(Quick note: This is it, men. The end of a legend…and the start of a new one. I will be forever grateful to this 'novel' for teaching me the perseverance to write it. Kousa himself had a good hand in that, and I'm sure for the Author's Note at the end, I'll thank him…and Saru, again. Be prepared, though, for another 25 chapters of Sakumo and Jiraiya. But thank you so much for putting up with Cou's story, if you've made it this far.)
.
Coushander
コウシャンデル
.
.
Chapter 25
Angel Band
.
.
All of the worries and all the manic subsided. Sakumo swallowed and thought about his father.
It was surreal.
It did not seem real.
Keiko was there, this time, when he went home with little Jiraiya. And after the boy's mother hugged them both tightly, all Sakumo wished to do was to be left alone. After a couple hours, he opened the door of the small spare room very quietly, but as he stepped out, he heard Jiraiya's mother gently trying to explain to him their father was not coming back. Sakumo suddenly did not feel hungry. He went back in and closed the door without a sound and pretended to sleep. It was the easiest thing he could do, but it was also the most frustrating, and restless option, he found.
The woman came back to his door later, and she came in and saw him, a small book in his hand, one his captain had given him years ago. "…Hello…are you all right…?"
Sakumo considered. He shook his head and shrugged.
"…Dalzen has come by, do you want to see him?"
Sakumo looked away uneasily, and he shook his head again. "I'm sorry…" he said. "I just…Not right now, please," hoping his voice didn't sound like begging.
But to his surprise, she nodded. "…Ok," she said slowly, "Come out, when you're ready."
She came back to the den and sighed.
"Should I talk to him?" Dalzen asked.
She shook her head, "No…He…just needs some time, I think."
Dalzen frowned.
Kano herself felt exactly like hiding away somewhere after the day's events. Dalzen was there, and so was Chinatsu to support her, but she did not feel ready yet to accept their kindness. "…Did you…tell Takato? Did he message back, yet?" she wondered distantly.
"Oh—yes, he's in rice country, but he says he'll be back on Friday."
"Friday…" she murmured. "Then…let's go with Saturday."
Dalzen nodded.
The two left after a while, and Kano stayed in her kitchen with a hot drink and a medical chart she'd forgotten to look at, and it didn't matter much now since the numbers and notes didn't make any sense to her whatsoever. She saw Sakumo come out a while later, looking worn and lonely, a little like his father had so many times before, but with youth still fresh on his son's face. The teen took a seat opposite her on the stool and she asked him, "…How're you feeling?"
Sakumo shrugged.
"…Let me fix you something," she said.
"…Oh—" He was about to object to save her the trouble until he felt the uneasiness silence him. He didn't have much heart or energy to argue anything. That afternoon, the woman looked as if she'd cried all morning. Her face was clearer now. But he had the oddest sensation, conversation was a precarious means; perhaps for both of them. Sakumo derived strange comfort from the silence.
She made him a hot cereal, and he smiled, "…Thank you."
She sat down again and smiled, "Happy birthday, yesterday."
He raised his head over the warm air. "Oh—thanks…" Some birthday, he thought.
"Today is my birthday, and tomorrow, Hina's."
"…Oh? Oh—uh…" He wanted to wish it to her, but he could not find the words. Perhaps it was something about the word 'happy' that disagreed with him—and her.
But she smiled gently. "I'd…like to show you something," she said. "I'll be right back."
He watched her go—in the direction of her room. Sakumo sighed. He was thinking about the jackknife, wishing his father could have given it to him.
But she came back and sat opposite him, and what she had in her hand softly clinked on the counter. Her hand moved and he saw a small medal—one he remembered seeing his sensei and his teammate's father wear, on occasion. "That's…"
"…You know what it is…?"
"…You've…got it, too…what is it?"
"It's the medal Shodaime gave to us after we returned from water country. To remember."
Sakumo suddenly gaped.
He gave a special ceremony where he gave us all medals…
"You mean…that's…the…Oh…"
She smiled.
Sakumo touched the silver pentagon—it was smooth. "…So this…is yours…"
She nodded.
"Then my father…has one…and my uncle's…"
"…Yeah…We still have Saru's…" her smile went to one side, "But, I'm afraid your father's…was lost."
He looked at her, "…Lost?"
"He…threw his out, just before he left the open gate."
"He…what?!"
She smiled again. "He was…very troubled…and angry, at the time."
Sakumo felt like crying. "…I've seen…Dalzen…and Ichida-san wear this. He told me…it was a remembrance, but never exactly what of."
"…I'm sorry, you never knew."
"…Yeah; so am I," Sakumo said bitterly, staring down at the counter.
She looked at him with concern. Though the tone hadn't been strong, it was still there, and she recognized it well. "Understand…It was your father's decision to keep it from you," she said gently, "from everyone. He never wanted to hurt you. He loved you. More than anything in the world. He wanted to protect you, from that world, from that experience."
"I know, I know…" Sakumo said. "But, still," He looked up at her slowly, wondering about her own role in his father's life. She'd been the one who took the picture of them, who was mother to his baby brother…she'd loved his father—she seemed so ready to accept Sakumo in her home—he was grateful to it, and to her. He had no money to afford an apartment, and asking Dalzen was the absolute last thing he'd wanted to do.
She raised her left hand to move her charts, and he something that caught his eye—gleaming softly and silently like the medal; it was a wedding band.
"…Something wrong?"
Sakumo shut his eyes and looked away. His father really had moved on without him.
"…What's the matter?"
Sakumo did not look at her as he asked, "…Were you…and him—married…?"
"Oh…Yes," she seemed to remember, or realize the fact, "Five years ago, in April."
There was a long silence.
"Sakumo—"
"No…it's ok, it's fine…It's just…There was…a lot of years…wasted. That's all."
She considered her words. While Sakumo had been left in Dalzen's care, she and his father had reconciled and raised a child. She pitied what'd happened—the giant rift between the two, till now. "…It's not your fault. It was your father's decision."
He was tired of hearing it. "But—Dalzen could have told me just as well!" he said, "You all—Any one of you…especially him…I just…cannot believe…no one ever…not even…" He shook his head. "You know…I knew about the baby. I knew, because I couldn't let my father go—I had to…spy on him, like some outcast, when he'd talk to Kosaka-san; and I wanted to tell that child…it was so hard, and you know…before we left—before we did leave...I wanted to face my father, but I couldn't do it. Because, a while later…I started thinking differently about it. I started to think that maybe my father wanted to start over—have a good son who would have stayed with him, and not…God," Sakumo sighed. "I just wish…it had happened…differently."
Kano sighed. "…I know," she said, "…And…by the way," she smiled softly, "I liked the name."
He looked at her and then screwed his face. "I didn't think anybody would have kept it…it's…a name in some legend."
"I know," she said smiling. "And I will tell you…that boy also has a nickname—I still call him a little monkey—your father, did, too…after some time."
He looked up at her again. "Was he really…unable, to say it—any of it?" he asked questioningly.
"Oh Sakumo…" she smiled in brief, "You have no idea how hard it was for him. You…Oh Sakumo, this injured him. More than anything—more than the blade he took to his hand, the memory, the repression injured him, so greatly. And still, to this day," she looked down, "Coushander never told me—nor Dalzen or Takato, or anyone else, what happened that day. He wanted to tell you, and you alone. And he spent many nights by himself, to build up the courage, just to do it."
Her words soaked in and he felt like crying all over again. Coushander had faced so much, the hardest thing being the shame of forgetting who he was. The shame in repressing his brother's braveness, and his own worth; his own strength. The teen was surprised his father told him what he did, and to him alone. He believed her—his…step-mother, he thought. But the thoughts that swirled in his mind upset him more and more and he tried shutting his mind off to it. He didn't want to think about the next few days.
Sakumo thanked her and soon went away to bed, saying nothing else. It took him a while, but he slept.
He went into the office the next morning, fighting against his fatigue and Keiko's concern.
His captain was not there, so he continued working on the map alone, quite numbly—the one of area thirty-nine on the land of wind's far northwestern side, near the neutral zone, north of a white desert. He was interrupted mid-morning—someone came in and he thought it would be Dalzen until he finally looked up from the compass and his stupor, and saw none other than Nidaime hokage.
Sakumo stood immediately—causing his chair to screech an uncomfortable noise as it slid backward. Sakumo winced at his impeccable grace.
Nidai smiled—"…As you were."
Sakumo still clasped his hands behind him.
"I only came…to give my condolence," he said. "I am very sorry to hear about your father."
News runs fast…Sakumo thought. He looked down. "…Thank you, sir."
.
After the lunch hour, another shinobi, too, came into the small room to see him—it was Sarutobi Hizuren, who also expressed his sympathy. Sakumo thought it was a bit strange though—the jounin knew Dalzen, but Sakumo never expected Hizuren to approach him about his father, or pay much attention to it.
The teen left at the usual time, and went on to the Academy—his otouto was waiting on a bench outside. "…Ani-chan, you're late!" he pronounced.
"Gomei," he said simply, attributing it tacitly to his daze.
When they arrived home, he witnessed an uneasy scene: Keiko, Dalzen and his wife, and also Ichida's wife, all there, standing together in the kitchen. "…Sakumo," Keiko said, mustering a small smile.
"…I'm very sorry," he said quickly, his head down. "I'm tired—please excuse me."
With that, he walked back to his room as quickly as he could without full out running. And he regretted it as he closed the door—he should have escaped outside. He was sure he could outrun them…The window was far too small to fit through on the north side. He groaned inwardly, and collapsed himself on the bed, faking instantaneous sleep.
"Kaa-chan…" Jiraiya said to her, "What's wrong with Sakumo?"
"Jiraiya…he's just…sad—Please, go to your room for a minute—I need to talk with them alone."
"Oh…" he said silently. Reluctantly, he did as he was told. But on the way, he knocked on his brother's room.
"…Go away, please," his brother muffled quietly.
Jiraiya felt morose himself, and restlessly, he went in his own room, and shuffled around for some paper.
"I think…" Keiko said, "…He's angry."
"…Angry?"
"With us—With you," she clarified uneasily.
"…With me?"
"Sakumo…He said to me last night…a number of things, and I got that impression from him," Keiko said quietly.
"…All right…I'm going to talk to him then."
Dalzen left the women and went left down the hall.
"…Please go away…" Sakumo buried his forehead further into the pillow—his mask still high on his nose. He shut his eyes as he heard the door open.
"…Sakumo," a low voice said, "Sulking about it is going to do you no good, whatsoever."
Sakumo's brow narrowed—he did not move.
"You have a right to be upset."
Sakumo felt him sit on the end of the bed. "But you have to forgive, now, and change your grief and sorrow to something better."
What would you know, Sakumo thought. "…Did anybody ever lie to you?" he asked, his voice engulfed in bitterness.
The tone was just as Keiko predicted. The boy was angry. But Dalzen smiled slowly, in irony, "Oh yes. Many times. Even in water country. We weren't told just who we had to take down. You uncle kept it from all of us—even your father."
"…But—that's not the same," Sakumo sat up-right, looking down at the carpet, "You never wasted five years without your only family." Sakumo bit his lip, feeling hot with anger.
Dalzen had never heard him this spiteful. "Nothing…Sakumo, in this world, is fair."
"Well it should be!" Sakumo contested loudly. He bowed his head further, shutting his eyes so the emotion might not retreat there.
"Sakumo…I do know what it feels like, without either parent. It isn't easy. But their convictions are their own. You must understand that."
Sakumo was too overwhelmed with emotion to comprehend. "…Just, go away, please!"
Dalzen was silent.
"Please! Just leave! Please!" Sakumo begged quietly, his eyes closed; convinced his sensei had on some level, betrayed him.
"Well…" Dalzen said. "We're here…when you need us."
.
The teen avoided all of them as best he could, even little Jiraiya, who took the opportunity and wrote notes on small pieces of paper, and pushed them under the door of Sakumo's room, repeatedly,
Please can I come in?
They went unanswered.
But Sakumo did answer when Keiko gently knocked on his door early Saturday morning. He saw her black vest and dark indigo clothes—she looked no different than she usually did save a dark black skirt. Her hair was down, and so were her eyes.
Sakumo had found an indigo cloth vest kept for occasions like this. The last he wore it, was at the Hyuuga's funeral, a general, the elite, Shai. It was open and blank, and he wore no headband—the collar of his mask down around his neck. He was clad, in pure indigo.
The came out together into the kitchen, and then into the den without a word and Sakumo saw Jiraiya dressed in a navy robe, with white trim. His sash was a dark forest green. "…Hi Sakumo," he said.
"Well…" she said softly, "…Ready?"
Sakumo looked down and started walking soberly for the door. He stopped abruptly and looked at the shelf holding the two pictures. He looked at the team, bound for water country, the land of mist and fog. His father stood there…dark eyes, and dark sheath.
Sakumo continued walking, and opened the door.
"…So…where are we going…?" he asked her with distance in his voice.
"…To your father's old home," she said simply.
"…Oh."
She smiled faintly. "He'd wanted to be at his other home…but, he changed his mind…"
"Let me guess…five years ago?"
She smiled, "Well…no…more like one year ago."
"…Oh," he said again, simply.
It was a long walk to Midori—two and a half, nearly three hours. They'd set off early in the morning, seven o'clock. Sakumo had refused himself breakfast—only drinking some water. He'd considered feigning sickness to get out of it, but he knew Keiko would try and persuade him other wise…so he scrapped the idea altogether to save her the trouble.
He sensed Jiraiya didn't really understand the gravity of the event—the boy was mostly quiet, too, after a while.
Sakumo had only been to his father's old home once, to his knowledge, and that was over ten years ago, to say goodbye to his mother. Sakumo understood Jiraiya's incomprehension—given time, he would learn to live with just one parent, just as Sakumo had done. The loss of his mother had affected Coushander deeply—he simply could not hold his head as high as he used to. Coushander's eyes had seemed so empty and forlorn, his whole body seemed to have weakened without her. Sakumo had remembered seeing his grandmother a bit, but now, everyone was gone. Now, it was all gone. A chill came under his skin and the teen tried not to think, but to stare at the dense trees and the road.
He guessed they got there just before ten.
Sakumo was surprised, a little, Kano knew her way so well, he meant to ask her if she'd ever been here before with his father, but he did not have the strength to ask. He guessed if she'd have known his father this long, she must have known everything.
The sign post…was lodged in the ground where Takeshi had once carved it.
Hatake/Mihure
"…There it is," she said quietly, more for her own boy's sake.
"Look, Sakumo," Jiraiya pointed at the sign.
"…Hm," Sakumo remarked—and then he suddenly stopped just as they walked onto the inlet. Jiraiya stopped with him.
Keiko listened, and turned, seeing the teen, staring at the ground.
Sakumo did not want to go any further.
"…Sakumo," she said gently.
Reluctantly, he followed her, only at his brother's persistent tugging.
Jiraiya tried taking his brother's hand, but Sakumo wouldn't look up. "Ani," Jiraiya said, "Look."
Sakumo looked up—and stopped again.
There was Dalzen and Chinatsu, Takato and his wife, Yukie, and Kosaka and Misao, all together standing at the edge of the treeline, on the right hand side.
Sakumo turned his head away, and unwillingly, he followed the tug and lead of his little brother.
Sakumo stopped short again as the two brothers faced the group, about nine yards away. He heard Jiraiya's mother walk up to them and say hello softly to all of them. Dalzen and Takato were in full uniform, their headbands hanging low about their necks, and Keiko put a hand to her mouth and smiled sadly, "…You wore it…"
"Of course," Dalzen said—the two men smiled.
The two shinobi wore the small silver pentagons at their hearts.
"…Wouldn't have seemed right it we didn't," Takato shrugged quietly.
Keiko hugged him, and then Dalzen. "Thank you so much," she said to them. She greeted Kosaka and Misao, too, on her right. Keiko had met them before with Coushander numerous times the past five years, and she liked them well. Kosaka and Coushander could talk forever—they'd been friends, it seemed, for just as long.
Finally, she looked behind her and saw Sakumo and Jiraiya, standing by themselves. She left Kosaka talking with Takato and walked back to Sakumo. His head all the way down.
"…Oh…Sakumo…"
She wrapped her arms around him—
Sakumo could not keep it in any longer, he sobbed. He cried and sobbed and he could not stop.
She held him and teared. "…It'll get easier," she said softly, her voice light.
"…I know…" he muffled, "I know…" But he cried. He cried for his father, so sick and weak…and so healthy and strong, holding him up and working quietly out in the fields somewhere, everyday, since Sakumo was born, and long before that. He cried for himself and where he was now and who he had to be with, and what they had to do. He cried he was forced to say goodbye to the man who'd never learn him the scythe and the land and life again. He cried he was alone. He cried the greatest man in his life was gone.
Keiko released him slowly and turned, and held his shoulders, by his side.
Sakumo stifled the sobs—physically forcing them down as he never forced so strong a grief before. He hung his head low as he could in shame and embarrassment; knowing he inadvertently sobered the air for everyone else to see, stopping all the light conversation—and Sakumo could not hear it anymore, nor could he hide his pain, nor his unsheltered and unbridled grief.
The woman led him forward slowly; Sakumo could feel Jiraiya tugging on his pant leg empathetically—and the men and women went through the trees together, and into the clearing.
It was lit brightly by the sun far in the east—sun and shadow spotted together, half and half. Sakumo continued fighting giant leaps of sobs and tears, biting his tongue, staring at the ground, averting his eyes away from the people, the urn, and makeshift cross—it was right beside his mother.
He felt Keiko continue to hold his back. Sakumo fought his grief so hard, the things he would eventually remember were few. But Jiraiya felt close to him, and confused, in his small way, with his small grip. Kosaka-san bowed his head and spoke first:
He led them in a prayer, and then a psalm.
And then, staring down at the plot, he added finally to his eulogy, "I didn't know him as a shinobi," he said quietly, "But I'm sure, he made a damn fine one. He was…a good friend."
Kosaka said nothing else—and he looked around, and then up, at Dalzen, who nodded—at first, saying nothing, then, quietly, as Sakumo had never heard his sensei before;
"I wanted to say that…I have struggled, to come up with something to say, in honor of this man, but, through all the speeches owed to the likes of, 'war horses' or some such nonsense…I found…I wouldn't know how to put it. So, I decided to say what I felt about him. And…if my sentiments are like your own, then Coushander has succeeded in befriending you, which I believe he could do to anybody. I know, it was certainly never my forte…
"I remember him, as a man who was shinobi. And I still hold, in my mind, he was 'one of us', because he persevered, and he endured. Greatly. He was an incredibly strong-willed man, in spite of his faults, and he had the humility to laugh at them, in light of it. Something I could never do. He and Saru both…I knew him…in two years," he said, "for being brave; and I think he excelled at that all his life. He was a brave man…to endure, what he did. And he was brave to start over, with nothing. And, I feel…he was brave, to let go. Not from what took him from us, but from what haunted him, half his life. When faced…he owned to it, as any man should do. I believe he is brave, as that kind of fight, is the hardest to win. And that…" Dalzen hesitated, "was who he was—a determined, strong, and stubborn man, in the best sense of the word. And he was very strong…at the end. I still remember what he said, thirty-two years ago; there was nothing left for him to do for Kiri, for Konoha, or for anyone. I believe he meant that. Even though his service, ended there, there was still something left for him to do. Praise his courage, he endured.
"But Coushander…you have now finished…a very long fight with the world. And…I will say, usque ad finem, you have persevered, and endured. May God...rest your soul, and your brother's, as well."
A quiet moment passed, until Dalzen looked back at Keiko, and he stepped back.
Sakumo remembered the woman left his side, and Dalzen took her place. The teen was determined, now, not to look up.
"…Thank you," Keiko said to Dalzen, smiling sadly, her eyes shining. "…And thank you all for your support," she said, with the same lightness in her voice when talking to Sakumo. "…I wanted to thank you. It's been a hard six months…but I had five—six years with him I will never, ever forget. Dalzen was right…" she said shakily, "…to say, he was brave. He endured…more than I will ever know, but…he was always…willing to make light of it, just like his brother. He was like that the first time I met him…" she smiled briefly. "He would tell me things, after a while, about himself, and where he grew up, and his brother's antics…He was so kind…" she hesitated, smiling in sorrow. "He said…And Kousa once said to me, he never wished to cause me this grief—not me or anyone, but…knowing him…I wouldn't trade our days for anything."
Slowly, she stepped back, beside her own son, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
Kosaka said a closing prayer.
And then it was over.
Jiraiya held on to his mother and cried some silent tears of confusion. She knelt down and held him gently.
"…That…a very wonderful thing you said," Kosaka said to Dalzen.
Sakumo thought so too, but he couldn't say it—the obstruction inside his throat was too big. Instead he walked back a few steps and avoided the people, and he slowly walked out of the grove, away from the plot and hoped no one would follow him. As he walked through the trees, he turned right, and went out the treeline that way.
A track of water, about six foot, varying wider and smaller in places, ran in the bottom of two steep hills on either side. Sakumo carefully watched his balance and sat on the ground, just as it inclined down. He drew up his knees, and more tears came down his face, as he sat there, hoping to be alone.
After a while, he heard a distinct 'dip' in the water. It was a frog. Sakumo cleared his eyes and saw it, and it dived underneath a patch of thick brown moss. His father had never talked of the place—not like his mother. His mother would have talked of anything. But then Sakumo heard another sound, coming after him slowly. "…Sakumo."
It was Dalzen.
…My name is Sakumotsu, he thought.
Sakumo released a pent sob and suddenly stopped, feeling so embarrassed he'd revealed so much emotion, especially to his sensei, of all men. And then Sakumo remembered a little of what Dalzen had said, and Sakumo knew he must have been feeling it too.
"…It's all right, Sakumo…come back up."
Ruefully, Sakumo did so, and stared at the ground the whole way. The group had parted—Keiko and Chinatsu and Takato's wife were together. Jiraiya, and Takato and Kosaka, with his wife, were near the burial spot. The couple came up to Sakumo, and Misao embraced Matsuko's boy briefly.
"…Thank you," he mumbled quietly.
Kosaka and his wife walked out of the forest. Takato nodded to Sakumo, the teen nodded back, unable to say anything. Dalzen left with him, and Sakumo slowly realized everyone was leaving but Keiko.
"…Sakumo," she said. "Go ahead and take your time."
She left, as well, ushering her young Jiraiya.
Sakumo looked behind him.
He was alone.
Hatake Ryouma Saru-Shin
Beloved Son And Brother
Rest With Honor And Peace
Hatake Matsuko
Beloved Daughter, Friend, Wife, and Mother…
His grandparents.
The Mihure.
And now…
Sakumo cried again—he shut his eyes to the brown urn and cried. "…Otou…" he whispered. "Otoussan…"
His father was really gone.
And with him went the wheat and the mystery and the garden and Zosha, and the grey radio, and the red notebook.
Sakumo collapsed down on his knees and sobbed.
All of it was gone—his father's voice, his father's strength, the scythe, the sowing, the nights of legend and quiet and suspense and wonder.
Sakumo kept crying until he thought he exhausted all his tears. But they came again as he whispered again, "Oh dad…I'm so sorry, for everything. I wish, I could have known."
He kneeled there, alone, for some time.
Someone soon entered back into his world…and that was Keiko.
He got up slowly as she came.
She took hold of his shoulder, and they walked out, together.
Kosaka and Misao left, and Sakumo was ready to leave, too.
Dalzen and Takato stayed behind, with their wives.
Jiraiya was confused and upset, Sakumo walked beside him and held hands with the boy, which seemed to soothe him. A third of the way back, the boy seemed, and acted tired. So Sakumo gave in and thought the boy would appreciate a ride on his back.
His otouto did—and soon, fell asleep, clutching his brother's clothes.
.
They arrived back at Kano's, and Sakumo felt genuinely sick to his stomach. He walled himself in the bathroom, and then in the spare bedroom, and he slept.
When he woke up, his chest felt heavy and morose. He felt as if he could start crying all over again, the emotion in him refilled itself every time he thought he'd spent it. It rifled through him powerfully, like a mad torrent or squall, unconcealed and relentless, in grief; he could feel nothing else. Never had he expressed this much emotion before—he hadn't known it could pain him so unbearably deep.
Before he opened the door, he noticed a folded note lying on the carpet right before the bottom crack of the door. He picked it up and unfolded it; Ani-chan please get better.
Sakumo frowned. He turned and set it on the small shelf near his bed. He went out slowly—cautiously, in case any people were over. He could not sense anything. He found Keiko alone, in the kitchen, the charts untouched and unopened beside her—there was a small brown book beside them. She was staring blankly at the counter, a clear glass by her side.
"…Oh," she looked up. "...Sakumo."
"…Hello," he said quietly.
"…Are you feeling better?" She looked him over. Keiko concluded he wasn't, at least not physically—and she got up to fix him something. "…You must be hungry," she said. "You just missed Dalzen and the others."
Oh…darn…he thought to console himself. A very faint smile tugged his mouth at the notion. Slowly, he took a seat on the stool and admired the small brown book. It was leather, an indented frame around the edge. He was startled a little as she asked him again, "…Are you ok?"
He sighed as he calmed. "No…" He laid his face in his palm.
"…Did you feel sick?" She turned from her work on the stove.
"…Yeah…I guess…Not so much, now," he said, trying not to worry her.
"…Well…" she seemed to say. She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Keiko slid the charts and the book a ways and set it before him. She went back to the stove and stirred the contents in the pan.
"…Where's…Jiraiya…?" Sakumo asked, after taking a sip.
"Asleep. Seems the day wore him out, too."
Sakumo sighed and idly looked at the brown book. It seemed to keep a scent of wood with it—maple, or poplar, he wasn't sure. Most of the things in his father's house smelled that way. It also smelled of leather, more than anything. It wasn't thick, but it wasn't thin. His subconscious guessed it was a companion to the charts—medical notes she kept or some such.
Keiko gave him a bowl with hot soup, and he thanked her. He ate very slow, until his body remembered he hadn't had anything all day.
The woman set her glass down and smiled after a while as she touched the brown leather book. "…This," she said, "Was your uncle's."
Sakumo stopped. "What…?"
"It was Saru's," she smiled, folding her arms. "Given to him by Senju Karada."
"Sen…" Sakumo's eyes widened in direct recognition of the name. He looked down at the book, then at her; "Sen…ju…Karada?!"
She nodded.
"My—He was…the greatest ninja...He was…one of the greatest…!" Sakumo exclaimed, astonished. He looked down at the book: it might as well have been a sitting piece of history.
She smiled. "He was Saru's sensei, and captain."
"…Are you…serious?!"
"Yes. Your uncle spent a lot of time under Karada."
"But…there were so few…that ever…my gosh," he said again. "I had no idea…"
She smiled gently. "Your uncle loved song. With this book, he recorded all the songs he knew. Every single one—all of the old, forgotten ones."
Sakumo moved his bowl to ensure he wouldn't harm the book—it was old, then, it had to be. Slowly, he opened the cover and noticed the inscription on the inside cover…written by Karada himself.
Sakumo could scarcely believe it: …Here, is all that matters.'
He looked at the first page, and read 'The Black Sheep', in good handwriting—it made him smile a little, it was a little like his father's style, but neater, and a little more slanted. "My gosh…" he said again as he turned a few of the pages.
"That's just one of the things your father kept over the years."
Sakumo looked up.
"Though…he threw out the medal—and his kunai…and he never took his headband…He did keep his katana, and Saru's. Also, the water country diary, of what happened…almost day by day, written by Saru."
"He kept…a diary?"
"A journal, diary…" she smiled. "It's all there; in an old leather chest."
"Wha…" Sakumo knew the very chest she must have meant. "It's…in there…?! All this time…?!" he exclaimed, bewildered. Kano nodded. His father's past life had only been one look away. "Oh my God." he said in shock.
Sakumo slowly groaned.
He turned his attention away from the brown leather book and sighed. "…I can't believe this," he murmured. "His…My father's…katana…is…in there?"
She nodded again. "He locked it away for good, until he was finally able to look at it five years ago. It was very, very difficult for him, but he did it. I'll gladly walk over with you, so you can see it, when you're ready."
Sakumo stared at the counter.
"I know it's so overwhelming…but hang in there…it will get easier, with time."
Fresh tears leapt to the teen's eyes. He nodded slowly. "…Thank you," was all he could muster. He looked back the bowl of soup. He couldn't see it very well, so he wiped his face shamefully.
.
Looking at the objects was like looking at some lost treasure of a lost ninja. Sakumo found it difficult to accept the lost objects had belonged to his father, of all people. All this time, the objects had laid there, collecting the dust of the air of whatever obduracy his father had closed them off to. He took back the diary, and read it, in one sitting.
The final pages were in Dalzen's handwriting.
The final pages, made him mourn.
…Expect to be home soon.'
Dalzen and Keiko both made him understand (very well) he could not speak of the mission at all. Technically, no one was ever to know the real reason why they'd been sent there. Sakumo understood well enough. He returned the slim black journal to the chest with Kano that Monday evening and before he left, he took one object that was still so dear to him.
He took back the jackknife, and he whispered, "Thank you…dad…thank you."
I promise—oh I promise…
He returned with Keiko to stay at her home and thought intensely about over all his uncle had written, keeping it swirling in his mind, voicing none of it.
Their villain…had borne the name…'Uchiha'…
It made him wonder.
.
The next day he went back to work with Dalzen, and his sensei approved Sakumo's drawings, and signed the pages with him. Sakumo wasn't in the mood for humour, but he looked up at his captain, and asked him what to do with the smaller sheets of paper, which had served as their notes and their guide: Dalzen merely smiled. "…I think, I'll keep them," Sakumo said, not wishing to rip them as they'd wanted. He looked down, the little sheets were in both his and Dalzen's writing, of the routes they followed and other such information. "I want to keep them," he repeated, assuredly, feeling the documents, in lieu of the Kiri diary, had some sentimental value.
Dalzen made no objection.
"And sir…" Sakumo looked back up, "Captain—" he said uneasily, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For being angry with you."
Dalzen smiled again; "You had a right to be. I'm just surprised you didn't get indignant earlier."
"I didn't understand," Sakumo said, "How could I understand—it was unbelievable."
"You believe it now?"
"I guess I have to—" he looked up again, uneasily. "…What was he like?" Sakumo wondered, "My uncle."
Dalzen suppressed a grin; "Annoying. I hated him."
Sakumo smiled.
"But I didn't. He was…truly something else."
"And what was my father like? I mean, what kind of ninja was he, really?"
"…You're going to ask me fifty questions, aren't you?"
Sakumo looked down. "Well, I, just…"
"I'll answer them all," Dalzen said, with a smile.
But mid-morning, the two were requested to be seen by Nidai; the older Hyuuga ninja Sakumo had seen before brought them the news. Sakumo desperately wanted to stay behind, but the message was for both of them.
Sakumo fidgeted with his headband around his neck and continued straightening his vest in a panic. Dalzen was excessively calm, considering. "…What could he want?!" Sakumo asked him quietly.
"…Confidence, clarity, and conviction, Sakumo."
The teen frowned nervously behind his mask, "…Captain…!"
But they were at the door to the hokage's office. Reluctantly, Sakumo followed his sensei, keeping his head down, hoping whatever Nidaime had to say was to Dalzen, and that he could remain silent.
The hokage nodded to them from behind his excessively cluttered desk. Papers were stacked on either end, as they usually were, strewn about in a sort of organized, yet chaotic way. The only menacing tridents that hung on the walls were old pictures of family and places, and some notes hung behind him, pinned on silver tacks. There were two high shelves, homing nameless spines of dusty-color books. "Thank you," he said. "And I'd like to thank you two for completing the maps. They are extremely accurate, well done."
Dalzen nodded.
Sakumo continued staring at the wooden floor. He could see the unusual markings of the faded grain.
"…Which brings me to the next matter. Sakumo. I have something that belongs to you, now."
The teen straightened, his dark eyes looked at the bottom of the brown desk, but no further.
"…I knew your father, only a little, when he came back," Nidai explained. "My brother gave a special ceremony for him, your captain here, and the others, and I remember it well," he said, watching the teen slowly look up. "My brother was a firm believer in honoring those who fought for him, any way he could. He gave them each a small silver medal, and I remember your father received two—one as his, and one in honor of his brother. Coushander…was quite uneasy at the time, and disturbed, greatly, by what he had seen.
"I saw him, by chance, just as he was leaving the village," Nidai picked up a small silver medal under him atop his desk, "And I believe he dropped this, on his way out. I believe he flung it at the commemoration post, for the original name of the village."
Sakumo looked and saw the shining silver pentagon. His eyes widened.
"I feel, it's only right I should return it to you. The post is no longer there, and I believe the hard feelings, are gone, as well."
Nidai got up and walked, and pinned it on the teen's vest and the Senju smiled.
"Th…Thank you," Sakumo stammered, completely astonished, "Thank you, sir."
.
Before Sakumo left the office, one other person came in to see him—Sarutobi Hizuren. "Sakumo—may I have a word?"
The older man was so polite, Sakumo always felt a little awkward around him, "…Of course, what is it?"
Hizuren gave him a folder in his hand, a piece of paper inside. Sakumo opened it and read it—it was a proposed mission—to area thirty-six, leaving on Friday, slated for a few weeks. "I was wondering," the man said, "If you'd be on my team."
Sarutobi was leading—his name written at the top. "…Oh…um…"
"You don't have to answer right away. But I'd like you to think about it. Being Dalzen's student…you know the area, and you know Murasaki. We'll be working with her to track Nikure. She said her hawk saw him around the neutral zone, so we've been cleared to help her. I'd like to have Hyuuga Hiromasa in the team, and Seichi is coming, too."
"…Oh…well…um…"
Hizuren smiled. "Think about it tonight, but let me know tomorrow."
Sakumo nodded. "Ok…I will—thank you."
Sarutobi nodded, and left.
A mission? Sakumo thought. For the first time, he was not sure if he was up to it.
.
He went home with Jiraiya, and Sakumo showed Keiko the medal, and told her what Nidaime had said.
"…Oh! I had no idea…!" She looked at it tearfully.
Sakumo smiled. "Dalzen hadn't either—he was surprised."
"My word," she smiled, "That's amazing!"
.
Later that night, after Jiraiya was tucked in bed, Sakumo confided to her about the mission Sarutobi had offered him.
"…You sound like you don't want to go," she said.
He shrugged. "I'm not sure of any use I'd be."
"Oh nonsense," she said. "Dalzen's told me all the time since he first trained you, you're a splendid shinobi. You think maybe…it's a little soon?"
"…Well…Maybe…" he began to confess.
"Oh!" she suddenly said, "Speaking of which—I wanted to give you something."
"Oh…" He wanted to object, but she was off to fetch the article, before he could say anything.
She came back with a small item, a grey scroll, marking in hiragana; inu.
"…That's…"
She smiled broadly. "I can't use them anymore, and I'd really like you to have it."
"Oh, I…can't…"
She put it in his hand. "Go ahead and keep it. Just…watch out for the grey one…He's a bit schizophrenic."
.
"…This is shit…all of it…"
Sakumo walked in the next morning, smiling at his captain, "…What was that…?"
"Oh—Sakumo…I…didn't hear you come in…"
Sakumo laughed, and he smiled. "…What are you doing?"
"Oh—just a few things for the Intel people…nothing important."
"Oh. Well, there's someone I need to see…"
"Is it Hizuren?"
"…How'd you know?"
"I heard about the mission from Hiromasa," Dalzen finally turned around to face him, "Are you going?"
"Well…" Sakumo looked away. "I…"
"You won't be going on any more missions with me."
"Oh—I know, I know…It's just…It's pretty soon, that's all."
Dalzen smiled. "Do you think the missions are going to wait for you or something?"
"Well…no…"
Sakumo looked away, unable to compete with the man's intense stare.
In truth, it was logical. He should be on that mission. He knew the area, he knew the sand ninja, and he'd proven himself in skill and thought as jounin.
In truth, the memory of his father was stopping him. The pain and the loss, both rendered him reticent and lifeless. He felt as if his purpose had gone…whatever it was.
Dalzen turned away, back to the papers.
"What…do you think I should do?"
"You should know the answer to that," he said simply.
Sakumo felt worse.
.
The teen met Hizuren in the chamber, talking with a Senju. Sakumo waited patiently until the jounin came over, smiling, "What did you decide?"
Sakumo took a quick breath and nodded. "I will go."
"Great!"
"Though…" Sakumo smiled furtively. "Friday is a lousy day to start a mission, sir."
Hizuren laughed. "…They'd like us there by Monday, what can I say."
Sakumo nodded to him, "Thank you, Sarutobi-san."
Hizuren smiled.
.
The ani helped his little brother train that evening, with Kano's approval. Sakumo was greatly surprised Jiraiya held a kunai as well as he did. The boy didn't seem like he learned it—he had no style, Sakumo thought it looked, simply, natural. The boy held it well, more than Sakumo ever remembered doing when he was eight years old.
But his otouto tired quickly, and though the boy was stubborn, Sakumo was determined to see him back before sunset. Jiraiya side-lined him as he put the last of the kunai back in the bag. "…Otou's been gone for a while," he said quietly. Jiraiya had not seen the man as Sakumo had, when Coushander told his teen everything. "I miss him—I want him to come back. I wish he'd come back."
"…Yeah…" Sakumo was surprised by the sudden, somber change of topics. The teen forgot how much their father's…'absence' had affected the young boy. He knew the odd feeling, just thinking about his mother.
"…You miss him too," Jiraiya observed. "Everybody gets quiet when we talk about him. I think kaa-chan misses him the most. She always looks at his picture. And I hear her crying, sometimes."
Sakumo frowned. "Well…" he said, uncomfortably diverting the subject, "Shall we get back then…?"
Jiraiya was sitting on the grass of the field—looking up at the stars, ignoring his brother's request. "Ani-chan…would you help me tomorrow?"
"Well…I'll be packing tomorrow."
Jiraiya turned his head. "…Packing…?!"
Sakumo smiled openly at him, "I'm leaving on a mission, on Friday."
Jiraiya's face suddenly reddened, "…What?!" he exclaimed. "Why?! For how long?!"
"Only for a few weeks."
"Weeks!? You can't! Oh Sakumo, don't go! You can't leave! What will I do?!"
"I'm sorry, Jiraiya…But I'll be back, I promise. You'll be all right. I'll be back before you know it."
Jiraiya turned away, his eyes tearing.
Sakumo sighed and sat with him, the boy stiffened, trying not to cry. "…It's ok," Sakumo said.
"No it's not! You can't leave!" Jiraiya folded his arms petulantly. After a moment, the little boy looked at him, lip curled, "D'you…promise you'll come back?" he said shakily.
Sakumo smiled. "I promise."
Jiraiya hung his head and grumbled a shaky understanding.
Sakumo smiled, warmed by his little brother's concern.
Jiraiya looked up to the stars, and the two watched them shine in the blue sky. Immediately, Jiraiya asked, to detain them further, "...What do you think the stars are?"
Sakumo looked at him, "What do you mean?"
"I always heard…they were warriors, you know?"
The niisan smiled. Sakumo looked up and scanned the sky; it was just dark enough to see. "…You see that one?" He pointed above them. "That's the brightest star…the North Star."
"That's the easiest to see," Jiraiya said. "It shines the brightest."
"And…can you see the ones around it?" he traced the lines of a row of stars. "The big dipper, and the little one, you know what those are?"
"…Yeah," Jiraiya watched them.
"Otoussan…once told me…when I was little, like you…about why the North Star stays still."
"…Really? …Why?" Jiraiya wondered. "How come?"
"The North Star, or the fixed star…was once a man, named Naga."
"…Naga?" Jiraiya looked at him quizzically. "…A man? Really? Was he a warrior?"
Sakumo shook his head, "No," he said, slowly remembering the story. "He was a shepherd, who loved climbing mountains—every mountain. He'd climb to the top of every hill, every plateau, and every mountain, and his flock would follow him, wherever he went," Sakumo thought, trying to think of the story. "And one day, he—they arrived at the top of a tall hill, and he saw a great, big mountain in the distance…And it was so tall, he couldn't really see the top of it…And, the shepherd's father…Shino, said, 'I will watch our flock…son…as you climb…for they will never be able to follow you.' So…Naga began climbing, but the mountain…it was different than the others—it was rugged, and dangerous, and steep…and after so many days of climbing, he couldn't find a way to go any higher. He went all around the circumference of the mountain, looking for some kind of trail…until…he found a small hole in the mountain, and he took it. But as he went in…the mountain rumbled, like in anger, and the path closed behind him with rock and stone. He had no choice, but to go on.
"He traveled, for a while…inside the tunnel, and finally, he saw…a little pocket of light. He came out, and he saw he was almost at the top. So he continued to climb. He reached the top of the mountain, and saw there was a little area of livable space, and so, he said…" Sakumo paused and thought, "'Here…I will stay—Here I must stay, until I die. But, I have climbed my mountain, I am here, at last.'
"And he could see everything. He could see his flock, his father, and far out across and beyond them—He could see the tops of all the hills and smaller mountains they'd traveled through. And Naga…called out to his father, and Shino saw him and was sad, and he said…'My son…will never come back. Forever, he must stay on this mountain…He can travel and climb no more,' And Shino thought, and he said…'I can't let my son die—I will turn him into a star, a fixed star. He will be a guide-mark for all the living things on the earth, and in the sky.
"So Naga, became a star, a fixed star, and he is true north. And the flock…The flock missed him, and so they went to the mountain, but they were challenged by it…and still…they try. Shino called them 'big dipper' and 'little dipper', and made them all stars. Together, they go around that mountain, trying to find the one trail to Naga. They're always moving around him…but he stays still," Sakumo finished quietly.
Little Jiraiya stared at the constellations. He saw the flock in the sky, out of reach from Naga, somewhere, on the mountain in a line. "…You think…they could ever reach him…?" the boy asked with empathy.
"Some things…aren't meant to be," Sakumo said uneasily.
"D'you think…Naga's lonely?"
Sakumo smiled sadly. "Maybe…I think…he knew what he was getting into…Every action has a consequence—just like staying out so late."
"Aw…" Jiraiya sighed.
"…Come on," Sakumo smiled.
"…But I'm tired…" Jiraiya said with a deeper purpose, yawning mischievously.
"Oh…fine…"
Sakumo let the boy ride on his back.
Jiraiya tried kept Naga and the wayfaring flock of sheep in his peripheral, but they were going the opposite way.
.
The young boy was eager to tell his mother the story as she tucked him into bed. She listened as he repeated, "…And they're always moving around him, but, he stays still."
"That's quite a tale."
"Yeah, Sakumo says otoussan told it to him when he was little—like me."
"…Really?" Kano looked at him with greater interest.
"Hai—you know, I think Sakumo still misses him."
She faked a smiled. "We all do," She shook her head and kissed the young boy's forehead. "Goodnight, little monkey…get some sleep."
"…'Night."
Kano saw Sakumo in the kitchen, mulling over a clean white paper. He turned and looked at her uneasily. "…I decided...to accept."
She smiled, "You look so excited."
"Well…I guess…I just have to."
"You're being very brave, Sakumo."
He smiled, "…My name…is Sakumotsu, you know," he admitted, feeling unabashed for the first time in his life to say it.
She smiled. "I know; your father told me he named you."
Sakumo's grief flashed to his eyes. "…Yeah…" he said proudly, full of feeling. He wanted to say he missed him so much, but there was too much emotion wound in his throat.
"That story you told Jiraiya…was very sweet. Did you tell him…you'll be leaving?"
Sakumo nodded. "That day after tomorrow…he…wasn't very happy," Sakumo smiled. "Oh…and I want to thank you…for letting me stay here."
"You're welcome anytime, Sakumo."
"Thank you…" he said honestly, "You've…been very kind."
She smiled.
It'd been such a hard couple weeks. It'd been an even harder week, after Coushander had passed. She worried for Sakumo, and prayed for him. The loss had affected him greatly, to the core of his being.
She imagined the mission would be a distraction for him, and also perhaps a catalyst, to show him and return him as to where he stood with himself and the world. Keiko prayed it might do him good, so uncertain as he was. And she hoped her Hairo…would serve him well.
Keiko hugged the boy tightly, Friday morning, before he left.
.