Chapter Forty-Eight: Terror in a Dream
AN: I've been working on pieces of 'Dream-Landscape' more and more in Vehemence. They're very important and find their way into real-world mood descriptions, as well. Pay close attention to them.
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She stood in the sunlight pouring in through the window's paper-screen on the right. It was a single beam, big and long, soft and strong. Shadows lay deep-blue like scroll-ink behind the large cabinet that stood towering over the low table. An open scroll was lying across the surface; a wooden pen, left on the scroll, moved a little as breeze moved past it—a quiet piece of tranquility.
Many scrolls were arranged to create a neat pile in each shelve. She narrowed her eyes and breathed in the air in the room. The brazier and the fireplace were cold. There was fresh coal there, but it was not lit. She saw a little mist seeping into the room through the gap under the door that led to the garden. It was early in the morning.
She moved her eyes around and found more shelves in the walls. There were many books and scrolls arranged in the shelves. Moving her eyes over them, she let go of the door-frame and walked in. The moist mist in the room tickled her cheeks. It was cold in here. The servants had left this room alone in his absence. This was a library.
She stopped by the shelve with a large book and touched it with her fingertips, stealing glances at the low-table like he actually sat beside it, and that she would receive a reprimand for being a naughty girl. She smiled, lost in thoughts. That was when she heard footsteps on the wooden floor that creaked. She turned around, pushed the book back in, and her eyes fell upon Sasuke's face. He stood in the door-frame, dressed in his office uniform, and he looked displeased.
"What are you doing in here?" Sasuke asked, his cheeks a little redder than usual. She could tell it was not just the cold doing that to his complexion.
"I was just . . . " she paused to draw in the air that felt colder than before, " . . . looking around. I've never been to this part of the manor."
He pushed the sword into the sheath on his back and stared at her in the most unfriendly manner. "This is Nii-Sama's library, Izumi. You can't go anywhere you please," he said and did not look any less cold.
Izumi let out a small sigh of exasperation. He never liked her when she came by with her family to visit. When he was a little boy, he snatched the perfumed letters she wrote to Itachi from her hand and threw them into the pond. It would ruin the ink and her mood. She always intended to leave them under Itachi's makura or slip them under the door. She never got the chance to tell him how she truly felt.
Now, standing here and looking at him, his demeanour was evoking many of her memories. Izumi did not think he had ever grown up: he was still the same selfish little boy who wanted his brother's undivided attention, and Itachi always spoilt him. He let Sasuke hide behind him when he would come running into the room, chased by her to punish him because he threw her letters away.
Itachi would never listen. She remembered how a frown would rise to his face, barely disturbing his features, when she pleaded before him to punish Sasuke for being mean to her. He would tell her that it was unbecoming of a girl of her age to be angry with a boy so small, that boys were used to mischief; and Sasuke would look at her from behind his back, the top of his head barely coming up to Itachi's neck, little white hands curled around his brother's arm, eyes sparkling and peering over his shoulder, his mouth smiling that he had won. He was a small and impish one!
Izumi never liked him. He stole her letters, and Itachi never looked her way when he was around. She felt as though Sasuke did it on purpose! Whenever she got a chance to talk to him in his library, it would not take long for Sasuke to come running with a big smile on his face. He would collide into Itachi's breast and hug his arm; and then he would tell Itachi, with innocent excitement, what he did at the Genin Academy and drag Itachi's bag over to pull his things out and play by his side. Izumi was simply forgotten: Itachi never stopped him and it infuriated her.
Her heart was beating faster under his gaze. She looked fully at him again and saw the same selfish child in his countenance. Though he was twenty-one, his face still possessed the delicate features of a boy. The same look of triumph glinted in his playful eyes, and a curl of indifference was in his smile. He was still the same—he had not changed at all; but had Itachi changed, even just a little? She did not know, but she would tell him this time that she loved him and Sasuke would not stop her!
"Itachi-Sama told—"
"Nii-Sama said that you can stay in your guest-room. He gave you no permission to do as you please," he cut across her. A little smile came to his lips, and then it faded again. In the sunlight, his face looked hard as a precious toy's, broken a little by that naughty smile to grant its unnatural finesse an illusion's softness: he was just a wicked boy in a man's frame!
"Sasuke, you don't have to hate me so much," Izumi said and lowered her eyes to look at her cold feet peeking out from under the kimono. "I came here to look for a book. There isn't much to do in this manor. Itachi-Sama's away, and you don't sit with me, either. It gets lonely for two women living in a guestroom."
"Leave," Sasuke said coolly and walked towards the shelf in back of the table. The light from the window was blocked by his body now, and it cast a shadow upon her and her heart. A slow kind of anger came over her, and she did not like the way he commanded her.
"Itachi-Sama wouldn't like that that you're snooping around in his library, too. Why are you here?" she asked girlishly, the colour in her cheeks growing deeper.
He turned his head to look back at her eyes, which were seething with anger, and threw her a smile that was as mean as ever. "This is my house," he said, stressing on the word 'my', and created an innocent look that was whole-heartedly convincing upon his features, yet false.
"O', you're such a disrespectful imp, Sasuke. I'll tell your brother that you quarreled with me!" Izumi said heatedly and stormed out of the library, furious.
Izumi did not stop till she reached the guestroom. She slid open and closed the door with such force that it gave the old woman sitting beside the brazier a start.
Rao put her hand to her bosom and blinked rapidly. Her eyes were not as good as they used to be. She could see better with her Sharingan, yet it drew upon much of her vigour, which she possessed no longer. "What is the matter, Izumi?" she asked in the rough, old voice, her eyes upon Izumi's pinkish cheeks as she flopped down on the futon in a huff.
Izumi's cheeks were rouge red now, and she had a deep frown in her forehead. She pulled at the pins in her hair and threw them on the futon in anger. "Nothing," she said sternly and turned her face away.
Rao smiled and closed the book she had in her hand. She had asked of Sasuke last night to get her a few from Itachi's library. Though still bright and clever, she was bent by age. She could not see the colours and words that clearly. Everything was a little hazy to her aged eyes. These books had special chakra ink in them that made everything look bright and clear.
"Did Sasuke say something to you?" Rao asked and put the book aside. She brought her hands together and rubbed them briskly.
Looking at the door, Izumi listened to the groans of the floor as Sasuke walked in the corridor outside. She heard him open and close the large main-door and felt a draft come in that made the flames flicker.
At last, she looked back at Rao, frowning. "I'll tell Itachi-Sama that Sasuke was hurtful to me again," she said, taking deep breaths. "He told me to leave the library—he commanded me to leave the library. He's rude!"
Rao pressed her fingers to her lips and laughed. The tinkle of her merry laughter rang in Izumi's ears and anger slowly faded from her face. Her mouth turned down a little, and she lowered her eyes and looked at the bracelet on her wrist. She felt the coolness of metal on her skin. The room suddenly began to feel colder. The fire in the fireplace needed more coal.
"Come here, my dear," Rao spoke and lightly tapped her hand on the cushion beside her. Izumi looked at her and then made her way around the brazier. She sat down and adjusted her kimono carefully. She felt Rao's hand on her head and then on the side of her cheek.
She spoke again, and this time, more softly than before: "he will need time to accept someone else in his house. It has been just the two of them for so long. Have a little patience."
Izumi raised her eyes to meet hers and saw warmth. Rao always talked so fondly of Itachi. "Sasuke, he—he makes things difficult. He—" Izumi stopped and mashed her lips together. Then she sniffed a few times and blinked as though she was trying to hold back the tears.
Rao smiled, and it was a kind smile. "Sasuke is not difficult to understand," she spoke and stroked Izumi's head as she gazed into her questioning eyes. "If you wish to win Itachi's heart, be kind to Sasuke—overlook his mistakes. Itachi loves him so. He is all that he has. Do not think that you will be able to lessen Sasuke's love in his heart by telling him of his innocent anger and faults."
"But, Rao-Sama, I didn't mean—"
"It is all right, Izumi, child," she spoke her name tenderly, taking her face in her hands. "It is all right to be selfish. There is no harm in wanting someone for oneself, but Sasuke is precious to him. He treats him like a child, because he considers him one. He has been his father since he was but a boy of fourteen himself. He let that child get away with many things, because he loves him."
Rao lowered her gaze and then slightly turned it to the right. The guttering flames were going out. The room was getting colder. The sun was bright, yet she knew that the storm would cast a shadow over this house soon; then rain would not be that far behind. She pulled her hands away and looked down towards the fire. She heaved a sigh—lost in thought.
"Treat Sasuke with love. Show him kindness. Give him value. Then, perhaps, Itachi may start appreciating your love, too," she spoke, voice anguished, smiling. "He has become distant over the years. It would be . . . difficult for you to find a place in his heart. Sage knows what he wants. He is no less cold towards Sasuke, but his love softens him—a little. I hope you find happiness with him—I truly hope." Then she looked at her, and she was smiling a warmer smile, and Izumi could not help but feel a shiver in her heart. Itachi was . . . too cold? She was speechless . . .
Clouds were spreading wide; sky was going dark; gloom was descending on them. The wind was calming, but, with a single clap of thunder, rain came pouring down. It was colder than usual. Autumn was walking: Winter was calling. He looked up and passed his hand over his face several times, groaning at the crow's presence. Damn thing was a Yūrei!
"I like Autumn and the rain," Sasuke said and leant back against the tree. Water was still dripping from the branches above, but it was bearable.
"I hate 'em, mate. Ya don't care of me feelin'," Suigetsu said and adjusted the cowl on his head. "I feel like I might get swept away by water. Hold me!" He faked a gloomy expression and stepped closer to Sasuke so that the crow could not see his face now.
"Yor brother's nasty crow's as persistent as ever," he said, tilting his head slightly to peer through Sasuke's messy, wet hair to see that it was still sitting there. It twisted its head around and sat way up in the tree on the far right. It did not behave like a real bird—it looked as if Itachi had transubstantiated into a crow to make them both truly miserable. It made him shiver, and he chuckled. "Ya said it'd disappear, but it's still 'ere. Losin' yor touch, ain'tcya? Bet it can even hear me silent, windy farts. Life's so buggerin' unfair!"
"It can't hear us," Sasuke said and closed his eyes as if he was tired, "but it can see the movement of our lips. As long as you don't flap your gums carelessly, it wouldn't see anything. It'll disappear in a week. Have patience."
"Bloody hell! It's deaf!" Suigetsu said and gasped, and his brows rose up distinctively high. " . . . fuckin' weird, yor brother. Why did ya send that stutterin' wife ta do a fetch quest fer ya? That scroll would do us no good ta find what we want. I can't believe ya thought she might get somethin' fer us. She's a useless lil' cunt!" He twisted his lips in irritation and spat water out of his mouth.
"I didn't expect anything," he said, frowning. "I'm surprised we got this lucky about Minato's past. I just needed to know where the scrolls are stored. It isn't as if Nii-Sama's making things easy."
"Ya couldn't have asked Naruto 'bout 'em?" he asked and put his hand on his hip and adjusted his hood thoughtlessly again.
"Naruto would've been suspicious of my sudden interest in Minato. It was better this way," he said and started walking to the east.
"I hope ya know what yor doin'," he said and hurried forward to match his stride. "The bandits are cooped up in the cave close ta that outpost. Leaf ninjas aren't very bright if ya ask me. I've been sendin' me masked clone ta them regularly. They're gettin' impatient." He breathed out loudly and shoved his hands into the coat's pockets. It had got too cold.
"Bugger the Sage! I hope Leaf's band a' old shitters die!" Suigetsu exclaimed. "I hate this mission. I feel like I might freeze frem me head ta me bollocks!" Sasuke did not say anything. Autumn never bothered him.
They walked silently, said nothing, listened to the dissonant sounds of the rain and the tinkle of droplets as they fell from the boughs—left nearly bare by autumn's mercy. The sparse leaves left on them would, too, die in winter. This was their fate; so they shushed, caressed by the breeze as if protesting their coming deaths.
Big drops of rain coursed down Sasuke's face. He moved his hand again to wipe them away. His white skin was almost pink in every visible area on his face and neck, except his nose: it was deep pink. He slightly turned his eyes up to look at the lightning flash and flash again; it brightened the sky and left an afterimage in his eyes, and it did not take long for thunder to come at them with air-shaking quickness.
"Did you give them the gold and tell them to keep their mouths shut and stay put?" Sasuke asked gratingly and cleared his throat. "I wouldn't have resorted to this had there been another way, but with Nii-Sama handling them with Okami, this was the only way."
"I did—do ya think he'll figure this out?" Suigetsu asked and ducked under the crooked branches, adjusting his cowl again. He wriggled his ears and listened to the faint flap of the crow's wings: the evil bird was still in pursuit!
"The bandit problem had got out of hand. With Leaf involved in killing their men," he paused and let out a soft chuckle, "there's always a chance of retaliation, especially now that Tsunade's sought out the Okami Clan to aid them—thugs. Besides, that's one of our biggest outposts. If it's attacked, it'll cause mayhem here. Everyone will be assigned to protect Leaf's borders and forests. That'd be our chance—our only chance. Don't mess this up." He sniffed loudly and took in a great breath, letting out a shaky one afterwards.
Suigetsu's smile turned into a laugh. He closed and opened his eyes and continued to laugh a loud mischievous laugh. "Don'tchya worry yor purdy lil' head," he said and he still sounded amused. "I've been meetin' Toruné close ta Rain's borders, givin' 'im the Anbu-stamped scrolls like ya told me. He thinks me imaginary men're on ta somethin'. The guy ain't bright, I tell ya." He smiled and started running immediately in Sasuke's wake.
"The Root men?" Sasuke asked and stopped for a split second to leap up to a thick tree branch some fifty feet above him. Suigetsu followed. His water-repellent coat was noisy in the rain, and its wet tails streamed behind him.
"Yor clone's as mean as ya—a bully! It barks orders at me every day. Some things never change," Suigetsu said and his mouth pulled into a mean grin, his white teeth sparkling in sunlight. "The masks are good, and I carry soldier pills with me every day. The clones won't go poof, don'tchya worry. Toruné treats us the same. It helps 'cause the Root bastards don't talk—bunch a' mute, cock-suckin' faggits!" he said and stopped for a beat.
"Was it good ta kill both af 'em? It could get messy. When it all goes down, we're talkin' three dead sons a' cunts 'ere. Just thinkin' about yor brother makes me wet bollocks grow tighter—and not 'cause I'm horny. We're goin' ta be in deep shit. I'm tellin' ya!"
Sasuke took a huge leap towards a tree beyond the stream and landed smoothly on the bough. Suigetsu followed. Wind was too cold in their faces; rain had thinned to a pleasant drizzle, but each drop was a little needle on their skins. Lightning and thunder came in succession. The branches beneath their feet shook and lost more leaves that were barely hanging onto them with the last bits of their strength.
Sasuke jumped across two more trees, and at last, he spoke in a grave voice: "those men were involved in funding poor rebels in Rain against other villages. Typical Leaf business." His face suddenly grew stern as it came under the sharp morning light. The clouds were breaking. "No one knew about Rain more than them. They were also Toruné's guards, and the only ones in contact with the middleman. There was no other way."
"If ya say so," he said and looked down to see the water falling down on the leaves lying rotten on the ground.
Sasuke twisted around in midair and looked Suigetsu in the eye and there was a spark of child-like wonder in the reds there. It reminded Suigetsu of the time when Sasuke used to play with him in the forest. One was the bandit and other, the relentless chaser. Sasuke always chose to be the bandit. He did not understand it then, but he did now—he was a playful child. His games had grown sinister, but the boy in him chose them to satisfy his heart, unwary of the distinct malignancy that loomed behind them.
"Keep up—we're a little late," he said mischievously and Suigetsu's face mimicked the grin that split his face so perfectly. Sasuke's hand shot out to grab the branch as he fell back. He flipped and straightened his body in midair and landed smoothly on the ground and ran off into the forest with immense speed, and when Suigetsu blinked once, he could see him no more.
Suigetsu shook his head and let out a throaty chuckle. He looked up to see that the crow was flying after Sasuke, not him. He adjusted his coat and landed into the mud and ran after him. It took him a couple of seconds to reach the meeting place. It was a small clearing by a stream. Water flowed well here, and the naked trees were filled with straw-nests. Few were destroyed by the winds. All that was left hanging there, in the trees, were bits of wet straws. He saw a few chicks lying on the shallow bottom; they had drowned . . .
Sasuke looked over to him as he approached the stream. He stood close to Kai and was talking to him about their mission in the forest to the south. The crow was sitting on the branches above his head. Its neck was stretched to ripping and bent down, and it let out a loud caw, which was joyous and excited, when Sasuke looked up at its red eyes—it recognised him and it was happy! Strange bird, Suigetsu thought. Suigetsu met Hinata's eyes and could not help but lower his face to smile at her foolishness to chase Sasuke. Her face was pink like a harlot's powder, and she looked as shy and enamoured as ever. There was a little unmistakable boldness in her eyes that he had not witnessed before. Sasuke had moulded her well into his perfect little puppet.
Suddenly, Sasuke moved away from Kai and knelt down by the stream; then, almost without a thought, he scooped one chick out of the water. Its skin was wrinkled beyond belief, and he stared with an unknowable grief in his breast as a grey film appeared over its eyes, and it went completely still. It, too, had died, without loving winter's life . . . and Suigetsu looked on, not understanding Sasuke's interest in such a small death . . .
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Winds and rains were more merciless here. Everything brightened with sharp glares over and over again and the room shook. The vibrations moved up his feet and arms, all the way to his heart and eyes. He walked with firm, arrogant steps to the room. The double door was wide-open, and there she sat, appearing like a kabuki actress sitting behind the two sunken fireplaces.
He stepped through the door and stopped short of the fireplaces. Light flashed into the room, lighting his hard face in the darkness for just a moment, eyes as red as two ambers in the brazier. "Leave. All of you. I need to speak to this girl," he spoke so coldly that a shiver rolled through the whole room.
The masked men looked at their mistress, and she nodded. They left the room with quick steps and closed the door behind them. Suddenly, it was quiet, but thunder was quick to remedy that. It shattered the momentary calm without kindness, and their ears were left ringing with the unpleasant noise it created.
He narrowed his eyes to slits, an expression that accentuated his frosty face. His red eyes saw so clearly in the dark: the softly powered face, eyes set alight by a red make-up, a flickering of craft-less cunning that he was beginning to loathe. There was a bit of greed in the corner of her painted mouth, and it made his heart shiver with much ire that he had not thought possible.
"Back so soon, Itachi-Sama? You look so red and so wet. I think the cold journey was not easy on the man of Leaf. It's a village that stays warm," Kikyo said and her voice unnaturally boomed in the large room. The partition screens behind her looked bright and yellow in the lights of fires.
"What is the meaning of this?" Itachi asked, breathing out a warm white breath through his teeth. Water was still dripping from his clothes, face, hair, but they were slowly drying out in the heat.
Kikyo emitted a sweet and girly laugh, picked herself off the cushion, rose to her feet as daintily as possible. Then she inched by the edges of the fireplace, drawing her kimono away from the flames with her hand. She stopped a few feet short of him and stared up at his face with rapt attention as though she was about to receive a bit of heavenly revelation.
"Whatever do you mean? We agreed to take care of bandits. Isn't that what you did?" she asked in a fake, simpering tone as if she were dealing with an inept boy, and it angered him more.
A sudden intensity descended into his spectral red and face; it gave his wan countenance an air of such sinister contempt that, for a moment, she could not help but feel panic overpower her womanly heart, make it shudder.
His mouth twisted up very slightly in what he must have thought to be a smile, but he did not look any less fearsome and dangerous. "You enjoy playing children's games in the marsh, but this is dangerous for someone so young. I will ask of you again, what is the meaning of this? I hope you choose your words as wisely as you always pretend to," he spoke, his voice firm, unwavering, threatening.
She looked a little shocked by his honesty. Then, slowly, a smile came upon her mouth, and her face seemed to change—it became harder and colder—though she could not manage to work her features with the same perfection as he.
"You're so beautiful, but you're as cold as stones in our temple," Kikyo said lowly, and her eyes became black pebbles in her face. "Forgive my honesty, but I had to say what was in my heart." And she pressed her fingers delicately to her bosom as though she was seducing him. He did not seem moved—his countenance was still as hard as ever.
When no words came from him, she spoke: "I didn't do this to create trouble for you. Believe my words. Cloud has grown . . . impatient. We've collected many of their Jutsu-scrolls for them, and I've grown weary of it. The treaty between Konoha and the foolish Raikage gave me a moment to reconsider the choices of my father. They've been sending in men to reduce our numbers in the mountains. Military expansions as they call it. I believe otherwise."
Itachi was still silent. No words fell from his lips, and she continued after the voice of thunder passed into a shattering silence: "they're oppressing us to aid them in their war against Mist. Bullish men. It's inevitable. I simply want to slip out. Is that hard for you to imagine?"
"You used me to kill the men sent in for investigation of your activities in the mountains. You stole their scrolls and killed their men one after another. An emissary named Kuma was attacked by a group who stood against him. He was on his way to Konoha some moons past. Someone paid the men. They had no headbands on them. The bandits do. They consider themselves an army of the free lands, yet they are no thugs. They want freedom from the constraints of the Villages, yet you," Itachi paused, appearing cold and cruel, "you did all this to drive me into a corner. Do you think I am some fool?" His red eyes widened, and she felt skewered to the ground like a haunted, wounded animal that awaited a quick death at his hands.
Suddenly, his shadow looked sinister and evil in the dark, and she gulped, her fair face breaking out in sweat. She heaved in a deep and unsteady breath and stood straight. "Not all stories are true, Itachi-Sama. I'm more interested in—"
"I do not want to lend my ears to your yarns," he spoke, his voice like the winter's wind, almost hissing from his mouth; and he drew closer and dragged forward that aura of danger with him. "You threaten me with the possibility of an end to this treaty. Cloud might find out what happened to their men. Who knows what clues you have left in those rat-holes up in the mountains for them to find. Tell me, are you eager to meet your end by my hand? Death is not kind, less so to the young."
Fear flashed in her young eyes, but she quickly controlled it and met his gaze with a challenge. "Are you eager to kill me? Are you so eager to miss your chance to gain something? I thought you were clever!" Kikyo said and smiled that infectious womanly smile of hers.
"What if I kill you and your army right now, burn this place down without a thought? Your tale and your lovely theatrics will end, and no whisper will reach any ear to know of your games," Itachi broke off to breathe in, and his smile widened, "but, I wonder, what do I hope to gain from this child's play? Nothing. What truly matters is what you want from this mess. What do you want?" He tilted his head a little and gazed down to see the skin on her bosom trembling in fear. She was afraid.
"You," she whispered and came near him, and the seductive look in her face became more intense with a new fire, "I want you to make an alliance with me. I have something that might interest you—a scroll about a terrible secret that concerns you intimately. You can choose to kill me and earn the wrath of Cloud. They will never suspect us. They will suspect you and your men. An Anbu leader involved in an upheaval . . . the scandal will ruin you, but you can end it all by accepting me. The choice is yours."
Itachi bent his head, and the chill in his eyes made her flinch. The smile faded from her pretty face little by little, but she forced herself to keep up the act. "You are a foolish child who likes playing with dolls and beautiful things. You are not as clever as you pretend to be . . . and that will be the end of you," he spoke in an uncaring voice and turned around and walked away from her.
He grasped the handles on the door, and she spoke in a manner that gave her voice an alluring tone: "I hope you reconsider my offer, Itachi-Sama. You look lovely with a little colour on your skin. Let no one dye that throat red. That would be unfortunate!"
He did not stop and left the room in silence, closing the doors behind him . . .
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It was so bright—no matter where he looked, an endless shade of white: there was no colour in the space all around. He turned to his power, bestowed upon him as a gift by his father, and it failed him, too; but it reacted to his word-less plea when he looked upon the small body that was filled with purple strong and wondrous. He could sense each beat of the heart move the blood through that tiny body. It coursed inside veins that had yet to gain youth's wanting heat. It was young. Innocent. Pure. Free of life's touch . . .
His clever eyes saw that heart throb and send blood moving through the whole form, and it quivered with the warmth of a new life. The small body was a little vessel, a little piece of himself: the scent of that chakra, colour, and feeling was so familiar that he sat down crossed-legged and gazed upon the face of a small child that was most beautiful, a smile on his lips . . . Sasuke.
"Sasuke," Itachi spoke, and his voice echoed a little in the forlorn space, "are you still angry with me?" Itachi grasped the child's tiniest wrists with care, and Sasuke lowered his eyes in a manner that he did not want to look back at him.
"No," Sasuke replied, his voice small, soft, smooth. He looked no older than four. His face was so baby-like; his cheeks, round and big; his mouth, small and red. There was a rosy blush rising to his cheeks, and he kept raising and lowering his eyes; he wanted to say something.
"Tell me, what worries you? I will listen," Itachi spoke and pulled away one hand to brush his fingers across Sasuke's lily-white brow.
Sasuke twisted his mouth and bit his lower lip and sadness came into his eyes. "Nii-San, it hurts!" he said and his mouth began to tremble and his big eyes grew red with tears. They trickled down his cheeks and his small breast panted and deep emotions worked his delicate features that he looked in great pain—lost.
Concern disturbed the tranquility in Itachi's eyes. Sasuke was crying so bitterly now, and he did not know what to do. "Where does it hurt, tell me?" he asked, a note of a strange kind of urgency, hidden deep in his voice.
Sasuke pressed his plump hand to his breast and hiccupped, his face warping in pain. "Here, Nii-San. It h-hurts here—" he stopped, hiccupping sobs assailing that little body as though he was spasming, and tapped his hand where his heart was.
"Your heart?" he asked and focused his Sharingan on the life-granting organ beating in his breast. His heart was red and alive, thundering with emotions and strength and vigour children possessed in abundance. He could not see what was wrong with it. "Sasuke, it is fine. Do not be afraid. I am here," he assured him, but the child would not stop weeping . . .
" . . . but it hurts," Sasuke spoke, and his voice grew rough, raspy in a way that he sounded older than his years; Itachi saw his form grow, his body elongate, his muscles ripple; and Itachi felt the curl of his fingers around that wrist get tighter; and then Nature cast Sasuke's white face in such a fine, beautiful mould that had no equal. His features grew and matured into their perfect, accurate contours in a manner that was so familiar to his eyes, not yet leaving the mellow lines of that child behind. Green veins, innocent before, flickered with a new heat. His blood was hot with the touch of youth, and as the musk of his male scent went up Itachi's nostrils, he knew he was no longer a child, but a man. Sasuke had grown right before his eyes, and he felt as though he hardly ever noticed it over the years, and his own distant nature almost perturbed him . . .
Sasuke was still looking down, sitting cross-legged before him now. He saw that heart beat inside him. It was a different heart, a new heart—a heart corrupted by youth's stains; but his spirit, a white wisp flickering against the shadow in the deep reaches of his heart, was still so pure. If Itachi could just keep it the way it was, shield it from the smear of this world, he would be happy.
"It hurts, Nii-Sama," Sasuke spoke again in the young man's voice, his eyes still lowered to the wrist Itachi held firmly in his hand, "it aches."
Itachi did not understand him. So many words sat upon his tongue like the fleeting taste of poison, but he could not speak. He watched as Sasuke slowly raised himself to his feet, and he lost his grip and looked up, almost mesmerised by the hollowness of Sasuke's eyes; and Itachi realised it then: it was fear. Itachi was afraid. His heart could not let him admit, but he knew—he just knew. The slow, vibrating feel of it covered his heart like a black shroud. He did not know when he stood up, looking at his brother's face that was almost as white as the space; and it did not feel right. He was losing his colour—it was not right . . .
"It aches and it hurts," Sasuke said shakily and winced. "Let me show you. Would you see?" And he was looking at him odd, and Itachi was speechless.
Sasuke fisted a piece of his black shirt and ripped it away. Itachi's eyes fell upon his heart leaping under his ribs. It did not look any different to him. "You would see, wouldn't you, Nii-Sama—wouldn't you?" Sasuke asked in a child-like manner, the way he did when he was but a small boy, and the sound passed into distance and was gone. Sasuke was emotionless; then he brought his hand up, contorted his fingers into a claw, started pushing it into his breast. Itachi saw blood ooze from where his fingers were breaking his skin, digging in further. Little by little. Inch by inch. Noises—he heard the bones crack and break, and blood flowed down Sasuke's breast in streams.
Itachi stood stock-still, his eyes growing wider; then he finally opened his mouth to suck in the air and found his lost voice. "Sasuke, what are you doing? Stop," Itachi spoke in a voice that did not sound like his own, and his hand moved forward to grab hold of Sasuke's wrist to stop him from wounding himself.
Yet Sasuke was silent. His eyes were just staring at him. His hand was going in further and further. Itachi curled his fingers cruelly around that wrist, enough to bruise and injure Sasuke's skin, and pulled at it with all the strength he could muster; but Sasuke's determined hand would not move back. The fingers were still moving forward, and Itachi found himself panting with exertion. Sasuke was not budging.
"Let me show you. You would see where it hurts. You would see—" he spoke again, and his voice and face were still so emotionless; and his countenance was wounding Itachi's heart so . . . horrifically.
"Stop!" Itachi finally shouted, and it did not feel and sound like him, at all. He pulled and pulled, but Sasuke's hand kept moving forward and forward—it had a mind of its own. He was a stone statue, and Itachi did not have the strength in him to move him, stop him. Blood sprayed upon Itachi's hand and arm as though his child was experiencing a martyr's death in all its visual glory! He could not look away as the large bone in the middle snapped, and Sasuke curled that red and cruel hand around that thing, still beating in his breast, and pulled it out.
Veins and arteries elongated like elastic bands and ripped away from the heart as he dragged it out, and a large spray of blood streaked across Itachi's face. Blood went into his eyes, and the whole white world was red. His breaths were gone, mouth open, and then he tasted the metallic flavour of his brother's blood on his tongue.
At last, Itachi heard his own heart beat once, twice, and he inhaled the stone-cold air in short shivering breaths. He felt something warm and briny come out of his eyes, and droplets fell upon the heart Sasuke held in his hand. It was growing black. Thick black goo was pouring out of it. It was dying.
"See, Nii-Sama? It was hurting. It was aching in me," Sasuke said, and his skin grew more and more pale that Itachi could barely make out his features in the whiteness of this world.
"Sasuke," Itachi spoke in a shaky voice that he did not know he even possessed and grabbed Sasuke's hand and directed it to the gaping wound in his breast, "put it back in. Put it back in—don't disobey your brother. You're a good boy, aren't you? You're . . . "
Sasuke slumped down onto his knees in exhaustion, and the slowly beating heart fell out of his hand and hit the ground in a splatter of black and red. He went completely still, his skin growing hard as stone. He was not moving. He was not breathing. His head was bowed, and he had gone completely still, white as a marble.
Itachi fell down to his knees and picked up the heart and tried to put it back in, but the marble that was his brother's dead body cracked under his touched and crumbled away; and the dead heart that beat no more turned to ashes in the palm of his hand. He felt something come up to his throat, and he shut his eyes for he did not want to look upon his dead child anymore and opened them again to find dim yellows wavering on the ceiling. It was still night, and the room, warm . . .
Itachi's heart was beating fast. His mouth was dry, and his head spun painfully in the grip of heat. He was suffering from fever. Suddenly, the shirt on his torso felt heavier than the heaviest weight he had ever lifted. He sat up with great difficulty and reached to his back. Then he pulled it off and threw it away.
His skin was shivering and glistening. His limbs ached and so did his heart. It was still throbbing painfully in the grip of distress. He bent forward, putting his face in his hands. It was a dream—only a dream . . . Itachi assured his heart, yet it would not listen. The heart still beat and trembled with rhythms that he had never experienced before.
Itachi coughed and felt the vomit rise up to his throat. He forced it down and stood up on shaking legs. His vision was blurring: his head was hurting. A dull pain was spreading in his skull. He staggered to the door that led to the garden and opened it. The colder wind hit him, and the smell of it made the vomit come up to his teeth. He slumped down onto his knees and fell forward, slapping his hands on the floor to keep his balance, and that set him to retching.
He vomited till his stomach was empty. Then he finally pulled himself up and rested his back against the doorframe. He wiped his mouth and sat there like this with his eyes closed, feeling the breeze and soft drizzle fall upon his shivering torso and cool his fever. He opened his eyes when he felt something itchy crawl down his left cheek. He lifted his hand and touched his cheek with the fingertips, and, when his hand came away, he saw blood. His left eye was bleeding.
Itachi watched the raindrops hit and dilute it. It trailed down his white arm till even his Sharingan could not tell if it was ever red. His heart had picked up the pace again, and the fear—the mortal fear he had tasted for the briefest moment in his sleep—returned once more: had he just seen a vision from Izanagi . . . ?
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