Chapter the third, in which Tobirama speaks, yet somehow says very little, and Madara tries to figure what to do when you've accidentally caught a fugitive from a law you emphatically don't recognize. My thanks to Storm0Wolf for reviewing, and of course to all those who continue to read.
My thanks to Storm0Wolf for reviewing, and of course to all those who continue to read.
"Well, answer the question!" Sotan demanded, fists clenched at his side. "Are you or are you not the Alchemist?"
Tobirama only raised one white eyebrow before nodding imperiously in response.
Tobirama's affirmation seemed to wind Sotan up more than anything else. The other man raked his hands through his short hair before turning and pacing in the middle of the room—five steps towards the map table, five steps away, back and forth again and again as he muttered unintelligibly to himself. Madara took a step towards him, concerned, but before he could reach out his hand, Sotan spun around and faced Tobirama once more, clearly having come to some sort of decision during his little fit.
"What will you need to restart production of weed killer once again?" the sand-nin asked sharply. "Location, materiels, workers—what's the bare minimum necessary?"
Tobirama's red eyes evaluated Sotan for a spare moment, before tipping his head towards the sole woman in the room. "Samsi handles that side of our operation. I do the research, she gets the formulas into production. She knows our requirements best."
Izuna made a choking sound as he turned his head and stared at the woman beside him; Samsi smiled at him with just a touch of condescension in her manner. She propped her chin on her open right palm and waited patiently.
"Ideally, a property near the glassmaker's district in Lanshi. As you saw earlier, many of the products we test are...explosive when they come into contact with reactive metals. Glass is always—"
"I thought that was a new technique, not an inherent property of the substance itself," Madara interrupted. "I've never see weed killer react that way before."
Samsi didn't bother to answer, only favored him with an irritated look before looking at Sotan expectantly. He was looking at Samsi with the sort of expression Madara only saw on really put-upon camels.
"You want property in the heart of Lanshi," he said in a strangled voice. "When was the last time you visited Lanshi? You need a special dispensation from the works commission to even think about building there, and getting one is impossible—"
"Ah, but you are a lowly bandit, and I am a respected, respectable merchant," Samsi said, green eyes alight with laughter as she beckoned languidly with her left hand for Sotan to move closer to her. The sand-nin walked over and leaned against the table, exhaustion in every line of his body, yet he still listened intently to the merchant's words. Izuna was shaking his head and pouring another cup of water from a pitcher left on the table.
"It's in the warning labels given out with every shipment," Tobirama stated in a low tone. Madara looked back at him in surprise; the other man had moved a little closer to him. "It's always been explosive in contact with metal, which is why we use ceramic jars as a container. The effect is...sporadic. I don't think the liquid itself becomes explosive, but I don't have the tools to really understand what is happening when it comes into contact with reactive metal, only that it happens."
"But you have a hypothesis," Madara said, almost certain.
Tobirama looked at Madara sidelong before nodding stiffly. "I suspect the weed killer evaporates when it comes into contact with the metal, and that evaporated gas is the explosive agent. At least, the water feels lighter whenever we tested it."
"Why haven't you weaponized it?" Madara demanded. "Every edge helps, you know that—"
"You are not the only anti-Leaf forces I supply," Tobirama replied, quietly furiously. He took another step closer to Madara, the line of his shoulders raised and stiff. This close, Madara could see what looked like old scars on Tobirama's face—a clean, sharp line cut down his chin and angled across each cheekbone. They'd healed a long, long time ago. "And many of them—most of them—do not have your clan's inherent ability with fire. The area effect needs further testing before I make any recommendations, and in the meantime, I do not have the time or the ability to hand-tailor my tools for everyone who uses them. I have my hands full just making new formulations that work against every new generation of zetsu—or haven't you noticed how they've changed?"
Madara's lips tightened. "The salt break doesn't work on them anymore."
"They're specializing, as far as I can see," Tobirama whispered harshly. "Each generation becomes more and more fit for its surroundings—the ones on the eastern coast are beginning to look like mangrove trees, while the ones here are more reminiscent of white pine. It's getting more and more difficult for one formula to kill all the different varieties."
"Well, I've often heard that many hands make quick work: you could have changed that at any time," Madara snapped harshly. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Izuna was already turning towards him, a calculating look on his face. The Wind country natives were paying them no mind, too busy discussing Samsi's requirements for production. "I've been trying to make more than cursory contact with your group for years now, and I've always been rebuffed!"
"Because you are an Uchiha, and allying with you against my family was political poison!" Tobirama snarled back.
"You are just as close-minded and intemperate as I recall," Madara hissed spitefully. "Is that why your brother cast you out?"
"You say that as if you know anything at all, but you know nothing," Tobirama growled dangerously, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. There was a split-second where even without his Sharingan activated, Madara could see his balance ever so slightly shift onto his left foot. It was in preparation for a lunge, Madara was sure of it, and he clenched his fists in preparation for a backhand parry, thanking every god that he knew that he hadn't yet taken his gauntlets off for the day.
And then Izuna stepped in between the two of them, arms raised in a placating gesture.
"I think, perhaps, that everyone is a little over-tired from the day we've all had," his younger brother said, voice grating horribly as he spoke. Madara could see a not-very-small, not-very-hidden part of his brother was shriveling up from the horror of being polite to a Senju—but at least he was keeping a level head about the whole thing, which was more than Madara himself could do right now. "Master Koji, why don't I take you to get some food; you must be hungry from the journey."
"...that sounds fine. We should bring some back for Samsi," Tobirama murmured with a long pause, red eyes reluctantly sliding from a fixed point on Madara's torso to Izuna's face. "She's not a shinobi, and it was a hard journey coming here."
"Yes, that sounds fine," Izuna rasped, only to stop as Tobirama held up a hand.
"Please stop talking," the other man said in a monotone. "Just—show me the way. Silently."
Izuna smiled tightly at the other man, before gesturing towards the door, mouthing 'after you' in an exaggerated manner. Before he followed Tobirama out, Izuna looked back at Madara and raised both eyebrows, flicking his fingers in the dismissive gesture their mother always used when she wanted them to get back to work. Madara narrowed his eyes at him; what was Izuna playing at? Madara barely repressed the urge to sigh as his brother closed the door behind him, but Mamiko, at least, was outside, and she would be watchful.
When Madara turned back towards the map table, he found both Sotan and Samsi staring at him with decidedly unimpressed demeanors.
"What the hell was that about, Madara?" Sotan asked. "Because to me, it looked as though you were picking a fight with someone we've been trying to make an alliance with for the last two years."
Madara did sigh at this point, irritably raking his hair off his face. "Personal differences."
"Oh, so it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that he's some kind of Senju outcast, does it?" Sotan said flatly. "Because I swear upon Shukaku's tail, if you've fucked this up because you're an idiot, I'll finish what I started back in the grasslands, and kick your ass for real this time."
"As if you could," Madara snapped, stalking over to the table and glaring at both Sotan and Samsi equally. "And how do you know he's a Senju? Shigeru had never heard of him."
Sotan rolled his eyes. "Shigeru is twelve. She's hardly going to remember a minor figure from a decade-old Senju massacre, especially one pretty much everyone is convinced is dead. The only reason I remember him is because your brother is a talkative drunk, and the idea that the bogeyman in the Senju Clan's closet is real is just too good to pass up."
"I would hardly call Tobirama Senju's role in the Hyuuga Purge minor," Madara said tautly. Samsi sighed heavily, and Madara turned his head to look at her, lips thinning at her carefully neutral expression.
"Tobirama the man is very different from Tobirama the legend," the merchant observed laconically. "The Senju may really believe Tobirama was with the Hyuuga the night Hashirama attacked, but no one else does. He's just a convenient excuse whenever Hashirama wants more territory and can't provoke a suitable response. Oh, you're harboring my treasonous brother! Turn him over, or be destroyed. And of course, his targets are destroyed, because Tobirama was never there to begin with. Not that some people haven't tried to find an adequate replacement: there aren't many albino men left inside Leaf's territory these days."
There was a deep well of bitterness in her voice as she finished speaking, and Madara and Sotan exchanged an uncomfortable glance before wordlessly deciding to change the subject.
"I am curious, though: why did he say allying with the Uchiha was political poison?" Sotan asked, absentmindedly scratching at the flaking paint smeared over his face. "Madara is pretty crazy, but he's been the only person talking about the Senju menace for nearly a decade. Why go at it alone? Why not link up with him?"
"It's a classic example of the boy who cried wolf," Samsi said, leaning over the table to grab the pitcher of water Izuna had left behind. "Oh, the new young Head of the Uchiha Clan says the new leader of the Senju Clan is a horrible person who wants to conquer the world? Goodness, what a change from his father, and his grandfather, and countless Uchiha heads before him. People were just lining up to join you, weren't they?"
"But he was right," Sotan said firmly. "The Senju are horrible people who want to conquer the world."
"We know that now," Samsi said, pouring water into her cup. "But ten years ago, even five years ago, it was the same old sad tale from the Uchiha, and allying with you would be just another partisan act. The Alchemist needed neutrality, because we needed to reach the largest amount of allies possible, and for the last few years, our strategy has worked well."
Madara laughed derisively, unable to stop himself. "Worked well? Are you joking? Hashirama has conquered the entire Land of Fire! How does that count as working well?"
Samsi sipped her water quietly for a moment, not a single emotion visible on her face. The pause after Madara's outburst stretched out longer and longer, and Madara noted the frigid, almost menacing air emanating from the woman. It almost felt like—
"You're right—our efforts have only stymied Hashirama's advance, not stopped it entirely. But unlike you, we've cultivated a large network, and when we ally with you, we bring them into the fold with us," Samsi finally responded, sounding as mild as milk. Madara didn't trust her at all. What kind of civilian could give off a feeling of killer intent? "In ten years, you were only able to convince the sand dervishes to join you."
"Hey—" Sotan said, a little irritated at the slight to his family.
"Be silent, you fool, it's hardly an insult when it's the truth," Samsi said insouciantly. "But now everything has changed. Hashirama has conquered an entire country, and Madara—well, Madara looks quite prescient and far-sighted, these days. Not a raving lunatic at all. The Alchemist doesn't need to be neutral anymore, because there's no such thing as neutrality when facing the Senju: either you're with them, or you're against them. And it's better to be against him together, because otherwise he'll squash each of us like a piece of overripe fruit, just as he did to every independent city and clan in what used to be the Land of Fire."
"And you think your allies will be more receptive to my messages now?" Madara asked disbelievingly.
"We've been creating the only reliable weapon against the Forest and distributing it under cost," she said. "Of course they will, if we're the ones asking. But you require proof, don't you?"
Madara nodded stiffly.
"You've been having difficulties with the Council of Caravans," she said knowingly. It wasn't a question. "Tobirama and I can change that."
Finally, Madara pulled up a chair and sat down across from the blonde woman, his eyes never moving from Samsi's face.
"I'm listening," he said, dead serious. At his side, Sotan buried his face in his hands and let out a despairing moan.
"Shukaku's claws, Reto is going to kill me, and my sister will help him do it."
It turned out that Samsi's menacing aura was more suited to her than Madara would have believed of a mere civilian. As she outlined her plan to force the Council of Caravans to finally—finally!—accept greater expenditures in the pursuit of re-opening the northern route and protecting the road through the Western Desert, Madara came to realize quite quickly that Samsi's ruthlessness rivaled that of any born-and-bred shinobi he'd ever met, and then some. After she finished speaking, he looked to Sotan with disbelief, only to realize the other man was nodding his head thoughtfully. If Madara ever required further proof that desert dwellers were crazy, he had two perfect examples sitting right in front of him.
"You're joking," he said flatly. "You want me to tell the Council of Caravans if they don't fund us more thoroughly, we'll leave the Canyonlands and flee across the desert? That's absolutely ridiculous!"
Samsi just looked at him with a rather disappointed expression on her face, before turning to Sotan and asking, "Is he always this dim, or is this a special occasion? I would have thought one of the so-called masters of illusion would find this a far more satisfactory plan than begging from a position of weakness."
Sotan, the traitorous bastard, just shrugged in response. "I think the Sharingan is a bit of a crutch," he said thoughtfully. "At least, none of the Uchiha who haven't activated the Sharingan can cast an illusion worth spit. Lying just isn't part of their repertoire."
Samsi just sighed a bit before turning back to Madara. "Very well, I'll explain in more depth. Perhaps it will be more clear after further instruction."
Madara bit his tongue, lest he say something absolutely unforgivable about worthless, grasping middlemen. He'd spent nearly two years working on the Council of Caravans to no avail. If this strange, supercilious merchant had a better way of dealing with them, he'd pay attention even if it killed him.
"Lanshi's Council of Caravans is much like a mule," Samsi lectured. "They're stubborn as hell, hate to be led, and frankly, they really despise most shinobi. When I was a girl, the Sandstorm That Never Slept still raided with impunity in the Western Desert, and I still don't know how Reto of the Red Plateau managed to subdue the bastard, let alone convince the caravan masters that his tribe could be trusted to safely escort the caravans across the desert to the west, instead of stealing them blind along the way."
She paused for a moment to look at Sotan expectantly, only to turn back to Madara in a huff when the other man refused to say a word in response.
"No explanation? What a shame," she said peevishly, idly pushing some loose tendrils of hair behind her ears. "But ever since then, the Council and the Clans have had constant arguments about the price for missions. The caravan masters are willing to pay for protection, but many of them still think it's only a half-step up from base extortion: pay us to protect you, or wake up one morning to find your wagons alight, the throats of your livestock slit, and every valuable good gone or ruined out of spite. We cannot appeal to their sense of goodwill to shinobi, for they have none."
"I know all this already," Madara snapped. "So how the hell is the Alchemist going to help me change that?"
"Are you familiar with the carrot and the stick?" Samsi asked. "Mules and merchants alike are exquisitely sensitive to incentives. In this case, you will provide the stick, and we'll provide the carrot. You'll go to Lanshi and start kicking up a fuss with the Council—you have ample reason to, given that Kurashiki has fallen and you and yours need to control a 500-mile border with laughably little resources. Tell them if you don't get more money or material, you'll pack up and leave, cross the Western desert for Tenjiku."
"Reto might be willing to play along," Sotan said thoughtfully. "My sister tells me the caravan masters have been shorting us on the fees lately."
"Even better!" Samsi said, delighted. "There's nothing like a legitimate grievance to force the issue. In the meantime, I'll be whispering in the ears of selected family friends, talking about the new wealth to be found on the old northern routes: the mines of the badlands, the foundries in that miserable pesthole of a city where it never stops raining, fine linen cloth from the old grasslands settlements—all of these are places to search for new business, now the borders of Fire are closed to us. And all are places currently unfriendly to Senju Hashirama."
"And how will that help us?" Madara asked, still skeptical.
"The Council of Caravans is not populated by idiots, Madara, no matter your poor opinion of non-shinobi," Sotan interrupted irritably. "If we leave, Senju forces will roll right over them; if they ally with the other Western cities, and support the Alchemist and us, they might be able to survive and still make a living."
"Instead of facing either ignominious escape or a most final death," Samsi said, finishing his statement. "They just need someone to present the options as realistically as possible."
"And why would they listen to you? How do you even know all this, anyway?" Madara said. Sotan was dead silent, no smart remarks at the ready for only the second time since Madara had first met him, and in front of him, Samsi smiled languidly, eyes blazing fiercely underneath her half-closed eyelids. Madara knew it was meant to be appealing, but instead, it was absolutely bloodcurdling.
"Before I left my father's house to marry the heir of the Komatsuzaki Mining Combine in Kurashiki, I was Kaniska's third daughter," she said with immense satisfaction, and watched with great interest as Madara's face began flushing a deep, dark red.
"Kaniska?" Madara said, voice betraying nothing. "Yagbu Kaniska, the subject of the very gaudy fountain statue in Lanshi's market square, the one with all the rearing horses?"
"Well, that's my grandfather, Kaniska the fourth, but I can see why you would make that error," Yazuka said mock-demurely.
"In other words: your father was the previous ruler of the city, and one of your sisters rules it today," Madara sighed, his headache finally migrating behind his right eye. "You couldn't have started with this?"
"Would you have trusted me if I had done so?" Samsi asked curiously. "Relying on personal bonds is never certain—Tobirama could attest to that best out of all of us! Besides that, I've been gone for years, I'm practically a foreigner myself. I'm sure the Council will say that I am only a tool of foreign shinobi. My sister cannot be seen listening to me overmuch."
Madara felt the pain of his headache sharpen, and he finally gave in and ground his palms against his eye sockets in a useless bid for relief. "You know, just when I think I've seen every possible permutation of all the sideways-talking idiocy people enjoy around here, I'm treated to yet another outstanding example. Why can't you people come at the problem the normal way?"
Both Sotan and Samsi rolled their eyes in unison, identical expressions of extreme indifference on their faces.
"Whatever," Samsi sighed apathetically, and she nonchalantly pushed her cup of water towards Madara. "Why don't you drink some water? You looked absolutely awful. You lowlanders really aren't cut out for the desert."
"Ain't that the truth," Sotan muttered, totally unfazed as Madara gave him a rather weak glare. "Now that you've gotten through half your daily quota of temper tantrums, you can make yourself useful and talk about how—"
"Wait," Madara said suddenly. "Why hasn't my brother come back with the Senju yet?"
By the time Madara managed to find Tobirama, the rain that had threatened all day had finally begun to fall, and the camp below the tower was bedlam as Uchiha and Sand nin alike chivvied the last of the refugees to the waystation, currently far above it's recommended occupancy limit, before they rushed to the closest shelter available. All of them, of course, except for a group of about a dozen people, congregated around the entrance to the mess. With a sinking feeling, Madara recognized Takeichi among their number, and he swerved off the path going towards the command shack, walking through the muddy ground towards the mess, an ancient, creaking canvas tent. The Sand-nin had contributed one to each outpost when they had joined forces as a symbol of their alliance, along with a relatively constant supply of food. By the time he reached the outskirts of the crowd, he could already see Tobirama's pale face, talking earnestly to Takeichi's second-in-command.
"Madara," Takeichi greeted, waving for the other man to join him. "Apparently, our new friend has more than one trick up his sleeve—and he's not shy about sharing, either."
Madara looked around at the other Uchiha, and realized that every single one that was capable had the Sharingan activated, and was watching Tobirama avidly—all of them, of course, save for Michiyo, who'd never been able to. But she was paying even closer attention to Tobirama than the others, with a sort of naked hunger in her dark eyes that Madara often saw in those of his kin who weren't... blessed. Mastery of the Great Fireball technique marked one as an adult, to be sure, but Madara was well aware that as children grew to adults a certain amount of stratification separated those who had the Sharingan from those who just didn't.
Suddenly, Tobirama gracefully knelt on the ground in front one of the mess tables, Michiyo following after him a second later, clumsy in comparison. Madara craned his neck a little to see over the crowd, but only saw a few canvas patches and what looked like two ink trays, complete with ink-stones and brushes, in front of them.
"Go on, activate your eyes," Takeichi urged. "We have no idea what's going on, but it's a hell of a show either way."
With a shrug, Madara did just that. Between one blink and the next, his vision transformed as it always did, into a vision of red and black and pulsing white chakra. Even after whatever trials he'd come through within the Forest, Tobirama was still a blazing sun in the center of the crowd, Michiyo a bright shining star next to him. Her black eye had healed somewhere between now and the last time he'd seen her. She'd probably done it herself—Michiyo made up for all that she lacked by using what little she did have inventively. Augmenting her naturally strong constitution with her large chakra reserves and cramming the recovery of ordinary injuries from days to mere hours was only one of the skills she had developed. Madara admitted, if only in the privacy of his own mind, what a shame it was that Michiyo had never activated the Sharingan. With the abilities of the eyes, and her natural chakra reserves, she would have been an excellent captain. It was testament to her determination how far she'd risen without it.
Madara squinted, and suddenly, their lips came into focus, even as the rain muffled their voices. Tobirama had finished grinding his ink, and wetting his brush, and was waiting patiently for Michiyo to finish. As soon as she did, he held out one large, calloused hand.
Do you have a knife? Tobirama asked. Or a senbon, perhaps?
Michiya nodded, and without any further words, she pulled a long, sharp senbon out of her braided bun, letting the braid fall free to her waist.
Thank you, Tobirama said, and then Madara saw him prick each fingertip of his right hand, as well as the center of his palm with the senbon. He held his hand over the ink well and let drops of blood fall into the ink, and Madara saw, with a start, that each drop was simply brimming with chakra. As each drop fell into the ink, the chakra spread into the whole of it.
How much you use depends on what you need to carry, Tobirama told Michiyo seriously. But for objects that have no chakra in themselves, ten drops per ounce of ink is enough. Now you try.
Michiyo nodded, before reaching for the senbon and using the other side to prick her hand in the same place as Tobirama. She held her own hand over her inkwell, chakra laden blood dripping down, and after the requisite ten drops fell, Tobirama held her hand in his own, and Madara startled as he saw the man's chakra reach from his hand to Michiyo's, then begin fluctuating quickly, almost like a vibration. When the other man released his fist, Madara saw the bleeding marks were no more, although a half-healed scab remained: he'd healed both himself and Michiyo. The woman was looking at her hand with something like amazement. Madara felt the same way.
"That is impressive," Madara murmured to Takeichi, and he wasn't lying. The clan was lucky if they had even one true healer a generation—it was a remarkably finicky skill, and not one the Uchiha in general had much skill with.
"That's not what's so amazing," Takeichi replied, eyes still on Tobirama. "Keep watching, you'll like this."
With the same effortless grace Tobirama exhibited in every movement, he took up his brush and dipped it in the chakra-laden ink. As before with Michiyo, he extended his chakra through the brush—and somehow, far more ink than normal was absorbed. When he lifted the brush up out of the inkwell, not a single drop fell. At his side, Michiyo copied his every movement with her own stilted gestures. Both of them hovered their brushes over the canvas, but didn't touch the fabric, not yet.
Now remember, be deliberate, Tobirama reminded her, almost absent-minded in his delivery, and as Madara watched, he used the brush to begin painting a series of arcane symbols on the cloth. They burned like white fire in Madara's sight, and he saw more than a few of the others shield their eyes from the fierce light.
"What in the name of..." Madara murmured, trying to see more details on the marks. They looked like the old seal script, the one the monk-recorders used when copying old scrolls. "Is he drawing them in a circle?"
"Keep watching," Takeichi said with anticipation. "Show's not over with yet."
Within a few minutes, Tobirama had inked a complete circle of seals on the canvas. Michiyo was far slower, but soon enough, she too had a circle of seals on the canvas in front of her. Both of them looked like a ring of stars.
Well done, you've improved the soku element, Tobirama complimented, and Michiyo smiled at him.
Madara felt Takeichi shift at his side, and he sent an inquiring glance the other man's way.
"You know, I've worked with Michiyo for nearly seven years, and in all that time, I can count on one hand the number of smiles I've seen from her," the other man said, face still turned towards Tobirama. No, Madara realized in a sudden rush, Takeichi had been looking at Michiyo the whole time. "This Master Koji really is a miracle-worker."
Madara couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he turned his attention back to the front, just in time to see Tobirama take the rest of the inkstone from his well and lay it in the circle of the seals, Michiyo still mimicking him.
Now, all that remains to do is channel chakra into the seals, Tobirama lectured the other woman. And if all goes well, it should be stored. We'll do it together on three. One. Two. Three-
And on cue, each inkstone disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"Amaterasu's burning tears," Madara gasped, and he wasn't the only one: all around him, at least half the Uchiha were swearing too.
"Yeah, it's really something else, isn't it?" Izuna said right in Madara's ear. "Brother, I've been looking for you all over camp—why am I not surprised you're here?"
Madara liked to think it was to his credit he only twitched very slightly at his brother's unexpected arrival. "Izuna," he stuttered. "Your voice...?"
"Turns out the mysterious Master Koji is more than just a one-trick pony," Izuna explained, touching his throat almost as an afterthought. He sounds like he only has a bad cold. "And speaking of that, let's go somewhere private. We need to talk."
The brothers ended up huddled underneath the overhang of the command shack. Inside, Madara could hear the mutters of a dozen sleepy children, Shigeru's strident tone rising above them all. It wasn't particularly private at the best of times, but with the rain, it wasn't the best of times, and anyone who would have wanted to listen in was in their tent anxiously waiting for the rain to end.
"What happened to watching the dangerous exiled Senju?" Madara asked pointedly, shivering a little in his armour. He was going to have to clean and oil it after this, but he was going to have to do that anyway—he'd gotten zetsu guts all over it, and the stuff was worse than pitch for gumming gear up.
"He's busy ingratiating himself with every member of our clan," Izuna said flatly. "Or haven't you noticed, between marveling at his acts of fortitude and generosity?"
Madara recoiled at the acid in his brother's voice. "Izuna…?"
Izuna closed his eyes for one brief second and heaved a short sigh. "You know, I honestly thought it was funny that Hashirama had put a bounty on his brother's head? I never thought to think about how little sense that made. Why would Hashirama want his only surviving brother in chains?"
"Because his brother is rebelling against him?" Madara suggested impatiently. "Hashirama hasn't shown himself much for family loyalty."
"No," Izuna said flatly. "Hashirama hasn't, but Tobirama has—he always followed Hashirama's lead, even when they were boys! Why would he rebel then, right as his brother took control over their clan? Why would he continue to rebel now?"
"Because Senju Hashirama is a crazy person," Shigeru said irritably, suddenly emerging from inside the hut. "Can you two keep it down, by the way? I finally got those kids to lie down and go to sleep, and you're going to wake them up."
Shigeru had taken off her armor, and was just wearing the pale blood-flecked robes all the sand-nin wore as a base layer. She looked exhausted, and Madara suddenly remembered all the work she'd done today: a man's job, to be sure.
"Move," she said baldly, and Izuna silently stepped out of her way. Madara didn't bother, and she huffed at him as she walked past, stopping a little shy of the road and briskly unwrapping the bandages on her hands. A few handseals, and suddenly, there was a loud bang. Madara swore as he felt his inner ears pop and his eyes water from a sudden change in the air pressure.
"Shigeru, what are you doing?" he snarled, all sympathy lost.
"Calling someone more competent than you, of course," a supercilious voice informed him haughtily. As the smoke cleared, Madara saw a tall, furry creature dressed like a monk out of the history scrolls, bearing a well-used kata kai.
"Kamanishi of the Weasels," it said with a slight nod, and turned back to Shigeru. "What would you have of me, o tumbleweed queen?"
Shigeru's face twisted unpleasantly, but she kept a leash on her temper. "There's a bunch of kids in there. Watch over them until I get back; ensure they don't leave."
The weasel shrugged lithely. "As you say, little thornbush."
And with those words, he sauntered right past the brothers and slipped through the doorway into the shack.
"Shigeru, your stupid summons is going to get fur everywhere," Izuna groaned.
"Well, that's tough, Commander," she retorted. "But I can't be two places at once, so you'll have to suffer a reminder of Kamanishi's presence."
"And why do you need to be two places at once?" Madara interrupted hastily. Long experience in being Izuna's older brother led him to see this as the beginning of a very annoying conversation.
"There are ten kids in that room," Shigeru responded. "There's supposed to be eleven. Where's the blind girl?"
It took a moment for Madara's brain to connect Shigeru's query with the child he'd left sleeping in a bedroll near the watchtower stove. When it did, he swore a little under his breath.
"The girl's in the watchtower," he said. He didn't bother to apologize for the oversight in custody, or excuse himself by saying Sotan could watch her; after a day like this, they were all lucky Sotan was upright and speaking coherently. "I left her sleeping in a bedroll near the campstove, with that merchant woman."
"That merchant woman's name is Samsi; try to remember it, she's the person who delivered the last big shipment of weed killer," Shigeru said pointedly. Shigeru had developed quite an impressive glare for a young lady. "You know, the thing that saved all of our lives out there today?"
"...it was Senju who saved us," Madara eventually shot back, although it was a weak retort at best. He immediately regretted saying it as soon as the words left his lips; Izuna clenched his fists so hard Madara could hear the metal scale squeal as it was stretched.
Shigeru just pursed her lips. "I'm going to get the girl and bring her back here so I can keep track of them. They're not ordinary orphans, and I don't want one of them wandering around without supervision, let alone that one. When I get back, please finish your extremely important brother talk and come to a decision, because nobody likes a disagreement in command staff."
And with that she turned and started the walk up the hill, resolutely marching through the muck of the trail. Madara turned to look at Izuna, a complaint about the girl's sheer gall ready to come out—but stopped when he saw Izuna's serious face and outstretched left hand, fingers already in half the sign of the horse. Madara silently reached out with his own right hand, forming the other half of the horse seal. When their hands met, they let their chakra intertwine and the technique take hold.
Nothing seemed to change afterwards, but Madara knew from long practice that as long as he and his brother actively molded their chakra and worked together, they were invisible.
"Tell me how Senju answered your questions during the interview," Izuna demanded. "He must have convinced you of his sincerity somehow."
Madara was taken aback: for once, there had been no jibes about his terrible taste in men. "You wouldn't fool around with our clan's safety," Izuna said in response to the unspoken question. "Not for a pretty face."
Madara just ignored that as unbearably soppy and unworthy of men, and moved onto the actual reason they were using this awkward, difficult jutsu. "He told me the truth, I suppose. He'd left his family because they joined with Hashirama, although of course I thought at the time he meant another clan, not the Senju themselves."
"Did he give a reason why?" Izuna interrogated.
Madara thought on it a bit more. "...No. He implied it was a choice between doing the right thing and the easy thing—"
"What a bucket of dog piss," Izuna exclaimed. His hand twitched minutely, but Madara almost unconsciously adjusted for it. "Did he seriously imply that he chose some kind of higher good over his family? This is obviously a trap!"
"Everything is a trap to you," Madara retorted. "You're the one who pointed out there's an active bounty on him. Are you really going to argue that it's all a lie?"
"Alive," Izuna replied. "I went and looked it up; the bounty was specifically for his capture and return to Senju forces, not his head."
"Where are you going with this?" Madara ordered. "My hand is starting to cramp up, so take the direct route for once."
"How many people desert their clan?" Izuna asked instead, the exact opposite of a direct and forthright explanation. "I can only think of three: Kuragane Sakutaro, Sasada Naora, and Hiraki Takafumi. The first is fictional, the second defected directly to another clan, and the third died within three months of abandoning his kin. Who in this harsh world can survive without the support of a family? No one. There's a ten year gap between Senju leaving his family and showing up here, and I can't think of a single explanation for it. Who protected him from Hashirama between then and now?"
"He's dressed like a monk, so maybe a monastery?" Madara suggested wearily. Izuna treated that suggestion as it deserved. The clergy of the Sage's Way vacillated between disapproval for Hashirama's violence, and praise for his stated aim of a peaceful continent. They were of no use whatsoever.
"No," Izuna said again. "He's working as a double agent. That's how he's managed to create this Resistance that no one ever makes real contact with, and that's how this so-called Resistance managed to lose all of the Land of Fire without a single defeat on Hashirama's part. The bounty is just there to make it look realistic for the rest of the family and the other clans. If they ever capture Tobirama—"
"-They'll bring him back alive out of respect for Hashirama's wishes," Madara said bleakly. It made sense—too much sense. But—
"How do you explain Samsi?" Madara said. "You weren't there when she talked about Hashirama. She hates him, and everything he stands for. I barely know the woman, but I doubt she's any kind of Senju patsy."
Izuna had to think about that for a minute. "She might not know?"
Madara couldn't shrug without dislodging their linked hands, so he settled for rolling his eyes. "That seems unlikely, just on the nature of the one conversation I've had with her. And really, Izuna, this still seems like guesswork to me: for a spy, Tobirama is being awfully helpful—healing your throat, teaching Michiyo whatever that trick with the ink was…"
"If we're all going to die soon, what does it matter what he does beforehand?" Izuna asked bluntly. "It's all just meant to ingratiate himself anyway."
"If you really believe that, you would have told the clan already and bound him in chains," Madara said. The cramps were moving up his forearm; it felt like it was on fire.
"I would," Izuna replied, no hint of exhaustion on the stubborn lines of his face. "But we need the recipe to the weed killer, and I don't think we can torture it out of him—not here, at least."
And finally, Madara understood what Izuna was getting out. "You want me to bring him to Aunt Miwa and have her work on him," Madara said, and then stopped. It wasn't half-bad an idea…
"That could work," he said, considering. "I'll need to take him to Lanshi to bind his organization closer to us anyway. If it turns out to be a front, he'll be far away from the Forest, and Miwa is still capable of using that technique. We'll be able to salvage something out of this mess."
Madara tried to unclasp his hands from Izuna, but Izuna only clapped his right hand over Madara's left. "Why are you being so compliant? It's not like you," Izuna asked with more than a little bit of suspicion.
"I think this whole idea that the Alchemist is really a Senju front is too complicated to be likely," Madara said, as honest as the day was long. "But maybe there's a simpler reason Tobirama survived. What if Tobirama didn't escape?"
"I don't understand what you mean," Izuna said.
"I mean, true deserters are rare; succession disputes are more common," Madara said pointedly.
Izuna's eyes widened in realization. "You think there's a faction inside the Senju. You think we can use that."
"You said it yourself: why would Tobirama rebel against his brother right on the eve of Hashirama's ascension to head of his clan? But not all clans are like ours..." Madara said leadingly.
"...and not all brothers are like us," Izuna agreed, nodding seriously. He finally let go of Madara's hand, and the illusion hiding them from other eyes and ears dissipated like mist in the rain.
"So. Let's go find our wayward hero of the hour and escort him back to the tower," Madara said, clapping a hand to the back of Izuna's neck and shaking him gently before releasing him. The two brothers walked back towards the mess tent side-by-side. Madara felt better now they had come to an agreement. He never felt right, being at odds with Izuna. But all the same, he still didn't mention the true reason he thought Tobirama was truthful.
Hashirama didn't need subterfuge to destroy the Uchiha. He never had, and he never would. The clan had only lived long enough to flee that last, apocalyptic battle with the God of Shinobi by the shores of the Nakano River because Hashirama had let them go.