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"So you're willing to serve as a scapegoat, Itachi?" The Hokage asks of him, seated on his knees in front of his calligraphy table, gaze somewhere between the young man and the far end of his scroll.
He keeps his head downcast. Tomorrow he'll be sent off with the official Konoha delegation to Otogakure and tonight he'll take his goodbyes from his family. Images of a smiling Sasuke well up in front of his eyes, as if the tunnel vision he's currently experiencing only leads to one light, one spark. The Hokage pushes his brush into the ink pot and drags two-three strokes in succession on the parchment. Slowly he creates the character for rain in his own peculiar cursive.
This is still all hypothetical, his mind tries to supply him; and while he's certain the ANBU corps has ransacked every Uchiha file in secret by now, eavesdropped on even the most plain conversation between two clan members, tracked and tagged everyone from his very own clan, his clan is still alive.
(including himself; but he knows such tactics as he has learned them himself; the suspicious ruffle of a leaf, the heavy weight of a hidden glare, the gravity of a light footfall; three years spent in the ANBU force before his clan name restricted him further progress. All Uchiha become police corps members.)
Nothing concrete has come to the surface yet, but it gleams somewhere on the lacquerware, a scratch of dull silver on warm red. But somewhere the grayscale tilts over to clarity, white; that yes, his clan is dissatisfied and the planning of a coup is not as farfetched a scheme as he once considered it to be. Konoha will not stand for dissent. Konoha will punish treason accordingly and the penalty will be the extermination of his kin. Except for two.
"You would be branded as a traitor to our village, branded as the murderer of your clan. You would know only dishonor and infamy from that point onwards." The Hokage continues in his gravelly voice as he continues the verse of the poem in smooth strokes. ame ni mo makezu.
Itachi slowly looks up at him, fingertips pressed into the tatami mat and pressed deeper when he meets the Hokage's eyes. His conviction is clear when he states, "As long as Konoha cherishes my brother and honors my clan's name, I care not for myself."
Pensively, the Hokage rubs the sawdust stubble on his chin with his thumb as he gracefully moves his brush over the scroll. kaze ni mo. His bloodless bottom lip gets pulled into his mouth and popped out. makezu. Vertical lines of flawless calligraphy, a poem both worth of admiration in style, verse and message. How fitting, the Hokage ponders before shifting his gaze from the paper to the young man in front of him. yuki ni mo, natsu no atsusa ni mo makenu.
"Let us both hope such a sacrifice will never be necessary, Itachi-san. I have faith in your clan." Sarutobi Hiruzen says softly, as he motions to the sealed scroll on his right. He tries to be sincere, tries to muster up an old man's kindness, as if the wars and the horrors of his own memories do not trouble his judgement.
He takes the sealed scroll with both his hands, pushes his forehead against the Konoha seal in subservience. "Not losing to rain, not losing to wind. Not losing to both the snow and the heat of summer.. It's a long poem, lord Hokage." Itachi muses aloud as he recalls all the stanzas. It's composed in a rather modern style, no longer fettered by classical desires.
"I'm quite fond of it, Itachi-san. It's trully inspirational." He replies, trying desperately to keep the tremble out of his hands. His mouth twitches into a sorrowful smile, two-parts apologetic and one part desolate. "Fulfill your duties well." Hiruzen says as he uncharacteristically holds eye-contact with him, "You are dismissed."
Two two-storied watchtowers and two smaller iron gates bracket the main archway in the center. Electric wires are looped along the brick stone pillars and clipped to the ornaments on the archway. Itachi spots two modified arata lanterns, shimmering a beige white in the moonlight, positioned on each side of the main gate. Black wires are attached to their mushroom-like caps and power the disintegration mechanism behind the stone-checkered bars. His gaze follows the coiling wires to the charge machination containing the whale oil tank. Arc pylons were an invention of Orochimaru, who despite the opposition of his former colleagues, found a way to transfigure the energy distillated from the whale oil into a highly potent weapon. Only Konoha-issued scientists know the exact scientific details of the inner workings of the arc pylons, but it seemed to have been a collaborative effort between the use of natural resources, such as jade and whale oil, and the use of advanced mechanics adapted from the west. Since his exile, Orochimaru has been cut off from most of the scientific progress developed within Konoha and his own work has suffered in result.
Itachi bites the inside of his cheek in displeasure, if he gets within the detection frame of the arc pylon censors he'll be disintegrated. His best bet would be to disable the pylons by removing the whale oil tank from the power module and then slip through one of the smaller gates. His gaze falls upon the three guards hanging around the left stone pillar. They'll need to be distracted and taken care of one by one. Itachi crouches and feels the ground for a rock large enough to knock someone out with. His fingers bump into a sizeable pebble with a smooth texture. It's not a particularly heavy weight in his palm but it'll do. He aims for the guard leaning against the pillar, the one with his arms crossed over his chest. Moonlight catches in the brass buttons on his uniform jacket. He narrows his eyes in concentration as he throws the rock up once, catches it, throws it up again, catches it again, and on the third go strikes from his sheltered spot in the shadows.
The two other guards shout out in surprise when the rock pelts against the third one's forehead and leaves him stumbling to his knees while clutching his bleeding brow. Blood streams through the cracks of his fingers and his shoulders are shaking from shock. Itachi places his hand on the hilt of his kodachi in anticipation as one of the three guards comes storming into his direction. He's gauged the depth of the shadows and knows precisely how far he can venture from the black to the gray to the exposure of the moonlight. The other guard is trying to settle his hurt colleague into a sitting position, examining the wound. Faintly, the buzzing of the electric wires sizzles under all the commotion, like an excited heartbeat.
"Who's here?! Show.." The guard pauses as he sweeps his gaze over the expanse of the darkness, punctuated by the darkened stems of the elm trees, "Show yourself!"
When he was a member of the ANBU forces, enlisted on personal recommendation of the Hokage before some members of the elder council voiced their complaints and had him forcibly retired, he had shown great potential in what was considered the art of assassination. It would be so terribly easy to click his sword free and stab the guard through the back of his throat, force his blade clean through the guard's cervical spine and twist, just that little bit. Itachi slams his sheathed sword to the front of the guard's throat and grounds the man against his chest, making the difference in height redundant as he chokes the air out of his windpipe. There's some struggle and the bulk of the man drives back against Itachi in a panicked reflex, but the chokehold is relentless and the steel beneath the wooden sheathe is unyielding. Eventually the guard goes slack and his heavy knees thud against the dirt.
He's not going to expose himself to the other two just yet because to his own dismay, he finds that he needs to catch his breath. The muscles in his arms are aching from exertion, exhaustion. They've purposely kept him weak in his cell. As he looks onto the brick archway, he notices that the guard he pelted with the rock lies slumped against the pillar, with his comrade crouched beside him, tending his wound. Itachi isn't sure if he cracked the guard's brow bone, eyebrows tend to bleed heavily no matter the graveness of the injury. –but he stunned them into vigilance. Time to draw out the second guard, he thinks as he eyes the thick branches of the old elm tree to his right.
Climbing is more exhausting than he'd thought; the soles of his black sandals offer no good grip and the fabric of his white kimono gets stuck to the small twigs, the bark of the tree feels rough under his fingertips and some leaves nestle into his unruly black hair. He steadies the large branch between his thighs and starts to rock forwards, until the entire treetop dances along his motions. This certainly catches the guards' attention and the second one, after pressing a comforting hand to the shoulder of the wounded one, gets up and draws his pistol from the leather holster around his upper leg.
"Akane-san? Is that you?" He questions, taking a hesitating step into the approaching darkness as the clouds curl coyly in front of the moon and block its bountiful light. "Did you get him?! Akane-san?!"
Itachi waits patiently, watching how the guard acts like the betobeto-san chases him with audible footsteps, unseen but not unheard. His whole posture is cramped. Resettling himself on the thick branch so his feet are underneath him, Itachi poises himself like a cat, ready to pounce if the guard allows himself so foolish to come much closer. He regards with calculating eyes how the guard sees the unconscious body of his colleague and how the guard recoils, snaps around and points the barrel of his pistol in the opposite direction. Searching, ever searching. He allows himself to fall, to collide harshly onto the guard and then they're both sent tumbling onto the cold hard ground and the handgun gets dropped along with them, out of their reach.
"Argh…" Comes the shocked sound from the guard's hoarse throat as he tries to push himself up on his elbows and throw Itachi off of him. The skin of his chin is scraped and bloody from when he smacked down.
Driving his sheathed short sword next to the guard's shaking head, Itachi mutters lowly, "No more words, please."
"You…" He groans out, delving his fingers into the muddy earth and dragging blackness under the crown of his finger nails. His uniform sleeves are dirty with black sand. "Don't kill me, I.. I got a family."
His mouth thins into a straight line as he seats himself more comfortably on the guard's back. Gracefully, he places a few wayward strands behind his right ear and says almost soullessly, "I had one, not so long ago." His other hand comes to grip his kodachi as the guard lets out an almost pitiful whimper. "But I'm not going to kill you."
With one harsh thunk, he smacks the hilt down onto the back of the guard's head, effectively driving his face into the black earth once more. Some drool leaks from the corner of his mouth and shimmers faintly, ugly in the returned moonlight, pricking between the foliage of the elms. Itachi wipes the trail of blood from the hilt wrappings and prepares to take the last guard out. He comes to curve his shoulders inwards as he steps from the cloying shadows into the open passage before the southern gate, ignoring the startled gasp from the injured guard and the excited thrumming of the electric wires. The arata lanterns flash in a dull green pallor, murky like the jade core inside. His hair falls limply around his cheeks and jaw, obscuring his face. He knows as who he comes across, as what he comes across.
"Yūrei." Some strange combination of shock and fear and awe is implied in the guard's tone of voice, dragged out as a ragged gasp. He clenches his eyes shut and tries to reach for his pistol, but his hands are unsteady. In panic, he chokes out, "Stay.. Stay back!"
Disobeying the pained plea, Itachi takes another slow step forwards, trying to look as ghastly and transparent as possible, trying to reach the bloodied stone on the stamped-down earthen path that leads through the archway.
"What did you do to.." Here he takes a sharp inhale, "To Akane-san and Murasaki-san?! Answer.. Answer me!" He yells out while attempting to control the tremors raking his fingers, to control his hands and guide them towards his gun. His eyebrow is still bleeding and the congealed blood is streaked along his eye socket to his cheek.
He calmly lowers himself and hides the stone under his dirtied sleeve as he pretends to bow before the guard. From his peripheral, he catches the arc pylons flashing faster, going from jade green to bleached white to jade green again. The guard tries to push himself up and stands up and staggers forwards, unsteady on his two feet. Itachi clasps the stone and ignores the slickness of blood now stuck to his palm. The wires are weeping in static, soft and incessant. He looks up then, at the guard who stares back at him wide-eyed and scrambles to grab his gun. With one smooth movement, the rock hits him between his brows and leaves him stumbling for coherence. Itachi jolts upwards and knocks the sharp of his elbow against the guard's collar bone. He buckles over in pain and one swift kick of his heel to the back of his head suffices to render him unconscious. The fabric of his white kimono is torn and reveals part of his upper leg.
Trudging over to the power module where the electric wires are looped together in a pile with two outliers stretching out to the arc pylons, Itachi sinks down to his knees (dirtying his kimono even more) and pulls the whale oil tank out by the red-painted wooden handle. The light of the arc pylons dims down to blankness and they return to being harmless arata lanterns once more. He gathers his kodachi against his side, takes a deep breath and walks through the main open gateway.
"If I might be so bold before I leave." Itachi begins as he resettles himself on his knees and curves his palms over his kneecaps. His tone of voice is low and his gaze falls on the border between the orange light of the oil lamp and the shadows of the alcove of the room. Something glints in the darkness there.
Hiruzen pinches his calligraphy brush between the tip of his index finger and thumb as he begins another stanza of his poem. "Hhm?" It's a prompting rumble and it oddly reminds Itachi of a brooding toad.
"You are undoubtedly aware that if everything we have discussed indeed occurs, lord Hokage, I must have a way to ensure my younger brother's safety beyond everything." His words make Hiruzen cock his head to stare at him. The light reflects the old man's bone structure, highlights the outline of his skull in an oily orange.
He pensively rubs his chin and states gravely, "I have given you my word, Itachi-san."
Itachi gives him an inclination of the head in return, a ghost of a smile playing along the corners of his mouth. He catches another silver glint of something in the darkness of the alcove and his suspicions that somebody (ANBU) is eavesdropping on them get confirmed in the subtle play of light on steel.
"And I value your word highly." He responds politely as he bows his head even lower. "But my brother will survive you and your promise to me, whereas that will leave me dead and my soul uncertain, restless. So I have taken my precautions to ease myself beyond my death." His voice doesn't shake, his posture doesn't shift and he continues calmly, "I have arranged that if something happens to Sasuke, confidantes loyal to me will spread delicate information to the other hidden villages."
The Hokage slowly dips his brush into the ink pot and watches as a drop or two slides off the horse hairs and back into the pot. He murmurs lowly, "As expected from the Uchiha heir." Praise is conveyed in his statement, but also a murky sense of fear. His writing goes on undeterred but there's a light tremor to his wrist, uncovered by the sleeve of his vest.
When Itachi cautiously glances at the alcove, he only sees the foggy darkness coiling around the hanging scroll. Whatever ANBU guard stationed there must've slipped away when he spoke.
He gathers his hair in the palm of his right hand and pushes it down his neck to keep some strands from falling in between the collar of his kimono. According to the note, a representative of the Akatsuki will wait for him at the main crossroads to Shūmatsu no Tani, by the chimata no kami pillar. He tucks the note back into the inside of his obi and treks onwards, following the main road south to the village. Large boulders are situated in a threefold group next to the downtrodden path, the moss and dark sand covering them black in the night. He passes them by without a second glance.
Konohagakure looms as a center of sound and light: the Uchiha compound forms a somber and dreary obstacle to cross and he pushes himself off to scale and climb onto the roofed wall. His former home is close to the tanneries and butcher shops and the smell of torn-open flesh and exposed guts inevitably lingers in the air. Itachi pushes down the uncomfortable thought that it might've also been the mark of his own dead relatives and doesn't dare look if the blood stains have been scrubbed out of the wood of the porch, out of the light-colored clay of the wall. He maintains his balance and walks over to the main entrance of the compound, carefully jumping the sloping roofs of the clan houses and landing with a low thud onto the ground. The Uchiha crest is scribbled over with the character for death with red paint. His fingers twitch and a shallow breath escapes his lips. There are no cicadas crying in the barberry bushes. Everything is too quiet.
His guilt threatens to cloud his cognitive functions but he staggers onwards regardless, knowing he has to cross at least a part of the Namikaze district to reach the road that branches off to the forest, following the river. Electric wires dangle overhead, attached to a public power module bolted shut on the ground against the wall of the Yamanaka flower shop, but the pale glow of the whale oil tanks shimmers behind the iron bars and the double glass. The villagers always attach their red paper lanterns to the wires as if they were harmless strings and light up the streets with a strange combination of tradition and modernity. There are less shadows here for Itachi to lurk through so he opts to clamber onto the flat roofs of the brick houses and move onwards from there. Next to the power module are a number of closed wooden crates he can use as leverage to get to the low overhang.
The thick fabric of the overhang feels unsteady underneath his feet but he can maneuver quickly enough to the roof of the neighboring store and continue his way along the main road. He pauses when he hears people chattering below and the dull plop of a pasting brush mopping down the wall. Curiously, he dares to peer over the ledge of the flat roof and sees two store clerks putting up posters. Whale meat on sale. Some things never change. Itachi doesn't particularly care much for the conversation, but he catches the words impending and threat of war and provisions. His mouth straightens into a thin line and he pushes himself back into safety and takes advantage of the height that the building provides him. During his imprisonment, no news about a possible war outbreak reached him and he can't think of anything valuable to be gained by destroying one of the peace treaties with one of the other villages. Not during this immense industrialization boom that the country has been experiencing, at least.
Sasuke is more important, he resolves as he drops down onto the adjoining house and then further down into the back alley. His sandals make a low thud as he lands. Barely any of the warm light of the lanterns reaches into the corridor, instead it falls in the empty space between two walls, dancing coyly with the darkness. One rat screeches as it passes by his feet and escapes towards the open expanse of the street. He witnesses only a flash of dark glossy fur and a pink wormy tail as it disappears from sight. Itachi clutches the hilt of his sword tightly, carefully checks the perimeters for any villagers and scampers along the street towards the red clay gate. Strips of his torn kimono ghost over his legs as he runs and it feels like something is continually trying to pull him back, keep him within the enveloping confines of Konoha. Bile clots his throat when he manages to get outside, as if the stone weight on his stomach pushed all the vileness back upwards through his esophagus.
He smells the peculiar combination of the polluted river and the fresh pines and firs of the forest as he goes down the gravel road. Moonlight reflects onto the surface of the river, where the algal bloom shines a clover green, but the water on the contrary remains dark and thick-looking, not at all how it was two years ago. Memories of evening walks with his little brother overtake him. His right palm suddenly feels empty without the clasping of a smaller, smoother hand. His kodachi does not feel the same. It will take him half an hour to reach the main crossroads to Shūmatsu no Tani and forty minutes more to arrive at the Sandaime inn, but it'd be in his best interest to walk parallel with the path instead of on it, to wander in between the trees.
There's no complete silence in the forest like there was at the Uchiha compound: the soft rustling of leaves or the crunching of twigs manages to prick through the dense quiet with the subtlety of needlepoints. Itachi stills when something big rushes through the bushes and in the dim moonlight he can vaguely make out the silhouette of a deer as it barrels onwards into the opacity of the forest. His mind combs through his memories with painstaking precision to lose his track of time. When he arrives at the crossroads and sees the stone pillar of the chimata no kami, there's a soft smile curling along the corners of his mouth. Sasuke used to race him to this very place when they were kids and occasionally he'd indulge and allow him to win.
"You weren't just pretending to be tired, were you aniki?" He asks him wide-eyed as he leans against the dark gray pillar. Sunlight catches his flushed cheeks and the sheen of sweat gleaming on his pale forehead.
Itachi brushes his bangs behind his ear and offers his little brother a kind smile. It's not that hot out yet, but his loose shirt sticks to his torso from the short run and the inside of his knees are slick and wet from sweat. Tonight is his inauguration ceremony as ANBU captain, an honor that hadn't befallen an Uchiha clan member before. His father had been this prickly combination of proud and irritated, as if this was just a half-hearted attempt at bridging the divide between the village and the clan.
Sasuke had clutched his hand when they were strolling through the Namikaze district and the villagers were whispering about them, in front of them. The Uchiha clan has always had a touch of darkness within them. Maybe that's why their heir is the youngest ANBU captain to date. It had taken much of Sasuke's self-control not to talk back and defend his older brother's honor.
"They shouldn't be talking about you like that, aniki!"He complains once they're in the forest.
In hindsight the villagers were right: his promotion wouldn't last. Itachi had suspected as much, but he couldn't explain such matters to Sasuke, not with that cross look on his face and that much frustration in his voice. He had only smiled secretively then. And squeezed his hand.