Coushander
コウシャンデル
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Chapter 36
The Land, The Sail, and The Pen
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The idea had been building in his head since his visit to taki and kumo. And with the world view from those missions widening his mind's eye and offering definition to the scope of the world's ruggedness (and loftiness), Jiraiya, predictably, wouldn't mind seeing more. And that more contained the names of the deserts of suna, the mountains and land of tall, brown tsuchi, and hidden, cold, and misty kiri.
And when Jiraiya turned eighteen, the sage toad named Fukasaku called him in via reverse summoning to the great and big land of the kaeru and all other amphibians, aquatics, and arachnids. The respected elder of the toads called the boy in to hear about a dream the great elder of the land had dreamed about the young man, increasingly tall and broad-shouldered with white hair in cut just like his father (his mother's doing). It was a prophecy. And since it was not yet proven true, it was a metaphor, and since it was a metaphor, it solidified the separation of his path from his older brother's, promising hopes and dreams of his own. "Find meaning in it, young lad," small but spry Fukasaku enforced before they entered the chamber. "And if you don't, fake it!" He scratched his little beard over his red cloak. "Do you understand?"
"Understanding is not required. Only obedience. You taught me that," Jiraiya smiled slyly down at the toad.
"Heheh. You're right," Fukasaku smiled adoringly. "Now follow me!" he snapped instantly, and turned on his webbed foot, and hopped along the path in front of the eighteen year old.
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"Sakumo has his field mom, and I can write—sort of."
"I could have told you that, sweetheart, oh put that down!" she exclaimed, her right hand fidgeted under her chin.
"Mom…" Jiraiya smiled. "I'm leaving."
Those two little words sent her heart in a frenzied flurry of infinite love and loss. Her eyes stung as if they were cruel words, or sad words, and glistened like they were learned words. Her lips smiled shakingly with the absolute heartache of grief and the foreign, distant comfort, of a job well tried.
"I'm going to take my leave and back-pack around the land of fire," he said lightly and innocently. "I was hoping to go to Suna, too…"
"Don't you get lost," she said. "And…come back to me, understand?"
"I will," he said cheerily. "I promise."
"I love you, sweetheart," she said, with a sob in her throat.
That day, she gave him a letter, before he left. It was not postmarked, and it did not have a stamp or return address; it merely bore his name in black kanji with rai in the center, and the back was sealed with two numbers in the centre: 18. Curious, Jiraiya opened it to read,
Jiraiya, Your mother has instructed me not to begin this letter with 'if you remember me,' so I will instead move on from that and say hello to you as you are now eighteen years old, and as she persuaded me, your eighteenth birthday demands something. I wrote your brother in this context (also by her prodding—this was all her idea), so now it's your turn. At present, you're five years old—I'm sure in your mother's eyes, you will never change. That's a wonderful way to look at people. When you're a parent, you will have eyes like that. But at eighteen, you're coming out of adolescence, and into who you will be. And though...I think undoubtedly you will follow in your brother's footsteps, you are quite different from him—but the truth is still simple. Whenever I look at you, I see your uncle. Your mother can see it too. And even though I'm sure you're quite mature right now, you will always be our 'little monkey'.
I used to know many legends, Jiraiya, but I never knew yours until your mother brought out her old textbook from when she attended school as a girl. The reason why I didn't know this legend was because first of all, my brother and I never formally attended the academy; we were both given what they called 'field' sensei. And two, for the second half of my life, forgetting all things shinobi was, primarily, the only thing that held together the shards of my sanity. By now, you know that story. From both your brother, and your mother. And I will tell you the same thing I've told your mother, I'm sorry for never waking up sooner. Granted, you were exceptionally young when I began to come around and face my demons. You were not even one year old, in fact, you were just born. Grief has a mysterious hold over people, Jiraiya. Very mysterious, and very precarious. Do not invite it in. If it stays too long, it will control you in ways you would never imagine. It can harden you like stone, it can throw you out on the ground like water, where all your goodness and decency dries up. Never forget, and never ever abandon the people around you. Your true friends will always be there to help you and comfort you. It was a gesture I ignored, so take a hint from your very old man and never be ignorant in the face of simple kindness. I know that's hard to do sometimes, swallowing mountains of pride and such, but I think by now, your brother could teach you.
Finally, I must add this. Your mother will never tell you this, but I did not expect the event of the stork that dropped you on her door all those years ago. I was quite furious she'd been in contact with the bird, but now that I see you, five years old, and with hair like mine, I wouldn't trade you for anything this world could offer. You are loved, by both of us. And you constantly reminded me of the legacy my brother did leave. In turn, I could eventually accept it. Your mother will have given so much devotion to you when I'm gone; I hope you can say thank you to her not just for your sake, but for mine. I raised your older brother by myself, for a few years, and look how poor a job I did. Your mother is not like me, thank God. She is a well of strength and fortitude, I hope you never feel ashamed to go to her when you're troubled. She is a very strong woman, Jiraiya, do not underestimate her, or what she can handle. And you should know, also, I loved her. She knows this now. When we were younger, I looked on her as a young girl whom I had to protect; she was sweet and kind. I volunteered myself for the job when we were on the ship to Kiri. Dalzen was too uncaring (understatement), Ichida was quite shy, and I think my brother was busy protecting us all from ourselves. But somewhere along the line, I noticed she cared about me. And finally, our team began to have a little bond towards the end. I can remember thinking at one point, when all of it would be over, I might go back to the village and get to know her better. But, it never worked out like that. I was left in shambles and your mother and I never met again until I was forty-eight. By that particular time, loneliness and solitude got to me. Never invite that cold thing in, either. No matter how much I had denied it to myself whenever we met, I did love her in return. If you ever find yourself in love with a woman, Jiraiya, treat her well, and as I told Sakumo, I hope you're focused on other goals right now. This is nothing. You have your whole life ahead of you, yet. Make the most of it—I have a feeling you will if you've got your uncle looking after you. There are numerous roads down through life, meet them all and never stray. Say goodbye to your friends properly, when need be, and never hide away. Welcome those who come after you, and always remember the place from which you came. Visit home, once in a while, and see your mother. Please do that. She will always love and care for you, no matter what. Be safe, Jiraiya, and be patient with your older brother when he begins to grow senile ten years before you do. By then, I hope you both will be living the life you want, with no, or as little regrets and hardships as possible. So, you're eighteen—happy birthday, and hope you're on your way. With love, your father.
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"Watch yourself," urged Sakumo with concern deep in his dark eyes.
Jiraiya laughed, "Aw, nobody knows me, Sakumo."
"I have a feeling they will after this little trek of yours," Sakumo said, looking up at his brother fondly.
"Relax. I'll be ok."
Jiraiya was tall; the top of his shoulders standing an inch and a half over Sakumo's own. Shiroi Kiba even suspected his otouto might grow a little taller yet on his journey. "Well," said Sakumo sentimentally. "Take care. I mean it," he looked him in the eye.
Jiraiya smiled. "Thanks. I will."
Across a year, he roamed.
He satisfied his mother, brother, and sister with letters from his first stops in the arid but interesting border towns of Suna in late December, when Jiraiya packed up his things and headed out. Jiraiya surpassed them all for the sandy innards and golden dunes with the hot, glittering days of magic and time. He met with cactus, mud, and stone, and the columns and architecture of the old wind regime, still wasting away in the cities and towns. The catacombs of the beige cities were mostly empty, save the whispers of those past, parching his throat and fostering his thirst for shade further north, toward a mountain, stripped of the mining days, still standing, forgotten or not. From there, he flipped a coin and took the Ame side and endured high altitudes over cities built in steel and iron ore, sprawling across the land like grey square monsters with old railroad tracks like quilted stitching piecing them all together like patchwork. The monster's eyes were visible at night with orange, yellow, and white lights blinking at night for the cities, shops, and homes. A multitude of silver stars blanketed the sky and it was there on a high round top hill near the grey and rusted inn, Jiraiya opened his notebook for the first time and wrote, at length, the odd transition between sand and rock and steel. He smiled when he was finished, and wondered about his family, and then walked back to fall soundly asleep under the grey covers.
He stayed longer in the land of rain than in dry suna. But as the rains of the season ushered in, growing heavier like an unwelcome, persistent guest, he left the grey mist and roamed north. A rugged land rose up from the hills, and he stared tsuchi in the face across the borderline. He crossed that jagged line in April, being greeted into the mountains and large stretches of spring green plateaus where shepherds still herded sheep and some of the men hunted bison and birds.
There was warm sun down in valleys, and one lazy afternoon Jiraiya sat underneath a fruitless but white flowering apple tree near the little stream and admired the tranquility with his dark eyes, sitting there idly with his ruled notebook open with not a word on either page, and a black pen motionless in his right hand. He began to daydream; he'd come there as a simple vagabond, and his destiny was as curiously shady as the grey scenes he'd just left, when he suddenly saw a princess (for she must have been) come floating down the river, her simple golden curls glowing amid the backdrop of the tall green hills, her beautiful white robes holding a scent of balsam and pine: a daughter of a daimyo in the northern province, one with dirt under her nails when her father wasn't looking to prove to herself she was just as capable as any coal man with handsome soot in his eyes. Jiraiya had the dark coal color in his eyes, but none of the other qualities to catch her eye until she stopped suddenly and smiled at him with pink lips and cheeks; her eyes a beautiful honey-brown. Jiraiya studied them and quickly convinced he was completely infatuated, he returned the smile and his pulse raced as she gracefully walked forward, an object in her hands now definable; a pink flower as sweet and thin as she. Jiraiya looked up with excitement. "Hello," she said, her voice gentle, but strong. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."
"I'm just passing through," said Jiraiya, dreamlike.
"Do you have a warm place to stay?"
Jiraiya shook his head. "Nowhere but here."
"Then perhaps," she knelt down with pleasure and warmth in her honey brown eyes, "You will sleep in the embrace of my arms…"
Jiraiya was suddenly beaten awake with the bottom end of a wooden shepherd's hook—"Ow! Ow ow!" The eighteen year old fell over with a confused start. "Ow! Hey, stop!"
The old shepherd looked at him with an uneven, suspicious brow. "I thought I told you Tamora boys to stay off my land."
"Hey, I'm not one of them, I'm just traveling though! Do you have to beat me for that?!" Jiraiya said defensively and closed his notebook.
"What's your name?"
"Jiraiya."
"Oh. Well. I'm awfully sorry, Jiraiya. Now. Get off my land."
"Ok! Ok!" Jiraiya rose up, his left hand behind his head. He soon lowered it for the bruise on his shoulder. "I'm going," he announced huffily.
He took his things and began walking to follow the stream north.
The man pointed south. "Ame is back that way, boy."
"I know!" said Jiraiya. "I'm not going back that way, I've just come from there. I'm heading north."
The man regarded him for a moment. And just as Jiraiya began walking again, the man stopped him again with his words, "That way leads to Nichito."
"…So?"
"That city is as corrupt as the night. I'd stay away if I were you."
"Well, I'll probably fit right in then," Jiraiya smiled smartly, not heeding the warning.
"Suit yourself," the shepherd said.
Jiraiya turned away and did.
With the evening sun rising over the soaring brown mountains in the distance, so Jiraiya arrived in a town as quiet like fallen snow; cold, but dark, just like the man foretold. Jiraiya tried giving the small inn he checked in at a good impression; the hall and anteroom were lit warmly enough with kerosene oil lamps and one or two overhead electric lights, but the people both in and outside seemed preoccupied with their own affairs and business. "Will you take dinner, sir?" the small clerk asked, and he was exceptionally small and light, compared to Jiraiya's height.
"Dinner?"
"Yes, sir."
The small man with a head of light auburn color hair led him into a dining room where a few equally small bands of men were gathered near the wooden round tables of the parlor, most of which seated in a line at the bar. There was a patio that led off on the left that caught Jiraiya's attention. It was secluded by two beautifully carved sliding doors with two frosted glass inserts a piece, small rectangles of glass shown a soft blue like with motifs swirling in the glass like the curves of swans—something Jiraiya had never seen before. "Would you like a table, sir?"
"Oh—no, no thank you."
The clerk seemed to shrug abruptly, and with a slight low stoop as if his ankle pained him, he turned around and returned to the small lobby to sit and rest.
Seeing no signs of forbidden entry, Jiraiya opened one of the doors and looked out; the deck was built over the green plateau, and as the light-blue painted wood rails chained together around in a rectangle fourteen foot in front of him, it looked as if Jiraiya were on the last heights of the earth before the land rose in the horizon, with a great and deep depression in front of him, stretching on for miles, a great forest green dip in the land that seemed to carry the breath of mist and fog of the steel cities down south like a river of voices. The deck was small before this grand outlook, and the faded blue paint lent itself to the wood of the floor, showing rusted brown heads of nails, showing it's age. There were wooden chairs on that deck, three on the east end, and three on the west end, where Jiraiya was looking at the blue dusk and deep valley with nothing short of wonder. But two men sat on the west end, very still and calm, as if they were mere decorations to enhance the old character (or believability) of the inn. One was quite aged, at least as old as the shepherd Jiraiya had met, if not a little older. The old man wore a faded straw hat with a black trim just above the flap; his brown cane leaned against a small circular side-table on his left. There was a short grey tuff of beard on his shaded face, his eyes looked small, and his collar and clothes resembled that of a seaman's. His outer jacket was navy, with a single brass button on the cuff.
The other man on his right was considerably younger with auburn-brown hair and thin auburn brows. His clothes were brown and worn. He greeted Jiraiya after a moment with polite interest and looked again curiously, yet his dark eyes were soft and steady. "Don't think I've seen you here before."
"You haven't," Jiraiya smiled. "I'm just passing through."
The young man smiled and lowered his voice. "Nobody passes through this town without a half dozen ninja weapons in their pockets and a steely eye for somebody, or something. You come prepared?"
"Maybe," was all the response Jiraiya could think of. "You?"
The man smiled, and he held out a hand toward the empty chair near him. Jiraiya sat and the man said, "Not hardly. And that's what'll probably get me killed..."
Once again, though the man seemed infinitely kinder and openly honest than anyone he'd met so far, yet Jiraiya could not shake the feeling he too had his own preoccupation. "Forgive me," the man said, "My name is Ryouma. And this is my uncle, Yamashita-san."
Jiraiya nodded to him, as the old man looked at something to Jiraiya's right, but he did not move. After a pause the old man's beard seemed to twitch and he spoke, "Yamashita, Taro. Pleased to meet you," he said, with little feeling in his raspy voice. "Are you from the government?"
"No," Jiraiya answered.
"Hm," the old man did not move or blink. "This is my adopted nephew, Morita Ryouma. He is pleased to meet you, too."
Ryouma grinned. "Uncle was a sailor. He rode every ship off the north coast before the local lords began shutting down the private enterprises."
"Ruffing rascal thieving kneiving scoundrels," the old man inserted.
"He got lucky enough to keep on the old Fujino lighthouse in the port town up there, but got arrested for keeping his ferry service…"
"Damn soulless communal reckless hounds," the old man said again with feeling, keeping his small little eyes somewhere between the two young men. "I say, I say, I followed the stars and walked the stairs for over fifty years of my life, walking 'round the spiral coast, happy as could be. Now they tell me the best way to help society is to die! that they do! Rats!" he said. "Dirty callous rats who once prayed my white sail would hold as they hid below deck lest the typhoon swallowed them up into it's dark and merciless cloud. Animals," Yamashita finished bitterly, unblinking.
"Uncle is very passionate about the current state of affairs. Private property is next, I'm afraid."
"Oh poor mother's grave. Lost to a daimyo. Or worse. A shinobi."
"A shinobi?" Jiraiya inquired.
"Well with what rate the military of Iwagakure is expanding, shinobi are everywhere these days…don't you know?"
"…Doing what?"
"Quien sabe?" Ryouma offered with a shrug. "It's anyone's guess. I hope we don't invade somebody," he smiled dimly.
The old man finally shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair; Jiraiya did not know which had creaked louder; the chair, or his bones. He frowned, glaring at whatever he was looking at. "We invade them," Yamashita said. "Then we call the whole thing off, apologize, and seclude ourselves. I can reach the ships via the light. They'll bring prisoners to the daimyo house, and then we'll set tsuchi straight."
"Forgive us," Ryouma smiled; "You must think this is radical talk."
"No…" Jiraiya thought, unaware of the problems in tsuchi listed by these two country natives. "Not…entirely…"
"We must beat them," Yamashita said stoutly. "Trick a sailor once, he will fall into the sea. Trick a sailor twice, he will take you in with him. Then we will learn if you can swim."
Ryouma smiled in something like a quiet adoration of the man.
Jiraiya listened intently on the raspy voice.
"No one can hide in the mirror of the sea," he continued, staring blindly at something unseen, "The mirror is too clear, and man, man I say is far too dark. He shows up like an ugly eclipse; black against the sky, round, and sinister. I say, Ryo, we must light a small candle up on the lighthouse tomorrow. The shadows will tell them we were there. We were there."
"Of course uncle," Ryouma said dutifully, "They will know. They always know. They have spies, that go out and look for these things. They know you are still alive, and it pains them."
The old man smirked within his gray beard.
"Uncle—are you tired?" Ryouma asked him after a moment.
"…Yes," the old man admitted, "Yes. Please help me, Ryo."
"Excuse me," Ryou said to Jiraiya as he rose and helped the man from the chair. Yamashita used the cane not so much for support, as Ryouma held both his back and shoulders, but as a guide. The man did not move slow, but he did not move with alacrity; the two disappeared into the bar and lounge for the apartments.
Ryouma returned almost twenty minutes later. The last rays of sun reclined over the basin and the tall clouds of mountains in the distance like a flailing farewell of red and orange streaks across the horizon. Being used to the obscurity of a thousand tri-cornered tree leaves, Jiraiya had never seen such an open and grand sight quite like it.
"Hello again," Ryouma said quietly as he took up Yamashita's seat, across from Jiraiya. "The tavern is filling up now. It's not a great place to be after twilight. We're on our way south," the young man explained quietly after another pause, "To Ame. I figure what with all the water down there, it might help ease uncle's mind. He could even get a job somewhere. You should see him if he steps on board a rocking ship on sea. He knows where he is again, he's not the same crippled man," Ryouma smiled. "It'll do me good too. I have a brother down there. Not by blood, but just the same. He's got a good job in the reclamation area for one of the major cities—small enough to fix problems and such. Funny little guy, but I love him," Ryouma looked downward. "Hate to leave here thought. Grew up in the mountains. Guess I dream at night to go back there, someday," he finished quietly, as if he'd just said something forbidden.
"The mountains…" was all Jiraiya could think to say, "Are beautiful. I've seen them."
"They are indeed. You live on one?"
Jiraiya shook his head.
"My father used to work in a coal mine near Hidaka. That's where I'm from. He worked there like his father and his father before. All his life. When he was fifty-five, the company finally shut the mines down. He didn't know what else to do other than drink himself blind. We put him back underground a couple years later. I was eighteen," Ryouma smiled. "I don't know why I'm telling you this—Are you staying here tonight?"
Jiraiya nodded.
"Mm," Ryouma smiled again, "So where you from?"
"Oh," Jiraiya thought, "The east. The far east."
"Kusa? Konoha?"
Jiraiya smiled, "Konoha."
"Oh. You're from the land of fire…So that's why you haven't arrested us yet," Ryouma chuckled. "Good for you. I envy you. I confess; I've never visited there. Do people live in trees?"
Jiraiya shrugged and then he grinned, "I do. I have a nice tree house."
"I'll believe that," Ryouma smiled. "I always wondered what it would be like to live in a tree house. I always liked Konoha, more than the other nations—nowadays, I'd probably prefer it to tsuchi."
"Really," Jiraiya looked at him curiously.
"Mm," Ryouma looked out over the misty teal basin. "Either this land is cursed, or the people who tread upon it are cursed. I don't know which. It may not matter, simply that it is. I could live a hundred years and still not tread more than two percent of this land. Maybe I shouldn't be so hasty to judge, but there it is. And, it's all I know."
"Why can't you and your uncle stay north?"
"Enemies," Ryouma said quietly. "Uncle has enemies up there."
"From the government?" Jiraiya asked a little incredulously.
"A small group of men his age have little chance of holding an insurrection against a large group of young men, especially those with the Iwagakure ninja in their back pocket. It started ten years ago. No, I shouldn't say that. Daimyo have always had the need for shinobi to protect their land; interests. But ten years ago, I went up north for work, I was nineteen, twenty or so, and I met Yamashita-san on the docks. He was like a second father—an uncle to me. Gave me work, I didn't even have to ask him, he just offered it to me, right there, without reservation. That was around the time one of the daimyo on the west end was flat out of money, and nearly out of shinobi. Spent all he had on the best, and still got quite the upset by the Konohagakure ninja. Ruined him, like a castle that finally crumbles, and then all the animals make their new home there, and the biggest one gets to stay. Since then, I began to notice how the daimyo compete to have the most shinobi in their arsenal. They're all united by their sense of power and wealth, that's what's been making them so dangerous. They're becoming concerted, and they think they know what's best for their people. At a young age, I never thought about worse case scenarios. Nowadays, I'm grateful each and every day we aren't officially at war with somebody, and I live with the fear each day it could happen tomorrow. I hate to sound cryptic, but I think that's what makes up the mountains, and hence makes up the people. That, and a heavy sense of irony. We have many sayings here. But we also have the will to implement them. God only knows what would happen."
"Do you think…it would happen?" Jiraiya asked him, with a chill in his hands, remembering the warning his brother gave him about the possibility of a second ninja war.
After a moment, Ryouma nodded. "And when it happens, it could make the first war look like a small fight in the sandbox. No offense to suna. They were our old enemies. After all, the second ones are always bigger than the first ones—just think of the clan wars before Hashirama. There was a long and bloody history for lines on a page. It took a lot of years, and a lot of bloodshed for peace. I only wish all that concerto human effort could have lasted longer than the ink did. But I guess that'll never happen. A hundred years from now, we're still going to be human, and we're still going to make the same mistakes."
"…You think?" Jiraiya asked him curiously.
"I know it," Ryouma smiled. "I have to know."
"Hm," Jiraiya wondered thoughtfully.
"And now, I will say so long," the young man rose up slowly from the chair. "Who knows if I will see you again. We're leaving early. Have to escape the authorities," he winked. "Goodnight."
"Oh—goodnight. Good luck."
"Thanks. Same to you—I never did ask you where you were going."
"North. I think. I don't really know where."
"Well, stay safe."
Jiraiya nodded.
After Ryouma left, Jiraiya's thoughts grew darker as did the night. He soon agreed the idea of settling in for the night was better than keeping out, alone. He rose late the next morning, and out his window as he looked, sure enough, he saw the old man and Ryouma leaving in the morning light. The went out the town on the secondary road, heading south.
And without care, but with intrigue, Jiraiya left the inn and winter-like town for the land up north. He made several interesting stops before finally reaching the northern coastline in May. There, in a balmy and mild port town, he wrote to his mother dutifully, and also to his niisan in care of that message on a separate page, noting the copious amounts of shinobi cells Jiraiya had seen along the way. Soberly, he guessed wither they were all really patriotic genin youth, or either a mix of chuunin and genin, thus breaking the rules for some kind of arms race—never had Jiraiya seen so many cells mobilized in such that way before. There were all over the port town, especially on the northern end where (as far as Jiraiya could see) there were no civilians. While looking out atop an abandoned lighthouse (open for tourist visits by a small fellow in a government clerk's suit, charging a local fee of three dollars) Jiraiya could see the houses and buildings on the north-western peninsula all dark and vacant. Brown shadows moved within the distant forest green among those grey walls of empty docks and coastline homes. The land itself seemed hazy and a bit scorched from the activity, as if the ninja were slowly sucking the color from the abandoned town. It's dark and haunting, he observed, and wrote to his ani, I could see iwa nin in the distance—saw a couple old ships still out there in the water. Training exercises? Why is the entire village vacant? For what? It seems odd the shinobi, in junction with the local authorities would just take over civilian areas. Thought you should know. Don't worry. Won't poke around too much. Love, Jii. P.S.—Hope you got a chance to work the land. Bet you're busy now!
The eighteen year old luckily saved a few of his dollars and as he walked back into the small inn that night on the south side of town, he felt confident enough to walk up to the bar and order, with shinobi ears tuned to every other conversation, in hopes of figuring out the mysterious north end of tsuchi. One couple were negotiating some sort of deal about 'it', another man to his right was moaning over a woman 'Kumiko' or 'Yumiko'—he was slurring too poorly to distinguish; and the three men on Jiraiya's left were a mix of a clerk and two government officials talking about a local lord and his successes Jiraiya had never heard of. He never had much interest in politics, but he listened anyway, and then traded off intermittently to the 'it' talk behind him a few tables. That conversation was most hard to hear, so he eventually decided to focus all listening on 'it'. In the depths of hearing a few tables back, Jiraiya was oblivious to the forlorn gentleman who suddenly succumbed to the coping mechanism he been drinking and blatantly asked with a nudge to the young man's shoulder, "I ain't never seen a guy with white hair before."
Jiraiya looked in his direction, and for a split-second, Jiraiya could have chosen to ignore the comment, but he looked at the man in the eye and said thank you. Drunken people were amusing to speak too. But Jiraiya's attention focused back to 'it'.
The drunken man retracted his hand and laughed a little, under his grey hat. "You look funny."
"Thank you," Jiraiya said again calmly.
The man chuckled again. "That all you can say?"
"Ask me something one more time, and I'm going to have to leave."
"Oh…Ok. I promise," he said.
Jiraiya breathed a quick sigh of relief and he resumed the delicate level of concentration he needed to take up the conversation behind him;
"I have to see it to believe it," the man with the lower voice said. It was an older, hardened voice, of someone years older than just an ordinary middle-aged man. Jiraiya guessed (without even looking) the man had to be close to his mother's age, if not a little older.
"You want to see it?"
"Like hell I want to see it. Do you know where she is?"
"Of course. I can take you to it—"
"I had a dog that kinna looked like you," the drunken man suddenly said. "Fuzzy little white thing. Lotsa white fuzz…stuff…Whas' it called?" He pulled off his grey cap and pulled his own hair. "Oh. Hair. Yes. Hair," he announced, and pulled at his own under a brown cap of the same color.
Jiraiya's eyes bulged as he looked at the man resentfully.
"His name was…Oh what…Deki-maro. Dekimaru. Really sweet."
Jiraiya got up and left.
"Aww! Come on…!" He turned morosely over his glass. "Another one gone. Oh she was sweet."
Jiraiya exited the tavern and jumped silently, onto the roof, most interested in what the younger man had to show the older man. So he waited. Almost five minutes later, the two walked out, and stealthily, Jiraiya trailed them. He used his supreme level of caution and followed them north, to the northeastern dock. Jiraiya kneeled on the limb of a tall oak, overlooking the wharf. The two walked below him. "I can go with you, but you're going to have to steer her out of Nakamaru."
Jiraiya saw no large ships in that dock besides five or six small dinghies, all roped to the dock posts, floating silent in the night.
"From there on, she's mine?"
The younger man nodded. "No use I could do with it. No trouble I could stand, either; sorry."
"Fine. But we leave under the cover of day. It's far too dangerous at night. You heard the stories. You won't come back. I don't care how brave you are."
"Fair enough. I'll meet you here at ten tomorrow."
.
Jiraiya used his perfected invisibility jutsu and tailed the boats as they went out to sea the next morning 'under' the 'cover' of the yellow sun. Jiraiya ran atop the water, and the boats sailed leisurely at their own pace—they reached a small island on the north sea after an hour, and curiously, Jiraiya trailed them both on land. The two waited again, this time, until the cover of night, when the older gentleman, alone, and with backward glances every three feet, headed for the eastern port docks on the island, and down on the end, was a tall, impressive old wooden ship and by the young man's description, said it was headed for the 'breaking-up-yard' only two days hence. But the old man suddenly stopped and stood there for a moment until he touched his charcoal color hat, turned around, and called out, "All right! Come out!" he said on the empty dock in the night. "I know you're there!"
At first, Jiraiya actually thought the man was not speaking to him, but to someone else unknown.
"Come out! Arrest me! I dare you!" he called boldly.
Again, nothing else stirred.
"Well? Testing me? Seeing if I'm going to run? Well I'm not, coward! Face me!" Finally, the old man pointed to the very tree the eighteen year old had concealed himself in.
Jiraiya decided to make himself known as an innocent party—he dropped from the old fruit tree adjacent to a vacant water clerk and ship chandler's office, and made himself visible and calmly walked down the dock.
"You! I come willingly. Take me if you must!"
Jiraiya looked up and saw the old man was committed to his instruction. "I'm not a shinobi," Jiraiya smiled. "I have no wish to arrest you."
The man looked briefly stupefied—"What? But you are from the government?"
"Why does everybody ask me that?" Jiraiya wondered aloud. "No. I'm not from the government either. Nor am I dog or vagabond. There, are you happy? I'm just plain old Jiraiya. A traveler. Nothing more. I happened to come this way."
"Why have you followed me?"
Jiraiya stopped and thought, "How do you know if I followed you?"
The man moved his head back for a moment. "I can sense these things," He turned his body and headed for the tall brown ship, as if it would give him shelter.
"You're a sensory," Jiraiya followed him.
"I don't use fancy words like that; what is, is. I don't give a damn about the details. Never have. The devil is supposed to reside there. I must avoid the devil at all costs; I am a religious man. And since I must avoid the devil and all temptation, that is why I must leave the land where I was born, and which I love more than anything else in the world."
"Seems like everybody is leaving tsuchi these days," Jiraiya commented.
"And you, do you wish to leave tsuchi too?" the old man asked, untying the knots in the ropes from the stern. "And perhaps sail with me, stab me in the night, and take the ship to one of the Iwagakure secret isles." He took out a pocketknife to better cut the rope—the knots were too unruly and badly tied by the shinobi.
"I'm not working with them, or the government, I swear to you. I was merely curious."
"I don't believe it. You're a shinobi. I know it, dammit. Perhaps a suna shinobi, destined to spy on me? Kusa? Kumo! You're from Kumo!" the man identified.
"I am not from Kumo," Jiraiya's tone took patriotic offence.
"Mm," the man grunted. The man began to climb the ladder. "You coming?"
"Me?"
"Yes!"
"You just said you don't trust me!"
"I know. But I have not, so far, sensed that you are lying in any of your answers—yet. Follow me, and don't ask any questions until we leave port."
"Aye—sir."
Jiraiya readily followed him up.
The man managed to reel in the anchor and give specific orders to his new first mate to get the ship out of the dock. The old man ignored the sails for the time being and began to steer the big clock like wheel, and he explained, "This is my ship. I christened it the Yamaru," he said, the breeze pushing on their backs on bridge; "until the government renamed it, the Victory, a few months ago. Took it from the port town to here. Bucked the whole way, kicking and screaming like a little colt. Determined it was not fit to serve 'the royal Iwagakure fleet' of naval ships, and ordered it for the breaking up yard. Only damn good thing about the government these days is that it still takes forever to get anything done. I am now saving her from her subjected fate, lest I meet with an iwa squad with white earth masks of death and a burning match. You don't happen to have a match, do you?"
"No sir," Jiraiya answered quickly.
The man gave him a slow dubious look. He knew Jiraiya was hiding something—Jiraiya thought just as quickly; "It would be faster to use a fireball jutsu. In which case, the ship would have already been destroyed. But I swear to you, I have no such intentions. I swear," Jiraiya said. "How could I willfully destroy something this beautiful?"
The old man turned his head to look over the wooden wheel and the moving water. He smiled. "I believe you. The name is Mizuno. I'm sixty-seven, and I'm getting too old for this. I've heard the land of waves is a pleasant, all but busy place. Since I'm landlocked, I plan on sailing east, into Kumo, and navigate the rivers out."
"Do you have any maps…?" Jiraiya was surprised.
"Everything I owned was in my state-room. I doubt there's anything left. You may go check."
"Really?"
"Listen, young man, the only way for you to turn back now is to jump out and swim, or jump out and drown. But I know someone like yourself could easily jump out and run. Yes. A power like yours, you have your choice."
"I'm a traveler," Jiraiya said again after a pause. "Nothing more, nothing less. I have my mother, to write back to. And a brother. He's married, now."
"Family."
"Yes."
"Go on. Look and see what's left. Bring it back to me."
Jiraiya brought back a paper bomb.
"I promise you, I can diffuse it without trouble."
"Holy Lord."
After another moment, Jiraiya looked up and said, "I'll be right back."
Jiraiya jumped out, and successfully caught his balance on the water.
"Be careful!" the old man shouted. "Hide the flare! Hide the fire!"
Jiraiya nodded and ran.
Mizuno did not see the explosion.
Jiraiya returned cheerily, and made a great leap back out onto the front deck.
"Is it gone?"
Jiraiya nodded, smiling.
"Holy…Moses…You…You really…"
"I'm sorry, I didn't find your maps. They left the paintings, and some clothes too, but no—"
"Dear Lord, man, I'm astounded. You tell me now, who trained you?" the man asked him, incredulous. "Who trained you, young man?"
Jiraiya smiled pridefully and looked down; "Konoha," he said.
"Konoha…" The man repeated. "The land of fire. Of course…" he realized. "Tree leaves and forest. You from there?"
"Born and raised, sir."
"Hm," the man stared with wonder. He turned back to look over the sea, and under the starry night sky. "So what's a Konoha man wandering into tsuchi for?"
"I started in suna," Jiraiya explained, leaning against the fore rail, "Then I made my way over the border."
"Now you're headed to kumo," the old man smiled. "You in a race, around the world? Sorry to slow you down."
"If I am, I've already lost. I left the end of December."
"Goodness. That's a long journey so far."
Jiraiya smiled. "It's been worth it. Meeting new people, seeing new places. I've been to kumo before, actually, but only on the southern border, with my captain, and that's about it—My brother has been most everywhere. I want to go everywhere too. I want to see Kiri, most of all."
"Kiri? Mm, well, sorry, but I can't take you that far out. I'm took old to be gallivanting around like that. If we make it to the land of waves, we'll be lucky," Mizuno stepped aside with one hand on the wheel, "Care to steer?"
"…Sure! I mean—Aye!"
Jiraiya took it and did not expect to continue holding it with such force as the old man rested for a moment beside him. "So how long do you think it will take to reach the coastline?" Jiraiya asked him.
"She's moving good. I expect a few days. Wind picks up halfway cross the belt. We'll come in on the Bora river line. That's the north tributary of the Izu. And we'll stop off in Mayanbe for supplies, if we hit the day the market is open."
Jiraiya looked at him curiously; Mizuno smiled, "I have a good memory. I knew there were no maps down there. Rock ninja are ruthless. And directionless," he chuckled. "I suppose the rest of my notes, my journals; they've all gone?"
"I saw nothing else—I'm sorry."
"That's all right," he said. "Don't need all that stuff anyway," he pointed to his mind, "It's all in here now. What's left."
"I have…a question," Jiraiya said.
"Keep her steady."
"Oh," Jiraiya kept a firm hand on the knob of the wheel.
"Go ahead."
"Well," Jiraiya thought, "Is everybody so…resigned, in the land of earth?"
"Resignation?" Mizuno suddenly smiled. "…How old are you?"
Jiraiya hesitated for a moment. "Eighteen," he eventually answered.
"Eighteen? Lord, God, you sure don't look it, now do you?"
Jiraiya smiled to himself looking over the ship, and concentrating on the wheel.
"No wonder you wouldn't understand. Yes. All right. I speak for myself. But my resignation comes in the form of going. Understand?"
Jiraiya looked at him and shrugged.
"My resignation is to flee. To watch the great demise from afar. The man I was with, you see him?"
"Mm," Jiraiya nodded.
Mizuno smiled, "You seen him. His resignation was to not get caught. His resignation is to go-along. Play ideological possum. I do not have that talent. Or the patience. Not anymore. You see?"
"Yes. I think so."
"Good. You will be forced to see sooner or later, and make your own resignation as far as the world takes you."
"What if—Oh; nevermind," Jiraiya continued to muse upon the idea.
The old man smiled. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You're the most powerful off the charts ninja I ever 'sensed'. Did you…get into trouble, with somebody?"
"No," said Jiraiya honestly. "I just wanted to take a break."
"I believe you. But, it's hard to believe someone like you would be let loose like this. But I suppose youth explains some of it. I was like you once, minus all that 'chakra' business. I came from that island we left just now. Nakamaru native. Grew up with two intuitive sisters, an older brother, bless him, a benevolent mother, and a fisherman father. It was a real nice childhood until we all grew up. Then I realized this world is based on each and every man in the world, and how infinitely fragile we are. This fragility I have been feeling now for ten years, in excess. I got in the ferry business when I was twenty. Used these routes and waters for many, many years, going from west to east, and back again. Never thought I'd have to leave until they took away my ship. My brother warned me. He got out before I did. I heard he was killed. Some accident on wharf, six months ago. Broke my heart, and sobered me up, not that I was drunk or anything. Ideological possum. I realized then it didn't suit me. I had to act. Just don't have the patience," he repeated quietly.
"Hm," Jiraiya said to himself, feeling a sudden cold chill in the air. A swift stern breeze flapped the masts under the ropes. Mizuno untied and unfurled them all.
.
Dear mom, By the time you get this letter, I'll have moved on eastward from where I am now, which is currently breezy and beautiful in a big port village called Mayanbe on the Izu river line. The village is bright and mild; there are over a hundred different shops and stands, each selling everything from trinkets to food (in bulk!), it's all here, and it's all relatively cheap. Captain always liked this port. The food is really spicy, I don't think you'd like it. Don't mind it myself, but my companion doesn't enjoy it—about the only thing he doesn't like. Smells here are everywhere. I've been traveling by ship with a good man (older than you!) from tsuchi to kumo. We've become good friends. He hopes to retire in wave country 'where the food is less spicy, and the rent is just as cheap'. We are navigating through the Izu to the other side. The people here in kumo are nicer than the ones I met over a year ago. Population mostly dark; there are a few small bands of kumo shinobi, mostly genin doing various errands like I used to do a long time ago! The scenery here is quite lofty, as usual. The mountain-line toward the northeast is all shrouded in clouds. Here in Mayanbe, there are marsh pits and estuaries, and there's even a misty jungle up north, and to the south, I'm told; very dense, it's called the Goranbe jungle. Good thing we are aren't headed there. Lot's of big animal carcasses hanging in the market. My captain's ship, the Yamaru, is an old and tall wooden one, maybe like the one you sailed on for Kiri. It has a big old wheel and large white masts. My captain (I'm first mate!) said he bought her off an old skipper twenty years ago. Wish us luck in navigating the rivers. It's interesting—these market towns were named as to the day in which they're open for business. 'Mayanbe' means Thursday. Today is Thursday. It'll probably be sometime next week by the time you get this.
Well, we must start packing supplies and head out—hope you are well. I send my love to you all. Take care. Jii.
.
"How could I ever think she could make it…" he muttered again. "Dammit!"
"For all the cursing I've heard today," Jiraiya came out on deck, "I would think you aren't a religious man. What? What is it now?"
"Jiraiya, for all my sweet talking she's known in the pleasant relationship we've had over the years, I can't turn her around on this, and we can't move forward, God, dammit, we're doomed!"
Jiraiya looked down the river beside him. "But we have to keep moving forward."
"It's too damn tight!" He said angrily. "She'll never pull though without the hull getting jammed and ripped to shreds. Dammit," he said again to himself.
"Well other way looked worse, don't blame yourself."
"Well I can, and I will," Mizuno stopped himself looking on ahead and collapsed himself near the wheel. "There's nothing we can do. She'd sooner sink than pass that brown alley."
"What if we tried to angle her?"
"Nope. A corkscrew can't unwind as easily. I'm not taking that risk. There might be worse shelf toward the north; I'm not charging her. I'm not going to force her."
"We've come this far…"
"Half way, " Mizuno briefly smirked and sighed. "Just my luck. Just my luck I never navigated this far down before. I knew it'd be trouble, but this…"
"Now hold on—we haven't explored all options."
"Oh, such as abandon ship?"
"A captain never abandons his ship."
"No, but you could."
"I won't," Jiraiya stared resolutely at him. "And I have an idea. Several."
Jiraiya leapt off the ship.
"What are you—" Mizuno watched the eighteen year old tromp atop the murky brown water of the river, moving slow as if he were thoroughly inspecting the shelves of land had spiked far too close together for the Yamaru to pass through unscathed. "Be careful boy!" Mizuno called. "You dare trod lightly, whatever you're planning and you think it through, you hear? I want nothing drastic! She's an old sea girl, don't dare teach her anything new for God's sake—what are you doing, boy!" Mizuno demanded of his first mate.
Jiraiya looked up and smiled, he then looked again at the distance between the land over the river. "I have an idea," Jiraiya called up to the ship without looking.
"Well then, let's hear it!" Mizuno granted extravagantly. "You going to carve out the land or something? Don't try it. She may not stand the current when the water displaces. There now. Now what ideas have you?"
"Be quiet," young Jiraiya muttered. The shelf on the floor was shallow itself—the ship had drifted too close to the pass now to try an earth jutsu. The man was right in that the force of the water would only tip the Yamaru over. But Jiraiya suddenly got another idea: he looked up to the ship; Mizuno had thrown the anchor, and tied down the sails in a fuss as the pass had come into sight. "Change of plans," Jiraiya called, "Begin reeling in the anchor."
"...Are you crazy?!"
"No. Just trust me."
Mizuno eyed him hesitantly. "What are you going to do?"
"Call in a friend."
"How long will that take?"
"Two seconds."
After a pause, Mizuno shrugged and made his way aft very slowly.
Jiraiya grinned. He moved from water to land in one leap and with a spot of his blood, called on one of his summons from mount Myoboku; a great gust of wind suddenly circulated in a huge cloud, and there, almost four stories high was the big red toad named, Gama Bunta.
"Puny Jiraiya! What have you done, you lunatic!"
Mizuno accidentally dropped the anchor back into the water as he turned around in shock from the wind and the mysterious, booming voice.
"Jiraiya!" the toad continued indignantly. "Why have you brought me here!"
The tall youth sprang up and landed on the toad's head, to which it further took offence. "You ruined a very fine day I was having, kiddo!"
"Sorry Gama Bunta—"
"Sorry my frog legs, mister impudent little—"
"I need you to pick up this toy boat for me, and put it on the other side of the river. Then you can go home. I promise. Please?"
"You need me to…oh…Fine," Gama Bunta made a quarter turn, and Mizuno shouted in the face of the giant toad; "Now you be CAREFUL with her mister frog! I want no nonsense!"
Gama waded into the north end of the river, and picked up the Yamaru with both fore arms and as he held it in the air, he looked at the underside curiously. "I always wondered what the bottoms of these things looked like…" The red toad said in a gravely voice. Jiraiya was looking too.
"PUT HER DOWN!" Mizuno roared from atop the rail.
"All right, all right, little puny fisherman," Gama set it down carefully in the wider water and tried looking up to the teen still affixed on the top of his head. "Well that was fun—you satisfied, Jiraiya?"
First mate nodded; "Thank you Gama Bunta," he said politely.
The toad sneered. "Off to my play, er, duty…" Gama made another quarter turn and then disappeared into the same clouded whirlwind he came—the Yamaru rocked and bobbed drunkenly from the displacement of the toad, but it did not lean once to tip.
"Well then," Jiraiya appeared on-dock and began untying the sails. "To the east!"
"Dear God," Mizuno regained his balance and staggered with shaking knees toward the anchor pull. "Dear God…Didn't know you had a gigantic frog at your…disposal."
Jiraiya smiled.
.
She received another letter toward the end of July,
Dear mom, It's open sea for us again! After a slight set back (I'll tell you about it when I get home!) We've made it into the east ocean! Coming down to the land of waves. Picked up lots of good supplies last market stop. It was on Tuesday. Bet you'd like to know how we made it out! Captain asks the very same question! Was very exciting, navigating the river; I didn't know how many things could go wrong. Mizuno is very glad though to be out on open sea again. So am I. So vast. He is the second man now that I've heard; he refers to it like a 'mirror'. 'Umi no kagami'. I guess if I'd made my life by the sea, I would call it that too, but I have not forgot the land of fire. I miss you all very much. I will write you again very soon. Till then, take care, and tell niisan I miss him. Oh—and I have been writing and journaling my progress. I think I'm even getting good. Here, he drew a prospective smile, and then finished, Love, Jii.
.
By the first week of September, the Yamaru arrived in the land of waves. Now the land of waves was shrouded not by mist, but by over a thousand roaming ships, both private and commercial, in it's numerous ports along the shore. It was not connected to the land of fire by bridge, but by the water channel; the inlet sea as blue as the sky on clear days. The land was an island, peninsula of sorts, home in it's own foggy curtain after the twilight and the rise of the first evening star, when that blue water changed colors and turned cold and smelled of indigo and rope. The land was home away from home for over a hundred different professions, the most common of which, commercial trade, and fishing. The land of waves supported no shinobi to it's name. Instead, it was a home for off duty Konohagakure chuunin, assorted curriers of all nationalities, and the occasional hire of Kirigakure chuunin by some government officials. However most of them still relied upon both Konohagakure and Kumogakure's resources.
"I'm going to rent me a spot on the north end, and really live large," Mizuno smiled peacefully, ahead of the wheel. "We'll be rolling in Suigami in about twenty minutes. I've seen it twice before—very nice trees inland, you'll see…Will we part in the morning, then…?"
"I guess," Jiraiya said quietly. "As much as I like the sea now, I really miss my home. I've been feeling it lately, I guess. But, there's still one place I have to see before I head home."
"You still holding out for kiri no kuni?"
Jiraiya nodded.
"…Fool's chase…" Mizuno offered. "Be careful, or you may get lost up there, and I don't mean in the ocean."
"I have a general idea of where I'm going," Jiraiya smiled. He pulled out an old slip of paper from his pocket and showed it to the man.
"…Where'd you ever get this?" he asked.
"From my mom."
Mizuno whistled impressively. "Looks quite old."
"It is. I plan on going here," Jiraiya pointed to a dot on the east side entitled, Satsumasendai.
"What for?"
"To see it. You know. Climb a mountain if it's there. You're from tsuchi, you of all should know about that sort of thing," Jiraiya folded the paper and returned it to the pocket inside his jacket.
"Sure," he granted, with a slight twitch in the line of his mouth. "But…" he thought for a moment, looking at the dark peninsula in the distance. "There's a difference between eagerness and reality. The two fail to mix, often enough."
"I'll think of something," Jiraiya answered with a smile.
"I know you will," Mizuno smiled. "Just be careful out there, young man. If you need to come back, you have a place aboard the Yamaru."
"Thank you…I'm honored."
"I know you are, boy. I know you are."
.
In the morning, Jiraiya awoke and shook his captain's hand aboard the old wooden ship in the docks. They had their last breakfast together aboard the Yamaru. "Saw the clerk's office early this morning, while you were sleeping," Mizuno announced, "Twenty-five dollars a week, they're going to rob me," he laughed.
Jiraiya smiled.
"Said he admired her though. I think I could get a few errands from him and the workers, help me pay the bills."
Jiraiya looked up, "So, you don't have any family anymore…?" he wondered.
Mizuno shook his head. "Not in this part of the world. One of my sisters passed on about fourteen years ago. The other is living with her husband on a north isle, above Nakamaru. Rebun. Very quiet place. I decided a long time ago it wasn't for me. No work up there besides fishing," Mizuno smiled. "I'm not the best. Not like my brother was, or my father."
"And…may I ask; what was your brother's name?"
"Taro."
Jiraiya's head nearly rolled off his neck—"Taro?"
"Yes, why?"
"I thought…it might…be…" Jiraiya shook down a knowing smile. "Ever since you told me about what happened to him, I just wondered."
"Wondered what, boy?"
Jiraiya shook his head. "Nothing," he looked at his captain again and smiled; "Is Mizuno your real name?"
"What brought this on?"
"You can trust me now. I know you can."
Mizuno shifted back in his chair uneasily. "It's been Mizuno for sixteen years…Ever since they charged Yamashita Masashi with forgery on the ship papers of the Akishimo and the Yubari. Quite a big scandal," Mizuno commented distantly.
"Was it?"
"Mm."
"Let me guess; devil is in the details?"
"Don't want that foul company."
Jiraiya smiled and laughed.
"Now what have you to think of me?"
Jiraiya grinned. "I think you're a pretty good guy. And I think your brother…would be very proud."
Mizuno smiled. "I hope so."
"Thanks for everything, captain."
Masashi nodded. "You're welcome, young man. You're very welcome."
.
Jiraiya came down the docks by himself, and as he passed down a quarter mile on the land and arrived in the downtown area of the village, he came across two Konoha shinobi, who immediately interceded him, and gave him a folded note, and then vanished.
"Hey—" Jiraiya frowned. "I hate it when they do that…" he murmured to himself as he unfolded it and read, 'Jii', come back to my office ASAP. Important, imperative, and more dire and dangerous than you have ever known. I'm sorry. No doubt, you must have heard the news by now. You are needed here now. You 'old' sensei of very young age.
Jiraiya looked up. "What…the…heck…" he wondered, "What news?" He walked slowly towards town. "Oh come on…" he stopped and looked out over the eastern ocean, ships leaving, ships returning. "Gee whiz, what great timing you old coot. Darnit," he cursed. There was a sick feeling in his stomach like something of a land-sick blues coming over him as he traveled on through the town, looking back every now and then to that cold and crystal clear eastern ocean under the eastern sky, keeping the land of mist out of sight and many miles away.
.
"Jiraiya!" His mother cried, and she held her very tall and (very) handsome son again.
"Hi mom," he looked over her shoulder, into the den and smiled warmly. "I brought something back for you," he showed her as they parted; Jiraiya pulled out a wooden barrette wrapped in canvas cloth from his pocket. A bright orange painted flower was attached on the end, also made of the wood, and it's colors were intense, encompassing every shade of orange like a sunset. It was painted like a bright lily, of spring, and three small painted impressions of leaves flowed out delicately in each corner. It smelled of the market back in Mayanbe. "I watched a woman make one of these on the east end of the river from out stay in Mayanbe. There were different colors and stuff."
"Oh, it's beautiful! Thank you Jiraiya."
"I got something for Sakumo, too, is he…"
"Yes," her smiled faded. "He shipped out three weeks ago, so to speak. He's gone…Well he's gone…to the heart of it all…standing with the…Kusa…resistance…"
"No way," Jiraiya uttered—thinking of heartless tsuchi and small little Kusa—"Are you serious?"
She led him inside and closed the door. "He told me as privilege, and now I've told you," Keiko looked at her son uneasily. "Of course he told Yoshiko—doesn't comfort either of us, but this is the reality we face now…tsuchi has gone too far now…Konoha cannot escape this, and I know this will not end well. We are at war…once again."
.