Chapter Twenty-Four: Tracking Down the Rogue-Nin
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Morning came and went. Today was a holiday and most ninjas were in their homes. Rains had stopped, and streets were brimming with people. Noises rose and fell upon the warm currents of afternoon air. Standing close to the window, Hinata caught a whiff of spices from the shops, tucked underneath the upper-story of the inn.
She had decided to leave home and rent a room for a week. The three missions she completed recently earned her a little bonus. Itachi was brutal, but he did not withhold her pay. Her cheeks tightened in a grimace: he hated her, but she was damn sure the feeling was mutual!
She clenched her fingers, but when she saw the village again at a glance from above, the feeling left, floating out of her body like a wayward ghost. She had never done much for herself; her life was always a rush and flurry of silk through the nettles. It was pleasant to be out of her home, without any worries—just this once.
Looking outside again, she saw that the light on the horizon was slowly losing its golden glow and turning orange. Shopkeepers were lighting the lanterns outside their shops. Red, blue, purple, pink . . . it was a haze of many colours that would only find their strength at night. They would glow like flowers once night would descend upon them—Spring at night!
Moving away from the window, Hinata cast herself on the bed and rolled onto her back. Her eyes roamed about the room. For the amount she paid, this was a steal: the bed was big and comfy for one person; the racks, large enough to house her belongings, her modest array of clothes; a partition screen hid the far corner of the room—her ninja clothes were thrown over it haphazardly; she caught a glimpse of black feathers painted on the screen's surface, but she could not make out the whole pattern—it was a black and white painting.
Her eyes ran from looking at the black bird's feathers to staring directly at the table. The breeze coming in through the window passed over it, drying the ink on the Official Letter she had written to Sasuke: a permission to join the Training Squads for the Chūnin Trials! A sigh spilt from her lips, a defeated sigh. Itachi's words were like the incessant noises of insects in her ears, gnawing upon her brain.
Sasuke attacked me 'cause he was ill . . . Hinata reassured her heart that would not listen. Fragile . . . it was never in the grasp of her will—her soul's unruly, stubborn bit. He had no reason to kill her. In her memory, his face was sad and broken; his eyes, a void. The words he wanted to say to her . . . his anger and fear had robbed him of a voice. Whose father ruined his life? For the first time in their strange relationship, she had taken a glimpse at the man behind his face.
What else was he hiding from her? He was a stranger to her; she did not know him, at all. Maybe she was running ahead of herself, thinking that her words were enough to make him open up to her. She never thought they would sit under a tree, abloom at the center of a glade, so soon and exchange family grievances.
Hinata sighed again, a little loudly this time. Itachi had closed that door in her face; it was shut forever. Sasuke's moment of vulnerability was gone, lost behind the mishap she had created. She moved her hand and played with her hair, her thoughts running ahead of her heartbeats.
Why did he not want Sasuke to know? The thought was bugging her, burrowing under her skin, prodding her to do something rash and foolish again—a cat yearned for another satisfaction; but she had made a promise to the older one. She would be a good girl and let Sasuke reach out to her again. She would not misbehave out of the need to be a curious little girl; but the curiosity to know . . .
How would she even bring it up? "Sasuke, you tried to kill me. I hate you, but who destroyed your precious life?" The voice of reason laughed at her, and its words mocked her; it sneered with the kind of contempt Itachi harboured.
"Foolish, loathsome girl . . . " Hinata had heard Itachi whisper as she left his office. Angered, she ground her teeth. He made no secret of his loathing of her natural passions; his disdain grated on the little pride she had left, last vestiges of her clan's might. He was a hateful man who had wrenched the younger one's heart from her hands; she could not forgive him for that!
How her heart and body ached for Sasuke now. She had not seen him in many days. How was he? Had his fever cooled through the nights that Autumn nurtured, leaving him as uncaring as before? Did he dream of her whilst he lay shivering like children beneath the quilt, burdened by the dreams of his tormentors and foes? Ah, silly girl—she craved his intimacy.
Distance and time had parted her from him, but the ache rose from within like a loud noise. The flare and surge of lust inside were cracking the walls of the little composure she had learnt to craft for herself. She was such a girl, and she would not last long without relishing the feel of his flesh against hers. Her new life . . . was tamed by passion. And she hated it, loathed this feeling of need that ripped her senses apart, shredded her nerves to pieces.
Now that Hinata had tasted the pleasures he offered, it was impossible for her feet to tread back. It is wrong, she told herself in her mother's long forgotten voice. But it is right to soothe your passions, the other voice whispered heatedly. A paroxysm of desire seized her body and mind. The woman's voice in her always triumphed, overpowered the girl's whispers of regret and betrayal. Okā-San . . .
Why does it matter? Hinata thought to herself as she undid the obi of her kimono and moved the collars aside to bare her body to the wind, ignoring the voices, locking them up again in the dark corners of her mind where they would remain, talking amongst themselves, shouting themselves hoarse. Their words rang hollow.
She hooked her finger underneath the waistband of her underwear and dragged it down to her thighs. The breeze, touched by dusk's chill, came at the naked parts of her—a cold sensation against the burning and exquisite fever rising under the skin.
Hinata closed her eyes and sensations of want crept into her pores, little crawly insects: they stung and bit as she moved her hand over her breasts and trailed her fingers down across her belly. Her fingers tangled in the pubic hair, and she moved them lower still . . . moved them down along her folds; and then she plunged a finger into her slit and caught a shaky release of breath in a sigh. All alone, no one would see her now; it felt good . . .
The other free hand roved over her torso, soothed the aching sensation from her taut muscles. At that moment, she moved her finger faster, and her throat spasmed as though she was straining her head to breathe above the surface, after a swim. She twisted the pebbled nipple between her fingers, her body shuddering from the lovely sensations.
It did not take long for a hot spark to strike her at the core, jolting her there. A spray . . . and she felt the warmth of her release on her fingers. Hinata opened her mouth and swallowed up the air in the room, face trembling from release. As if in a stubborn mood, she sat up straight and wiped her hand on the kimono. Yes, why did it matter? A smile crossed her pink face as she looked outside the window: Night had returned; it had come—at last! Freedom was a precious thing . . .
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Night came upon them, cast its shadows that ran away, hid like children as pale lights from the new crescent-moon descended upon them. The wind remained low in the forest, thick with the odour of decaying flowers and leaves. Autumn was that child reaper that sliced off the heads of youth—Nature's own style of merciless reaping.
The warm sun had sucked the moisture from the ground and left the leaves by their feet dry. They crackled as their sandals crushed and crunched them without an ounce of mercy. The naked branches overhead were the perch of many owls. They hooted, their yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. Beckoned by night's love, the forest had come alive again!
Rains had withdrawn their tight grasp—a few days of respite for the land. Purple Lilies, young and excited, grew out from the rich soil, welcoming moon's arrival. They thrived in these corners, the foot of the trees abloom with their purple glow, their delicate mouths wide-open and eager to gorge upon the moonlight. Growing children—they needed their meals! It was an enchanting sight that compelled the man walking ahead to stop in his tracks. He knelt down and plucked one, his face blank.
"Takin' one fer Sasuke, Itachi-Sama?" Suigetsu asked from behind him; he wore his readymade mischievous face.
Itachi stood up straight and slowly turned around. A ghostly smile disturbed his features, his Sharingan on. "Hand over the scroll, Suigetsu," he spoke, his voice steeped in his customary, languid drawl.
Suigetsu lost that cheeky expression for a moment, stunned. Then, as a realisation dawned upon him, it returned to his face with full force. He let out a gulping laugh, and in the forest, it was loud. "Was wonderin' what this wild goose-chase was 'bout—and in this part, too. Yor sneaky, Itachi-Sama," he said and tapped his finger against the side of his head.
"The night runs ahead of us. Do not waste time," Itachi spoke, his face becoming a blank slate, awaiting the touch from something, anything subtle.
"Yor crows are everywhere—" Suigetsu broke off and reached into his fanny pack, "—it ain't nice ta spy on unwary folk. Yor mean."
Itachi merely smiled in reply; his pale face, laden with crooked shadows of the boughs overhead, was hard to read (the visible patches of his body, white as moon that he looked like its creature). He waited for Suigetsu to hand it over.
Suigetsu turned the scroll in his hand as if he had just stumbled upon it. He looked indecisive. He flashed Itachi a clever grin and said, "if ya promise not ta kill me dead, might I ask somethin'—pretty please? Why do ya need it? Sasuke would be bloody mad if he found out, ya know."
"This should not concern you. Curiosity is a terrible business. It gets many people into a lot of trouble," Itachi spoke, and his voice had that serrated edge of frostiness that was hard to miss.
"That's all fine an' dandy, but ya know, I gotta answer ta Sasuke, too. Yor lil' brother's not the type ta let things go. And frem the looks of it, neither is ya," Suigetsu said and threw the scroll up into the air and then caught it again as gravity pulled it down.
"You already sent the missive into the system?" he asked, his brow disturbed by a single line of irritation.
" 'Course I did!" Suigetsu said, his voice approaching a shout as if he was being accused of someone's heinous murder and this was his only chance to come clean. "I doubt even ya 'as the time or the patience ta go through thousands af coded scrolls ta find Sasuke's. Pretty neat, huh?"
"He asked you to send in a coded message . . . of course," Itachi sighed and closed his eyes. "This child . . . "
"I hope yor not goin' ta try ta Genjutsu me. They don't work on us. Water, ya know!" Suigetsu said with a wide wave of his hand as though it was not obvious enough. "Or burn me, but that would be crazy mad af ya." His face suddenly turned a little wary, and he took a single step back as if that would save him from his Mangekyō's wrath.
"I could," Itachi spoke in a softer voice, softer than the calm sea-waves, "but I am not in any mood to push Sasuke. It will anger him more. It becomes difficult to handle him that way. You are lucky." Suigetsu could tell that he was . . . amused.
An owl loudly hooted, and a sudden surge of wind at Suigetsu's back shook the leaves that crackled and spun about upon the ground. "Handlin'—like how ya keep Genjutsuin' 'im?" he asked.
"I know the mind has a tendency to wander, but I told you never to bring that up again," Itachi paused and heaved a sigh. "Do not compel me to try it out on you."
Suigetsu shook his head, chuckling. "Scary!" he said and leant back against the dried-up tree behind him. " 'Am sayin' that it ain't nice. Ya have a better Genjutsu, but he's got the better set af eyes. How lon' do ya think this'll work? He'll keep bitin' ya back. What will ya do when the floodgates open? He's goin' ta get bloody mad atchya." He grinned and showed pointy teeth that flashed in the moonlight.
"I see that staying here has made a scholar out of you," Itachi retorted, a cunning look coming into his blank face, occupying its every vein, every fiber with haste.
" 'Am just warnin' ya," Suigetsu began—his smile had vanished, "things 'ave a way af comin' out. Me pa used ta say that nothin' stays a secret ferever. Last time, he was wanderin' like a mad ol' codger across Rain's border. That's when I found 'im. He was utterin' gibberish. He doesn't even know 'bout me first mission. Some fucker could've killed 'im fer his eyes, but ya two are so stubborn. Yor a hard-arse fer disciplinin' 'im, and he's just as bad fer not obeyin'. Ya got ta draw a line somewhere." He finally threw the scroll at Itachi.
"Are you suggesting me something? An advice, perhaps? Believe me, those days are not yet upon me," he spoke sardonically and opened the scroll to read the details, his eyes roaming between Suigetsu's serious face and the location of the hideout.
"I ain't suggestin' nothin', boss. 'Am just askin' ya ta cool it. Ya put 'im under Genjutsu every time things get outta hand, and then ya put funny things in his head. Kinda creepy fer a thin' like bro-love, don'tchya think?" Suigetsu asked and winced when Itachi burnt the scroll. "Sage's pooper! Sasuke's goin' ta give me a big and new one fer this," he muttered out the corner of his mouth.
Itachi did not say anything and started walking ahead into the forest's deep. The light was sparse here; the ground, a black mass. Itachi kindled a flame upon his palm, breaking out a fresh light. He saw an opening between two stones. It would have been impossible to spot without his Sharingan.
He stepped through the opening, Suigetsu trailing right behind him. "Smells like a cave between a bitch's legs—fishy! Get it?" Suigetsu joked and pinched his own nose. When Itachi did not answer, his smile sagged. "Smells—ah, never mind."
A click resounded like a single drum-beat, and, without a sound and warning, two razor-sharp fast wires passed right through Suigetsu, splashing water all over the place. He looked up to find Itachi stretched across a little gap in the roof above, his hands and sandals plastered against the rough stones, with chakra. He had evaded it. "Thanks fer the warnin'!" Suigetsu muttered and solidified his body.
"Good thing that you are made out of water," Itachi spoke and came down smoothly, "otherwise, I would not have sent anyone in here to clean up your messy leftovers."
"Hey, me mum thought I was special!" He made a childish expression and then looked around. "Chakra-less traps—the fish brain af his works."
Itachi walked deeper into the cave. It was clammy and dank. Water dripped down from the holes overhead, and tree roots protruded through the cracks. He disarmed several more traps till he came across another opening.
The area ahead was well-lit with candles that stood burning in the crevices. A few well-worn clothes were left haphazardly behind on the verdure-covered floor. Itachi picked one up and smelt it: it stank of fresh sweat. The man had been here not long ago. Then why did he leave? He looked around, and the chakra pulsing behind his eye—that was used to calling upon the flames from hell—cooled down. He was prepared to kill him here and now and end it all.
"He left here not long ago. Someone warned him that I was coming," Itachi spoke; his eyes searched the cave, but found nothing; and then they settled upon Suigetsu.
"Don't look at me," he said, picked up fish bones from a broken plate, and turned them around as if hopeful for a little piece of meat hanging between their gaps. "I gave ya the only connection I had with 'im. Looks like he moved ahead—just in case. Who knows what goes on in a fishy's lil' brain. Maybe 'cause of Mei? She'd bite yor cock aff in yor sleep—a total bitch!"
"Yes, who knows," Itachi repeated, looking very amused. He walked out of the makeshift room Kisame had made out of gaps and stones: his inner sanctum.
"I saw ya go mad angry that day in the rain . . . " Suigetsu whispered as Itachi vanished behind the shadows. Then he started walking behind him.
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His body ached, feverish with the struggle to break free. A single point in his consciousness opened up like a Lily—bright purple in the dark's endlessness, hungry for light. He felt as if he did not have a spine as he writhed beneath the quilt. A single web of courage and strength, which a spider had woven and thrown down from the maw's mouth above him, was at arm's reach. He took it in his shivering hand and climbed out, and his eyes opened with a shudder . . .
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