She was told an ancient curse ran in her blood – "Tsukimono," the hoarse voice rasped – and a tragic death awaited her at path's end.
That there was nothing they could do about it.
A woman in her mid-thirties lifted her caramel eyes from her needlework, a look of weariness etched across her lined face. In a matter of seconds, the soft pattering on the tin roof exploded into a dissonance of rain. She discarded her unfinished project into a nearby wicker basket and stood up. Careful not to trip over the futon on the floor, she rushed to bolt the one window they'd not boarded up to let fresh air in.
A hushed silence fell over the hut. Tsubo ran a hand through her walnut brown hair, shoulders sagging with relief, as the deluge continued outside. There was a loud bang from the entryway, causing her to jump with fright. A gust of wind swirled into the hut, throwing the dried herbs suspended from the ceiling in a frenzied dance as they swayed violently above her head.
The front door framed a misshapen silhouette, large and intimidating due to the armours strapped to the man's body. Behind him, rain fell in buckets. He staggered into the cramped entryway, muttering curses under his breath. An overwhelming sense of relief and delight washed over Tsubo, a dreary feeling she lived with over the decades. Coming back to her senses, she dug through one of the drawers for a towel as her husband wrestled with the door.
"Blasted rain!" grouched Manabu, putting his entire weight on the door. It shut with a satisfying slam. "I'd hoped to get back before it starts pouring – just my luck." He was drenched from head to toe. Heck, he could feel rainwater dripping into his armour.
"No!" snapped Tsubo, the moment her husband made a move to put one bare foot over the raised threshold. "I won't have you traipsing in here, leaving puddles and mud all over the floor." She tossed him the towel which he deftly caught. "Dry yourself off at the entrance. Goodness, you look like you fell into a river."
Hobbling on one foot, a grumbling Manabu flopped down on the steps, back to his wife. There was a disgusting squelch of water from where he sat, eliciting a moan from the man. He kicked off the remaining sandal, and desperately rubbed the towel on his face and dripping black hair.
Tsubo knelt beside her husband, wringing her fingers. She was anxious for updates from his patrol on the eastern border of their land. "How does it look?" she finally caved in after an excruciating minute.
The wiping motion slowed but didn't stop. Manabu shook his head from side to side.
"That bad?"
"The rivers are severely flooded after that freak storm. Paths in the forest are blocked by debris," Manabu listed, lowering the towel to dry his cold damp feet. "We need clean-up crews. But I can't foresee our clan head sending people out – not until the typhoon is completely out of the mountains. If we're covering the whole area, it'll take at least a week to clear everything up." Thinking of the amount of workload piling up one after another, his back slumped with fatigue. He had been up at the crack of dawn, left to survey the damages with his team in addition to their routine patrol of the clan borders.
At forty, Manabu looked physically older than he should. Such was shinobi life in this never-ending state of war. The current armistice could break at moment's notice. A life on the edge. It was normal for everyone – shinobi or otherwise. How many years? How many decades, or centuries this war had been going on for? How much longer?
He shook off those gloomy thoughts and peered over his shoulder. Much of the wooden floor was taken up by a futon and its current resident. The hut functioned as a herb store, doubling as a recovery room for isolated patients. Though the original purpose was rarely practised; it's a long-standing belief that patients recovered faster and better in the familiar environment of their homes.
"How's the kid holding up?" Manabu enquired. The patient under his wife's care didn't stir as rain pounded the hut, even amidst the ruckus earlier. Only the steady rise and fall of the duvet betrayed the tell-tale sign of sleep.
"Still recovering. She woke up once, three hours ago for water."
"I see." A shadow passed over his features. Manabu tore his eyes from the futon. "That's good."
Tsubo placed a hand on his elbow. "You need rest, dear" She coaxed the towel out of his balled-up fist. "I'll update you if there's any progress. Go home, take a hot bath and nap."
The rain hadn't let up. Regardless, Manabu nodded, his wife's promise assuaging him a little. "And sake."
"And sake," Tsubo echoed with an indulgent smile, rising to her feet, soaked towel in hand.
Watching her husband reaching for the door, an image flashed in the woman's mind. Vivid, as if it truly was happening now. But it was not the familiar back of her husband facing her. Nor was there a heady smell of dried herbs and musty wood. Two nights ago, at the height of the typhoon. Her husband charging into the infirmary, soaked to the skin and panting breathlessly from the long sprint across the mountains and forest, a small girl dangling lifelessly in his arms.
Mud.
And so much blood dripping onto the infirmary's floor from the child.
A veil of azure greeted bleary eyes the next morn, a single glowing disc hanging in its midst. After days of torrential rain, the welcoming sight was surreal. The typhoon had left the valley, much to the relief of the community. It would be another nine or ten months until the next typhoon season.
The valley was a buzz of activity. People were arming themselves with brooms and shovels. Children ran amok, jumping over fallen trees while fussing parents screamed after them. Teams were being organised in the central courtyard, reports from previous shifts passed to superiors. It was organised chaos for the days to come.
The girl had sporadically woken up for food and water. She could only stomach thin soups, barely managing a few sips before slipping back into the arms of darkness. Sometimes, while watching her sleep, Tsubo wondered if she dreamed.
Besides herself and a doctor, the boy became a constant sight beside the girl's sleeping form. Overhearing a conversation between his parents, he'd snuck into the hut after his father stopped by to check on her condition the other day. Much to his dismay, he kept missing the brief moments when the girl was awake, according to Tsubo. He visited daily since, insisting that he was helping her monitor the patient. Tsubo knew otherwise.
On the third day of his vigil, the boy let out a gasp. "Oh, how cool! They're blue!"
He leaned forward on his knees, unperturbed by the blank stare of her blue eyes. They reminded him of the clear azure sky the morning after the typhoon passed. Enthralled, he studied her intensely. He was turning ten in a week's time, and guts instinct told him the girl was younger. Her face was adorned in a décor of gauzes and dressings, but he could just make out very fair skin and the freckles dotting across her cheeks and button nose. Her hair was unlike he'd ever seen. Undoubtedly red, but with strong hints of orange. Pumpkins came to mind. Tempura too.
The boy grinned toothily. It was time for an introduction. "Hello, my name is Hashirama, eldest son of Butsuma! Pleased to meet your acquittance!"
His hand was dutifully ignored.
"Umm… let's see," he ruminated as the silence stretched on. He threw his arms far and wide above his head in a dramatic gesture. "Welcome to my home! Oh, this hut isn't exactly my home," he swiftly amended, as the girl glanced around. "What I mean is, this place – this land — is where I live. Which reminds me – where are you from? What's your name? Oh, do tell! If it's a secret, you can tell me. I'm honest!"
He was determined to make it a personal mission. He waited with bated breath until he realised the girl's attention was elsewhere. He whipped his head about.
"What is it? Are you looking for something? If you're looking for Tsubo, she left to…" Hashirama trailed off. Those wide azure orbs had halted in their search and were staring at him again. Tears were pooling at the corner of her eyes, and he could feel his confidence slipping down a steep, slippery slope along with his composure.
Hashirama was skipping from one foot to another, as he spun around in a bizarre dance ritual, hollering garbled words over the wails, and pulling at his hair in fits of hysteria.
This was how a perplexed Tsubo found the eldest son of her clan head. She sighed in exasperation, shutting the door behind her. She had only nipped to the adjacent infirmary for a few minutes. She took in a deep breath.
"Hashirama!"
"Tsu-Tsubo!" Hashirama whipped around, tearing up at her appearance at the entryway. His face practically screamed relief before turning pale. The sobbing hadn't stopped. He was dead. "I-I'm sorry, Tsubo!" he sputtered, as Tsubo calmly strolled past him and knelt at the crying girl's side. "I didn't mean it. I… err… she –" he was cut off by the shushing noise the woman made. Whether that's directed at him or the redhead, he wasn't sure. A bit of both?
Arms around the trembling frame, Tsubo rubbed consoling circles on the small back as the redhead sobbed into her komon. Like magic, the cries gradually died down to sniffles. Hashirama was envious of Tsubo's ability, but he reminded himself that it worked well on his younger siblings too. Not the second though… he grew up too fast.
Wincing, Hashirama dropped his head in despair. "I'm sorry. I mean I did promise to look after her for you but I… I failed."
"That's fine," assured Tsubo, wearing a placating smile. "Go on home. I'll take it from here. Thank you, Hashirama."
The boy instantly brightened like a thousand suns. He snapped his posture straight and bowed deeply in respect. Humble and amicable, much like his mother, he always meant well. Tsubo couldn't help but forgive him.
Hashirama spared a glance at the girl, as he put on his slippers. She'd stopped crying altogether, lessening his guilt, and was clinging onto Tsubo. Making a mental promise to make it up to the girl one day, he bade them farewell and opened the door.
Tsubo brushed away the strands of ginger from the girl's face. A warm, tingling sensation rose in her chest at the way she peeked at her with timid blue eyes. She couldn't help the adoring smile forming on her lips. "What's the matter, child?"
Brief hesitation. Then –
"I'm hungry."
There was an earth-shattering crash, followed by a yelp of pain, outside the hut. Someone had tripped over himself and knocked over the rain catcher barrel on the way out.
Migraines.
She hated them.
She hated the strong acrid aftertaste of the herbal medicine to treat it. She'd rather sleep through the agonising pain.
Tsubo had finished recounting Hashirama's visit to her only and younger sister, who was clutching her stomach and doubled over in laughter. The sound grated her ears down to her bones.
"Please stop, Yui," admonished Tsubo, resisting the urge to slam a hand on the tatami mat. "Control yourself!"
Yui choked out an apology through tears. "Can't help it. I haven't had a good laugh for a long time. Here," A pile of folded komon was dumped into Tsubo's arms, "these are all I could find in your house."
Raising an eyebrow, Tsubo lifted the komon at the top of the pile. It was bright purple, patterned with gold embroidery of butterfly motifs. "I asked for casualwear, Yui. And this is yours."
"That is casualwear!" retorted Yui, affronted. A playful spark entered her caramel eyes. "I thought it will be fun to have more choices. You know who has the better fashion taste."
Putting aside the clothes, Tsubo snorted. As if she cared then and now. Having clothes on her back was enough. It wasn't always possible to acquire new clothes during wartime, and a lot of Tsubo's possessions were passed down to Yui. Though occasionally, their late parents would order an outrageous komon to pacify their tantrum-throwing daughter.
While her clansmen favoured neutral and earthy tones, Yui was unorthodox and set in her ways; there were plenty of intriguing tales from her kunoichi days. Being a mother had not stopped her. Nothing ever did. Stubbornness was a family trait.
Yui snatched her old komon back and marched over to the tiny porch – a view of the bamboo forest that grew around the hut greeting her – with a resolute expression. The girl was perched on the edge, listlessly watching clouds drifting by, and made no move to acknowledge the other woman's presence.
"Look here, it matches her hair perfectly," crowed Yui, lifting the purple komon over the girls' back.
Tsubo rolled her eyes at her sister. "Whatever makes you happy."
Huffing defiantly, Yui lowered the komon and gazed longingly at the ginger hair. The locks fell in thick cascades down her back, long enough that the tips reached the floor and pooled around her in curly ringlets. Against the lush green bamboos in the background, the warm colour seemed to brighten the fusty old hut.
"She'll make a pretty picture against the autumn backdrop, don't you think?" Yui sighed wistfully. "Those beautiful eyes of hers – she'll have boys swooning at her feet when she's older."
Tsubo eyed her sister warily. "You talk as if she's staying here for some time."
"Because, aneue, does she have a place to go?"
In the early years of their marriage, Tsubo and Manabu had tried several times without luck to conceive, eventually giving up the hope when the war intensified. A strong and healthy child would bring honour to the Senju clan – so tradition stated – but the idea of bringing an innocent life into this world, only for it to perish in a wink, was selfish.
They kept their opinion to themselves. Easier to receive pity than be ostracised. Too many of their clansmen were notorious and sensitive. Which made Yui's suggestion was dangerous. Preposterous. Impossible.
But sorely tempting.
Once the seed was sown, nightly musings nourished. It sprouted and flowered. The new seed dropped into the palm of its next target, Manabu, and the cycle continued.
A week passed since Yui planted the idea in Tsubo's head. Manabu sat down with his wife around the warm hearth in their house after dinner. He set his sake cup down, the cogs of his brain were working smoothly as if well-oiled despite the alcohol buzzing in his body.
"Are you sure about this, Tsubo?" asked Manabu, studying his wife.
Scowling deeply, Tsubo bit her lower lip. Her husband had told her the discovery of a man's body in one of the eastern mountains, buried in a landslide that presumably killed him and left the child fighting for her life. By all accounts, the deceased man was her kin. The resemblance was unsubtle. Father. Brother. Who knew? It wasn't as if they could ask a dead man or the girl, given her condition.
Emboldened, Tsubo asserted, "I want – no, need – your opinion before I ask the child."
"Do you think she will understand in her current state?" Manabu sourly argued. He didn't want to force the girl into a situation she had no control over. What if she regretted it in later years? What if she came to hate them? He was sorry about her circumstances. Sorry that his team couldn't be there before disaster struck. Perhaps they could have saved the man that might have cherished her. Loved her. Could have saved the girl from a life of misery.
Tsubo placed a hand over the sake cup, steadying his trembling hand, bringing him out of those muddling thoughts that haunted him on vulnerable nights. "She'll come around. Give her time, patience and a lot of love." She took his other hand in hers, and laced her fingers through his. "We can work this out, dear. Together."
They were lucky to schedule a private meeting in two nights time. The clan head was a busy man – what with dealing with the typhoon's aftermath in addition to his usual responsibilities. But he admitted, it was a matter to be dealt with sooner or later anyway.
Butsuma was the personification of the ideal warrior. Stoic and down-to-earth, nobody was foolish to cross him. And yet, the air around him seemed to burn from the sheer determination emanating from the couple sitting before him. It was admirable.
"It is unfortunate," said Butsuma, studying their faces behind an indifferent mask, "but we cannot naively assume her relatives are not looking for her."
"With due respect, sir," Manabu carefully worded, "it's been two weeks. To date, none of the patrols has spotted a single person on that route since then. If her relatives are truly concerned about her whereabouts, mere obstacles shouldn't deter them."
The long, winding route in the eastern mountains straddled an established neutral zone, through lands owned by warmongering shinobi clans. Hardy travellers, comprising of monks and the odd experienced merchants, were already few and far between. Days of torrential rainfall during a typhoon season, as with the last one, could raise the risk of traversing the mountains from dangerous to fatal, it wasn't surprising the route was barren of travellers.
"If the Uzumaki lost one of their own, as you've suggested, they would've sent someone here ages ago," Manabu went on. "They will surely search for their kin. We're not far off from the mountains, and they have ways to find us."
"We can't leave a defenceless child on her own," Tsubo threw in her two cents.
Not at this state; she will die.
Butsuma closed his eyes, letting the unspoken but strongly implied words hung in the air. Behind him, a fusuma glided open to reveal a woman with shoulder-length platinum hair and friendly red eyes.
"Pardon for the intrusion. I apologise for being late," the clan matriarch smiled ruefully, closing the door behind her. "It's hard getting Kawarama to sleep these days." She took her place beside her husband, folding her komon neatly with the grace and ease befitting her name. It was hard to imagine – ironic – that she'd once dirtied her hands in blood. All for the clan.
"Thank you for joining us, Kiyohana-san," Tsubo bowed her head in respect, her husband imitating her. "I apologise for requesting to meet at this time of night."
Living in a close-knit community, gossips could spread like wildfire if one's not watchful. Kiyohana couldn't fault them for wanting this clandestine meeting held under the cover of darkness. The child's unique appearance alone would attract too much unnecessary attention.
The matriarch waved it off. "I confess, my curiosity has been eating at me. I wanted to see the child for myself." Lips curved in a cordial smile, she gestured at the quiet girl between the couple. "May I?" It was part of the agreement.
Nodding her discretion, Tsubo leaned down to whisper into the girl's ear. Sensing Butsuma's calculating dark eyes, she was, for once, grateful for her sister's meddling. Tsubo might have given the child a thorough sponge-bath, painstakingly brushed the hip-length ginger hair to make her presentable, but none of her old clothes would fit the redhead.
It wasn't the child. It was a famine from bygone years. Her younger sister was no less fortunate. By the time she reached the child's height, the drought was a distant memory.
The redhead stiffly clambered to her feet, causing the hem of the borrowed purple and gold komon to flutter around her skinny ankles. Eyes glued to the floor, she padded across the room – "to the smiling lady with hair like silver" – her features sharpening in the light cast by a paper lamp near the middle of the room.
It was the first time Butsuma saw her out of the futon. Her movements, the way her arms swayed beside her, were clumsy and jarring to a shinobi's eye. One quick glance confirmed his burning suspicion. A civilian child.
Perhaps out of curiosity, the girl glanced up from the floor to Kiyohana. And then Butsuma. She faltered in her steps and shrunk back, ready to flee. The matriarch was soon upon her, kneeling on the tatami and blocking Butsuma from her view. The redhead watched her nervously.
"Don't be afraid, child," cooed Kiyohana, as she coaxed her to sit. "Come, let me take a good look at you." She buried her fingers deep in the ginger hair and gently tilted the girl's head up. Hashirama was right about the blue of her eyes.
Rubbing soft circles on a freckled cheek, Kiyohana traced one of the healing scars marring the freckled face. Her heart arched for the child, remembering the circumstance that landed her here. The girl couldn't be older than her second or eldest.
The azure eyes closed with a fluttering of lashes. Kiyohana blinked in astonishment, as the tenseness in the small shoulders seemed to melt away under her touch. The girl was a ball of nerves during the whole meeting, she sensed it through the walls from the boys' room. How… how interesting.
"Kiyohana?"
Not wishing for a chastisement from her dearest husband, the matriarch shook her head, biting back a giggle. She recomposed herself and concentrated.
"I sense no connection to the others," Kiyohana informed the room a few moments later. The adults immediately understood the others meant clans – rival or ally – they'd interacted with in the past. "Her chakra signature is different. She's not from any of the civilian settlements near the mountains." She removed her hands from the child. The clear azure skies re-emerged and gazed at her with mild curiosity. Kiyohana patted her head. "I've never come across anyone similar."
Crossing his arms, Butsuma chewed it over as the couple looked at him with unabashed expectation. "Fine," he finally relented with a grunt, drawing gasps of delight. "I will send messengers to the nearest villages, and a summon to the Uzumaki clan tomorrow. If it turns out the girl belongs to one of them, and someone from their side discovers it much later, it'll cost us unnecessary problems," he rationalised, despite trusting his wife's assessment. After all, Kiyohana was the clan's most skilled sensor. Though he had high hopes that his second son would surpass her in this field. "At the very least, it'll take about five days for the messengers to return. Until then, I am putting the child under your care temporarily."
Despite his wordings, the overjoyed couple thanked him earnestly.
Kiyohana beamed at them and turned back to the girl. "Isn't this great?" The redhead nodded mutely. "Do you have a name, dear child?" At the blank stare, she let out a sheepish chuckle. "Oh, right. You don't remember. Erm… never mind. I'm sure –"
"– Aoi," the redhead lisped. Turning away from a stunned Kiyohana, she asked, "Correct?"
Tsubo dipped her head in agreement, a warm look entering her eyes. At her beckoning, the girl rushed back to her side without a moment's hesitation. "That's right, Aoi," she patted her head, "that's your name."
'What's this?' Butsuma scowled in suspicion. What he heard in this very room seconds ago conflicted with the doctor's diagnosis. The girl reportedly was left with head trauma from the incident in the mountain, failing to recall anything since waking up the first time in the hut weeks ago. After running a few tests, her doctor had concluded amnesia. So why…
"Please accept our apologies," Tsubo began, as if reading his mind. "We meant to inform you after the meeting's over. I've only decided on Aoi before coming here."
Butsuma visibly relaxed.
"As I said, it's too simple," Manabu scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. "Too straightforward. Look, even Kiyohana-dono is flabbergasted."
"Idiot! I've told you, haven't I? The character is written like this –" Tsubo drew patterns on the floor with swift and furious motions using her index finger. "Hollyhock! Not blue!"
Manabu opened his mouth to fire back a retort but was promptly cut off by a cough. The couple shared a look of embarrassment and apologised for the ruckus, while a recovered Kiyohana giggled behind a hand at their expense.
Butsuma rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. At least, he could stop referring to the girl as – well 'that girl' or 'that child.'
Though this is my third shot at publishing a fan-fiction on this site, this is my first time writing a Naruto fan-fiction. Also, it's been a while since I've sat down, planned and write up a story. I've been on hiatus for more than a year due to university. But now that I have time and the muses to help me get going, I thought why not? I chose Tobirama because he is undoubtedly an interesting character. He will make an appearance in the next chapter - promise! This first chapter was to set things up, and I apologise if the main OC does not have many dialogue. It is a narrative style I have chosen for this opening chapter.
Thanks for reading until this point. I hope you have enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think in the review section! And if you want to look me up for a chat or updates, I'm on Tumblr as Suzumehime02.