II
age 9
When she wasn't training either herself or Saizo the Sixth, Kagero spent her time indoors—incense lit and paintbrush in hand. Rhajat would watch her for hours behind the doorframe, peaking out just enough to see without being seen.
She'd study her mother's peculiar technique, warped under the brutality of her own ninja training. As a girl her fingers had been broken in a number of ways, as though her masters sought to break the hands of an artist to mold them into the hands of a murderer. From that anguish came a style so dark that merely looking at her work could cause her father to burst into tears. Disturbing, he'd call them, voice choked and wobbling. A glimpse into the hells. Her mother never apologized, but she also never hung her finished works anywhere in their home. She kept some of them in a closed-off room no bigger than a closet; the others she burnt en masse, stacking them high and setting them ablaze in her training area. She'd stare up at the burning tower with soulless eyes, while her daughter watched from afar in muted horror.
(Kagero knew where Rhajat was at all times, and if she really wanted to hide any of this, she could have. She wanted her to look. She knew her daughter would someday realize that the path of a diviner wasn't so different from that of a ninja, and she wanted to teach these lessons early on).
No matter her father or anyone else's criticisms, Rhajat knew in the pit of her soul that her mother was a wonderful artist. Her work was haunting. Bleak. Gorgeous. Rhajat wanted to take a step into her paintings and live in the world her father called hell. She wanted to ask him, how could it be hell if mother made it with her own hands? Do you not love her enough to see how beautiful her mind is? She vowed to admire her mother's work with twice the intensity, in compensation for where her father's love fell short.
There came one evening where Hayato wrapped her lessons up early to go on an excursion with Chief Fuga and some other tribal elders. He would be gone for the rest of the bright night, and though all three of them were invited he would be going alone. Kagero wanted to work off the stress caused by a particularly brutal day of training Saizo the Sixth; and if Kagero was staying home then Rhajat saw no reason to venture out.
Once he was gone, Kagero went and set up everything to paint. Rhajat decided to let her mother settle into a false sense of security before she went over to watch her. She passed the window of her study room, her eyes catching once more on the spatter of blood decorating the walls of their home, adjacent to the training area. She shuddered to think of where it came from, and thanked her rainbow rings that she did not have to be a ninja.
She wondered if Kagero would incorporate the day's events into her work at some point. She knew her mother often drew inspiration from life experience, contorting scenes from her own life to properly convey her feelings. Would she do it with this, or would she stay away, regarding those specks of blood as stories only Saizo the Sixth could tell?
It was in the midst of this that the backs of her eyes began to hum. It was a peculiar feeling, tinged with just enough pain to slowly settle into the rest of her head. Annoyed, she applied pressure to her eyes with the balls of her hands, hoping that the cold emanating from her extremities would sooth the burning.
"Rhajat?"
She lowered her hands and turned to greet her mother, who stood leaned up against the doorway with her arms crossed. "Yes, mother?"
"What are you doing here? Aren't you going to watch me work?" There was no teasing in her voice, no hint of amusement, just a simple question based in fact. (Another lesson to be taught: a ninja always knows). Rhajat didn't know what to say to this—she had been so carful, so sure her mother never noticed. Kagero crossed the length of the room, stopping once she got to the window. "My, you really can see everything from here," she murmured, a tinge of regret marring her usually impassive voice.
Rhajat inclined her head, still too embarrassed to look at her mother dead-on. "It's fine. You do what you have to."
"Quite the mature response," she hummed, not breaking her gaze. "But…" she paused to find the right words. She cleared her throat before continuing. "I do hope you know I take no pleasure in what I do."
"I know." It's uncle who likes it, she thought to herself (but knew better than to actually say). She pressed her fingers to her eyes instead, distracting herself with the explosion of colors dancing before her muted vision.
"It is simply the way of the ninja, to be broken and remade. Saizo sees a lot of fault in his son—and in some ways, I agree. He's proven himself to be exceptionally difficult to mold." She closed her eyes. "What's frustrating is that he has a great deal of potential. I believe he could be the greatest their line offers yet, if only…"
Rhajat wondered why her mother was telling her all this, speaking to her the way she would Hayato—but she thought it the perfect opportunity to voice why she thought Saizo the Sixth was the way he was. "Could it be he's still sad over Aunt Orochi?"
Kagero sighed heavily. "That's a big part of it, but you must realize what living through the attack must have done to him." She crossed her arms, her eyes wide and unblinking. She seemed to be talking mostly to herself. "Do you know that Saizo was the only adult male to survive the invasion? That the boy lives only because Orochi threw him down a well for his own protection? The Ice Tribe went in and slaughtered nearly everyone, save for the feeble and the elderly." Kagero's shoulders tensed, her face a portrait of dark shadows and bitter resentment. "But it was not as an act of mercy. It was to send the message that they'd crippled one of Hoshido's most formidable ninja clans. And now… a ten-year-old boy has been tasked with its revival. No wonder he resists."
It fascinated Rhajat to hear her mother speak this way, to confirm that horrible things happened not just in her imagination, but in the real world as well. "That sounds like one of your paintings," she sighed in wonder.
"Does it?" She turned to Rhajat, who kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her hair forming a curtain around her face. "Are you alright?"
"I am. The candles are hurting my eyes."
Kagero took Rhajat by the chin and lifted her head. "They do look rather red… would you like to retire early?"
"I don't want to miss you painting, though." She smiled as best as she could. "I'll be fine, I promise."
The pair travelled back to the room Kagero had set aside exclusively for her artwork. Unfinished paintings were lined up against the wall; Rhajat expected that. What she didn't expect was to also find various sculptures clustered together onto one large table; or the pieces of rice paper strewn across the floor, poetry scrawled in her mother's handwriting; or the intricate woodcarvings hanging from the walls. Lying limp in a corner was a large piece of blue-grey silk. Her mother strode over to it, picking it up off the ground and pinning it to the corners of the only window in the room. She now saw that her mother had embroidered a one of Hoshido's most iconic mountains towering over a bubbling brook. The room was overcast in a tinge of blue-grey, making everything seem more ethereal than it already was. "That should make things easier on your eyes."
She'd never been able to see the entire room from her station behind the doorframe. Kagero was not just a painter; she had mastered many different mediums of art. "You're incredible, mother," she sighed in amazement.
"You flatter me. I am but a lowly ninja who enjoys her hobby. Come," she waved her hand for her to follow. They walked over together to her easel, and Kagero sat down on the stool. She then gently picked Rhajat up from her armpits and sat her daughter on her lap. "Is this okay?"
"Mmhm," she lied, her vision violently crossed from having been placed so close to the painting too quickly. She clenched her eyes shut in an effort to correct it, silently cursing her mother for being so careless.
"Good." With that, Kagero took her brush and began to paint.
After a minute, she opened her eyes an inch to peek at her mother's work. It was interesting seeing her paint up close. What began as a series of nonsensical lines etched lightly on the canvas soon resembled what could only be the image of one of the gods. "Who's this?" Rhajat asked.
"Igasato's patron," Kagero replied, voice low in reverence. "Her temple was destroyed in the onslaught. No one there is able-bodied enough to rebuild it, so I thought that a nice painting of her could serve as a source of inspiration in the mean time. I plan on giving it to Saizo tomorrow."
"I never knew you gave your work to other people. I always thought you either hid or burnt them."
"Oh, no," Kagero chucked lightly. "I love to share what I do with those who appreciate my art form. I've given many paintings to King Ryoma over the years, and a few to Saizo. I drew Orochi a custom deck of cards," her voice lowered as she continued. "Before I met your father, I once knew a rather… unlucky Nohrian man who added onto my work through his accidents, and I let him keep whatever I felt was too brilliant to destroy. And a Nohrian sorcerer who swore he could bring my paintings to life, so I gave a few to him as well." She sighed heavily. "I'll likely never know if he was successful…"
"Why not?"
Kagero shrugged. "No Hoshidan in their right mind goes to Nohr anymore. You foolishly risk your life even being by the boarder." She paused in her painting and inclined her head to look at Rhajat directly. "Don't get me wrong, daughter—I had a few Nohrian friends here and there, but most of them are dreadfully barbaric. Think back to the attack on Igasato, and how horrific that was. The Nohrians would do that to all of Hoshido if given the chance."
To raze Hoshido to the ground. It was a concept Rhajat had a hard time wrapping her head around. She could see how her mother's hand trembled slightly, her entire body suddenly stiff, and Rhajat decided it would be best to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. "Is that why you do this, mother? In hopes of sharing it?"
Kagero took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "… that's part of the reason, at least now as an adult. When I was your age, I drew and painted and wrote to escape my reality. And perhaps," Rhajat could hear the smirk in her voice, "as a means of rebellion."
Rhajat knew what her mother meant by this, and thought back to the ninja's she knew. Uncle Saizo: an utter nightmare. His twin brother, Kaze: a man who apparently valued himself so little, that he let his wife's tribe treat him like dirt for being an 'outsider'. Her mother: hazy with secrets, someone she felt she could never fully know. But of the three of them, her mother was surely the best adjusted…
"Do uncle or his brother do this sort of thing?"
By this point Kagero's trembling had stilled, and she went back to painting. "Not that I know of."
"Maybe they should. Maybe Saizo the Sixth should, too."
"Not everyone is inclined to art."
"It doesn't have to be art, just… something for themselves. To be more than a ninja."
Her mother remained silent for a few moments, concentrating on the contrast of soft, wispy eyebrows versus sharp, proud eyes. And then without warning, stopped mid-brushstroke. "Get up."
"Huh?"
Kagero pushed he off of her lap, with more force than intended. Still sitting, she bent forward so that she and Rhajat were at eye level. "What is it that you like to do, daughter?"
Rhajat scrambled to spit out an answer, still startled (and a bit dizzy) from her mother's sudden change of course. "I-I wanted to watch you pai—"
"No, besides that. It just occurred to me that you don't have anything for yourself, either."
Rhajat almost rolled her eyes; she decided to be reassuring instead. "There is no need to worry, mother. I have divination."
(The path of a diviner is no different from that of a ninja the path of a diviner is no different from that of a ninja the path of a diviner—).
"That doesn't count!" she snapped. Rhajat jumped, and fought to maintain eye contact with her mother. "You must be more than what you are trained to be. I'll ask again: what do you like to do? Name something that gives you fulfillment."
"Well, um…" She felt her earlier embarrassment creep up again, burning her cheeks and ears and the tip of her nose. "I enjoy watching people from afar."
(Kagero stopped herself just shy of expressing her true feelings, both awed and alarmed that her daughter actually enjoyed surveilling others. At best, it was a task most ninjas found to be tedious and time consuming; at worst, it was a serious invasion of privacy). "You… you do?"
"Yes. I get to learn a lot about people without getting teased or laughed at. In a way, it's almost like I have friends."
Her mother's face—round and pale as the moon, lovely in the dim blue light—twisted with the knowledge of this. It almost made her regret sharing; she expected to be reprimanded, but all Kagero did was rest a hand on her shoulder. "Did you watch me… that way, because you feared that I might laugh at you?"
"No, I just didn't want to disturb you. But that is the reason why I stalk other people."
(Kagero could make some educated guesses as to who her daughter had been watching—the children of the Wind Tribe, Saizo the Sixth, perhaps even his father. She was shy, and offbeat from having no siblings and spending most of her time indoors with Hayato). "I suppose you have no choice. Though I must tell you that your form is sloppy, and you make so much noise that even a common third-rate ninja would pick up on your position right away. I will help you correct this, on the condition that you do not shame our family by your skills for any malicious purposes—not now, or ever. Understood?"
Her mother's tone made the hair on her arms stand on end—that was her training voice, the one she used on Saizo the Sixth. But here was her mother, willing to help, willing to spend time with her. Everything became blurry for a bit—not from any tears, but she still wrote it off as being triggered by emotion. She nodded in affirmation, awed that the gods would so bless her with the opportunity to spend time with her mother and improve her stalking skills.
So for that night and most nights for the next year, Kagero took Rhajat out into the woods surrounding the Wind Tribe, where they would hide in the trees and train in 'reconnaissance' (or so they told Hayato). She learned quite a bit about the people of her tribe, but more about what it meant to sit quietly, to meld into one's surroundings, and most importantly, how to rely on sound as opposed to sight. The woods were alive with the singing of birds, the rustling of leaves, the murmurs of humans—and when her eyes really began to burn, she found that she didn't have to use them at all.
What a relief, she would think to herself, letting her eyes slip closed. What a relief.