Chapter XI

I sighed in honest pleasure as I slipped into the steaming water. Closing my eyes, I rested my arms on the warm bricks of the furo and wriggled around, trying to submerge myself just a hair deeper into the near-scalding liquid.

"Good gods above," I groaned in appreciation, "I'd almost forgotten what this felt like!"

It had been almost a decade since I'd last been able to sample the soothing pleasures of an honest-to-god hot bath; since I'd left Konoha, in fact. Akatsuki wasn't terribly concerned with providing creature comforts. It was a para-military organization, after all.

As I was no longer a member, and seeing as the enemy of my enemy is a 'friend' (in deed if not in fact), I feel no shame or guilt in revealing the secrets of this mysterious group.

'Akatsuki' is, at its most basic, a secret government for Amegakure. In its infancy, it was nothing more than a mere handful of dissidents from Rain during the Second Great Shinobi Wars, some twenty or thirty years ago. The members felt wronged by the admittedly oppressive regime of Ame no Kuni at that time, and took up arms against the governing powers.

Hardly surprising, really; such incidents pepper the pages of history in all of the Elemental Countries. The government pisses some people off, and they take action. Action, and reaction – very basic tenets. In most of these cases, the anarchistic cell would be eradicated by the superior numbers and resources of the presiding powers.

Akatsuki was an exception.

Every single member was a Sannin-level ninja or even (frighteningly enough) greater. Against all odds, against all convention, against any mere mote of possibility...the dissidents prevailed.

Economically shocking, politically devastating, and historically unique. Amegakure shifted almost overnight from a typical Hidden Village to the most secretive and xenophobic country imaginable. The entire political infrastructure was annihilated, down to the lowliest pencil-pusher, and the borders shut tight. Everything in the country was under lockdown, every scrap of information dubbed 'most secret', from the greatest secrets of active ninja on down to the number of fishheads thrown out from the seediest restaurant.

In retrospect, it wasn't exactly the best way to keep a coup secret. I furrowed my brow in consideration briefly, more concerned with the heat seeping through my pores and massaging nearly a decade of aches and pains away. After all, I reflected upon the organization's hostile takeover, it's the tortoise that withdraws which draws the most attention.

After consolidating their stranglehold on Ame, Akatsuki then launched head-first into heavy recruitment. 'Heavy' being a purely relative term, anyway. They didn't advertise, and the only 'applicants' were S-class nukenins. If they wanted you, they'd approach you with an offering of the barest minimum of information. If you declined, they disappeared and you never saw them again, but hunter-nin would start having suspiciously good luck finding you.

'Subtle' is not a word often associated with the group, but if one takes into account the simple fact that Akatsuki could simply eliminate a nukenin who turned the offer down, the resulting consequences seem almost considerate by comparison.

Akatsuki, contrary to popular misconception, is not simply a group of nine S-class ninja. Such a small handful of people, regardless of how individually powerful they be, could not hope to operate a Hidden Village. Akatsuki is more akin to a ruling council, albeit one with primarily militaristic aims. But they don't really run Hidden Rain; that's left to their puppet Kage, who is allowed a surprising amount of autonomy, provided he comes running when the figurative bell is rung.

Amegakure is a functioning ninja village, after all, and so delegation has to occur – Akatsuki could not hope to accomplish any of their goals (capture the Bijuu, conquer the world, end war, blah blah blah) if they were being constantly bombarded with all the political maneuvering and subtle infighting that is part and parcel with operating a Hidden Village. So the Amekage's responsibility is to manage the country, while the leaders of the Akatsuki focus on collecting the Bijuu, only occasionally needing to pull their puppet's strings.

And operating Amegakure is a necessity. The village not only provides more than a mere veneer of respectability, but it is possessed of a number of services and goods that would be expensive or just plain unfeasible to outsource for the group.

I sank just a bit lower into the soothing waters. Having a functioning village also provided protection, I reflected. While each actual Akatsuki elite was more than capable of demolishing a Kage or two, their numbers were few. And, for the most part, they are as mortal as the next nin. With the exception of Pein and Hidan, a single Kunai in the right place at the right time would kill any one of them. Unlikely, but within the realm of possibility.

Creak.

The almost-inaudible sound of wood bending beneath the weight of a body threw all my senses into high alert, and I slid out of the water as fast as I could while still remaining silent. Standing naked beside the door, my only weapon was a small wet towel that I twisted to form a crude garrote.

"Who's there?" I asked calmly. Judging by the sound of the wood shifting, there's only one – a woman or a small man.

There was an almost audibly surprised silence for a brief moment. "It's Tsunami, Imura-san," the bridge-builder's daughter answered quietly through the door, "I have placed fresh clothing in the changing room for you."

I relaxed slightly. "Ah," I acknowledged. Then, because it was only polite, I finished with a somewhat forced "thank you".

"You're welcome." Her voice hesitated, but her curiosity was evident, even through the wood of the door. "Please excuse me, but how did you know I was here?"

"I heard you."

"You heard me?"

"I did."

"Pardon me, but I was not aware that I made any noise at all." I rolled my eyes in amusement and leaned back against the wall.

"You did. Very little, but I was trained-" SHIT!

"Trained?" Tsunami replied at once, a hint of suspicion leaking into her tone. "Trained for what?"

I had to cover, and fast. "Pardon me, I mis-spoke. I did not mean to say 'hyakuren', I meant to say 'hyakumanben'. I say sutras to relax, and listening to the sound of silence makes the clash of noise painfully evident," I lied smoothly. To my relief, the tension dissipated instantly.

"Very poetic, Imura-san," Tsunami teased, any trace of suspicion evaporating. "'Sound of silence', indeed! Are you a blacksmith or a wordsmith, I wonder?"

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch upwards in a slight grin. "Can't I be both?" I parried. I felt a slight tremor through the wood at my back as Tsunami mimicked me and rested her weight against the same divider I was leaning on.

"I, for one, find it difficult to imagine a man of iron and hammers having the ability to twist words so delicately," the black haired woman claimed.

I felt that any true blacksmith would find some small offense at such a statement, so I responded with assumed defensiveness. "We're more than brainless beaters of raw metals. Functionality and beauty can coexist quite harmoniously."

"Hmm, perhaps," Tsunami allowed. "But the manner in which you speak, even in your defense is rather eloquent. Maybe if you were an old man with many dozens of years of experience under your belt, I could understand. But you are so young," she pointed out, and I felt a small grin forming as I heard her whisper sotto voice, "and very handsome."

"Wisdom is not only found in those of many years," I parried, not letting her know that her statement had been overheard, "it also comes from the mouths of children."

Tsunami laughed. "And pray tell, which one would you have me believe you to be?" She paused to let the point sink in for a moment. "I think it's best that you stick to swords and plowshares, o great and powerful blacksmith Imura; you may find that blades make better weapons than pretty words."

"Anyone can tell you that words can be far sharper than any edge, and cut more devilishly," I countered her good-natured mocking easily, and I heard her chuckle.

"So it's 'swords cut flesh, but words pierce hearts', is it?" Tsunami bantered playfully. "All right then, it's your victory. What do you claim for your prize?"

"Nothing at all," I said, mildly surprised that she had even heard of the esoteric word game, let alone knew how it was played. She was a very good opponent. I leaned my head back against the wood. It was smooth and polished from years of well-maintained wear. "For me, the debate is a prize unto itself." And I meant it. Despite all the cold-blooded sociopathic massacres hanging from the purse-string of my reputation like some sort of macabre prize, the greatest game of all wasn't death. It wasn't even psychological torture, though seeing what people truly are when their masks are stripped away is highly amusing.

It was the Art of the Word. Godo. The sheer power of words has never ceased to amaze me. With mere words, Konoha was founded. With mere words, her enemies were shamed. With mere words one can inspire another to the very heights of greatness or drown them in the depths of their own inherent madness.

Deidara claims that Art is transient, wispy, that it is a temporal thing and true art is only art for a brief moment, and all that is left afterward is the faint impression that it was once great. Conversely, Sasori maintains that art must endure, that if it does not withstand the tests of the ages that it cannot have truly been worth remembering.

Would that they have but asked me! Enlightenment lay within their grasp yet they did not ask for it because they clutched at the chaff while yet within sight of the granary. Art is not a static constant, nor a volatile instant. Art is a dance, a duel – thrust and parry and riposte and dodge and counter. Such versatility and adaptation is the soul of both argument and warfare. Unfortunately, such qualities are rarely found on the battlefield, where most are content with mere power and speed and planning.

Fools. Give me a rock and one good hand and I could annihilate an army, but leave me but my words and I will conquer the world.

"I will be going, then," Tsunami said, and I could hear the smile in her tone. Concentrating, I could make out the soft padding of her feet as she exited the changing room. Involuntarily, I shivered. The beads of water on my skin had cooled during our discourse, sapping the pleasant heat that I had soaked in only minutes before. I briefly considered re-entering the furo, but decided against it.

Too much pleasure could, in fact, be a bad thing. A very bad thing, especially for the retiring Nukenin. Indulge too much, and you risk becoming lax. Become lax, and you will dull your senses. Dull your senses, and you will die. A to B equals C. The bastardized Pythagorean theorem holds true for more than mere maths.

So far, however, I rather liked Wave Country. It was quiet, ninja-free (save for myself, of course), fairly prosperous, and the few people I'd met were easygoing and gregarious, but not offensively so. And far more importantly, they did not pry. They possessed that singular sense of acceptance which is so vital to a ninja's secrecy – friendly apathy. It was a 'do not harm me or mine, and we shall get along famously, so do you fancy a drink or two' type of personable indifference.

I slipped into the clothes of a dead man and looked at the ceiling as I tied the obi around my narrow waist. Unbidden, a smile threatened my lips.

Yeah, I could stay here.

Author's Note: Sorry about the update delays. I was recently given apparent evidence of some contradictions in Itachi's character; namely, in the first Chapter, I made the statement that Itachi feels no regret over the murder of Shisui. Then, in Chapter 5, I did a complete 180 and said that Itachi was tormented over the decision. That same reader also pointed out to me that Itachi's actions and statements are strangely polarized – first acting in one way or claiming one thing, and then doing the opposite. As much as this may seem a rather serious blunder on my part...it isn't. I have a theory about Itachi's mental state that will not yet be revealed, but one which will come into play at a later time.