Chapter Twenty-Five: Trouble Amongst the Clans
# # # # # #
"What?" Neji asked and his face changed with the relentless assaults of shock and disgust. "What are you asking of me?"
Thunder spoke angrily, rocking the whole place as if they sat on a piece of an uncertain land, right in the angry eye of the storm. The night was upon them, a wild animal clutching its prey, slaying it with little remorse. Stars hid behind the mercilessness of Nature—scared children fearing punishment for their misdeeds—their twinkle snuffed out by the swathe of clouds painted black by the night, wind hot on the heels of lightning. It was a stormy night, indeed.
"I won't do this," Neji said in a firm voice that rose resolutely above the wind.
"It is a simple matter, Neji. You are Naruto's friend and Hinata's cousin—what better man to entrust this task with?" Minato spoke gently, his right hand resting on his thigh. Next to him, Kushina nodded in agreement. Her demeanour was a display of an uncertain calm. A fake smile broke her fragile face. Neji was not fooled by its trickery.
"Forgive me, Minato-Sama," Neji paused, his jaw set, "but it really isn't a simple matter. You are asking me to—spy on my cousin, on Naruto, and report back, to you, the details of their private affairs? This is—it's unthinkable! What do you take me for? A petty family spy to ensure your clans' futures?" The whole matter had set his nerves on edge.
"Neji, it is nothing like that," Hiashi spoke from across the table. The shadows seemed to have perched on his pale face. "We need someone we can trust. A man who is one of us. Someone they trust as well. If we do not get an heir, our families have met their ends. Hanabi is still too young and will bear the burden of the Hyūga clan. Hinata had to be the one to carry on Namikaze's future. You will not be doing this for them—you will be doing this for the future of our clans. Try to understand our position."
Neji let out an impatient sound, his fingers crooked upon his thighs. He breathed heavily for a few seconds and located the courage inside him to speak. He settled his eyes on Hiashi, words leaping to his quiet tongue, and it quivered in his mouth to speak: "why do you want to spy on your own daughter? Does this seem reasonable to you?"
Hiashi let out a loud sigh and put his hand on his forehead. "Tsunade has sent us a letter that she is unwell to bear children and needs to recover, but she is doing missions under that Uchiha's supervision. Naruto hardly stays at home. He seems too busy with his paramour to go near Hinata," he said and saw shock come into Neji's face from behind the thin curtain of receding shadows.
"Paramour? What are you talking about?" Neji asked and bent forward, trying to take a good look at Hiashi's face. It was difficult without his Byakugan to see a man's face shrouded in darkness.
"Naruto has been—" Kushina stopped and clasped her fingers tightly together, "—intimate with Sakura for quite some time. He wanted to marry her, but he had a responsibility. It could not happen. A Haruno Clan's daughter is hardly worthy of my son. "
Shock splashed across Neji's face. "How long have you all known?" he asked in a small voice and looked from the face hidden behind the darkness to the man and woman sitting in front of him in the dull light of the lantern.
"He has been with her for a few years. He had no desire to stay in this marriage. I suspect he did it to wound us. He wanted to end it—be free, as he had said. But we could not allow it. It is . . . a complicated matter." Kushina's small voice trailed off, burdened by the truth spilling from her lips.
"I don't believe this . . . " he sighed and buried his face in his hands. It all seemed to come together: Hinata's misery, Naruto's disinterest in his married life, and his parents . . . both wanted to break free of the trappings of their fates.
Neji lowered his eyes and caught sight of a small, pinkish moth that writhed on the mat by his folded knee. It twisted around in pain; a dull and thin line of smoke rose from its scorched wings. It must have thought the purple light overhead to be a lily. It went still after a few fleeting moments. The spectacle of death had come to a close.
He raised his eyes, breaking his gaze from Kushina's face to bring it forcefully upon Hiashi's. The shadows haunting him had receded back when the flame on the wick gained height, painting his sober face with an aura that looked at odds with nearly half his face. "I'm not going to be a part of this," Neji whispered, his voice dulled by the rising anger.
"Neji," Hiashi spoke with an air of impatience, and his face turned an ugly shade of purple down the neck. "You are the Branch family's heir and my nephew. If I cannot trust the Branch family, then who can I trust?"
Neji lifted his hands and pulled off the headband to reveal a fading seal. Gasps rose from their lips at the sight of it. Only a small glimmer of it remained on Neji's pale forehead. It was mostly gone, faded away as if yielding its territory to something strong. "I'm no longer a Head of an inferior family. This caste system will exist no more," he said with anger in his firm voice and etched upon his young face.
Hiashi slumped forward and braced his hands on his thighs. "You accepted Tsunade's proposal to remove the seals?" he asked in such a small defeated voice that it barely made it to Neji's ears. He looked up with a face painted with anguish. "But . . . why?"
Neji got to his feet and shoved his headband into his pocket. It was dark—the shadows would hide the mark of his clan's shame. "Ever since the time of my great-grandfather, we've been nothing but your unwilling shields. No more—" he stopped, his chest heaving with emotion, "—no more. My father lost his life to save you and your family. My family will do your bidding no longer."
"Neji," Minato spoke and hastily rose to his feet, "this is unfair to Hiashi. You should not think this way. We need your support, and your . . . "
"I won't support you in spying on your son. Do you even care about him at all? Don't you feel anything for him?" he asked, looking at the changing character of Minato's features. He turned his eyes to Hiashi whose face was lashed by shock and disbelief's whip. "And you? Hinata is your own daughter. How can you do this to her? Sacrifice her to a loveless marriage, leaving her to rot on the outskirts of this village with no aid from you?"
Hiashi's eyes misted over and his cheeks tightened and he lowered his head to hide the tears coursing down his cheeks. He was silent, his head bowed as if in a silent apology . . . too little, too late to bring his younger brother back from the dead, sacrificed to save his clan's repute, but it did not thaw the layer of unforgiving cold resting on Neji's face.
"Neji, you must understand," Kushina pleaded and clamped her hand on Minato's arm, "this matter is delicate. You need to listen to us. Naruto is fragile. He might . . . "
"I don't have to listen to this. I told you, I have nothing to do with your families' legacies. I've got my own clan to protect. Something people like you threw away for your own gains," Neji said and calmed his ragged breaths. He turned away and started for the door.
Hiashi got to his feet and stretched out his hand. "Neji, wait. I'm—" he fell silent, unable to weave his thoughts into words.
Neji looked over his shoulder, his eyes softening to the purple light of the lantern. They strayed toward that moth again: it lay still and crumpled where it had died. He did not say anything and left the room in silence.
"Hiashi, this cannot go on. You have to talk to Hinata. She has a responsibility to her clan, to you, and to us. She is out of your control. You need to discipline her. What will become of the essence inside Naruto? It needs to be passed on to find its balance. Or else all that trouble, that shame, that slaughter . . . it had been for nothing," Minato said and put his hand on Kushina's trembling fingers clasped around his arm.
Hiashi slumped down to the floor with a sigh as though he had just experience great defeat in a battle. He looked up at the other man, sharing the secrets, the sins with him—in his blank eyes. He nodded absentmindedly and spoke, "I will. This cannot go on like this anymore."
A loud sound shook the room again, and then it was silence once more . . .
# # # # # #
When all things were said and done, when all lies disappeared, what would be left behind to shelter the bond he so wanted to safeguard? His gait was graceful, each step deliberately measured and weighed by his Sharingan to guide its way. He was perfect: a perfect man in appearance, in intellect, and even in concealing lies. Yes, Itachi was a perfect man and a perfect liar.
Nothing escaped his Sharingan as he walked against the wind picking up the pace. Dry leaves and dead Sakura flowers whirled around him in the air—such a rush to be swept away by the swooning winds. He could count them all: one, two, three—fifteen, fifty . . . he lowered his eyes and looked down to the familiar path that led to his home.
Light danced overhead and glimpsed like blue insects at the far end of the sky. The small part of his sword, peeking out from above the sheath, shone in the blue light. The mission for today was over, but his burdens were only piling up. He would not let his back stoop to protect his pride. But what to do . . . what to do?
His cunning eyes darted from corner to corner as though in search of an intruder who threatened his calm thoughts. It was a habit he had developed ever since he joined Anbu. Even a short walk back home was a tedious journey. Every nook and corner had to be investigated for spies. Back in the day, when he was newly appointed, he used to kill several assassins every week. Their numbers dwindled, and then, they just stopped coming.
Itachi let out a sigh and then sucked in autumn's cold air. A metallic object hanging at the door of someone's house musically clanked as the wind brushed past it. It stopped him in his tracks, and his eyes located a small well obscured by thick grass a few feet away from him. His mind suddenly took a trip down memory lane, and his Sharingan cast an illusion around him, throwing him back nearly sixteen years into the past.
Sasuke sat in the grass with his back pressed against the well. He had his knees clasped together with his small arms hugging them close to his chest. His Genin academy bag lay abandoned by his feet.
"Sasuke," Itachi spoke his name, pulling the boy's eyes to himself, "why are you sitting here? It's past five p.m. You must be hungry. Come on, let me take you home."
"I don't wanna go home," Sasuke answered—his small voice was smaller than usual. The lush leaves cast the coming evening's shade on his pale face enveloped by a child's sorrow.
"What's wrong?" Itachi asked and sat down beside him. "Did someone say something to you? You can tell me and I'll punish them." He gave a reassuring smile and stroked Sasuke's messy hair. His shadow loomed over the small boy—Itachi was quite tall for his age.
Sasuke hesitated for a moment before he turned his face to Itachi, his cheeks flushed from heat. It was really warm today. "Otō-Sama didn't even see my test. He doesn't care at all," he said in a sad little voice and then turned his face away. Itachi saw his tiny pink mouth quiver as he squeezed his eyes shut. The tears stung on his hot face.
"Sasuke . . . " Itachi brushed his tears away and pushed his sweaty hair aside. "He's other matters to deal with. Where's your test? Let me see." He stretched his hand and pulled out the paper sticking out from between the books. "A perfect score. I'm proud of you."
Sasuke's face lit up, and he looked into Itachi's eyes. "You are, Nii-San?" he asked as if unsure of his brother's honesty.
"Of course I am. You're my brother. Why would I lie to you?" he spoke softly and wiped away fresh tears shimmering in the last light of the sun. "Come on, let me carry you home." Reassured that his brother was being honest, he let Itachi pick him up. Itachi flung Sasuke's bag over his shoulder, slipped his arm under Sasuke's buttocks, and slipped the other behind his neck.
Lifting Sasuke up, Itachi started walking. Sasuke circled his arms around Itachi's neck, his chest pressed against his brother's, his heart beating loudly. "Nii-San, I want to be like you," he whispered close to Itachi's ear, his cheek pressed into the crook of his brother's neck. "You're perfect, Nii-San. When I grow up, I'll be just like you. I'll work hard to be like you."
"You don't have to be like me, Sasuke. You are you," he reassured him again and moved his hand up to press Sasuke firmly to himself as he opened the gate. "See, we are home. You should . . . " he paused and turned his head slightly to look at Sasuke. He had fallen asleep.
Itachi closed his eyes. The memory ended. The illusion ended. Time had cast a different shadow around him. It was a memory relived under the darkness of this sky. Somehow, his feet had found their way back home, retracing the path like a routine ritual. He never thought that in those innocent childhood confessions lay the absolute passion for honesty. He tilted his head back and felt the chill from the wind crawl upon his warm skin; it was his fault that Sasuke forever chased the idea of him being a statue carved out of a cold marble—a symbol of perfection.
Somewhere down the road, the boy had forgotten himself, overlooked the mask of perfection his brother wore to hide his True nature. He had tempered his own innocence and beaten it out of himself to mould it in Itachi's image. Itachi stood still and felt the soft chill of rain upon his unyielding skin; it betrayed him to tremble at the sensations—a crack in his perfect mask. It readjusted itself quickly to appear indifferent again, but within him raged an ocean of regret. Sasuke was slipping out of his hands . . .
He felt as though he was standing on the brink of a frightening precipice, staring down at the darkness by his feet. It was barbed and alive—a lid on his secrets and sins. He had little remorse for his deeds. They were his duties, his willing choices to protect the village as its uncompromising soldier . . . and his brother. Yes, he would do anything for him: betray his clan, his loyalty to the village, and break free from the precepts of innocence and notions of martyrdom. Those are disgraceful sentiments if he had nothing to protect.
What would he protect if Sasuke lost himself to the Truth? The perfect mask yielded before fear for just a moment. Waves of distress eating away at his insides slammed against his composure, but it was too stubborn for them to break through, tear it apart, and spill out over his face to consume him for just a moment's victory. No, he would do everything to shield Sasuke from the truth, to protect the bond forged in innocence between them. Sasuke did not have to know everything.
Taking a long intake of breath, as if the matter was settled, Itachi stepped inside the manor. The servants had lit the lanterns. The Uchiha symbol glowed behind the yellow light of the lantern in the entrance's alcove. He looked at it for a moment as though interested in the red glow of the fan and took off his sandals. The chill was trapped behind the door. Dull and hushed sounds of the rain's pitter-patter permeated the space about him.
Itachi opened the clasp of his sheath and grabbed hold of the sword. The rack to the right had the weapons he and Sasuke used for their missions. When his gaze moved in the direction of his room, the sword in his grip clanked to the floor, and his eyes pulsed to life. "Sasuke . . . " he let out a whisper and flashed to his brother, a crumpled figure by the open door. He sat down and grabbed Sasuke by the shoulders. "Sasuke, speak to me. Sasuke . . . "
Sasuke lifted his head, his eyes unable to decide the pattern they wanted to wear as they fluctuated hastily between the ring of Tomoes and the petals of Eternal light; Itachi had been too hard, too cruel this time. "Nii-Sama," he let out a weak sound, his face enveloped by sadness, "have you ever had the urge . . . to just let it all go?"
Itachi did not know what to say. He kept looking at Sasuke, his innocence apparent on his face without that mask of mimicry. "I remember I visited our parents' grave—and I went on a mission that day. I was hanging by a thread, looking down at the ocean . . . those raging waves crashing on the rocks, the smell of salt rushing to me. I just—I wanted to let go. I wanted to be free . . . I hate this—this burden. I don't know what to do." He grimaced, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Sasuke, you are my flesh and blood and I am your anchor. Even if you end up loathing me, it would never matter because that's what older brothers are for—to bear the hate and be their brothers' shield," Itachi said with utmost honesty and pressed Sasuke's forehead against his own.
He had to find Kisame before Sasuke. Truth was never a necessity . . .
# # # # # #
"Tsunade-Sama, can't you do anything—anything at all?" Sakura pleaded. The night was a child perched on the sky's throne, but the sky was hidden behind the vast swathe of clouds: an unwary darling was ruthlessly shielded by a curtain of rain and storm.
"Sakura, I wish I could, but Itachi has written a detailed report. He's the Anbu Captain and the boy is typically thorough. Sage knows he never leaves any loopholes behind for anyone to get around. I can't override his decision under these conditions. If you want to learn more, then take the opportunity he's offering you. You are a gifted Medic and hold great mastery over Genjutsu-Kai. It wouldn't hurt to hone your skills," Tsunade said from across the large table. It had few unsigned scrolls lying open on its surface.
Sakura heaved a sigh, her eyes downcast, looking around at the new rug spread across the floor. The office was being renovated—racks, cupboards, and even the large table, were new. She breathed in the overpowering smell of fresh paint and coughed. It was unbearable to even stand in the office.
"This would give you time to separate yourself from Sasuke and think for yourself," Tsunade said and gazed at the shocked expression on Sakura's face. She was not expecting such honesty from her mentor.
"Tsunade-Sama, I—" she stopped and lowered her eyes in shame.
"There's no need to hide it. I know you have strong feelings for him, but that's clouding your judgment. Why don't you tell Itachi already that you failed the tests because you were making a poison's antidote for Fū under Danzō's orders? I'm sure he can make Sasuke understand. Sage knows that wild boy can't even be controlled by anyone but Itachi," she said, her brow knitting with irritation. The Uchiha brothers always were these two bratty imps in her eyes: unreasonable, secretive, and hard-headed.
"It was a classified mission. I was told not to tell my Captain. I don't think there's any need to tell Itachi-Sama. I've passed my tests anyway," Sakura answered, her eyes still lowered before the Hokage's soft gaze.
Tsunade sighed and lifted herself up with great difficulty. Sitting on the chair all day long was hardly her idea of a decent job. She walked to the closed window and opened it a little to let fresh air in. It hit the side of Sakura's face and cooled beads of sweat standing on her skin. She shivered, took in a gulp of air, exhaled as hard as she could. It was a good idea to air the room.
"I'm giving you an honest advice—forget about Sasuke," she broke off, and then she turned around to face her student and met her green eyes glazed with fresh tears. "He doesn't love you. He will never love you. You're just wasting your life away, chasing after this—this boy who doesn't care for you. The sooner you realize this, the better. Sometimes, when our desires are shattered, we go down wrong paths from where there's no return. Break yourself free. Be free. That's all I'm going to say."
Tsunade kept her gaze settled upon Sakura; she was weeping in the light of the lantern. The grieving girl raised her head, her face ruined by tears. She took in a shuddering breath and spoke in a wavering voice strained by her youthful passions, losses, and fears: "t-thank you, Tsunade-Sama. You are—k-kind."
Tsunade took a few steps and clamped her hand on Sakura's trembling shoulder. "I know it's hard, but you have to let go. Let him go, Sakura. For Sage's sake, you're only twenty-five. You have a whole life ahead of you. Don't ruin it by running after a mirage. Take this chance Itachi is offering you and you can apply anywhere you want . . . you can get away from this place, away from Sasuke and start over," Tsunade said and stroked Sakura's hair.
Sakura did not say anything in response. Could she really break free from him? The thought hit her hard. He was like a sturdy, unrelenting chain of desire around her—an unbreakable chain wrapped around her flesh and soul. Would she ever be able to run away, break free without tearing herself apart? Her heart thundered in her breast as she thought of the next best thing, and she felt his hold on her loosen just a little . . .
# # # # # #
Words: 3,939
Characters: 17,219