The midday sun lazily poked through the veiled slits near the ceiling, battling with the warming halos of candles. The battle was lost, and the candles illuminated the inside of a simple stone temple. The innards of the temple were draped with red silks and gold, hidden away from the world in this ugly shell. A large slab of stone for an altar sat by the entry to the inner sanctum, leaving plenty of space for devotees. Tens of red-headed people sat on their knees, facing the altar, some old, some young, several of them holding a stone tablet, or a stick of incense, and all of them bearing the maelstrom crest on their backs, the ancestral symbol of the Uzumaki.
"Father," a young girl in the first row whispered to the man beside her, "How much longer do we have to wait?"
Her attire was a simple red kimono, standing out from the rest with streaks of gold in the embroidery, which formed beautiful patterns by the shoulders and sleeves. In her combed hair nestled a golden diadem, which was more than likely passed down to her, as the girl had to catch it from falling every now and then.
"Have patience, Mito-chan, it's been only a few minutes. Heishuei needs time to get ready for the ritual," her father reprimanded. His presence spoke regality and wisdom, draped with similar red-and-gold garment fit for a ruler, which Ashina Uzumaki has been for decades. His long tenure was backed by the long gray mane flowing down his back, and adorned with a knot on the back of his head. Equally gray, a short beard sat on his face, concealing his wrinkle-free features.
"He had all of the morning for preparations! I would have finished my sealing array by now and-" she whispered restlessly, stopping mid-word as her father shushed her.
Priest Heishuei had emerged from the inner sanctum. He was a frail, bent-over old man in a robe that has long lost its crimson color to time, and now looked as if it was stained. From the man's neck hung dozens of bones held by slender chains, quietly rustling as he walked. On his wrinkled face hung a wrinkled nose, and his eyes seemed similarly wrinkled, milk-white in color. Tugging along his heavy wooden scepter adorned with a small animal skull, he came to the altar and eyed the crowd, despite having no vision to tell him if there was one. As his heavy gaze focused on Mito, she felt shivers run down her spine.
Shuffling about behind him came a young scribe in his twenties, barely fresh out of apprenticeship, struggling to carry a load of scrolls. Having stopped by the wooden stand by the altar, he laid the scrolls on it, searching for a particular one. At the altar, Heishuei lit the inbuilt furnace, and placed an ancient cauldron on the upper exhaust. Reaching from deep inside his robe, he pulled out a steel rod about 33 cm in length and placed it on the stone, then a crude knife, made out of stone with ragged edges all along the length of the blade. Lastly, he withdrew a tortoise from his robes that overlapped both of his palms put together, and placed it on the stone with the tools. The scribe then pulled out the needed scroll, and as he cleared his throat, the attendees straightened out and looked at the young man.
"Glory be to those that came before us, our mothers and fathers."
As the mantra rang through the room, the old man slit the throat of the tortoise over the canal in the stone, that led to a reservoir across from the cauldron.
"And to the sons and daughters of ours that are yet to be, and those that are."
The shell was freed from meat and skin, bloody bone thrown into the boiling water and remains gone to the fire. As the cauldron bubbled, Heishuei placed the metal rod into the fire, handle sticking out.
"And to the holy spirits, guiding us, living among us, inward and outward protectors."
The gathered bent to the ground, laying down tablets and incense, repeating the mantra in a solemn choir. Although a regular practice, it still unsettled Mito: the same cheery and smiling people that she met on the outside were like faceless entities. The bells by the entrance softly chimed, its melody drowned. It felt like the rabid island wind just barely managed to break through into the temple, this morbid dimension, where everything lived by ancient rules.
After several minutes of repetitions, Heishuei pulled out the boiled shell with tongs, and started to peel off the hard skin with his crude knife. The sacrifices Mito grew accustomed to, having gone with her father on several hunts. After her brother was born, and her mother died shortly after, her father felt it necessary to make sure his children would be strong enough to be all alone.
Two weeks had passed after her mother's body was given to the waves to rest. Mito had stayed in her bedroom, unresponsive, unmoving, barely eating. Her father had allowed her time to grieve, but not forever.
He had put his hand on her shoulder, speaking to her softly. 'Daughter, don't let grief poison you. As your mother would've wanted, you need to be strong to carry on the Uzumaki name.
The next day, he'd brought her with him into the woods across the stream, into the mainland. The first time, they stayed there for nearly a week, and Ashina encouraged Mito to provide supplies for herself and maintain shelter.
Then, he had left her behind, going out to hunt, letting her adjust to being alone. On the next excursion, Mito had watched firsthand as her father took the life of a deer. She watched as the soft light faded from its eyes. The painful image of her mother, not joyfully vibrant as she always was but motionless and cold, had overwhelmed her. She had wanted to scream, flee, and hide from the overbearing pain. Then her father held her in his arms and looked her straight in the eyes.
'Let go, Mito-chan. As long as you hold onto that pain, the memories of your mother would be nothing but a scar. Don't let her become your nightmare.'
Purging the unpleasant memories, Mito found herself back in the temple. She turned her head from facing the floor to eye the knife in Heishuei's hand. For the life of her, she never understood why the Priest, the eldest and one of the most venerated members of their clan wielded such an unsightly blade. The Uzumaki forged only the finest steel, allowing no impurities even in gardening tools.
As Mito mused to herself, Heishuei was feeling for small, almost nonexistent bumps in the bone, connecting one with the other with the point of his blade. The revealed kanji was life and luck. Together, they formed the word destiny. Pulling out the hot rod with a thick cloth, he felt for the revealed word, paling visibly as he realized what was on the shell. In that moment he looked as if all life had been extinguished from his old body. The blind eyes darted around in pure instinct, sweat poured in buckets, and even his leading hand began to shake.
Mito gulped down, looking at the man that was as old as the world for all her life, that she knew to be stoic, even expressionless. She looked at the man that was guided by the spirits, that guided her clan in turn, and she saw fear.
"As it was in the beginning, is now...", another part of the mantra rang out, repeated by the Uzumaki.
Sensing some distress at the elder's end, young man peered over to see Heishuei frozen in shock. Slowly approaching him to not break the ritual, he gazed at the shell, himself losing the colors of his face.
"...and ever shall be,.."
Stomaching the shock and fear, Heishuei pressed the tip of the hot rod on the kanji of luck, burning the slender lines beyond recognition. After, he placed the rod to cool in the pool of blood and gripped the shell with two hands, feeling with his hands again the lines that he crossed, and the lines that he burnt.
"...life without end," rang the last words.
And thus, the fate of the Uzumaki clan was sealed.
The stone temple at last releases the Uzumaki from the ritual, somber silence left behind and lively chatter assuming command once again. Breath of fresh air felt like a splash of cold water to Mito, although the look on Heishuei's face still left her uneasy. All that was on her mind is his palpable fear, and that of the young scribe's. It was forbidden for common people to look at the message of the spirits, lest they wish to incur their wrath. But as she thought that, a distant memory suddenly came to life in her mind.
When there was war, and she was left alone in her family home, she could not sleep, fearing the worst would befall her father. She was afraid she would see his return in a casket, or maybe not see his return at all. Everybody around the island held onto that gnawing fear, that their loved ones are already dead. Everyone, save for Heishuei. The old man approached her one day after another ritual, and led her into the inner sanctum, the inside of which saw only the select few. He sat her on a plain wooden stool, sat on his knee and showed her a tortoise shell.
'Look at this shell, Mito-hime,' he said. 'The spirits gave their insight. You shall see your father come home in safety.' On the milk-white bone, one kanji was burnt, and the other said prosperity.
And indeed, her father returned the very next day triumphant, bringing back home his men and the spoils of war. That day she thanked the old man after she'd hugged her father with all her strength. She asked him, 'How did you know?'
'Know what?' came the answer.
'That my father will be safe?'
Heishuei then slowly tilted his head, and stared right into her soul, with his sightless eyes: 'I know nothing. It is the spirits that are wise to our destiny.'
"Mito-chan? Are you coming?" her father's call came to her as if from a thousand miles away, as if this morbid dimension still had its hold of her.
Turning back, she looked at her father with plea clear in her eyes. "Father, would you ask the Heishuei to show you the forecast?"
A scoff came from the chief. "Mito-chan, don't be silly, I have important matters to attend to."
"It won't take long, Father, he'll show you if you ask him."
Another scoff. "Ask him? I'm his chief, it's his duty to obey me. Even then, I will not humor this," as he turned to leave, Mito pleaded with strain in her voice.
"Father, please! Do it for me."
Stopping dead in his tracks, he sighed. "Just like your mother... Always have to be so stubborn."
Sweeping the horizon with his gaze, he held his hands behind his back, unwittingly tugging at the sleeves, chewing his upper lip. "Very well. But you ought to make yourself scarce for tomorrow. When the Hikkanushi arrives, you and your brother better be on your best behavior and out of sight, is that clear?"
"Yes, Father, I promise."
With another sigh he motioned for her to leave. "Well, go ahead then, I believe you had something important to do."
"Y-yes... I do. Thank you Father," said Mito, and as she passed him, she planted a kiss on his cheek and ran down the winding steps from the cliff, speeding for the wooden houses not far away.
As her figure disappeared behind grassy hills, Ashina sighed once again, turning to look at the temple. "Damned hermit," he cursed to himself, and began ascending back to the hill he'd thought he managed to escape.
Entering back into the long streets of her town felt like making it to steady ground after a hard voyage to Mito. There it was, the all-familiar sea of her red-headed kin. The hard-boiled leathers of warriors, kimonos of other shades than the ceremonial crimson, and somewhat tattered garments of fishermen and stray farmers, who came from the mainland to resupply. As she walked through this crowd, she distractedly imagined stories of each traveler that made their way to their island.
'This one's here for the fine steel, all the way from Iwa no Kuni, and that one's from Kaze no Kuni. He's definitely here just for the tea and sweets,' she imagined to herself.
Walking by Mito, these foreigners also teared through the flimsy bubble of her imagination. The man that came for the fine steel started haggling with an old master over a roll of seals, the supposed hungry man that came from the deserts turned out wanting a tailor-suited seal barrier. Another winding turn, and Mito saw another row of seals getting sold, getting made, or getting burned for demonstration. With each stroke of a brush and line of ink she saw jagged stone knives and creeks of blood. Slowly losing her composure, she turned her eyes elsewhere, catching her heaving breath. As panic returned, she wanted to see the one thing that she held dear most of all.
The uneven cobblestone road clacked with Mito's wooden sandals as she took a hurried turn to the bridge leading into the grand palace. All but the single entrance were mapped by high gray walls of stone, fading ink glimmering in the sun. Before the princess of the Uzumaki rose snow white walls of the main building, three stories with slit-like windows, with a shell like roof clamped on its peak. White canvasses with lines of kanji along with large clan insignias were hung from the corners, swaying in the wind.
Passing the bowing Uzumaki clansmen, she took the winding gravel road around the edge of the building. Along the perimeter there were installations of greenery, each one having a tablet at its base. Seeing the smiling faces of her kin and familiar safe white walls of the compound, she drew slow and steady breaths. She came to a stop at an all-too-familiar plant. No mighty wooden limbs, nor any beautiful bouquets of flowers. Merely a simple greenish stub with needles poking out all over its surface.
The cracked stone tablet read: 'Cactus of the Desert of Solitude, Kaze no Kuni. Chief Niwashi'. Plucking a needle that was the size of a senbon, she tucked it in her hair and continued on the gravel, rounding the entrance to the main compound. The building was single story, with paper walls and green hat of tiles, stretching out in a maze across the territory. Across the entrance laid a pond with rocks, however, her younger brother was nowhere to be seen. Usually she'd see him here slacking off from different lessons, but it seemed to Mito that Akihito's luck had run dry.
Looking around to see if there was a stray elder that would scold her, and finding none, she jumped on the green tiles of the roof, and made her way jumping to where she thought Akihito would be. The ceremonial wooden sandals made her feel uneasy, every other step threatening to falter and send her careering in a tumble. The fall wouldn't be much of a pain, she would get patched right up by the medical masters, feeling even better than before. What she did fear was to get caught, scolded and upset her father - it is obviously unbefitting of a noble princess to be prancing around the rooftops, in ceremonial garments, no less.
But to Mito it is what made it all the more exciting. Finally approaching the inner garden in the building, she saw an old man with a shaved head and beard that interloped with his long eyebrows and mustache into a single snow-white rug. His garments was a formal black kimono with a signature Uzumaki crest stitched where the heart is. Sitting cross-legged, he presided over a dozen of Uzumaki children, who adopted a similar pose. Among those redheaded pups she noticed her little brother Akihito, who looked to be in a mock state of agony over having to sit still and silently.
Chuckling to herself over his visage, she jumped down by the outer wall and enter via a sliding door. "Greetings, Ichiro-san," she addressed the old man, giving him a polite bow.
Noticing the princess, he motioned for his pupils to stand and mirror his bow to Mito. "Mito-sama, it is a rare pleasure to see you. Did you or Chief Ashina-sama wish for my council?" the old man asked hopefully.
"The pleasure is all mine, Master. I'm just here to see my little brother."
Stomaching the mild disappointment, Ichiro parted the curtains of his bearded face with a smile. "Well of course, far be it from me to obstruct your wishes, young princess. Although I must ask him back before long, young prince still has a lot of work to do to achieve inner balance. As of late, the young man's performance was lackluster, to say the least."
Snickers rang through his classmates as Akihito put on a scowl. Mito gave the old man a polite smile and nodded.
As the two siblings made their way back to the pond by the main entrance, Akihito tackled her sister with an embrace.
"You're my savior, big sister! I don't know how much I could've lasted on those meditation sessions. Sitting around and humming is so stupid, and Old Man Ichiro is stupid too!"
Giggling at her brother's antics, Mito pulled away to take his visage in. Short, lightly red hair was no longer spiky, but hanging in damp bangs. His dark green eyes had a mischievous twinkle in them. Suddenly, she started rubbing his ears with her fingers, tickling him.
"Being a prince is not all mischief and adventure, Aki! You're gonna be Chief someday, ya know!" she berated him playfully, watching as he wiggled in a laughing fit.
Losing to the onslaught, the boy laughed with glee, before covering his ears. "Stop it! I know that! It's just Old Man was making us do stupid things that make no sense, and I don't know how it'll make me a better prince."
"A better Chief, you mean."
"But I don't want to be Chief," Akihito spat annoyingly, jumping on the water. "I want to be a mercenary, traveling around the world and slaying evil!" the boy exclaimed, swishing with a straw through the air while his feet wobbled on the surface of the pond.
As Akihito played around on the pond, Mito silently pulled out the cactus needle from her hair bun, and almost lazily threw it at her brother. The latter yelped in surprise and promptly fell under the surface of the water. The boy hurriedly clawed back to the grass. Shaking off water, he grabbed the needle protruding from his buttocks, and threw it back at his sister, only for it to flail hopelessly in the wind. "Always hitting my butt, how do you do that?!"
Exhaling, Mito embraced the dripping boy, holding onto him for dear life. "Well, Aki, you have to be a shinobi to know how to do that."
"Well, when I'm shinobi, you'll be the one full of needles!" replied Akihito, squirming in his sister's embrace.
"That would be a sight to behold."
Mito chuckled a bit and shifted her eyes to the horizon. The great big star cowered behind a cloud, dragging along its edge, waiting to disappear behind its fluffy visage. Birds rang their tell-tale songs through the air, exchanging pleasantries. A great sweet summer gust suddenly drove over Mito, and she closed her eyes bask in its softness.
As Mito ran away into the town, Ashina came upon the base of the Spirit Temple. From the hole in the roof came a trail of smoke, and the coastal wind hurriedly blew it away. Intricate golden bells on the entrance danced with the gusts, its melodic chime drowned.
Although such a man as he could reach the Spirit Temple in the blink of an eye, Ashina found himself dragging his feet as he approached. There it stood, one of the most valuable pieces of history the Uzumaki Clan had. This grey stone had seen history before man decided to keep track of it, and spilt as much blood in sacrifices as any known war.
"Old stone, dried blood, and a stray magic trick," Ashina mused to himself, eyeing the looming temple.
Strolling towards the archway, Ashina kicked a stone along his path, sending it careering down to the reefs. Once again he enters this monstrosity for a temple, once again he suppresses the chill running down his spine.
Ducking under a supporting slab of stone, he eyes the spacious room, noticing Heishuei at the altar. Instantly, they've locked eyes.
"I've always wondered how is it that you see," Ashina mused aloud. Entering the temple, he began eyeing the draped walls, locking his hands behind his back.
"Chief Ashina-sama," acknowledged Heishuei, bowing his head.
"Your eyes are blind, and yet you manage to peer into one's soul, unmistakingly making eye contact. How is that?" continued Ashina.
"You are correct. I've been blinded long ago, but my vision never left me. The spirits have always guided me, and now they do so in more ways than before," replied Heishuei, picking at the fireplace in the altar with his staff.
"The spirits," repeated Ashina, while he walked along the wall. "As you must know, hundreds of years ago, Uzumaki were nothing more than cave dwellers, pagans vicious in their adherence to these... spirits." Ashina traced the expensive silks with his fingers. The fabric was so smooth, it felt as if he was touching the air.
Walking along, he continued. "Those years saw the rise of a great clan, and we left behind our savage ways. We became open to the world around us, and saw that we were misguided. Now, everyone in the world knows the Uzumaki name, and the strength it implies."
Eyeing the barely visible patch of stone beneath the silks, he gently lifted the fabric to look at the wall underneath. He inspected the roughly cut slab, which caught a bit of fabric with its edges. Ancient runes and etchings were almost lost to time, but as he traced the lines with his hand, he could still feel them, jagged into the stone.
Draping back the silks, he once again locked his hands behind his back. "And yet, here you are, in the temple that is as old as time. Performing your parlor tricks."
Not taking away his attention from his mortar, Heishuei milled with his pestle some dried herbs into powder. Ashina eyed the hermit, waiting for a reaction, wishing that the venom in his words would strike a chord with the despicable old man.
And yet, there he stood, unmoving, unbothered. "Frankly speaking, I dislike your practices, Heishuei. Pagan rituals ought to stay in the gutter of history, dead and forgotten. If it were up to me, I would've torn this wretched place down without a second thought."
Still, there was no reaction, not even his old blind eyes ever winked. Ashina's fiery ire grew, as he met the old man's ice cold facade. Catching himself before he did anything regrettable, he slowly exhaled. "But, the young and naive believe in your forecasts, and not even the Fire Church would see fault in this barbarity."
"You're not here to seek the spirits' guidance," the old man asserted.
Ashina moved his eyes at Heishuei. "Not in the slightest. I simply want peace of mind for my daughter."
"You want to see the spirits' forecast that they gave today," the old man cleared off the powder on the pestle, and emptied the mortar into the boiling pot. "But you cannot see it."
The chief steeled his gaze, eying the priest almost predatory. "Don't presume you are in any position to assert demands upon me. I will see the shell."
Slowly stirring the pot with a wooden spoon, he lifted it to taste the fluid. "I presume nothing. The spirits speak, and I heed the words. Some words I am delighted to know, and some words I wish I did not. I will not stop you from seeing it, but I warn you to refrain. If one seeks light, one mustn't be afraid to stumble in darkness."
Gazing incredulously at the calm man, Ashina approached the altar, wiping his beard. At the further edge laid a bone-white shell, face down. There it was, the message of spirits. Taking another step, he picked the tortoise shell, examining its surface. The bone was dry, uneven, sporting an almost a sickly green tint. Turning it up, the message was quite distinctive on the large scales. Two kanji - life and luck. Together they meant destiny - but luck was burnt out.
"The spirits are sending a dreading omen, yet again. Shall we expect a bit of rain?" inquired the chief poignantly.
Heishuei trailed his gaze somewhere else entirely. The blank stare of his was looking past the veils and walls, past the tiled roofs on this island. "With rain often comes storm..."
"...and lightning and thunder. Spare me the theatrics. I'm not going to humor this nonsense any longer," spat Ashina, stomping away out of the temple, as his long gray hair flickered behind him.
As the chief left, Heishuei continued to quietly stir the pot. Smoke from the furnace softly flapped his robes, rising out of the roof and spreading dozens of embers and sparks. He looked into the billowing fumes, searching for something with his eyes. His murky-white eyes darted around, and with each passing moment his weary back slouched more and more.
The wind billowed softly into the temple, candle lights flickered and bells gently rang, the tune resounding in the air. A heavy sigh escaped the old man's lips as he wiped his face. Looking across his side of the altar, the dreaded message came into view. The carved lines burned, as he felt them looking back at him. Quickly he raced to the shell and turned it face down. Then, he closed his eyes and felt for one of the bone amulets hanging from his neck. Grasping it in his weary hands, he whispered prayers into emptiness.
