Before the Storm: Old Ichiro's Secret
The candlelight was weak. A flicker against the shadows that swallowed the room. The darkness should have helped cool the room, but even then it was suffocating. It was hot. It was so hot. The old man in bed moaned pitifully.
"Take the blankets off. Take them off!" he pleaded. A face hovered before him, brows knit in worry. Who was that? Who was there? He could hardly see with that one little candle.
"Hush, Papa, hush. You have a fever." His daughter tried to soothe him, laying a cool wet cloth over his forehead. His head lolled to the side.
"I need more opium." His voice was gravelly in his throat. His daughter shushed him, wiping his face with the cloth.
"No, Papa. You don't. Rest a little."
"I'm in pain, dammit!" he bit out. What kind of monster had he raised? Could she not see his pain? Cruel little brat. He blinked bleary eyes, trying to take in his daughter's face, but she was hard to see. Her silver hair was quickly tied in a bun, and her lined face was set in stone.
Was Rina so old already? The thought made him feel ancient.
He was dying, wasn't he? Well, about goddamn time, he thought with a deep sigh, chest rising and falling with a little difficulty. His daughter flitted about.
"Rest, Papa, rest." She held his hand. He shook his head.
"Let me die in peace. Off with you, you meddling child," he managed. He felt her skin cool against his as her palm grew clammy. He slipped his fingers out of her grasp.
"You're not going to die," she whispered, as if he were a child. "You're just a little sick."
"Don't be a fool, Rina, I'm on my last night. I can feel it. Death will come to me tonight, and already the damn fool is late. Give me the opium," he said again. Gods, his brittle bones hurt so badly. Couldn't an old man have a little relief? The arthritis was a bitch, and even in death, it was flaring up horribly. Maybe death was a few hours off if he could still feel.
"You've had enough-" Rina began again, in a hardened tone, but her father cut her off.
"I'm as old as the fucking dirt in this house, Rina, and it hurts. Give me the damn opium and shut me up already," he snapped. His daughter frowned deeply. Without a word, she left. His breath caught in his throat, and he wheezed.
"Opium, Rina!" he shouted out weakly, but there was no reply. He rested against his pillow, raising a shaking hand to the cool cloth on his forehead. He relished the cold feeling against his fingers. What a heavenly thing a cold wet cloth was. The flame on the wax candle bobbed and shrunk, before flaring a little again.
As old as he was, Ichiro knew he wasn't alone. He was too tired to feel afraid.
"Who's there?" Ichiro called out in a brittle voice. Was it the angel of death, sent to carry him away to the moon on soft, black wings that glittered with stars? Or maybe the glitter was from the dying lights of the souls on Earth. He didn't know. He didn't care. As long as the ride was comfortable.
"Ichiro," a voice whispered. The old man craned his neck, squinted his eyes as he searched the dark corners not touched by the candle.
"About damn time! You better be here to take me away to the afterlife," he growled. The figure at the foot of his bed chuckled softly.
"I'm afraid not," came the quiet reply. Ichiro scowled at the figure as he studied the intruder.
"Well, you're sure ugly enough to be the Angel of Death," Ichiro commented, "all those scales. Shit. You aren't a demon here to carry me to hell, are you? Mother always did tell me my mouth would send me straight there. Ah fuck it. I don't even care anymore. Just take me there before I lose my mind."
The figure ignored him. His presence was slightly frightening. The man in his room was cloaked, but he had face that glimmered like moonlight, and just as silver as it. Scales seemed to dot his cheeks. He peered at Ichiro with golden eyes. Maybe it was a demon.
"Well, go on, then. Do it. I don't have all night."
The figure chuckled. "The fever's gotten to you. You're slightly delirious."
Ichiro frowned. "Did Rina give me that opium yet? Girl's as stubborn as her mother. Damn them," he muttered.
"Ichiro, listen to me," The demon said again. The old man fixed dimming eyes on him.
"Do you remember your childhood?" it asked. Ichiro paused. Childhood? Oh, yes...yes...snow looked so much prettier when he had been a boy.
"I'm fucking old. You think I can remember my childhood whenever you want me to?" Ichiro snapped. Kabuto's golden eyes glittered.
"Do you remember your brother's name?"
Ichiro snorted. "My brother. That clumsy fool. What was his name again? I think it started with a J..."
"It was Jiro," Kabuto supplied. Ichiro grunted.
"Is he dead?" he asked.
"Ichiro, your brother's been dead for almost forty years."
Ichiro made an exasperated sound. "Of course. Fool had to beat me at everything, even death. That little bastard." Ichiro laughed, but, tears sparkled in his eyes. There was no venom in his voice.
"I would love to see him again. I miss him," Ichiro wheezed. There was a pause.
"You're the oldest man in this village, Ichiro. The oldest man this village has ever seen. You've seen many things in your life."
There was no answer, only a wet cough.
"Do you remember Madara Uchiha, Ichiro?" Kabuto whispered. Ichiro groaned.
"Uchiha...Uchiha? Gods, that sounds familiar. Oh, you mean that pissy Uchiha with the hair. He was a fag." He waved his bony hand dismissively. "At least, that's what they told me. But that wasn't the problem. No, no. That wasn't it, but they used it, but they didn't care about that. I mean, hell, even the Elder had a man as a lover when his wife wasn't looking."
"Who's they, Ichiro?"
Ichiro scowled. "Who's who? What are you talking about? Are you gonna take me to the afterlife or what? Dammit, I'm a hundred fucking years old, and I'm willing! What's it take to get a cooperative spirit these days? Is good help that hard to find up there? Do me a favor and shut the hole in your face. Don't you know not to interrupt your elders? Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes. Those Uchihas. They have freaky eyes you know. Jiro was always scared of the Elders. Hell, I was so sure that one day Madara was gonna come home and see me and Jiro wrecking and graffiting his house and we would get a butt whoopin' of a lifetime. Then we'd be in for it! Oh yes, we would be."
Kabuto waited for a coughing spell to pass. It was a few minutes before Ichiro spoke again. "They told us to be good boys. There was some politics going on we didn't understand. We weren't from their clan anyway, just boys who needed a few bucks. Hisao always gave us candy afterward, too. He was a nice old man. Grandfatherly. Anyway, we did what we were told. Hisao was afraid of Madara. So were the Elders. They wanted him gone. So they finally found out a secret about him they could use. They ostracized him, saying it was because of that secret, and because the Senju were afraid of him by using his brother's eye. They thought he was a murderer. A criminal could not be Hokage, they said." He finished with a sigh. There was silence.
"Hisao slandered Madara?" Kabuto asked, a smile stretching across his face. "The Elders decided he couldn't have power, and so they manipulated the situation," he thought aloud, pleased. There was no reply.
Then,
"You gonna kill me or what?"
