer. Her daughters - such as they were - accepting their duty. No matter how horrible said-duty might be.

And that was all she seemed to want from them. She strode off down the corridor and that was what passed for a mother-daughter conversation in their house. Which was fine, because they had each other, and because their role in the village was the most important of any. Not just anyone could do what they could do.

What they would do.

Jan went to the kitchen, her sister close on her heels, insisting that she needed more bandages. She laughed at the pout she received when she pointed out they’d just come off next time she got into a fight.

She filled the kettle and put it on the stove for tea. There was a basket on the table with fruit and bread and a couple of sweets in it. Jan went to help herself and San shooed her away.

“It isn’t for us,” she insisted.

“Who is it for then? You’re not going to leave it in the forest for the spirits, are you?”

A waste of food, since the spirits never seemed to eat any of it. There were dozens of baskets of rotting fruit lying around in the boles of trees and behind rocks. Jan would definitely have eaten it herself, but then, San had a different sort of nature. A magnified kindness that Jan was sure the world couldn’t do without it, even if she worried about how things would be after the ritual.

“It’s for Omi Tachibana. Mom was worried she wasn’t taking care of herself.”

Jan thought that was strange, their mother worrying about someone’s health and happiness. Except that the Remaining were vital to the village’s survival, and it was their duty to stay in the village after their siblings had gone. The mystery was solved.

“I see her in the village a lot. She’s got enough energy to run up and down the steps to the temple three or four times a day. And to get back up after she falls down in front of the guardian statues. She’s always praying for forgiveness.” Jan made bewildered hand movements. “She saved the village. What does she need forgiveness for? You’d better not be doing any of that pish.”

San didn’t answer. She covered the basket with a cloth. “I just think it’s quite sad that she lives out there on the outskirts all alone. She could go and stay with the rest of her family, but...”

“Maybe her family’s like Kira,” Jan said, putting a burly arm around her sister, “dinnae be staying with her after either. Go stay with someone nice. Like the Osakas. They always give me sweeties.”

That earned her a smile at least. It didn’t pay to dwell too much on what was going to happen, but it was also good to know what you were going to do in the face of the inevitable.

“Alright then, let’s go deliver your basket.”

She caught San’s arm and pulled her along behind her, out of the house and onto the main thoroughfare through town.

Dusk was coming. Folks were coming back from work carrying rakes and shovels over their shoulders, bags of vegetables and baskets of fruit under their arms. They waved and smiled at each other. Not at them though. People avoided twins in the village. They said it was out of reverence. Jan had another word for it.

A gang of boys their age were hanging around outside the Kiryu house. Two of them had black eyes. One of them had a bite mark on his nose. Jan pulled her sister closer to her and kept her walking on the other side of the path. She noticed the thuggish looks she was getting and stuck her tongue out at them.

The path wound over a small wooden bridge over a babbling brook running through the village and up the hill towards the temple and the forest beyond.

San tripped over a root halfway to the top. Jan kept her upright, but an apple bounced out of her basket and rolled back down the hill.

“That one must be for me,” Jan said with a grin, “I’ll get it on the way back.”

Another boy was standing at the bridge. Hisato, Jan thought his name was. The apple rolled to a stop at his feet. He looked up and saw them watching, then turned away like he hadn’t noticed.

“It looks like he’s following you again,” San said, as they turned to keep walking, “this isn’t the first time I’ve seen him.”

Her eyes darkened and her lips turned down in a frown.

“What’s that face for?” Jan asked.

“If we have to go through with the ritual, it’ll break his heart. I think he really likes you.”

Jan barked a laugh so loud it scared the birds out of the trees and drew a disapproving look from a priest who was passing back the other way smelling of incense and old rope.

“I don’t think he’s following us because of me, sis,” she said, sniggering, “besides, if you’re so worried about his heart, why don’t you take care of it?”

San didn’t answer, but she did go about as red as the butterflies they could see flitting between the trees and through the long grass.

Omi Tachibana’s home was past the temple, the furthest you could get from the village without actually leaving. It was hidden by the trees so completely that you couldn’t see it, wouldn’t even have known it was there without knowing about it first.

It had been a labour of respect by the townsfolk, a cosy little wooden home with an iron stovepipe jutting from the roof. They had pegged out a little garden for her to tend with stones to mark it out from the rest of the soil around the cottage, but it was overgrown with weeds and wildflowers. Not a single vegetable had ever been grown there. The windows were covered by curtains that were heavy with spiderwebs that had never been disturbed.

Jan stood at the end of the path leading to the front door with her hands on her hips and shook her head. “This place is depressing,” she said.

“Jan, be respectful,” her sister whispered. It was less an order and more a plea. “You might upset her.”

“Think she hasn’t noticed?”

Jan marched up to the door, keeping San close behind, and knocked hard on the door. The force rattled the entire cottage.

There was no answer.

“She must not be home,” Jan said, “since I’m pretty sure her sister heard that knock.”

San looked around and settled on a bench beneath the window. “I’ll just leave the basket for her.”

“Let’s leave it inside. She’ll miss it if you leave it out here and then it’ll only be good for the spirits. Plus we can clean up a bit. If this is what the outside looks like, I can only imagine the inside.”

The door wasn’t locked. Only the five main houses in the village were ever locked, and even then only really around festival time. Everyone knew everyone else by name and face, and there wasn’t anything to steal anyway. Outsiders weren’t really permitted inside the village, though most of them had the good sense to stay away anyway.

“We shouldn’t go in,” San insisted, but Jan had already made the decision for them. If they were going to help out, they were going to go all the way.

Only any thoughts of cleaning up were banished completely from their minds when they stepped inside.

The place was dark and dusty, but there wasn’t a lot of clutter. In fact, apart from a messy futon and a low table, there wasn’t any other furniture. In the corner, a hand-carved wooden tea set with Omi’s name on it - a gift from the village - had become a colony for insects.

None of that was the focus, however. Nor was it the sewing kit and stacks of pressed paper on the table top, or the pincushion bristling with needles.

Jan and San stood side-by-side, eyes wide with horror, as they took in the dozens upon dozens of faintly fluttering red butterflies pinned to squares of paper that covered every wall. There were more than a hundred, all of them trapped, all of them still alive, barely, shedding glittering scales from their crimson wings as they twitched weakly.

The butterflies were everywhere in the forest around the village. They’d both been raised on the stories that said they were more than just insects.

They were the guardians of the village. They carried the threads that bound the Remaining to their lost brothers and sisters. And they were here, trapped, skewered through their tiny bodies, unable to fly.

San covered her face. Jan went to the table and lit the lantern that was sitting beside the sewing kit. The light illuminated the butterflies’ markings, making them all the more beautiful, and the crime all the more awful.

“We should go,” Jan said.

San shook her head. Her shoulders were shaking. When she lowered her hands, Jan saw what she already knew. She was crying.

“We need to do something. They’re in pain. Crying out. Can’t you hear them?”

“We’ll bring someone back. One of the priests. They’ll know what to do.”

“You aren’t bringing anyone,” a voice insisted coldly. The cottage door slammed shut.

Omi Tachibana was standing with her back to the door. Her eyes were wide and wild. Ghosts of remembered horrors stained her eyes like cataracts. Like Kira, her dark hair was streaked grey, only she was half their mother’s age. Her white kimono was dirty around the hem where it had dragged in the mud around her bare feet.

Her hands were clasped at her chest. A flicker of red shone between her fingers. Another butterfly.

“Is that...?” Jan asked.

“My sister. I’ve finally found her. It’s been so long. So many years, Yumi, and I’ve finally found you.”

She breathed a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Let them go,” San said. It was the most vehement Jan had ever heard her.

“I can’t,” Omi snapped, “don’t you see? If I let them go, they’ll lead someone here, just like they lead me to places. They’ll find out what I’ve done.”

“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE IT!” San screamed. The volume made both Omi and Jan jump. But as surprised as she was, Jan could only agree. Something about this - all of this - felt so very wrong.

“I know.” The woman blinked. The tears that had been in her eyes broke down her cheeks. “I know. But I can’t let her go. Not again. I already lost her once. That day when they cast her into the *.”

Jan’s ears popped. It felt like someone had just clapped on either side of her head. She reeled backwards, bumping into San as she did. Her sister seemed to be stricken in the same way. Something wet started to dribble out of her ear and down her neck. It felt like blood.

The butterfly had escaped from Omi’s hands and was battering itself desperately against the window trying to escape. The other butterflies rattled with a noise like a gust of wind through a forest canopy.

“Don’t speak the name!” San was yelling, but her voice was muffled like she was behind a wall, “don’t speak the name!”

“I can’t let you leave,” Omi said. Her ears were bleeding too, but she had barely reacted. “Either of you.”

She flung herself at Jan, who had been standing between the woman and her sister from the start. She caught her wrists and pushed her back. Jan was big and bulky. She lived to be strong for her sister. But while Omi was malnourished and slight, she was also insane with grief. And that kind of misery had a strength all its own.

The two wrestled backwards into the wall. Jan’s foot kicked the table over, scattering needles and paper. The lantern clattered to the floor and spat embers. Omi’s cottage caught fire as surely as a bundle of kindling.

Jan held tight to Omi’s funerary kimono, twisting her around and slamming her into the wall. She wondered if she could convince San to run. Unlikely.

Omi wrapped her hands around Jan’s throat. She’d already strangled someone to death once. But they’d probably not had a bull’s neck like Jan.

But on Omi’s throat Jan could see two handprints etched in livid, red bruising. In the explosion of firelight, they looked like they were glowing. Glowing like the wings of the butterflies all around them.

Omi’s eyes focused on something behind Jan. They widened in horror. “No! Don’t!”

The window shattered. San had smashed it open with the wooden cup from Omi’s tea set. The butterfly Yumi shot out into the encroaching darkness and vanished.

Omi let out a wounded animal howl and wriggled out of Jan’s grip. She grabbed her sister and jerked her aside, but the woman didn’t care about either of them anymore. She threw herself at the broken window and peered out into the sky for any sign of her lost sister. She sliced her hands to pieces on the broken glass and didn’t seem to even notice.

Jan pulled the door open and dragged San out into the garden. Behind them, Omi sank down below the window and started sobbing into her hands. The fire caught the corner of her kimono.

The sisters stumbled to the bottom of the garden and sat on the flagstones in stunned silence as the cottage tumbled into itself, a blazing inferno. There was no more sign of Omi after that.

But they saw the butterflies leaving, somehow. Freed from their pins and their physical forms by the flames, they soared in an arc up into the treetops and vanished from sight, shimmering more beautifully and brightly than they ever had when they’d been alive.

They were alerted by the sound of voices coming from the direction of the village. The villagers arrived, torches lighting up the darkness. Most of them set about trying to put out the fire, but they were questioned by a frowning priest about what had happened. When neither of them spoke, he simply told them to speak to Elder Kurosawa in the morning and went to help with the fire.

Jan nudged San once they were alone again. Hisato was watching. The moment she looked over, he looked away again. In the firelight, it was very clear how deeply he was blushing.

Jan grinned at her sister. Tomorrow, she was going to have to have a word with Hisato about who was going to take care of her sister once she was gone.

She had a pretty good idea who might volunteer.

=x=x=x=

“And that’s the whole story.”

Mamoru Kurosawa nodded as he poured Jan a cup of tea. She wasn’t surprised to get a summons from him first thing in the morning. He wasn’t going to leave it up to her to come by and tell him what happened under her own volition. He knew her better than that.

“Sometimes, the grief is simply too strong,” he explained, “those who participate in the Crimson Sacrifice must endeavour to be stronger.”

Who wouldn’t agree with that? She’d learned a lot since he’d taken her under his wing. But then, he was the authority, as the village’s last Remaining. He was the only one with first-hand experience of the ritual left to teach her.

Back then, it had seemed like their ritual was imminent. The earth had trembled and begged for a sacrifice, and despite their youth they were the only option. Jan had needed to grow up quickly, to coach her sister through what was going to happen.

Strangely, the land had been pacified shortly after she had begun her preparations. She felt like she’d been living the last few years on borrowed time, just waiting for her turn to be sacrificed. It had been weird at first. Now it was just life.

“I want to be strong for San,” she said, “that’s why...”

Her hand brushed her throat, where his handprint still stood out in dark bruising. Practice, for the real thing. A chance to keep the pain off her face when San did what needed to be done. A chance for her to hopefully live her life without the guilt that Omi had felt.

“Your eye is black,” he said, reaching across the table and brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. His fingertips brushed the swollen skin and sent a pulse of pain into her cheek. “Was that Omi Tachibana’s doing?”

Jan shook her head. Despite the gravity of the situation, she found herself smiling. “Fighting again.”

He nodded, and when he spoke he sounded almost fond. “Of course. They should know better. In this village, a twin could kill someone - anyone - and be forgiven. A small price for the purpose they serve.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Jan said. Which was easy to say now that San was safe.

“Indeed.” He seemed to be thinking. “Are you certain that San is strong enough to be a Remaining?”

“That’s why I’m training.”

She didn’t like the implication of San not being a Remaining. What it would mean for her.

“It is noble, what you are attempting to achieve. But you risk weakening your bond with the deception. You can have no secrets from your twin if the ritual is to succeed. I understand your reticence to be the Remaining. It is kinder, perhaps, to be a Sacrifice. The butterflies feel no pain. They stand on the threshold, looking in on paradise and the earth at their leisure. They see the best of both worlds.”

“That’s not why,” Jan said. He had to see it wasn’t all about her. But she bit her lip. The conflict in what he had said was stirring in her stomach like a butterfly of its own. “Is that true? About the butterflies? How do you know?”

He looked at the ceiling, a reverential look in his eyes. “A twin knows.”

“Besides. I thought it was impossible. I thought there wasn’t a choice about which twin stayed.”

“If the bond is strong enough,” Mamoru said, drinking from his cup. As he tilted his head back, she thought she saw the imprint of hands on his throat. “There is always a choice.”