Chapter Forty-Five: Lady of the Wolves
AN: Strategicians is more of a coined word rather than a specific one with a denotational "sense". It is usually found in research books. Regardless, I thought its use to be appropriate for this chapter.
Two Japanese words were used in this chapter: Ōkami means wolf; Shitchi, marsh.
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It was raining again, a light rhythm that made his heart thump out displeasure's tunes: he was a little irritated. Rain fell against the stones, tiles on the waiting place's roof, and basin. It was overflowing with water. The stepping stones were slick and wet; grass, soggy. The lanterns sitting by the stones were out. He could make out shapes of droplet-adorned Kirins and Weasels and Crows upon them.
He was asked to bare his upper arms for today by Tsunade. It was done to show the Anbu Commander's tattoo: this one was different from the others and had four droplet-like patterns that created a single black shuriken. Such a serious affair . . . bare it for all eyes to see. He never understood its significance. His stature in Leaf's military was not a hidden affair. He closed his eyes, thinking. Tsunade . . .
"Ōkami Clan? Konoha Elders have many strange allies," he spoke, eyes shining like the brightest fireflies in the darkest spaces of her office.
"They did," Tsunade paused, taking a quick sip and looking back into his eyes, "they still do. I thought you to be an obedient boy, Itachi. Do I sense a little change in you? Change can be sweet." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled in the lantern's light.
Itachi was silent. A strong wind was blowing outside, but its grave sounds did not invade his thoughts. Those were his territories—his private places. His lies hid there, carving themselves into memories, tearing them up to create new patterns, such wondrous landscapes. They were limitless in their re-creations and destructions. It was an odd little thing—a natural little thing.
"I am sending you as an Anbu Captain to oversee the bandit business. They have been creating trouble for their outposts," she spoke and eyed the cup with a single frown in her brow: the cup was empty now. She put it down with a little force, as if its emptiness angered her, and returned her attention back to the man standing in the dark. "We have asked for their aid concerning our outposts, as well. You have to break open the seal on that girl before the task ends. You will not get another chance—we will not get another chance."
"The magic of the Uzumaki? They are crafty tricksters," he spoke, sounding almost amused. His eyes stayed the same, like the unmoving lake's deep.
"Make light of it if you wish, boy, but that seal prevents you from breaking through the barriers in her head," she said and inhaled sharply. "You won't get the scroll or its location without reading that girl's mind."
"She is their secret keeper?" he asked and moved his head a little that his eyes seemed to appear like two burning moths hovering in the air, awaiting re-birth.
"They're always daughters. They're taught to be good strategicians," she said and suddenly let out a laugh. "It's strange that they're shunned from becoming Shinobis. Their minds are strong. It's a genetic trait passed on through women in their line. A strong burst of chakra guards their thoughts. It's turned into an impenetrable barrier with the seal. Even a Sharingan can't break through, but you—you're different, Itachi."
There were a few words on his tongue, icy words which lingered there, bitter words, but he chose silence. She went on with a smile dancing on the lips, painted red daily to tempt men: "you must find the scroll in her memories. It tells the tale of the night connected to a grave matter. I want to know what happened all those moons past."
Lightning flashed, and his face came into view just once before it was hidden away by darkness again. It was a little rigid, a little cold. "There is no guarantee that this venture will gain me enough time to use Tsukuyomi upon her," he spoke, and his words were void of emotions. "It can kill her before I avail a chance to open the seal. Are you willing to start a conflict over a trinket that might be of no use to you now and earn us all a war in return?"
She narrowed her eyes, and a bold smile broke out on her face, touched with but a hint of rosiness about the cheeks. "Are you unwilling to take risks for your brother? I thought he was so dear to you?" she asked and saw the red spots float a little to the right. "I suppose words are only words, after all."
"I am not a proverbial, burden-bearing mule, attached to an old cart with a carrot and a stick in the front," he spoke with a dry tone to his voice. "I am willing to do many things, but a war means that you grant Danzō a reason to proceed on with his lofty ideals. You would have paved his path for him. What are you thinking?"
"If she dies, who would know it was you?" she asked, the corners of her mouth trembling to form a full smile upon that lovely face knotting in challenge and bits of anger and excitement.
"The thrills of the seat are head-spinning, yet that should not cloud your judgement," he spoke, and the fires in his eyes burnt brighter. "Ōkami work for Cloud. They are their hounds. The new treaty in place will be shred to pieces by this grave mistake. It could fan flames of war and everyone will lose . . . everything."
"Don't play games with me, boy!" Tsunade said, her voice hissing in cold fury. "Answer me! Who else would know?" Her face had changed. He saw it harden with trappings of disdain and authority, and he knew he had to answer.
"No one," Itachi spoke slowly, and his red eyes watched a grey strip of shadow come over her fair face and lie there like the lightest of curtains.
"Then I am not asking you, Itachi, I am commanding you to come through and bring me that scroll," she spoke, and her voice rose wildly with command. Her eyes had tracked his face amidst the shadows. It was as though they receded back at her whim. She looked ferocious, the lantern's light shining in her eyes, granting their woodsy browns a strange fire he did not witness, often. She amused him . . .
"As you wish," he agreed and spoke no more. His face was completely emotionless. A war? Slightly concerned by her bull-headed decision, he did not let anything reveal itself on his face and brow.
He turned around and made to leave when she spoke again: "she loves to indulge in beautiful things—a bit foolhardy." She poured out another cup of sake.
Itachi blinked; his Sharingan vanished, eyes upon her face again. She was wearing a mischievous smile now, her cheeks warming up when she took a sip of that red one, and she took it with great relish. "What are you suggesting?" he asked and moved his head just a little to feel a cool draft, coming in from a tiny gap in the window, on his right cheek.
"You'll see," she said, smiling. Her cheeks grew redder and redder as though she was tasting that sake for the very first time. "I asked Sakura about that flower you spoke of. She made the poison because your brother is cold to her—a symbol of freedom, as she told me. Nothing more. Danzō had little to do with that choice."
"I am crushed with surprise," he spoke coldly, and it was hard to miss that dry sarcasm in his voice.
"I know that she can be over-bearing, but it wouldn't hurt Sasuke to be a little kind to her," she said and drank the final mouthful of sake and placed the cup aside. "He's so young. He can still learn. You only strive to discipline him. Teach him to be kind, too."
Itachi merely smiled and turned around to leave. He opened the door, and her words stopped him from leaving: "Autumn Moths are always male and Purple Lilies are unisexual male flowers, too," she said, her voice heavy with emotions. "The pink moths that birth the purple ones die. They either burn to death upon the purple lanterns' flames they assume to be those lilies or Autumn Moths' poison gets them. If they're lucky to survive Autumn, Winter becomes their grave. Your brother may have the allure of the lilies, but Sakura is no pink moth. You will keep your flames away from her at the cost of your brother's safety!"
He heard her take a deep breath, and she spoke again, her words a little cold—cold enough to touch his skin and make it shiver with delight: "I wonder which one of you worships the other as if he's a faultless Kami." And her words died into silence, and he looked at her and smiled before he left her alone in the darkness of the office . . .
Itachi opened his eyes, and a dimmed sunlight greeted him. He tilted his head slightly down to look at that thin scar line. He would have preferred to conceal it. Now, he was wearing it upon himself like a kind of half-heartedly accepted mark of battle, a show of courage: a healed scar that was clean and straight started from his shoulder and cut through that shuriken etched into his skin, like a keen sword, and travelled down and disappeared behind the black gloves that trailed up well past his elbows.
Displeasure came across his face, but it disappeared quickly. Wind rushed at him from the left, and he turned his face away from the brunt of chill. The metal armguards on his arms were dotted in rainwater. The rain mellowed again, and, abruptly, the shushing sound died down.
Kai suddenly appeared from behind the trees; he opened the bamboo gate and made his way to Itachi. He was pink in the face. "Itachi-Sama, the Shitchi squad raided the outskirts. They found some hidden outposts, but the bandits got away," he said, exhaling loudly, his warm breath like feathery wisps in the cold.
"I did not expect them to find anything," he spoke and turned his gaze a little to an old man standing under the broad-roof of the tea-house. A pipe was tucked at the left corner of his mouth, and he was squinting his eyes against the smoke. A cascade of rainwater fell down in front of him from the fine-tiled roof. He could see his aged feet trembling from the rain's spray.
Itachi brought his eyes back to Kai. "Tell Serizawa to inform the woman to meet me in the sitting room," he spoke and moved to his right. It was customary to rinse the hands and mouth before entering the tea-house. He palmed water into his mouth, spat it out, and washed his hands next.
The stone-path was slippery, wind cold, but his heartbeat was rock-solid. The old man bowed low and muttered a shaky greeting. He opened the sliding door, and a warm tea's scent rushed at him from the inside. Taking off his wet sandals, he stepped onto the wooden floor, and the door was slid shut behind him. Scrolls hung on the walls, and a partition screen separated the entrance from the anteroom: a little issue of smoke crept up from behind the screen, and silhouettes of women moved left and right daintily over the fine painting: it showed wilted Higanbana in Winter, faded red spots in snow . . .
Itachi opened the sliding door on his right. The sitting room was small: a well-crafted mat covered the floor, and sandalwood's fragrance filled the air, mixing together with chamomile's and smoke's familiar scents. (The girls had already performed the incense ceremony.) He closed the door and sat down crossed-legged by the sunken fireplace. The coal was burning, and the teapot hanging above it was red-hot.
He closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of a woman's steps. Not a moment later, the door behind him was opened and closed with feminine care. Then, as though announcing her arrival, a smell of flowers crawled up his nose. This woman liked her perfumes. The steps made their way around him, soft and light like a child's, and he opened his eyes to gaze upon the woman before him.
She was young, twenty-six years of age, he assumed. She wore a touch of traditional makeup on her face: a shade of berries painted her lips red, and bits of artificial colour, a rosy blush, dusted her powdered white cheeks. She bent her head and knees slightly and spoke in a lilting voice that matched her smile's sweetness: "it is an honour to meet you, Itachi-Sama. I am Abukara Kikyo from the Ōkami Clan."
Carefully, she settled herself upon the cushion on the mat and opened the hand-fan in her hand with the practiced flick of her wrist. Then she raised her hand and held the fan before her face. He could only see her eyes and a portion of her right cheek now.
"When my men from Shitchi told me that the Head of the Uchiha Clan and Commander of Anbu Corps had agreed to our terms, I expected someone . . . decrepit and elderly, but—" she stopped, sighed, and her eyes shrank to tiny slivers that set that red makeup around them aflame in the fire's light, "—you are such a beautiful man. It is almost wicked the way you look—unfair even. I have heard that your brother is even more beautiful than you. Is that true? I believe it to be so unreal!" Then she emitted a constrained laugh, almost kissing the fan in girl-like delight.
Itachi saw her lips curled in a smile behind the fan. "Are you flattering me?" he asked and saw that cunning smile widen a bit.
"No, Sage no, Itachi-Sama," she said and fluttered the fan in her hand. "I have little need for fake flatteries. I simply love beautiful things and I am honest about them. Like this blood-red fan in my hand and that long curve of your white throat." She closed the fan a little harshly in her firm fist and lowered her hand, and the beads dangling from the pins in her buns chinked. Her smile was gone, her eyes almost predatory in the strong light of the fire.
He fixed her with a cool gaze for a moment and spoke, "the bandits you spoke of in your missive . . . their outposts are empty. I thought your men had everything under control. Where did they hide this time?"
Kikyo moved her arm up and pressed the hand covered by that long colourful sleeve to her lips, and then she let out a muffled little laugh. "Silly little men," she said, and the laughter rattled through her breast. "I told them that they could have checked the outposts in the mountains, but I am a simple-minded woman in their eyes. They hardly listen to me, Itachi-Sama. Perhaps, now that you are here, they might get a little motivated to locate the hideouts."
"A Byakugan would have sufficed, yet you desired a Sharingan wielder?" he spoke and saw something flare in her eyes quickly and powerfully.
"Forgive my mawkishness, but you are as cold as the colour of your throat, Itachi-Sama. A little red of the fan would suit you well," she said, her voice subdued. "I simply wanted to see the Sharingan. It has been so long since I laid my eyes upon one. It imbues things with wondrous colours. Not everything looks beautiful if it is black—or white," she spoke with softness again that that one rosy cheek he could see tightened with a smile.
"Are beautiful colours the only reason for your requests? You are overindulgent. Perhaps your men are wary for a reason," he spoke, and she let out another trill of laughter, her shoulders heaving. It seemed to him that she enjoyed the sound of her own laughter . . .
She opened her fan again and moved it slowly back and forth above her breast. He could barely see her face behind its movements. "Let the lady keep a bit of her mystique." She tilted her head down a little as though she was bowing. "All in due time. I shall satisfy every little curiosity of yours, and you will satisfy every bit of mine," she stressed on the word will rather severally.
Silence fell heavily, and in that fraction of silence in between, he heard a stone break outside: Storms had cracked it open at last! "Tell your men to prepare themselves. I would require their lists, and if the Hokage approves, we will take our leave at sunrise," he spoke in a heavy voice, laced with a bit of command.
"Snow might fall on the mountains—one man told me under the expanse of stars yesterday. They twinkled and glimpsed like little fish in a pond," Kikyo said and looked him straight in the eyes, showing such intensity and fire in them. "He laid down a white cloth on the grass and asked of me to prick my finger just a bit. It was beautiful the way red drops spread on white and soaked through. It pained me a bit . . . and then it was pleasure. My skin was awash in desires. I wonder if the snow, white as your throat, looks like that, too, when it is touched by red like that."
Kikyo closed her eyes and let out a long, weary sigh and got to her feet. She bowed before him and silently left the room the same way she came. He heard her leave and at last he looked at the red fan she had left on the cushion. Try as he might, he could not remember meeting any woman as strange as her. Time was so short, and the lady of the wolves, sly. This would be . . . impossible . . .
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"I can't grant you a leave," Sasuke said and placed the scroll back on the table. "The Team has fallen behind in my absence, and you need to do many missions before you understand what it means to work in missions."
"But—" she protested and stopped abruptly. Her eyes were upon his face that looked bright in the morning light. The clouds had broken apart and rain was gone. Sun had taken over, and she felt warmth's tingling sensation on her right cheek.
"You're the one who wanted to come back to this life, Hinata," he said and pulled at his drawer to take out another scroll. "I hope these are the thrills you were looking for." He unrolled the scroll and gazed at her again, an insouciant look on his face.
"Minato-Sama has summoned me and N-Naruto-Ku—Naruto to his manor to talk—" she broke off and pressed a frightened hand against her breast to calm her heart that protested louder than her tongue, "—talk about the heir. I-I have to be there, or else Otō-Sama would be shamed as he made him a promise." She huffed out a sigh and lowered her eyes. She looked ashamed.
A chill went through Sasuke, and a shiver shook his legs, and he got up from the chair almost against his will. "Did you find out about the payment Minato was involved in?" he asked and drew closer.
Hinata raised her eyes and found him standing only two feet from her. Her face grew warm, and she looked down to her hands again. She was holding her fist tightly in the other hand. "No, I'm—I'm sorry. I couldn't find anything in my house," she said, rubbing her fingers together nervously.
"That's unfortunate," he said, his tone soothing and cool, and moved his hand to grab a tuft of her hair from over her breast. "It would've aided you so much."
Hinata's heart was ringing in her ears, eyes moving over the mischievous expression of his face; and with this countenance, he seemed like a boy up to no good. "Aided me?" she asked weakly, and her face broke out in sweat. An electric current traveled from the hair he was rubbing slowly between his fingers to her heart, and it felt lovely.
"Yes," he said in an excited little voice, drawing so close that her heart began to leap and swell and flutter in wild anticipation. "If Minato was involved with Danzō in some nasty affair that isn't a part of records, you can use the evidence to break free if he doesn't let you. It'd be so easy that way. Your father will be free of his schemes, as well. Wouldn't it all come together just wonderfully?" He bent his head down, and his warm breaths felt hot upon her neck and cheek.
"Y-You think so?" Hinata asked, skin trembling upon her young flesh, mouth smiling in a way as though she was caught up in the boy-child tricks of his Sharingan.
"I know so," Sasuke replied playfully and bent further down to whisper, "take a leave of two days. I'll come to your house when the night falls."
His voice rippled deliciously in her ear, and when he backed away, she desired for him to touch her there with his lips again. He flicked his head to indicate that she should leave. She bowed and left the room in silence.
A moment passed and Suigetsu stepped into his office. His purple eyes fell upon Sasuke's face, rife with irritation and frustration and determination, and he created a sheepish grin in response. "Nii-Sama took Karin with him, and Jūgo was sent away by Tsunade to manage the bandit business to the east," he said, and his eyes shrank into severe red slits. "What am I to do with the one person I don't need right now?"
"Hey, I may be made a' water, but I've got meself a lil' 'eart!" he said in mock indignation and slammed his fist into his puffed out breast—as if Sasuke did not know where his heart was.
Sasuke did not smile and looked at the window. The sun was burning as brightly as fires, and the light was strong. All that rainwater in the grounds would evaporate by noon. "I went to that damned hearing, did all that was asked of me, but Nii-Sama still doesn't trust me," he said and brought his eyes back to Suigetsu whose smile had turned into a teeth-filled grin by now.
"I don't, either," he said, laughter in his voice, "but his trust's the least af yor problems. Kai might stay 'ere. I get a feelin' that this one just doesn't like ya, and then we 'ave yor brother's nasty lil' crow sittin' and poopin' in the only tree outside yor office. I feel so sad fer ya, lovely!"
Sasuke's lips curled in impish delight. "The crow should vanish in a week or two. The bandit business is nasty and it'll take time. I've heard that Kikyo is no easy meal. I don't know why my brother went to that wench when he could've arranged for someone else from Anbu. I wonder . . . " he said and looked up at the fan in thought; the spider's web still existed between the blades, and he had asked of the cleaning staff to get rid of it, too. "It doesn't matter. The bandits will attack that Leaf's outpost soon at the call of a hawk, yes?"
"Slippin' out durin' the chaos? Yor a nasty lil' imp, Sasuke," Suigetsu said and let out a rough laugh. "How do ya plan on makin' that crow vanish? The fuckin' thin' doesn't quit! What did ya do, ya wicked boy?" He crossed his arms and wore a big grin on his face; he watched as a cool and cunning look came over Sasuke's face completely.
"You'll see," Sasuke whispered and his eyes were red; and Suigetsu could only manage a laugh. These brothers were so amusing . . .
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EN: Kikyo is a very specific type of olden-days Japanese woman in mannerisms and dialogues. Her dialogues have hints of metaphorical implicature (like aristocratic women's poetry from the Heian Period), together with the Sancha, Tsubone, and Hashi's mannerisms—courtesans in the Edo Period. She's a mish-mash of these women. It's not the same (it's more of an inspiration), but I wanted her to have a little colour of these women.
Sancha (powdered tea) that refers to the inferior of two kinds of tea that were quite popular during that time. The better-grade leaf tea had to be put in a bag and shaken in hot water for the best result, while the less expensive Sancha required no shaking. Since "shaking" also meant rejection of a customer, the newly incorporated prostitutes, who never refused customers as Tayū did, were called Sancha. They were placed below Tayū and Kōshi and above Tsubone and Hashi in the hierarchy of prostitutes.
In the early eighteenth century, Tsubone (compartment) was the rank between the Kōshi (High-ranking courtesans next only to Tayū) and Hashi (The lowest class of prostitutes. They cost about 1 momme or 100 mon.). They operated in a small compartment called Tsubone. Originally the apartments of court ladies of the Heian period, the term Tsubone during the Edo period was also part of the names of high- ranking ladies-in-waiting in Edo Castle who were given individual apartments (Kasuga no Tsubone, for example).
Keep that in mind that, in the Tokugawa Era, most high-end fashion enjoyed by women was started by the leading prostitutes of famous brothels such as Yoshiwara, Nezu, Shinjuku, Itabashi, Senju, etc.