The Secret History Files
A Touhou Project Fic in the Danmakuverse by Achariyth
Chapter 6: All In the Name of Goodbye
I should have dove out a window right then.
Stuck between a magical slaver wearing my face and youkai wearing a barrel-chested archer as a second skin, I instead scurried away from both, stumbling over the debris that Kotohime's earlier pillaging had strewn across the straw mats.
The youkai, an enemy of mine almost as ancient as Kaguya, keened like a hawk. A nimbus of coiling black smoke billowed around her. Or should that be him in that new body? I never could get the grammar of possession right. He licked his lips, savoring the fear stench roiling from my body. The History monster, on the other hand, wore an expression I'd seen Miyako use to entertain herself at court, back when I still had family:
Let's you and him fight.
I'll pass on that sucker's bet. It took a dozen deaths after my last fight with this soul-stealing youkai before those scars finally faded.
The possessed archer glanced between my mirror image and I before charging the Secret History woman.
I ran through the smoke and out the door, bounced off of a wall, and dove into the kitchen. As smoke trails and danmaku whizzed past, I ransacked the drawers. A stack of pots, pans, rice, and even canola oil grew high on the counter.
Where were the knives? I'd even settle for a rolling pin as a club. But the drawers were empty of anything useful.
Wood splintered as something heavy crashed into the wall, rattling dishes and pans. That Secret History woman, for all the tricks that Keine complained about, might as well have been a fairy before the fury of that youkai.
I clawed at a latch on a cupboard and jumped out of the way as the dishwasher fell open. Finally, a chef's knife! That went on the counter, never outside of my arm's reach.
I chewed on my lip and the rice. With enough time, I could turn that into a scalding slurry almost impossible to claw off. Kaguya had taught me that trick and many other kitchen nightmares the hard way.
My twin tumbled out into the hallway, and smacked against the wall. She wobbled to her feet and dashed past the kitchen.
Hissing, I grabbed the knife, a pan, and the canola oil bottle and crouched behind a corner. Unscrewing the cap, I squirted oil all through the hallway, against the walls, and onto the floor. As the dark cloud billowed into the hall, I lit the oil with a spark from my fingertips. The flames spread down the hallway, driving back that nimbus of darkness.
The smoke shrank away until a wild gust of wind, like that from a tengu's fan, extinguished my fires. Cursing, I flattened myself behind a wall and waited, the pan held high and ready. An ever thickening cascade of black smoke spread across the floor.
I crept to the corner's edge, peeked out, and waited. Finally, I could see a shadow of a man within the dense haze. Spinning around, I swung the frying pan, almost dropping it as the shock of metal against bone shot through my arms. The youkai staggered under the blow, and I beat him, once, twice, and twice again with the pan.
He grabbed my wrist and shook the pan from my grasp. I whipped the knife out, slicing up his arm before the backstroke cut his forehead.
I had learned over the centuries not to fight fair, first from my father, then from Kaguya, and finally by this youkai and her various guises. But instead of blood blinding the archer's black eyes, smoke gushed up from his wounds.
I hacked at the wrist holding mine until a fountain of arterial smoke gushed forth. That should have killed the man, but it blinded me instead. Coughing, I lashed out and scored a few more slashes before he yanked me off my feet.
I don't know how he staunched the geyser from his arm; I couldn't see anything as he shook me around like a rag doll, bouncing me into the wall.
Folks, let be absolutely clear. I'm immortal, not invulnerable. It still hurts.
My vision cleared somewhat. Now everything was a haze of red instead of black. I stomped at his knee and plunged my knife into his side. I might as well have just tickled him for all the good it did.
He spun me about and bashed my face against the wall before pinning me to it. As the youkai twisted my arms behind my back, I could only look down along the wall at my useless Secret History twin cowering in the living room.
A little help here? Now?
Tears welled in my eye as my head was jerked back by my hair. I stared up into cold black eyes without iris or white. The man had been handsome before that thing inside him ate his mind. Now she was about to do the same to me.
He stared at me before directing his mask-like gaze at my twin. I breathed a sigh of relief as he let go of my hair.
Then the lights went out.
A rabbit punch?! That's all it took to kill me? Kaguya would never let me live that down if she learned of it. At least I won't have to face my ancestors with this shame, although I'm pretty sure they have other reasons to shun me.
At least that…thing…stopped beating on me for a moment. I don't know why he thinks that fake with her weird magic is actually me (and I'll make him pay for that) but as soon as my eyes open, he'll know the truth. Then I'll be back to fighting to keep whatever that black smoke bitch is called out of my head, and I'm rusty on that entire mental discipline trick.
How did that thing come back after I destroyed its shintai icon, the home for its soul? What the hell were those Secret history idiots doing with a body hopping menace like that? And did they have to wave me in front of it like fine sake before a banquet?
For Remembrance's Sake.
If my spirit and my body were still together, I'd shudder. Of course, those idiots would try something so convoluted. Just bear with me for a moment, Keine's the schoolteacher, not me. I'll do my best to make the explanation quick while I'm waiting to revive. Lectures and fighting don't mix.
Youkai live by either embodying a concept or feeding from fear. So when you kill one, it just comes back. But if no one remembers a youkai because it has been erased from history and myth, how can it embody anything? Who would know of it to be afraid? How could it live? Keine's told me stories, whispers of unnamed terrors of unknown shapes vanquished by forgetfulness.
I'd rather use fire. After the third or fourth death, most youkai learn how to be polite.
Slaying a youkai by erasing it from history usually required generations of people all hushing the old tales and purging records until, with the last story dying with its last storyteller, the youkai fades away. No wonder the Secret History Association wanted me here. The Miare girl was bait, not just for a monster who would never be forgotten if written into the Gensokyo Chronicles, but for me, one of the last people on Earth who remembered it. If I was normal, my death and my twin's would snuff out that youkai like a candle flame.
But I am immortal, and so is my memory…
I awoke to a scream, my own, but not from my throat. Out in the living room, the youkai-possessed archer battered the Secret History woman. I hugged the floor where I lay, willing myself to remain still. As soon as I moved, she was dead. Not that she was trying to survive this fight anyway.
My hand crept into a pocket and pulled out a spell card. I didn't care which one it was. The magic might not do much, but I needed the distraction. I just hoped he would be too busy following the pretty lights instead of me.
Power surged through me as the glowing card released its energy. Scarlet wings unfolded from my back. Possessed by Phoenix. How appropriate. Let's see how my ancient enemy liked visitors inside her head for once.
The wings shot into the room, carrying a part of my mind to guide them. As they settled on either side of that possessed slab of muscle, I could see smoke rising from a score of wounds that I hadn't caused. That Secret History woman had put up an actual fight after all. The youkai threw her away, but before he could doge, the wings exploded in a spray of shot and fire.
For an instant, our minds touched. If felt like diving into an oily pond of stagnant water and hate. The fire protected me, and I fled while he dodged magic and flame. The spell card faded away, and I was returned to my body.
As the last neon ring fizzled in the air, the archer turned towards me and keened his challenge once more. I drew back into a defensive stance and called upon my power. Clear gaslight flame danced from my hands.
He charged down the hall towards me, nothing more than an enraged bull. I sidestepped into the kitchen and brought both hands down like a hammer as he passed. I might as well have punched the frying pan at my feet, but sparks flew whenever his smoke met my flames.
He spun around and lunged right into my snap kick. I followed it with another before I reached down and flung the pan at his face. The youkai had chosen her new home well. He had reach, strength, and speed on me and I had to keep him away. Shielding his head from the blows, he backed away from me, chasing by a glowing spell card.
Don't ever use danmaku in a hallway. The tight space funnels what should have been a firecracker into a thunderclap. The wave of magic bowled me over into the kitchen and rained pots and pans down on me. I covered my head and rolled out of the way.
An iron bar clamped down on my ankle. I looked down at the bastard's black eyes and stomped on his hand. He dragged me towards him, and no matter how hard I clawed at the floor, I could not stop him.
For an instant, I opened myself up to my power, covering myself in fire. He dropped me right away and grabbed a cast iron pot.
From a hundred fights before, I knew exactly what would happen. Having trapped me in the kitchen, he'd spend his time battering me senseless, taking care not to touch me directly until I was so lost to pain that I could no longer control my fire. At that moment, the youkai inside him would trade his body for mine.
Swaying to my feet, I watched and waited. He lumbered into the kitchen, his weapon held high. I took a deep breath and launched myself at his body. He brought the pot down so hard on my back that the metal bounced out of his hands. Screaming, I stumbled into him and wrapped my arms around his body. Drawing on my power, I immolated myself.
Okay, so immolation is not quite the right word, considering that I wear enough fire wards to protect the entire Human Village. It's enough to keep the flame and the heat away, but it can't remove the choking smoke nor replenish the dead lifeless air.
The flames engulfed the two of us. I buried my face into his chest. For a moment, I was spared the acrid stench of burning cloth and hair. Bellowing, he pummeled at me with his elbows. I bit my lip and hung on, but the inferno only burned off the smoky nimbus surrounding him.
He threw himself against the wall, crushing me. I gasped down a scalding lungful of smoke. He slammed me into the wall again and again, but I clung to him and burned.
The fire finally bit into his skin. He howled, and burned away like oil-soaked newsprint. For a moment, I held nothing but ash and then I fell down.
Ouch!
At least the fire died away. I stayed on the floor, shuddering and gulping down breaths of icy air.
I wish I had instant healing instead of immortality. Even though a quick cut through my veins would fix everything after I revived, the electric fire coursing through my blood and my bones coupled with the lifeless fatigue from the fight made it too difficult to even think, much less find a knife. Finally, the pain faded, or it might just have been that my nerves had finally screamed themselves hoarse. Either way, I managed to prop myself up against a cupboard.
"Keine," I rasped. My throat was dry, as were my eyes. "You can come back now. It's over."
"No, it isn't," my own voice answered me from the living room.
I hadn't expected a reply. Gritting my teeth, I exhaled and rocked to my feet. I wasn't in the mood for another fight.
I needn't have worried. As I staggered into the living room clutching my side, I found her crumpled in a corner, her legs and body folded in unnatural angles like a ruined paper doll. In the past, I had twisted Kaguya into similar contortions, but the Moon Princess always died before this point. As much as I hated to admit it, the Secret History woman was a tough old bird. It was hard not to grow to respect such a survivor.
She looked up at me and hissed, "My flask, please."
"Why did you do this?" I knew the plan, I just didn't understand why anyone would volunteer. I found a belt pouch and pulled out a thin metal flask. Uncapping it, I took a sniff. Hemlock.
"Allow an old woman her secrets." She closed her eyes and sighed.
"Why? You've taken all of mine."
She shrugged, although the effort was almost beyond her. "Some youkai can't be allowed to run free."
"I thought your type said that about them all." I shrugged and handed over the flask.
"I have 150 reasons why that one has to go." The chill in her voice made her meaning clear. The shadow smoke youkai, now struggling to be reborn after its death, had filled 150 graves. She tossed back the flask in one pull. "As for me? My grandchildren have grandchildren. Should I have sent one of them instead?"
I watched as her lips turned blue. "What do you really look like when you're not trying to be me?"
Her breathing became labored. "Inside the pouch, there's a soapstone stamp. It'll remove this illusion."
I retrieved the white stone and examined the carved whorls. "How does it work?"
"Give it here." She took the stamp from me. "It rewrites a person's history, on the soul itself. If you are injured, it will remove all traces as though it never happened. With the right pattern, any person can fight like a career soldier, haggle like a season merchant, and even become someone else. It's not an illusion, it's like you've always been. At least, until your soul starts rejecting the lies."
"I'd seen your people do something similar to metal." Back in Kotohime's jail, Mr. A., leader of the Secret History Association, had frozen the bars of my cell with such a stamp.
She bared her sleeve. "Let me show you." Reaching out, she seized hold of my wrist. Before I could jerk away from her grasp, she pressed the stamp against my skin, and twisted it-
She awoke with a gasp, cocooned within silk and down, her breathing constrained not by snug bindings but by tight bandages. Shivering as the last tremors of an unremembered nightmare faded, she flung away the bedding and sat up. Her thin pajamas clung to her, and she shivered again. A breeze billowed through the window. She must have left it open overnight.
Not that she remembered ever entering the bedroom or even the night before. It was too sparse, too antiseptic, and too spartan for her comfort, with only a mirror and a nightstand to match her western-style bed. She couldn't remember her own bed, only that it was humbler than the four-poster where she lay.
Eyeing the door, she scooted toward the headboard, chewing on a strand of raven hair. She sighed, brushed the hair from her lips, and froze. A wavy seal, like an endless knot, was scratched across her wrist in puckered red lines.
"A Forger's seal." The unfamiliar words came unbidden to her lips. How hurt had she been to require that drastic of a healing spell? She ran her fingers from the crown of her head down to the tips of her toes, but found nothing odd to her touch.
The door opened. With a start, she clutched a sheet in front of her and looked up. A kindly woman in a black governess's dress and a white mob cap carried in a meal tray. The comforting scents of rice and tea filled the room. "It's only Nagisa, dear." The servant set the tray down at the foot of the bed and poured tea into a bowl of rice. "How are you feeling?"
"Lost."
Nagisa grabbed her hand and brushed back the sleeve. The servant pursed her lips and fished inside a small purse. "We'll get that fixed up right now."
She pointed to the seal. "How bad was it?"
"We feared for the worst when we found you, Eri, after you had fallen from the horse and landed underneath its hooves." Nagisa pulled out a soapstone stamp from her handbag and pressed it into the angry pink skin on Eri's wrist.
Eri tried out her name. It tasted bitter on her lips. "What was I doing on a horse?" As she watched, the puckered lines faded away. She tried to remember how many horses were stabled in Gensokyo. They were rare as gold.
"Sitting sidesaddle while a suitor with more money that sense courted you." Nagisa smiled and put away the stamp. "He's fine, by the way."
Warm flooded Eri's cheeks. "Why can't I remember?"
"He was just one in a long line." Nagisa frowned as she ran a brush through Eri's floor length hair. "Some of us aren't blessed with the fortune of Princess Kaguya."
"I should hope not," Eri snapped as her temper flared.
"Don't obsess over that spinster and her pet agony aunt." Nagisa tugged the brush through a tangle. "There's some folk that even matchmakers can't help."
Eri's anger smoldered into an ember. "She thinks that even the Emperor isn't good enough for her."
"Careful now. I remember having to tell someone else that she couldn't be that picky either," Nagisa chided.
"I wish I remembered that, or anything at all."
The servant tsked as she brushed out a curl. "Forgery can be such a tricky art. Erasing the history of an injury often takes away more than just the harm. It's a wonder that we can use it on people at all."
Eri reached back and caught the servant's hand. "How bad was I really hurt?"
"The silver chord was broken, and the golden bowl was crushed." Nagisa met Eri's confused gaze. "Reread your poetry, dear. It hurts me to even say it directly, and I can't image what I must have felt like.
"The horse broke your ribs, snapped your back, and dashed your skull open with its hooves. That you're still with us at all is a credit to the Forgers. It's a miracle that you still have your wits.
"You'll need to press that stamp into your skin daily. Don't forget, else your mind will unknit." Nagisa paused as the color blanched from Eri's face. "But if it does, the stamp will bring you back. It holds your history written within its swirls. The Forgers promised that you'll remember more with each day. Don't ask me how; hospitality is my talent."
"Why do this for me?" Eri forced the words through dry lips.
"Some prizes shouldn't be lost to the darkness." Nagisa slipped her hand out of Eri's. "Eat up before it gets cold. The matchmaker would like to see you this evening, so you might want to rest beforehand."
"Who was courting me that day?" Eri pointed to the bandage peeking out underneath her pajama top.
"It doesn't matter. The matchmaker already had words with him. He won't trouble you again. After all, someone has to wed that poor shrinemaiden from that youkai-plagued shrine." Nagisa's voice grew venomous as she spoke. She cleared her throat and walked to the door. "Do let me know if you need help."
As the door closed, Eri stood up and walked to the mirror. She poked and pulled on her cheeks, stretching her skin as she looked for blemishes. She even lifted her bangs and ran her fingers through her hairline. The Forgers really had done their job well, even if they had left her face a little too dollish for her tastes.
Sighing, she slid into bed and slurped her rice broth. On the nightstand she found a paperback covered in indigo clouds. While it wasn't a book of poetry like Nagisa had hinted at, Eri leafed through it anyway.
"The future did not arrive."
A chill ran down Eri's back as she read the first line. She set the book down and slide it far away before wiping a single tear from the corner of her eye.
Author's Notes:
Nagisa references Ecclesiastes 12:6. Eri's book is Count to a Trillion, by John C. Wright. The ancient magical Art of Forgery was lifted from Brandon Sanderson's The Emperor's Soul, while the idea of a Remembrance War and monsters perishing if no one remembered them were lifted from the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher. However, the original ideas for the Secret History Association and Keine's distaste for it are all ZUN's.
Thank you to the Danmakuverse authors for letting me play in the universe and for prereading. I'm not done with the 'verse yet; the Lady of Strange Deaths still reigns. As for "Eri", I leave her fate in the hands of my coauthors.
Above all, thank you to the readers and reviewers for spending precious time reading this short novel. I hope you will join me again for additional tales with the Touhou Project characters.