*He* tells me that it is all right, now, that I can see Kaachan, that I have a baby sister.

Look at him, smiling so radiantly, as if he had no care in the world, as if he had been born into the Touri Heaven.

I hate him.

But I don't hate Kaachan. Even before, before I saw her as a person, I didn't *hate* her. And after I saw her as one, I *really* didn't hate her. Really. Truly.

I just wanted to be close to her. Is that so wrong?

I wanted to be close to her, and I was tired and confused and just wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. And then I saw how I could do it.

I'd only ever done -- *it* -- when operating on pure terror, knowing I was going to die and desperate not to. I wasn't sure if I could do it without that, but I needed my current shell, weak as it was, to fall back on.

And so I tried.

And just when I was sure that I had failed, that I would neither make it back there nor be able to shove out any of the strongly grounded spirits about, that I would be lost between and die -- and die -- and die, I discovered her condition.

And I rejoiced, even as I dove in.

It was occupied, of course. It takes rather careful timing to catch an embryo at precisely the point when it becomes more, and gains a soul; before the soul arrives, but after one is able to "stick." Timing that I didn't have, and had long missed anyway.

But the connection was tenuous at best, and it was a simple matter to substitute its links for my own, to wind myself in so fiercely than none could oust me.

He -- the proto-child -- was determined and tenacious, and took a long time to dislodge; but I paid no attention to his protests.

:Nothing personal,: I said, :but I *need to live*.:

:No.:

:I *need* to *live*.:

And with a final casual :I'll be back,: he was gone.

And I curled into the warm close darkness of Kaachan's womb, safe, where I didn't have to do anything, or be anything, or think about anything, until my second birth came.

Of course Kaachan doesn't know.

She loves me.

I love her, so I won't ever let her know.

Because it would hurt her.

And because she'd hate me if she knew.

They'd all hate me. They'd despise me.

Only one person ever knew and still loved me, and that person -- and that person --

I break off such unprofitable reflections when I see Kaachan smiling at me.

"Come and see your sister, Kenji," she says. "We're naming her Kiriko."

Kiriko is an exceedingly small, bald, and red person, wrapped in soft cloths and held protectively in Kaachan's arm. She opens her eyes once, blinks at us without focusing on either of us, pouts her lips out, and closes her eyes again.

And I catch hold of Kaachan's other arm to keep from wobbling, for I recognized the spirit behind those eyes.

/I'll be back./

Indeed you were.

And I'm glad. Truly. I had nothing against you, and now you are back here where the gods wished you to be, with the mother they wished you to have. I had to do it -- you do see that I had to, don't you -- but it wasn't as if I *enjoyed* it.

"I'm going to be the bestest big brother ever, Kiriko-tan," I promise her. "I'll protect you and keep you safe, and make up for coming before you did, and I'll do it even when you're as pretty as Kaa-tan."

Kaachan laughs at that.

So does *he*.

I'd forgotten *he* was there, watching us, and I turn and glare at him.

"Maa, maa," he says, voice laughing and gentle, "so fierce, Kenji?"

So deceptive, Battousai?

Does he really think --

Of course he doesn't.

He doesn't know what I am.

Nobody on the face of this earth today knows what I am.

Except for me.

I, who will never forgive *him*.

*He,* who took away the one person who loved me for what I am.

I really will protect Kiriko. Don't doubt that.

I won't let her die if I can help it.

After all, I've already killed her -- him -- once.

So I'll protect her life almost as dearly as I protect my own.

I don't want to die.

No matter what, I don't want to die.

I can't die.

I mustn't die.

A few years ago, *he* was sleeping, and I crept up to him and away again without his stirring.

Was this the legendary Battousai?

Could it be that the gods had delivered him into my hands?

I had lost to him once before.

But could it be that that had been because of my stupidity?

For the sake of the person who loved me, rather than name myself the servant of the Dragon, I had used the techniques of his opposite number.

Because that person had once said, when I spoke of the Four, that the one whose techniques I had used seemed the one whom she would serve, given the choice.

And despite the blow I had once dealt a servant of that god, I'd wanted to honor her.

But *he'd* fought with the skills of the Dragon; should a servant of the Dragon defy its power?

Yet at that time, when he lay sleeping, he had abjured the skills of the Dragon -- I had heard the adults talking, thinking myself too young to understand.

And I was a servant of the Dragon.

Yet even when I crept back with the scissors, hiding them from Kaachan's distracted gaze as she looked up from her attempted mending now and then -- even when I knelt beside *him*, there where I might drive the sharp blades into his flesh, to wound or perhaps even to kill, I was wary.

Could he really be *that* oblivious of the world around him?

So I tested the scissors on a slightly easier target -- a practice run.

And even as I dealt my blow, he awoke.

"Maa, maa," he said -- I could learn to hate that phrase. "You should be careful with sharp scissors, Kenji. They're not a toy."

And then Kaachan looked over and shrieked.

"KENSHIN! YOUR *HAIR*!"

"Oro?" He put hands to his head, discovering his loss.

She bolted up, grabbed me, and spanked me. Hard. And again.

"Maa, Kaoru, he doesn't really know yet -- "

I'd never have cut *Kaachan's* hair off, never.

"Little brat! Oh, Kenshin, your beautiful *hair*..."

How was I supposed to know Kaachan liked it? Women! I've been one a few times in my life, and I *still* don't understand them.

But I've dealt with a lot of things I haven't understood.

And so I promised *him* then, silently.

I won't kill him. Not while Kaachan's there.

Because it would hurt Kaachan.

And I won't hurt Kaachan, Kaachan whom I love, Kaachan who loves me -- Kaachan who loves *him*.

Even if she doesn't know what I am.

Even if she knows what *he* is.

I told her what *he* is. She knew before I told her. She *knows* what the Battousai is.

So how can she love him?

How?

*How*?

But then again, I don't understand how that person could have known me for what I was and loved me, either.

Back then, before I met that person....

All time is divided for me now, into Before and After that meeting.

But before that meeting, after that one *brat* -- how could he -- HOW COULD HE HAVE -- resisted me, hurt me, mortally wounded me -- oh, yes, I was terrified.

And then he refused their healer's skills.

How could he?

We were dying. DYING. How could *anyone* --

Oh, yes. I was terrified.

More terrified even than the first time I did *it*, knowing that Death was about to conquer me, knowing only that I wouldn't let it, I couldn't let it, and finding out only afterwards that I had conquered Death...

And the worldgates were thin, there in that place, as my comrades of the Dragon strove to open them.

And thinned thus, and thinning more as the ceremony began, I used my strength, augmented by the Dragon, to hurl myself through them, ripping a hole.

Because I could not stop and let Death get me.

And on the other side -- is this the world of the legendary virgins, or another? I don't know, and I don't suppose it matters -- I found a host, and dove for it, thrusting its present occupant out rudely.

He wasn't as tenacious as Kiriko. Nowhere near as tenacious as that brat.

And I managed to adapt, finding the language called Nihongo within my host's language centers, using the memory stored in its brain cells to behave in a manner appropriate to these Eight Islands.

And then, one day...

The elder children had built a raft, and gone rafting on the pond. It was not fair of them to exclude me -- I, who was older than all of them put together.

(I think, truly, that the maturity or lack thereof of my host body affects the way I face things. The elders of the village where I was born would say that it is a result of the tiny messengers that run the pathways of the body to tell certain organs to do certain things, but nobody believes in *them* anymore.)

And so, one day when they were all busy, I pushed the raft out and laughed at them. But they merely walked off, ignoring me, leaving me alone on a raft in the middle of the pond, drifting towards the outlet.

And then the raft began to come apart.

It was, doubtless, a dreadful oversight on my part.

But in the place where I was born, the deepest stream was breast-high at its deepest spot -- and that was far downriver.

And in all the many lifespans I had lived, I had never learnt to swim.

I was scared, of course. I yelled for someone, anyone, to come. If they could not rescue me, at least I could have transferred to them.

And drowning is such a nasty way to die.

I consider myself something of an expert on ways to die by this time, and drowning, whether from inhaled water or blood pouring into the lungs, is high up on my list of Deaths I'd Really Rather Not Experience Again.

Oh, yes. That's the secret.

If you want to live forever, you have to die again, and again, and again. Only thus can you avoid death.

But no one came, and the logs were really coming apart, and I got dumped in the water.

And then she came.

She'd been scolded, several times before, for not tying her obi securely -- she was clumsy with her fingers when she was little.

But, oh, I was grateful for the sloppiness of her tying.

Not at the moment, though. I was annoyed when she started running towards the bank, pulling her obi free with one yank, kicking her geta off and struggling out of her kimono.

Once transferred, it would have been easier for me to pretend to be her than anyone else.

I tried, indeed, to transfer, even as she called to me to spread my arms and legs *out*, not to splash.

She pushed me half-out by stubbornness of will, yelling at me not to do whatever-it-was or she couldn't rescue me.

And then she leapt in and I could do nothing but pull myself back to myself and try in terror to follow her instructions, as she swam towards me vigorously if not gracefully.

(The only one that really made sense was "Grab the log!" Its sense hit me so forcefully that I actually tried, even as she spat out another mouthful of water and plunged onwards.)

And then she was there, pushing me towards one of the logs, and I swallowed water and she swallowed water and I gave her a black eye and then we were both holding it as she gasped again and again "Don't panic... don't panic... don't panic... "

With the clarity of hindsight, I suspect that that last instruction was as much for herself as for me.

"Now if we both hold onto the log," she told me, "we can kick and bring it to shore."

"I didn't know you could swim," I said, hoping to divert her from any possible questions.

"Mother taught me to float and to kick holding onto a board, in case I fell in. And I watched the boys swimming once or twice. It didn't look that hard."

The gods *must* have been looking after us.

"And now," she said firmly, holding dead still in the water, "what were you trying to do back there?" Her eyes widened. "Possess me?"

"Let's get to shore," I begged. Obviously the first diversion hadn't worked.

"Not unless you talk."

And I don't know why, except perhaps the sheer relief of having escaped true Death thrice in twice that many years -- I told her everything.

Everything I could remember.

I knew, I suppose, that if necessary I could always take her over once we reached the shore. I was fond of her then -- truly I was -- and at that point I would have grieved her death, but...

She asked me, once, when I had come to this world, to the shell I was then wearing.

And when I told her that it had been over four years ago, she sighed, once, and then looked at me.

"You aren't angry?" I asked her.

"Maybe a little. But... he's been dead for over four years. I cannot remember him clearly. But I know you."

I didn't know what to do or to say.

"I do not think you should tell Father this. He might feel obligated to do something about it. I would not like that."

"You aren't going to do anything?"

"No."

And when we were at the shore, I asked her why. I was grateful, but I didn't really understand. Not then.

"You are the only little brother I have. So you have to *be* my little brother."

So easy.

So simple.

I had taken her little brother's place, so I would have to *take his place*.

And I did.

Believe me, I did.

I helped her practice and grow clever with her fingers -- you would never have guessed, to look at her when grown, that once she could not tie her obi neatly.

I helped arrange a marriage for her, to someone who would treat her well for that lifetime.

I told her *everything*.

Because she loved me.

Because I loved her.

And I told her the secret. Of how, instead of stopping when Death bids you, to make him stop and turn aside.

She was intelligent, and she tried so hard to be gentle, and she was accepting, and she was all the family I would ever need, and she knew me, and she loved me, and we would live forever.

Together.

Except we didn't.

Oh, I hate *him*.

I don't understand. I don't understand.

I made sure that she knew how to do *it*, before she left on her quest. I reassured her that I would know her.

I would always know her.

Always.

No matter whose eyes she was looking out of, *I would know her*.

And what she wanted -- I'd been fond of the man, too. It only makes sense to avenge the deaths of your friends; they die so soon anyway, and I dare not tell them how to live on lest they try to destroy me.

As I dare not tell Kiriko (I doubt he -- she -- remembers, anyway).

As I dare not tell Kaachan.

Oh, Kaachan! If only -- if only -- if only --

How *anyone* could grow fond of --

But fond or no, survival is more important. It's obvious. How could she not see -- how could anyone not see --

I don't understand. I don't understand.

Before I met *her*, in that other world, before that *brat's* treachery -- when my next-to-last shell before that had been dying, I'd looked for a new host.

And found the perfect one.

Children are easier to dispossess than adults, for their ties to their bodies have had less time to grow strong.

And this child was the one chosen, believed to be a holy man. With him, I could command his followers.

I didn't believe the legends, that such as he were invulnerable to evil influences. I had the power of the Dragon behind me. And anyway, I'm not evil. I just wanted to live. I just want to live. I'm not evil. I just don't want to die. I don't want to die.

And so I threw myself at him.

And could not. *Could not*.

And I called on the power of the Dragon, and it came to my call... and yet did not so much as strike his barrier, but bent and went around.

I knew, then, that I could never prevail against him, no matter the terror that engulfed me.

And he said, :Come in.:

He said, :Make yourself free of this shell.:

:Perhaps, someday, you will make yourself free of this fear.:

He *let* me take him over. He *let* me. He wasn't afraid at all -- just sad, a bit, for *my* sake.

I don't understand. How could he. How *could* he?

How could *she*?

*He* was right there. Half-trained, yes, but younger than she, and in shock. I had told her how. He was right there. Why didn't she?

Fond or no -- and how anyone could be fond of *him*, I don't understand -- survival is more important. He was *right there*. Why didn't you? He was *right there*!

I told you, gender-shifting is only awkward for the first little bit -- reprocessing balance and center-of-gravity always takes some time no matter what, and in gender-shifting you only have to learn the workings of a new renal system (that's the most awkward bit until you get the hang of it) and keep in mind that male arms are hooked on differently from female ones. But I was there nearby -- you knew that. I'd have been there to help you adjust, to get away and get free, awkward as it might have been to explain why I was suddenly helping a sworn enemy.

Why didn't you? He was *right there*! What did he do to you? How did he seduce you from me? How did he keep you from choosing to? What was he to you, that you didn't do *it*, that I looked desperately at *him* for some sign of you and saw only him? Why didn't you? He was RIGHT THERE!

"And now, Kenji," Kaachan says, "good little boys should be in bed."

"And Kaa-tan?" I ask. She looks tired.

"And good large Kaachans, too. Toochan will put you to bed, and Megumi-obachan will put Kaachan and Kiriko-chan to bed, ne?

"I still say it should have been Megumi-oneechan," the she-doctor grumbles half-amusedly, half-exasperatedly. "Come all the way from Aizu just to be an aunt here as well..."

"Don't want Too-tan," I mutter.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you've got me," *he* says. "Please don't make a fuss; it'll only disturb Kaachan, and she's very tired after working very hard to help Kiriko-chan get herself born."

Okay.

*He* wins.

I *don't* want to disturb Kaachan. Or Kiriko.

But *he* shouldn't take this as acceptance.

I hate him.

Everything *he* has should have been *hers*.

*She* would have liked Kaachan, I know. Probably not *that* way -- it's embarrassing just to think about -- but *she* would have liked her, and Megumi-obachan, and Yahiko-nii and Tsubame-nee, and Yutarou-nii and Ayame-nee and Suzume-nee, and Misao-nee (whom I call Misao-obachan now and then just to see the annoyed faces she makes) -- *she* would have liked them all.

I hate *him*.

Why didn't you?

Why aren't you looking at me out of his eyes, Neesan?

Why aren't you smiling at me?

• Email Author
• To the fic by author page
• To the Rurouni Kenshin crossed fiction
• To the Fushigi Yuugi crossed fiction