Disclaimer: Insert standard disclaimer here.
The Tomoeda Arcana
Chapter Six: Death and the Hanged Man
The first thing that she was aware of was the floor. What had seemed so comfortable and inviting last night was now anything but. It seemed keen to drive her shoulder blade into her spine and brand the weave of the carpet on her face.
Though she was uncomfortable and every step towards consciousness highlighted more aches and pains, Tomoyo didn't want to move. She stayed there on the floor, blinking her eyes against the rosy pink walls of her room.
Strange, she could have sworn her walls were white. It took a while for her sleep-fuddled mind to realise that the colour change had occurred because the sun was shining on them. She must have woken with the dawn. So she had a whole day ahead of her, there was no rush to get up.
She idly fingered the hem of her blouse, filling her thoughts with nothing important; what if milk was blue, would we still put it on cornflakes; would eyes in the back of her head be useful, stuff like that. She didn't want to remember the emotional roller coaster she had just been on.
As her fingers ran along a line of stitches, she noticed something. Searching by touch she ran her fingers back again till they reached the snag. It was next to the side seam. She rubbed it against her thumb and tried to figure out what it was, all without the benefit of sight.
It was the size of her fingernail and it was raised slightly from the fabric. It felt like embroidery, but why would anyone want to embroider the hem of a blouse. She figured that it was just the tail end of a thread, caught up in all the stitches when the blouse was made.
Satisfied with her answer she shifted her attention to the carpet. It was like its own little world. She could imagine there were little people living in there and they'd build little cities and – Nope, no good, she had to make sure she was right. She propped herself up on an elbow and peered closely at her discovery.
It stood out starkly against her blouse, a black spider on a yellow background. Flicking her hair out of the way and bending closer to the fabric, she realised that it wasn't a spider but a sun.
Speaking of suns, the one outside should be up now, so why had her room actually gotten darker? Tomoyo looked over her bed to get a view of the window and frowned when she realised that it was completely dark outside. The sun hadn't been rising at all; it had been setting. She had spent a whole night and day asleep on her bedroom floor. She decided to go get changed.
After her shower, she stood inside her walk-in wardrobe. It was quite empty now as most of its contents was scattered on the floor, in scraps no bigger than a postcard. Her own clothes were huddled in the back corner, like frightened mice.
Tomoyo reached for the closest one, as she slipped it off the hanger her eyes were caught by a little black dot against the red fabric. It was another of those black suns.
On a hunch Tomoyo grabbed the next item of clothing and checked that. As she expected there was another sun. It was the same for the next shirt, and the skirt after that, and the dresses, and the jackets, even her school uniform hadn't been spared. With every sun she uncovered a suspicion grew in Tomoyo's mind. She realised who used the sun as his symbol. Hiiragizawa Eriol.
The wardrobe contained only swaying coat hangars now, Tomoyo hadn't bothered to return her clothes back to their original place and they now lay crumpled on the floor. She looked into her dresser drawers and gave a small sigh. Apparently her socks and underwear were immune from this rash of black suns.
Still clad in her bathrobe, Tomoyo sat on the edge of her bed. Despite having as much magic as a wooden spoon she did know quite a bit of the subject. When Sakura had first begun getting involved with the cards, Tomoyo had decided she should read up on magic. Knowledge was always useful, even if you didn't have the ability and it may have helped Sakura.
So she had read all about charms and spells. She studied the slight of hand magic you found on television, fortune telling via palms, faces, cards and even love potions. What she recalled now was all the stuff she had read on sympathetic magic, that if you had something of your victim, a favourite procession, a hair or even their signature, you could influence them. Perhaps it worked the other way, if someone planted something on you then they could influence you, like make them hallucinate and drive them crazy.
A small part of her was insisting that she should be mad at all this. How dare someone manipulate her in this way, how dare they plant all these doubts in her mind. But the only thing Tomoyo felt was intense weariness, despite all her time asleep she was suddenly tired, she just wanted this to be over.
She still wasn't going to make this easy for Hiiragizawa. If she didn't wear those suns then he would have to find another way to work his magic over her.
Prodding a scrap of satin with her toe, she mused that she should have left at least one of Sakura's costumes for her to wear. She couldn't remember seeing any suns on those clothes, but with the state she was in she wasn't sure if she was capable of noticing anything. Maybe she could use something of her mother's – no, maybe there was something after all.
Tomoyo walked over to the media room, her movement set up eddies that sent the shreds of black tape swirling around her feet. She carefully stepped over the pincushion and measuring tape. She gently picked up a bundle that was draped over the armrest and carried it back to her bedroom; tape fluttering in her wake.
WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW
There was a drawn out creak punctuated with a foundation shaking crash. Small metallic pings and the whomp-whomp of a revolving plate were heard soon after.
Nakuru and Spinel rushed to the recently-resurrected-from-obliteration lounge-room door. They stared at each other in trepidation as muffled thumps and curses seeped under the door. Spinel winced at a particularly loud smash, while Nakuru bit his lip at what sounded like the ottoman being kicked across the room.
The door cracked open and a red-rimmed eye peered out.
"What time is it?" the eye whispered.
Nakuru glanced at the grandfather clock. "About six-ish."
"In the morning?"
"Ah, no, at night," Spinel replied.
The door opened wider and Eriol appeared, slumped against the doorframe. His clothes and hair were a perfect match: thoroughly crumpled; the smiling cow now looked as if it had been hit by a truck. The same could be said about Eriol. He rubbed his eyes, knocking his glasses askew.
"Would you like something to eat, Eriol-sama?" Nakuru ventured.
Eriol pushed himself away from the frame and tottered unsteadily down the hall. "No thankyou, Nakuru," he said as he reached the front door. "It's best if I check on Daidouji-san."
He then slipped outside, the door clicking resolutely behind him.
WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW
Night wasn't the only thing that had descended upon Tomoeda. A mist had decided to visit too. Clouds now stalked the streets, lurking in doorways, clinging to walls. It smothered the streetlamps, muffling the glow; shadow lights were all that was left to show the way.
Tomoyo walked through all of this, the mist cold and clammy against her skin, opaque and grey against her eyes. This must be what the inside of a watercolor painting was like, everything dissolving into the air.
Memory was her map as she walked down the streets, not that she was going anywhere in particular. No, she was just out for a stroll. A stroll that could lead anywhere since she couldn't see where she was going; she could easily step into another world and not notice a thing.
She hadn't been completely thorough on yesterday's rampage: one dress had managed to make it through unscathed. It was originally suppose to be one of Sakura's battle costumes, but Tomoyo had only finished it recently, too late for Sakura to wear it. So it had sat safely on the sofa while all the other dresses had been ravaged by the scissors.
Tomoyo wore it now, after a systematic inspection for any black suns. It was made of black velvet and had been embroidered with thousands of glass beads. (This was why it had taken so long to make.) It gave the overall effect of a star covered sky.
A car flashed along beside her, the headlights passing like a comet and striking sparks off her dress. Tomoyo kept walking and after a while the murmur of the car engine had faded, leaving just the tap of her footsteps on the path.
A sign loomed out of the mist, the metal arcing from one pillar to another: Tomoeda Park.
Tomoyo glided in, her hand lightly scraping the brickwork. The lamps up ahead were dying suns, partially illuminating the roundabout, the seesaw. The king penguin was just a shapeless mass, a leviathan in this foggy sea.
She found herself at the swings. The metal chains clinked slightly as she sat down and carefully arranged her skirt, the beads glistening softly under her hand. She stayed there, suspended, clouds whirling all around.
She was completely unprepared for the push that sent her flying.
WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW
When he reached the front door he knew it was useless. The house was completely deserted. He may be exhausted but he still had enough magic to know if a place was inhabited or not.
Eriol turned on his heel and surveyed his path before him. Tomoeda was there, behind those clouds and so was Tomoyo.
He stepped into the mist.
WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW
Tomoyo thought she would end up flying into nothing, but then the swing stalled and sent her back the way she came. Another push came at the other end of the arc to begin the process again.
She clutched the chain and looked over her shoulder to see who was pushing her. All she saw was a cloaked figure, the face obscured by a hood. Tomoyo turned back to the front and surrendered to the rhythmic motion of the swing.
After a while, (it could have been a moment stretched out to eternity, or eternity packed into a moment), the figure stopped and Tomoyo swung to a standstill.
The figure stood in front, a little bit to the left; Tomoyo could have kicked it without having to move from the swing. The cloak was the deepest black, as if someone had cut a hole in the fabric of space. In one hand the figure clutched a scythe, the blade a silver slash in the lamplight.
"So are you the real Death or just one of those card people?" Tomoyo laughed.
The figure pulled back the hood; lengths of red hair fell forward to frame the face of Mizuki-sensei.
"I knew I couldn't be that lucky," grumbled Tomoyo.
"And is that what you want?" asked the fake Mizuki-sensei. "To die?"
Tomoyo stared into the mist. "I just want it to stop," she whispered.
Death-Mizuki smiled. "It won't stop until you've let go."
"Let go of what?" Tomoyo said with exasperation.
"Everything," stated a new voice.
The owner was on Tomoyo's right. Instead of the companion swing there was, suspended by his feet, a man. He wore tatty Hessian trousers and his upper body was bound in a straightjacket. He fidgeted uselessly in his bindings, his brown hair swishing with every slight movement. Though the mist made recognition difficult, this visitor was meant to look like Sakura's brother, Touya.
"Everything," he repeated. "Life, love, friends, family, this world and the others that will come." Death-Mizuki nodded at every word. Hanged-Touya continued, "But chiefly you have to give up hope."
"It's a nasty little creature, Tomoyo-chan," said Death-Mizuki. "Just let it go."
"But–" Tomoyo began, but was interrupted by Hanged-Touya, who shook his head so violently he ended up spinning in a circle.
"Don't argue," he said (in two revolutions). "You still think that things will get better, that there will be light at the end of this tunnel. Well I'm telling you that it's not going to happen. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."
"Things will never be alright, Tomoyo-chan," Death-Mizuki said kindly.
"Nah," said Handed-Touya with disgust, "we're just wasting our time. She's too much like her mother."
"What do you know about my mother?" she asked quickly.
"I know she didn't like to lose," Hanged-Touya shot back. "And that she hurt many people in some pathetic attempt to reclaim what she had lost."
"My mother has never hurt anyone," Tomoyo shouted, her voice muffled by the fog.
"There's that hope again," he said with contempt. "Always thinking the best of people."
Death-Mizuki intervened. "Perhaps it would be best if we showed you."
She reached into her robe and drew out an hourglass. She tossed it into the air where it stayed, spinning gently. Small golden sparks fell from the casing and swirled around the hourglass. It was a vortex of light that got brighter and brighter with each revolution till the whole park was bleached white.
WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW
The light congealed into hundreds of dancing yellow lights. One of them flew towards Tomoyo and alighted on her outstretched hand.
"Fireflies," she murmured.
It left her finger and went back to join the others. They dotted the evening landscape, some swarmed in the sky above while others clustered in the trees and grasses.
Tomoyo and her two companions were still by the swings, Tomoyo never having left her seat during that light show. The mist was still around, but up ahead, instead of playground equipment, was a festival, the fairy lights and lanterns mirroring the glow of the fireflies.
The nearest booth was a refreshment stand. A young boy and his parents were buying ice creams. The boy rode high on his father's shoulders, idly fiddling with his glasses. His father had one hand safely around his son's leg, keeping him securely in place, while the other was tightly wrapped around his wife, keeping her close.
"Recognise anyone, Tomoyo?" whispered Death-Mizuki.
"It's obviously the Kinomoto family," sighed Tomoyo.
"And it's before Sakura was even born," said Hanged-Touya maliciously. "So don't go hoping for a sight of her."
They weren't the only observers of this happy family. Off to the side, leaning against a tree, was Sonomi.
"Unlike a certain someone I could mention," Hanged-Touya added.
Sonomi clearly didn't want to be there. She had her arms crossed defensively in front, her face shuttered from the excitement of the festival.
A man detached himself from the crowds and went over to Sonomi. He kept to the shadows so it was impossible to see his face.
"May I join you?" he said.
The moment he spoke, Tomoyo knew who he was. His voice was warm and deep like a cello, activating some kind of genetic imprint or perhaps a long forgotten childhood memory. She was absolutely certain that he was her father.
This must have been where he and her mother first met.
Despite the circumstances, Tomoyo felt a stab of excitement. Here was a chance to find out more about him, more about herself.
"Never listen," Hanged-Touya tutted. Tomoyo ignored him and kept an eye on the people under the tree.
"Beat it, buddy," snarled Sonomi. "I'm not interested."
Her father chuckled. "Don't be so hasty. I may be able to mend your broken heart."
"My heart is just fine," said Sonomi, but her eyes strayed to Nadeshiko who, together with her son, was force-feeding ice creams to Fujitaka.
"It doesn't feel fine." He stepped closer. Sonomi flinched but held her ground. "It feels as if something has been ripped out, and all that is left is a gaping hole. A void so deep and dark, with winds that howl endlessly."
Touya accidentally stuck an ice cream up Fujitaka's nose; the sound of Nadeshiko's laughter filled the festival. Sonomi closed her eyes.
Tomoyo's father, still in the shadows, murmured in her ear. "I can fill that void, if you let me."
Then everything went dark, even the fireflies.
WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW
Black ebbed away, and Tomoyo found herself still on the swing, the visitors on either side. The fog had gotten thicker, more clammy, a wet and clinging blanket with no warmth at all.
"Was there a lesson in all of that?" Tomoyo said sullenly.
"There's a lesson in everything," Hanged-Touya patronised. "Look, you say that you've given up on Sakura, but you haven't, not really. Because deep down you're still clinging to the hope that things will go back to the way they were. It's completely selfish, but hey, you're human, you can't help it." He paused and thought a bit. "To give up someone completely, you have to surrender everything, even the possibility."
"Your mother couldn't see that." Death-Mizuki moved to stand by her compatriot.
"Yes," Hanged-Touya conceded, "and because of this others had to suffer."
"You don't want to add to the suffering, do you, Tomoyo-chan?" Death-Mizuki beseeched.
Tomoyo didn't answer. With a flick of her scythe Death-Mizuki cut the rope that anchored Hanged-Touya to the swing and they fell into the fog.
WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW
It was just a hunch that sent Eriol to the park. Some innate desire for fun and happiness, in the way plants always strive towards the light. It was understandable, especially on a day as gloomy as this.
He weaved his way through the fog at random, trees and benches suddenly looming into view. He walked aimlessly, stopping sometimes to wipe his misted glasses. And then he saw her.
She sat on the swing, her hands folded in her lap, her head cast down; a shadow on a cloud. He slowly walked up to her, hoping she wouldn't be alarmed.
"Daidouji-san?" he said tentatively.
She said nothing, didn't make a sound and didn't make a move. As he stepped closer she exploded into pinpoints of light, they sparkled off her dress and hair, turning her into a child of the Milky Way. He realised that these earthbound stars were just beads on her dress and water droplets in her hair, but that didn't make her any less ethereal.
Eriol knelt down in front of her. "Daidouji-san?" he said again.
"I was wondering when you'd show up."
He kept his voice soft. "I had to make sure you were safe."
She gave a short laugh. "I thought that was what you're friends were for."
She handed him two cards, which he took cautiously. The first was labelled Death and sported the archetype, hooded black robe, scythe and hourglass, but instead of a grinning skull the face of Kaho smiled back. The second had an upside-down Kinomoto Touya and was labelled 'The Hanged Man'.
Eriol flung the cards to the side. "Daidouji-san, I'm not responsible for this," he said earnestly.
She shook her head violently, droplets scattering everywhere. "Don't say that."
"But it's true."
"No," she shouted. "Because if you're not doing this, then who is? At least if it was you then I could ask you to stop. Please, Hiiragizawa, I'm begging you. Stop this."
"I can't, Daidouji. I wish I could but I can't."
She bit her lip, stifling a sob, as the whole hopelessness of the situation came crashing down on her.
He took her hand. "Things may look bad now, but I know you're strong enough and brave enough to withstand this," said Eriol with reassurance. "You don't need me to be your knight in shining armour."
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. That action forced her to look at him, and he saw that her eyes were swimming with stars.
Eriol continued, "But if you want someone to stay beside you, to never leave you, no matter how dark the road may be, then I ask you, Daidouji-san, may it be I?"
A star fell down her cheek. Eriol caught it with a finger and made a wish. Everything seemed to stand still as if the world was holding its breath, awaiting Tomoyo's decision.
She leant forward and kissed him gently on the forehead. And in the dark midnight of his hair another star landed, a promise of things to come.