Chapter Twenty-Five: Trouble Amongst the Clans
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"What are you saying?" Neji asked and his face changed with shock and disgust. "What are you asking of me?"
Thunder chattered and rocked the whole place as though they all sat on a piece of an uncertain land, right in the eye of the storm. Night was upon them, a wildling clutching its prey that was bright, slaying it without sorrow. Stars blinked, hidden behind Nature's meanness—scared children fearing punishment for their misdeeds—their twinkle snuffed out by a swathe of clouds painted black by night, wind hot on the heels of lightning. It was a stormy night, indeed.
"I can't do this," Neji said firmly and his voice rose resolutely above the wind.
"Neji, you are Naruto's friend and Hinata's cousin—what better man to entrust this task with?" Minato spoke gently, his right hand resting on his thigh. Next to him, Kushina nodded in agreement. Her demeanour was a display of an uncertain calm; a sure smile broke her face. Neji was not fooled by its trickery.
"Forgive me, Minato-Sama," Neji paused, his jaw set, "but it isn't a simple matter. You're asking me to—to spy on my cousin, on Naruto, and report back, to you, the details of their private affairs? This is—it's unthinkable! What do you take me for? A petty family spy to ensure your clans' futures?" The matter had set his nerves on edge.
"It is not like that," Hiashi spoke from across the table. The shadows seemed to have perched on his face. "We need someone we can trust. A man who is one of us. Someone they trust, as well. If we do not get an heir, our families have met their ends. Hanabi will bear the Hyūga Clan's burden. Hinata had to be the one to carry on Namikaze's future. You will not be doing this for them—you will be doing this for our future. Try to understand our position."
Neji let out an impatient sound, his fingers crooked upon his thighs. He breathed heavily for some moments and located the courage inside to speak out; then he settled his eyes upon Hiashi and words leapt to his quiet tongue and it quivered in his mouth to make him speak: "why do you want to spy on your daughter? Does this seem reasonable to you?"
Hiashi breathed out a loud sigh and put his hand on his forehead. "Tsunade has sent us a missive that she is unwell to bear children and needs to recover, but she is doing missions under that Uchiha's supervision. Naruto hardly stays at home. He seems too busy with his paramour to go near Hinata," he spoke and saw shock come into Neji's face from behind the curtain of receding shadows.
"Paramour? What do you mean?" Neji asked and bent forward, trying to take a good look at Hiashi's face. It was difficult without his Byakugan to see a man's face that was shrouded in darkness.
"Naruto has been—" Kushina stopped and clasped her fingers tightly together, "—intimate with Sakura for quite some time. He wanted to marry her, but he had a responsibility. It could not happen. A Haruno Clan's daughter is not worthy of my son."
A quick light splashed across Neji's face. "How long have you all known?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain, and looked from the face hidden behind the darkness to the man and woman sitting in front of him in the lantern's light.
"He has been with her for a few years. He had no desire to stay in the marriage. I suspect he did it to hurt us. He wanted to end it—be free, as he said to us, but we could not allow it. It is a complicated matter . . . " Kushina's softest voice trailed off, burdened by honesty.
"I don't believe this . . . " Neji sighed out and buried his face in his hands. It all seemed to come together: Hinata's gloom, Naruto's disinterest in his married life, and his parents . . . both wanted to break free of the trappings of their fates. It was in Man's nature to flee . . .
Neji lowered his eyes and caught sight of a pink moth, a youngling, that writhed on the mat by his folded knee. It twisted around in pain; a dull and thin line of smoke rose from its scorched wings. It must have thought the purple light overhead to be a Lily. After some moments, it went still. The spectacle of death had come to a close.
He raised his eyes, breaking his gaze from Kushina's face and bringing it forcefully upon Hiashi's. The shadows haunting him had receded back when the flame on the wick gained height, painted his sober face, an aura that looked at odds with nearly half his face. "I won't be a part of this," Neji whispered, his voice dulled by rising anger.
"Neji," Hiashi spoke with an air of impatience, and his face turned an ugly shade of purple down the neck, "you are the Branch family's heir and my nephew. If I cannot trust you, then who can I trust?"
Neji lifted his hands and pulled off the headband to reveal a fading seal. Gasps rose from their lips at the sight of it. Only a glimmer of it remained on Neji's forehead. It was almost gone, fading away as if yielding its territory to something strong. "I'm no longer the Head of an inferior family. This caste system will exist no more," he said, anger in his firm voice and etched into his young face.
Hiashi slumped forward and braced his hands on his thighs. "You accepted Tsunade's proposal to remove the seals?" he asked in such a defeated voice that it barely made it to Neji's ears. He looked up, his face painted by anguish's brush. " . . . why?"
Neji got to his feet and shoved his headband into his pocket. It was dark—the shadows would hide the mark of his clan's shame. "Ever since the time of my great-grandfather, we've been nothing but your unwilling armours. No more—" he stopped, his breast heaving with emotion, "—no more. My father lost his life to save you and your family. My family will do your bidding no longer."
"Neji," Minato spoke and rose to his feet, "this is unfair to Hiashi. You should not think this way. We need your support, and your—"
"I won't spy on your son. Do you care for him, at all? Don't you feel anything for him?" he asked, looking at the changing character of Minato's features. He turned his eyes to Hiashi whose face was lashed by disbelief's whip. "And you? Hinata is your daughter. How can you do this to her—leave her to rot on the outskirts of this village with no aid from you?"
Hiashi's eyes misted over and his cheeks tightened and he lowered his head to hide the shame shining upon his cheeks. He was silent, his head bowed as if in a silent apology . . . too little, too late to bring his younger brother back from the dead, sacrificed to save his clan's reputation; but it did not thaw the layer of unforgiving cold on Neji's face.
"Neji, you must understand," Kushina spoke and clamped her hand on Minato's arm, "this matter is delicate. You need to listen to us. Naruto is fragile. He might . . . "
"I don't have to listen to this. I told you, I have nothing to do with your families' legacies. I've got my own clan to think of—a clan you all threw away," Neji said and calmed his ragged breaths. He turned away and started for the door.
Hiashi got to his feet and stretched out his hand. "Neji, wait. I am—" he fell silent, unable to weave his thoughts into words.
Neji looked over his shoulder, his eyes softening to the purple light. They strayed toward that moth again: it lay still and crumpled where it had died. He did not say anything and left the room in silence.
"Hiashi, this cannot go on. You have to speak to Hinata. She has a responsibility to her clan, to you, and to us. She is not in your control. You need to discipline her. What will become of the essence inside Naruto? It needs to be passed on to find its balance. All that trouble, that shame, that slaughter . . . it had been for nothing," Minato spoke and put his hand on Kushina's trembling fingers, clasped around his arm.
Hiashi slumped down to the floor with a sigh as though he had just experience great defeat in battle. He looked up at the other man, sharing the secrets and the sins with him—in his summer's sky-blue eyes. Absentmindedly, Hiashi nodded and spoke, "I will. This cannot go on like this anymore."
Another sound shook the room again, and then it was silence once more . . .
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When all things were said and done, when all lies concealed, what would be left behind to shelter his passions? His gait was graceful, each step deliberately measured and weighed by his Sharingan to guide its way. He was a perfect man: perfect in appearance, in intellect, and even in the concealment of lies. Yes, Itachi was a perfect man and a perfect liar.
Nothing escaped his Sharingan whilst he walked against the Autumn wind picking up the pace. Dry leaves and dead Sakura flowers, Spring's remnants, whirled about him in the air—such a rush to be swept away by the swooning winds. He could count them all: one, two, three—fifteen, fifty . . . he lowered his eyes and looked down at the familiar path that led to his home.
Light danced overhead and glimpsed like blue insects at the sky's far end. A little part of his sword, peeking out from above the sheath, shone in the blue light. The mission for today had come to an end, but his burdens did not. He would not let his back stoop to protect his pride; but what to do . . . what to do?
His cunning eyes darted from corner to corner as though in search of an intruder who threatened his calm. It was a habit he had developed ever since he joined Anbu. Even a short walk back home was a tedious journey. Every nook and corner had to be investigated for spies. Back in the day, when he was newly appointed, he used to kill several assassins every week. Their numbers dwindled, and then, they stopped coming.
Itachi emitted a white breath and then breathed in deeply the autumn air. A metallic object hanging at the door of someone's house musically clanked as the wind brushed past it. Its sounds stopped him in his tracks, and his eyes located a forgotten well, obscured by grass a few feet from him. Suddenly, his mind took a trip down memory lane, and his Sharingan cast an illusion about him, throwing him back nearly sixteen years into the past.
Sasuke sat in the grass with his back pressed against the well. He had his knees clasped together, his small arms hugging them close to his breast. His Genin academy bag lay abandoned by his feet.
"Sasuke," Itachi spoke his name, pulling the boy's eyes to himself, "why are you sitting here? It's past five p.m. You must be hungry. Come on, let me take you home."
"I don't wanna go home," Sasuke answered—his small voice, smaller than usual. Leaves cast the coming evening's shade upon his Lilly face, enveloped by a child's sorrow.
"What's wrong?" Itachi asked and sat down beside him. "Did someone say something to you? You can tell me and I'll punish him." He gave a reassuring smile and stroked Sasuke's messy hair. His shadow loomed over the little boy—Itachi was quite tall for his age.
Hesitating for a moment, he turned his face to Itachi, his cheeks flushed from heat. It was really warm today. "Otō-Sama didn't even look at my test. He doesn't care 'bout me," he said, his little voice sad and full of anguish, and then turned his face away. Itachi saw his tiny pink mouth quiver as he squeezed his eyes shut. The tears stung on his hot face.
"Sasuke . . . " Itachi brushed his tears away and pushed his sweaty hair aside. "He's got other matters to deal with. Where's your test? Let me see." He stretched his arm and pulled out the paper sticking out from between the scrolls. "A perfect score—I'm proud of you."
Sasuke's face lit up, and he looked into Itachi's eyes, a bit curiously. "You are, Nii-San? You're not lying, right?" he asked, as if unsure of his brother's honesty.
"Of course not. You're my brother. Why would I lie to you?" he said softly and wiped away fresh tears shimmering in the sun's last lights. "Come on, let me carry you home." Reassured that his brother was being honest, he let Itachi pick him up. Itachi flung Sasuke's bag over his shoulder, slipped one arm under Sasuke's buttocks, and slipped the other one behind his neck.
Lifting Sasuke up, Itachi started walking. Sasuke circled his arms around Itachi's neck, his breast pressed against his brother's, his heart beating loudly. "Nii-San, I want to be like you," he whispered close to Itachi's ear, his cheek pressed into the crook of his brother's neck. "You're perfect, Nii-San. When I grow up, I'll be just like you. I'll work hard to be like you. Otō-Sama loves you—"
"You don't have to be like me, Sasuke. You are you," he reassured him again and moved his hand up to press Sasuke firmly to himself as he opened the gate. "See, we are home. You should . . . " he paused and turned his head slightly to look at Sasuke. He had fallen asleep . . .
Itachi closed his eyes. The memory ended. The illusion ended. Time had cast a different shadow all-around. It was a memory relived under the darkness of this sky. Somehow, his feet had found their way back home, retracing the path like a routine ritual. He never thought that in those innocent childhood confessions lay the absolute passion for honesty. He tilted his head back and felt the chill from night crawl upon his skin; perhaps it was his fault that Sasuke forever chased the idea of him being a statue carved out of a marble—a symbol of perfection.
Somewhere down the road, a boy had forgotten himself, overlooked the mask of perfection Itachi wore to hide his True nature. Sasuke had tempered his own innocence and beaten it out of himself to mould it in Itachi's image. Standing still, Itachi felt the softness of rain upon his unyielding skin; it deceived him to tremble at the sensations, a slit in his mask. It readjusted itself quickly to appear indifferent again, but in him raged an ocean of . . . memories. Sasuke was slipping out of his hands . . .
Itachi felt as though he was standing on the brink of a frightening precipice, staring down at the darkness by his feet. It was barbed and alive—a lid on his secrets and sins. He had little remorse for his deeds. They were his duties, his willing choices to protect the village as its uncompromising soldier . . . and his brother. Yes, he would do anything for Leaf: betray his clan, his loyalty to family, and break free from the precepts of innocence and notions of martyrdom. His fire for Leaf, a towering aggression: his love for Sasuke, a sacred obsession! These were disgraceful sentiments if he had nothing to protect—if he did not have a passion to occupy his heart, his greed was without will; and it was his heart that drove his spirit, his soul that existed in Winter's stillness. Obsession was divine—Will, human.
How would he protect if Sasuke lost himself to Truth? The mask yielded before uncertainty for just a moment. Waves of distress biting away at his insides slammed against his composure, but it was too stubborn for them to break through, tear it apart, and spill out over his face to consume him for a moment's victory. No, he would do everything to shield Sasuke from the truth, protect the bond forged in innocence between them. Sasuke did not have to know everything; it was for his own good!
Taking a long intake of breath, as if the matter was settled, Itachi stepped inside the manor. The servants had lit the lanterns. The Uchiha symbol glowed behind the lantern in the entrance's alcove. He looked at it for a moment, as though interested in the fan's red and white glow, and took off his sandals. The chill was trapped behind the door. Faded and hushed sounds of rain's pitter-patter permeated the space about him.
Itachi opened the clasp of his sheath and grabbed hold of the sword. The rack to the right had the weapons he and Sasuke used for their missions. He placed the sword on the rack. When his gaze moved in the direction of his room, his eyes pulsed to life. "Sasuke . . . " he whispered and flashed to his brother, a crumpled figure by the open door. He knelt down and grabbed Sasuke by the shoulders. "Sasuke, speak. What is wrong? Sasuke . . . "
Sasuke lifted his head, his eyes unable to decide the pattern they wanted to wear as they fluctuated hastily between the ring of Tomoes and the petals of Eternal light; Itachi had been too hard, too cruel this time. "Nii-San," he breathed out weakly, his face enveloped by a boy's grief, "have you ever had the urge . . . to just let it all go?"
Itachi did not know what to say. He kept looking at Sasuke, his innocence apparent on his face without that mask of mimicry. "I remember—I visited the graves—and I went out on a mission that day. I was hanging by a thread, looking down at the ocean . . . waves crashing on the rocks . . . smell of salt rushing to me. I just—I wanted to let go. I wanted to be free . . . I hate this—this burden. I don't know what to do. Nii-San—" He grimaced, like a frightened boy, eyes brimming with tears, and leant into Itachi's breast . . . to hide his countenance.
"You are my flesh and blood and I am your anchor. Even if you end up hating me, it would not matter for that is what older brothers are for—to bear the hate and be their brothers' armour," Itachi spoke, which seemed like utmost honesty to the younger one's ears, and stroked Sasuke's head with affection.
He had to find Kisame before Sasuke. Truth was never a necessity . . .
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"Tsunade-Sama, can't you do anything—anything at all?" Sakura pleaded. Autumn's night was a child perched on sky's throne; but sky was hidden behind the clouds: an unwary darling was shielded ruthlessly by storm's curtains.
"I wish I could, but Itachi has written a detailed report. He's the Anbu Captain, and the boy is typically thorough. Sage knows he never leaves any loopholes behind for anyone to get around. I can't override his decision under these conditions. If you want to learn more, take the opportunity he's offering you. You're a gifted Medic and hold great mastery over Genjutsu-Kai. It wouldn't hurt to hone your skills," Tsunade said from across the large table. It had some unsigned scrolls lying open on its surface.
Sakura heaved a sigh, her eyes downcast, and looked around at the new mat spread over the floor. The office was being renovated—racks, cupboards, and even the large table, were new. She breathed in the overpowering smell of fresh paint and coughed. It was unbearable to stand in the office.
"This would give you the time to separate yourself from Sasuke and think for yourself," Tsunade said and gazed at the shocked expression on Sakura's face. She was not expecting such honesty from her mentor.
"Tsunade-Sama, I—" she stopped and lowered her eyes in shame.
"There's no need to hide it. I know you have strong feelings for him, but that's clouding your judgment. Why don't you tell Itachi already? He should know that you failed the tests because you were making a poison's antidote for Fū under Danzō's orders. I'm sure he can make Sasuke understand. Good Sage—that wild boy can't even be controlled by anyone but Itachi," she said, her brow knitting with irritation. The Uchiha brothers were these two boy-like imps in her eyes: unreasonable, secretive, and hard-headed.
"It was a classified mission. I was told not to tell my Captain. I don't think there's any need to tell Itachi-Sama. I've passed my tests," Sakura answered, her eyes still lowered before the Hokage's soft gaze.
Tsunade sighed and lifted herself up with great difficulty. Sitting on the chair all day long was hardly her idea of a decent job. She walked to the closed window and opened it a little to let fresh air in. It hit the side of Sakura's face and cooled beads of sweat standing on her skin. She shivered, took in a gulp of air, exhaled as hard as she could. It was a good idea to air the room.
"I'm giving you an honest advice—forget about Sasuke," she broke off, and then she turned around to face her student and meet her green eyes, glazed over with fresh tears. "He doesn't love you. He'll never love you. You're just wasting your life away, chasing after this—this boy who doesn't care for you. He comes into this office and there's nothing but contempt in his eyes for you. The sooner you realise this, the better.
"Sometimes, when our hearts are broken, we go down wrong paths from where there's no return. Get out of this mess. That's all I'm going to say."
Tsunade kept her gaze settled upon Sakura; she was weeping in the light from the lantern. The grieving girl raised her head, her face ruined by tears. She took in a shuddering breath and spoke in a wavering voice, strained by her youthful passions, losses, and fears: "t-thank you, Tsunade-Sama. You're k-kind. I—"
Tsunade took a few steps and clamped her hand on Sakura's trembling shoulder. "I know it's hard, but you have to let go. Let him go, Sakura. For Sage's sake, you're only twenty-five. You have a whole life ahead of you. Don't ruin it by running after a shadow. Take this chance Itachi's offering you and you can apply anywhere you want in the Country—you can get away from this place, away from Sasuke, and start over," Tsunade said and stroked Sakura's hair.
Sakura did not say anything in response. Could she really break free from him? The thought hit her hard. He was a sturdy, unrelenting chain—an unbreakable ghost wrapped round her flesh and spirit. She was his prisoner. Would she ever be able to run away, break free without tearing herself apart? Her heart thundered as she thought of the next best thing, and she felt his hold on her loosen just a little . . .
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