A/N: I'm...sorry...? T-T
Till You Die
36 - Stumble I
It was light from a single source; a lone flame flickering inside a cage within a cage. But at the appropriate angle, and set at the precise distance, the entire Shujinchi Royal Library from floor to ceiling burst into an illuminating radiance. A warm, glittering radiance that put sunsets to shame.
It wasn't simply the strategically placed mirrors that circled the dome-shape ceiling. Enormous crystal prisms aligned the space between the glass lantern and the reflective walls. And jewels. Brilliant jewels lent their shine to the tireless parade.
The entire medial area of the floor was a mosaic representation of the continent, the different regions separated by colour. She stared contemplatively down at the tiles when their guide turned his attention from the menservants now descending from the ladders, and back to them.
"The Shujinchi Royal Library," their guide announced, gesturing to his surroundings with one cultured hand. "The golden throne of knowledge, and the archives of the Great Scribes. If there be any account of influence in existence today, rest assured that a copy of it can be found here."
"As for the sections on medicine," the man was saying, "they extend from this shelf here to the end-...Lady Hermit?"
She had gone in a direction opposite to him, to shelves containing the manuscripts of the Great Scribes. So immersed and reverent her attentions were on the scroll she picked out, she didn't seem to hear him the first time.
"Lady Herm-"
"If all your medics have tried and failed," Loreli said abruptly, dispassionately, "Do you still think the answer can be found there?"
Their guide appeared momentarily taken aback, though she couldn't see with her back to him, but the man was keen enough to know that it wasn't his place to say. "Should there be any concern, our men will be right outside." And with a small bow of respect. "We will leave you to your work here."
Despite having pretended that Murata's presence did not faze him in the least, their guide tossed the Uchiha shinobi a wary glance on his way out. How the small woman had negotiated his release, Murata had not the slightest idea.
But he knew he wasn't about to appreciate it.
"My lady." Murata frowned next to the young woman who was still completely absorbed by the smooth texture of the scroll surfaces.
"...I've been found out."
His alarm proven justified by her words, Murata scanned their surroundings with activated eyes. The action proved disconcerting, with the majority of his chakra reserve restrained by the effect of the chakra-suppressing pills. Pain spiked in the vessels supplying blood to his eyes.
"Well...aren't you going to say it...?" Her calm, nonchalant voice.
The woman hadn't even lifted her gaze from the scrolls, hadn't spared him a glance; slowly unfurling the scrolls as if she hadn't a care in the world.
Forestalling his sense of confusion, she clarified: "...'I told you so'...something like that...?"
His mouth thinned to a straight line.
"That is not important," Murata answered, curtly dropping to one knee. "My utmost priority is to transfer you to safety. I will find a way to deal with the rest."
Her lack of urgency was difficult to miss.
"You want to turn back, now?" The young, black-haired woman asked. "Now that we've come this far?"
Murata looked up at her with sharp eyes resolute. "It grows more dangerous to remain here by the second."
...She paused, and then looked down at him beside her.
"...It is dangerous to stay here," she admitted, more so to herself in her ponderous tone.
"For you."
His eyes snapped wide, willing himself to be mistaken.
But her eyes have adopted that musing, faraway look she always wore right as she was about to make a irrevocable decision.
"My lady!" Murata protested strongly. He heard the library doors click open.
Alert and ready at once, he swung to face them.
"You'll excuse the interruption, dear guests," the aristocratic tone of the castle steward greeted them. No guard in sight. Instead he brought with him a row of female servants, all of them uniformly attired and their hair styled in the same fashion.
Yet from the corner of Murata's eye, he saw the clan mistress allocate her attention to each their faces. Before she decided that what or who she was looking for wasn't there.
"Upon observing that our esteemed guest did not partake much in the meal this eve," the steward declared, "her ladyship sends refreshments."
"That is thoughtful of her," the young woman replied, looking back at the shelves. "Give my thanks to the lady of the castle."
They came in, carrying tables set with delicacies and sweets.
"Whatever happens here," Murata was surprised to hear her say beside him, her voice low, "will remain between the two of us. It is an order."
He could only watch, posture stiff, as she replaced the scrolls and went toward the tables that were laid down.
What in the world was this woman doing?
Leisurely, she approached the retreating servants, and the lord steward who watched her with a measured gaze.
Even in simple travel garments, her practiced grace knew no match among the other females.
How often had he caught himself from being drawn into her pace by her deliberate pauses, her languid words? She did not have Uchiha Madara's presence, nor his brother Izuna's silver-tongued, captivating charm. But there was something about her, something so powerful...and yet so sinister...it was better left unnamed.
An effect she was undoubtedly exuding upon them, now.
"Candied rose petals?" she asked, sampling one from the dish. Much to the Uchiha warrior's concealed alarm.
Had she any backing to the conviction that these people wouldn't poison her? As much as he scanned their expressions, he couldn't read the situation now playing out before him.
"You go through great lengths to impress a guest," she observed.
"Can lesser treatment be justified?" the steward asked in suave reply, tapping his chin lightly with his folded fan. "After burdening you with an impossible task."
What was the man talking about?
The young woman looked over at the steward with hooded eyes. When she spoke it was with a light voice, a soothing tone. "Lord Steward," she addressed him. "How about a game of chess?"
The man must have felt the same surprise Murata felt, yet he did a impeccable job at hiding it.
"Chess?" The steward arched an eyebrow slightly. It was the closest he had come to wearing a true expression on his face.
From the tip of his toes to the top of his black cap, the man was every bit the gentle noble his role dictated. Yet Murata could recognize the eyes of a killer when he saw them. This man was a schemer. A bloodied mastermind in scholarly guise.
And right now those eyes watched his leader's woman like a hawk's.
"From my understanding," the steward spoke, slapping his fan open. "The time limit set upon you is three days." He paused in his pacing and looked back at her. "You are saying...you have the time to take from your research?"
She looked. And smiled at him. A genuine, amused smile.
"Lord Steward," she said. "Was it not your intention to distract me anyway?
Something passed between their gazes in that brief, flitting moment before she went back to picking at the food.
What was this chilling sensation snaking up his nape.
The steward was calling for his servants.
Murata went to mistress of the Uchiha clan, intending to find out what kind of twisted script she was following. She looked up with a quirked brow as he approached. "Here." Pressing sweet cakes into him, she said with a small, knowing smile, "You'll need this."
"Lady."
"It's considered rude to refuse hospitality," she drawled with a dismissive shrug of her slim shoulders. "...Do try not to offend our host."
"What are your plans?" he asked her in all seriousness.
She answered simply. "Improvise."
It didn't take long before the servants came in, carrying a low table with a grid surface meant for chess.
Without being beckoned, she went to one end of the table, kneeling down gracefully on the cushion laid out for her.
"You play often, Lord Steward?" she asked conversationally, starting to arrange her defenses and offensive positions.
"As leisure," the man replied, moving his pieces with his closed fan. "There is not one among the nobility unwise in the rules of chess."
A lie. Judging by the way the man responded unhesitantly to each of her moves without glancing down at the board, he was a practiced player at the game.
For her part, the clan mistress was taking the full time planning her moves.
"I trust that all is to your liking," the nobleman said. "Do not hesitate to request assistance from the servants should you find discomfort."
"You need not fret, my lord," she answered pleasantly. "...I have always found myself more comfortable with books than with people."
Each time she made a move, she rolled up her sleeves in a refined and gentle manner. An elegant rose.
"But I'm bemused," the steward admitted. "You do not appear under pressure. Have you complete confidence in your abilities?" He countered her attack by taking one of her bishops. "Or have you come to acknowledge its impossibility?"
She did not seem the least perturbed by his words when she replied smoothly, "You have done a favour of immeasurable fortitude for this land, Hero. Nevertheless, that of which you speak is entirely an impossibility. We humans and those of the demonic blood will never coexist peacefully, now or in the future. Take up your stave and fight us if it's change you seek, but talk will never happen."
"Be not so quick to dismiss honest hopes as folly," she continued at leisure, altering the tone of her voice. "For under this vast and boundless sky...there is no such thing as an impossible dream."
Never looking up from the game, she spoke on.
"I've not thought you a man of romantic notions, Hero. But, if nothing else, you are a man deserving of respect. So be it; I will ask two tasks of you in three days' time: Bring me on a platter the one thing on earth no mortal can own, and an instrument that plays itself without aid. Should you have the knowledge or ability to accomplish these tasks, then I shall accept your words as ones which came from someone wiser than I. Three days, Hero."
She captured his silver general with her current move. Straightening in her seat, she looked at the steward.
"Passage from Chronicle of the Great Sage. Chapter four, section two: When the Great Sage negotiated the state of his brethren with the first feudal lord of Fire. Transcribed by the scribe, Serizawa Koji," the steward named with ease, as though he knew it by heart.
He quoted, "And when three days' time has passed, the Hero once again presented himself before the lord. With both hands he offered forward a gleaming silver platter absent of any content. When the lord questioned what he brought before him, the Sage replied, 'I bring you what no man can possess on this earth.' Upon which he produced a large fan with one hand and fanned over the platter. 'Wind is what I bring you. Wind, the very symbol of freedom.' For the instrument he produced a leather-bound drum, which, true to his word, beats on its own without aid. Upon questioning, the Sage revealed inside the drum was trapped two bees which made the sounds."
"The lord, unconvinced but nonetheless impressed, said to the Sage: 'Set up your people, for from this day forward they will no longer face persecution on my land. But what they do and how they will live is in your hands. They will not be recognized as equals, forbidden to rule or to possess land. Arrange them well, and the path of our descendants will never have need to cross. For with it will only come bloodshed.'"
"One more thing before you go, Hero. You alone saved this land, no, the entire world from peril. Clearly the power is yours if you want this land and all others by force. Yet you settle for dismal conditions, why?"
"To which the Great Sage answered, 'Within the power to inspire change is the one true power. Whereas in the power to inflict pain...lies only chaos, and madness.'"
"This move places you at an impasse, milady."
She blinked.
"Hah..."
She'd been defeated.
"...I'm impressed, Lord Steward," she said, looking up from the board with a coy smile. "You are as learned as your appearance suggests."
"A supposition I live by," he replied properly. "Too often is my humble self taken for an acclaimed scholar. Well, I will see it as compliment from a woman who has the beauty of a thousand."
She chuckled, a tinkling sound which closely resembled a giggle. "My, but I am not without flaws myself."
What was this?
From his standpoint, Murata could swear the two were engaging in covert flirtation.
"I admit I found the...circumstances startling," the steward drawled. He flapped open his fan, sharp eyes assessing. "Is your lord husband none other than Uchiha Madara, the bloodthirsty shinobi warlord rumoured to give no quarter to his enemies, be they women or children alike? Rumour also has it..." He leaned just slightly forward at this point. "He's not above blackmailing and forcing the women he desires."
A barely perceivable change in expression then. The clan mistress leaned forward in response, drawling lightly, "He is also rumoured to kill, without fail and in the most slow and painful of manners, those who have spoken ill of him..." Plucking the fan from his fingers, she curved a small, cryptic smile. "...If...you're one to believe in rumours."
She straightened to her original position and examined fan with bored nonchalance. "...Well, there ought to be an ounce of truth somewhere. Madara-sama is a merciless man. And aggressive. Arrogant. Patronizing. And sadistic. Domineering. Inconsiderate. Obtrusive. Another game, Lord Steward?" she asked in the same breath.
...
They began arranging the pieces in mutual silence. That is, until the steward spoke not long after.
"Perchance I should ask this directly," the man observed. He waited until their eyes met and locked. "Do you still belong to this side, or to the other?"
If there had been any misgiving about the man's intent, they were all dashed now.
Speaking ill of his leader and blatantly flaunting his position. It was as though Murata all but ceased to exist. Two people who wore the masks of courteousness and tranquility like a second skin. Their cunning and guile poisoned the breathing air. Oblivious to all else.
A hawk, he had thought? These were like two vipers, coiled and waiting, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
Clack.
With his folding fan in her possession, the noble now displayed the true strength and confidence in the way he played the pieces.
"Divide the world laterally," the steward elaborated, "and you and I may be on the opposite ends of the board. But divide the world by levels," his voice a smooth drawl "you and I are of the same mettle. 'Those of the Ninja class should not be permitted to mate outside their kin.' So were the words of the Sage himself. You, too, know why this is so."
"If you were someone of lesser existence, it would not have mattered. As it is, you hold substantial influence in the domain of your previous master. Are you willing to accept a place among animals whose only drive is to kill for survival, and live with condemnation all your life?"
She smiled. Just barely.
"...My, but you sound like you are debasing the mettle of wild beasts, Lord Steward."
This feeling. The same sensation he would have felt on a battlefield drenched in gore. He was witness to a battle, Murata realized. A battle between scholars. Not one of blades and armour. Of words and wit. No more deadly but no less intense.
Because the fundamental law of battle held true to this.
The victor claims all.
Sighing lightly, she made her next move on the board.
"...But there is something I have learned in the past few months I've been with them, Lord Steward. Nothing, no matter how small an existence; not one which lives in this world wants to die."
"That is..." a small, cryptic smile "...except for humans."
"Driven by what hands can't reach, we give meaning to meaningless death. If there will be an end to all humanity," she mused, "it will not be brought about by demons nor beasts. but by people."
That smile she was wearing. It was not a simple act. In a shrewd, twisted way, she was enjoying this.
All of a sudden, all of the recklessness, the distrust and baiting; the haughtiness which marked her different among a clan of ninja that did not pride individuality; all of it made the moment he perceived the meaning behind that smile.
Because this was her strength.
her survival.
her battle.
her world.
"You defend them, milady?" The steward asked calculatingly. "Presuming to mean...you fell in love with him, that man?"
clack.
She was surprised enough to drop a piece on the floor instead of the bowl.
She looked at him, perhaps awaiting him to repeat his question. Then, the corner of her lips curved up.
She laughed.
He couldn't be the only one stunned by her reaction.
She stopped to speak, her expression confident and serene.
"There are two things all men want to believe badly about women," she stated, her voice impressionable as it was fierce.
"One: That all women are miserable creatures whose existence are driven by their emotions."
"And two: By offering them greater happiness than their current state entails, they will undoubtedly switch up their loyalties."
Lightly. "Are you, too, one of those men?" she asked.
...
Cruel. Her words were.
"Love?" Her long dark lashes drooping gently over her eyes, she chuckled again. "Why does love have anything to do with it?"
That something so beautiful can be so cruel.
"I have betrayed a man I love once before," she announced. Flipping the fan shut. "And given the right circumstance..." tilting her chin, she looked at him with a tiny, cryptic smile "I can do it again."
Minutes have passed since she had made that brazen claim.
The steward had not spoken, yet he did not seem particularly disturbed by this new finding.
The mistress of the clan reached to the side to retrieve that piece that had fallen, and thought to ask him a question.
"This...map," she said, indicating to the mosaic floor. "It does not match the current boundaries of the continent, nor do I recognize it from any previous mapping of the land...What is it?" she asked.
She was answered promptly.
"The representation of the continent as foretold by the Great Sage, left after he had spread his doctrine to the four corners of the land."
"Oh?"
She'd seen it. Surely, just as he had made note of it earlier.
In the space where the Fire Country and the Forest Country now reside, only one, encompassing country lay. And it wasn't the only. The countries surrounding it, too...
"...And?" she inquired in her light, calm voice. "...Had he given clue as to when he believed this would come into effect?"
"But of course," the steward replied. Something in his expression put Murata on his guard. "From the furthest reaches of the continent to the other, there is no one who can miss the signal heralding the instigation of change."
Her eyes flashed briefly at his words, as though they triggered hidden knowledge she possessed.
The steward rose from his kneel.
"A storm is coming," he foretold. Suavely. "Under the eaves of which tree will you take shelter from the storm?"
She gripped her skirt.
"Think carefully," he advised her.
...Lleaving her to mull over another defeat at the hands of an enemy chess master.
...
A/N:
Thank you, everyone who poked and prodded for me to update. You know I loves u all.
Thank you, Maru-sama for editing duties.
Kresley Cole's newest novel in her IAD series made me rage. Just a side comment.