“The past is never dead; it's not even past.” - William Faulkner

Near Kyoto, Japan: Genroku Year 4

Kaede stood in the snow, waiting for sunset. Ichiro had taken the rest of the party into the woods where they would wait out the battle. The desolate plain, in the depths of winter, might as well have been the face of the distant moon. The slayer had never felt so alone.

The tips of burned stumps and charred rocks peeked through the snow cover. The fire scars were not fresh and Kaede wondered what had happened to scour the surrounding area so. There was a tall post driven into the ground some distance behind her. Ichiro had told her that Orochi’s sacrifices had been tied there. Every week a new girl from the closest village had been staked out in the field to buy her neighbors a few more days of life. The thought sickened Kaede. She could almost taste the fear and desperation of those girls, hanging like a mist in the air.

Ichiro had wanted her to stand at the post with her arms linked behind her, pretending to be bound, in order to make sure that Orochi took the bait. Once her watcher was out of sight, Kaede had put as much distance between herself and the blood-stained beam as possible. Ichiro knew lore and ancient texts, but Kaede knew demons. Orochi would take the bait, post or no, and she could not stand to be near the site of so many innocents’ deaths.

The sun was sinking over the distant mountains, leaving trails of pinks and oranges in its wake. Orochi would be waking soon. Kaede’s eyes grew distant. It would be her first serious fight in a long time that she would have to face alone.

Her lips thinned and she shook herself slightly. She could not let herself be distracted before this battle. Takeshi was a vampire, and no amount of mourning would bring him back. She steeled her heart and watched the sun’s last glow fade behind the horizon.

She waited in the snow, shivering slightly at the cold as the hours slid by. The moon was rising, bright and full, and its brittle light cast eerie shadows across the barren plain. She pictured herself, a pale ghost in her kimono: white fabric against white snow. Only her dark hair would stand out, drifting around her face like a living thing. She would have preferred her looser practice attire, dark hakama over a worn gi, but Ichiro had insisted on the kimono and loose hair. He felt that her disguise needed to be complete.

Kaede had learned long ago that arguing with her watcher, or even suggesting strategy, would do little good. He gave her orders and was so confident that she would obey them that he never even noticed her fighting her own way, learning strategy and implementing her own plans. Thinking for herself. She still bowed to his knowledge of demons and magical rights, but crafting death was her domain.

And so the dress remained, but Kaede would not stand helplessly on the bloodstained ground, waiting for Orochi to come. She would meet him proudly on the field of battle as the daughter of a samurai and loyal Tokugawa vassal should.

It was the silence she noticed first. No birds sang. No insects hummed from the woods. Even the wind seemed to stop. Kaede could feel the back of her neck prickle in anticipation. Something dark moved behind the tree line, grabbing and keeping her attention. It seemed to flow among the trees, its massive size not disturbing the branches around it. Finally, looping coils broke free of the forest and Orochi slid into view.

Even at a distance, Kaede could sense the power radiating from the demon lord. He was immense, coiled high to stand nearly as tall as the trees behind him. Barbed tails and endless loops of scaly flesh shifted and writhed, moving Orochi forward in irregular bursts of speed. His eight weaving heads seemed to focus on the slayer, eyes gleaming with malevolence.

Kaede slid her hand over the hilt and drew her sword. It made barely a whisper as it slid free from the sheath, glittering coldly in the moonlight. She pushed her fear to the back of her mind, stilling her thoughts.

In the blink of an eye, Orochi’s tangled body started to flow across the plain, aiming directly for the slayer. He closed quickly, covering ground in bursts and starts, a pace that was completely in accord with his chaotic form.

Kaede deepened her stance, holding her sword steady before her. She waited, watching the first of Orochi’s bladed tails dive towards her, before spinning aside and slicing downward with her blade.

The edge of her katana cut deeply into flesh, sliding easily through tough hide and bone. Her swing was true, but she did not quite manage to sever the dangerous appendage. With a fierce tug, Kaede yanked her blade free and returned to a ready stance, waiting for the next attack.

The injured tail slowly retreated until it was in front of Kaede, if still outside of her immediate reach. She watched in horrified fascination as the deep wound knit together before her eyes, gaping flesh mending into unbroken scales in the time it took her to suck in a startled breath.

Ichiro had told her nothing of this.

A low rumble, as if the earth itself was laughing, shook Kaede to the core of her being. She lunged wildly, leaping towards Orochi and slashing her keen blade down one great eye. The terrible sound continued as that wound too closed as if it had never been. An icy tendril of fear wormed its way into Kaede’s heart.

She focused her attention on defense, hoping against hope that some stroke of inspiration, some divine intervention would give her a way to defeat Orochi. She turned as many blows as she could, but the weight of utter despair slowed her hands. She stood alone against an enemy that could not be injured and her body was being battered and cut on all fronts. She attacked when she could, dodged frantically when she could not. Her sword work was dazzling, her forms flawless, but the edge to her skills, the speed and confidence that had seen her through many battles in the past, was missing.

It came as little surprise when one of Orochi’s many tails swept her from her feet. She struggled to stand, stubbornly refusing to admit defeat even as she saw the nearest of the demon’s great heads coil to strike: an attack she was in no position to defend against.

Even as she defiantly rose to face her certain death, part of Kaede’s mind accepted her fate. When she fell, another would rise to take her place. Orochi would fall to another’s hand as he had in the past. It was time to lay down her sword and let another take up the fight.

I am coming Takeshi.

Her eyes rose unconsciously to the stars, wanting to witness their beauty one last time before death took her. In the corner of her eye, Kaede saw Orochi’s head start its inexorable dive. She closed her eyes and hoped that the pain would not last very long.

It was then that she heard the battle cry.

*****

Sunnydale, California: 1999

“Let’s get this over with.” Buffy turned her back on Willow, fixing her watcher with an angry glare.

Stupid duty.

She watched Giles untie their vampiric prisoner with an impassive face. Even when Spike walked to her side to look at the two katanas on the coffee table, Buffy managed to ignore him. With the weight of his resignation weighing heavily upon him, the watcher went to the table and unsheathed the darker blade as well. After reassembling the first of the blades, he positioned the two swords in the padded lid of the box.

“The tan one is for Buffy, and the darker one is for you, Spike.” The watcher eyed both of them warily. Buffy snorted softly to herself.

As if we haven’t fought together before.

She caught Spike’s sideways glance and smirk out of the corner of her eye and tried to fight the blush rising in her cheeks. Underneath his amusement, the slayer could almost feel his desire to lash out at those who had muzzled him. In spite of the mess that constituted her emotions over the blond vampire, she was thankful he was on her side once again.

Giles gestured tentatively to the blades. His gestures were unsure, a fact that disturbed the slayer more than any of his words. “The letter said that all you have to do is pick up the swords and they will indicate whether or not they will accept the two of you. There should only be a glow from the swords if this works, but if you would like for me to do some research before attempting…”

“Well, what’re we waitin’ for?” Buffy gasped when Spike leaned forward and grabbed the darker of the two katanas. When his hands touched its wrapped hilt, the desire to take up the other blade became overwhelming. In the back of her mind, Buffy watched herself reach for the sword with a kind of detached interest. As her hand neared the handle of the sword, she noticed a white glow escaping from the wrappings.

Huh, shiny.

Her hand closed around the hilt and the light became blinding.

*****

Buffy found herself standing in a garden. Spike, Willow, Giles, the watcher’s apartment: they were all gone. Only the katana remained, clutched in her right hand. Taking comfort in the weapon, the slayer started looking at her surroundings.

Flat stones were placed in winding pathways throughout the garden. Soft moss covered the ground beneath her feet. There were trees and flowers everywhere, each seemingly placed with the greatest care so as to complement its neighbors. A stream babbled nearby, and arching wooden bridges crossed its clear water. Buffy let herself relax a little. She could not imagine anything evil in this place. At a loss as to what she should do, the slayer walked to a stone bench that was positioned at a bend in the stream and sat down, the naked blade resting across her knees, to think.

She had been staring, transfixed, at a cluster of water lilies that were floating in a quiet eddy when she felt the presence behind her. Acting on instinct, Buffy leapt to her feet and spun around, sword leading the way. She found herself standing toe to toe with another woman, her weapons hand caught tight in the other’s grasp.

The woman was petite and pale, even in the bright sunlight, with dark tilted eyes and jet black hair. But it was not her appearance that stayed Buffy’s hand, it was the power coming from the woman in waves: power that Buffy recognized.

“Hello, sister.” The woman’s eyes flashed with suppressed humor.

This woman was another slayer.

“What? Who?” Buffy stuttered. Then understanding widened her eyes. “You’re Kaede.”

The woman smiled and released Buffy’s hand. “I am. That is my sword you wield.”

“But, uh, how are you speaking English?”

The bright twinkling in the other woman’s eyes was as clear as if Kaede had gone ahead and laughed out loud. “I’m not, but it is what you know so it is what you hear.”

Buffy finally let the katana drop to her side. The kinship she had felt with Faith also bound her to this woman, made all the stronger by the tingling power she felt in the sword in her grasp. Questions leap to her throat, but before she could ask them, Kaede cocked her head to one side as if listening to something only she could hear. “You have interesting taste in your consort. He is quite… profane.”

“Who, Spike? He’s not my… I mean, your sword picked him and… Oh my God, you don’t mean that… It’s just, it’s Spike.” Buffy stumbled back against the bench and dropped onto the slab of stone. “This isn’t happening.”

Kaede looked at her with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Buffy laughed, but she sounded a little hysterical even to her own ears. “Spike is not my consort. Arch nemesis? Maybe. Royal pain in my ass? Most assuredly. But he is not my consort.” She squirmed uncomfortably under her sister slayer’s appraising gaze. “I don’t even like him, much less… you know.” To her horror, Buffy blushed.

“The swords did not ‘pick’ you. They only looked for the appropriate feelings in you both.” Kaede replied placidly, her eyes opaque and unreadable.

“Then they messed up. Or… or Willow! This is all Willow’s fault!” Buffy wailed.

“I think I understand.” One side of Kaede’s mouth quirked upwards in what might have been a smile, but it was gone before Buffy was certain of what she had seen. “It is of no importance. You are here so that I can tell you how to kill Orochi.”