SIJO I

The fires started in the west. Leaping flames danced around like girls dressed in red. The wooden homes sparked like kindling at the first touch. Sijo saw them faintly through a shuttered window.

Then the screams came.

Inhuman noises rang aloud in the death throes of Hegori village. Sijo thought it was some nightmare until he felt a hand jerk his shoulder. He shot up from his pallet blinking the sleep away but it was the screaming that fully roused him. He looked to his parents. His father was packing things into a sack strapped to him and his mother was shaking his sister.

"Mama, what is happening?" His hear began to pound. The first pangs of fear began to form.

"No time, son."

He jumped to his feet and together the family dashed from their home.

Nothing made sense and it terrified him. Sijo saw people scurrying from their homes and cries of "Ninja" was all that was said. The woods sometimes caught fire in hot summers; Sijo would gather water from the river to douse them. This was a behemoth and it seemed to expand. It was as if the shadows attacked, Sijo saw nothing but flame. Now, he ran with a group of others north of the village. Ahead were the stone walls of the Shoya and the tall tower. Ahead was safety.

Until they came.

Casting diminutive shadows as they leapt, there were men clad in armour. The armour was dark and those that were leaping over had malice on their faces. Sijo felt scared, he was trembling as he saw them pass. Who were these people? He'd never seen people who could jump so high, so they couldn't be samurai. It couldn't have been the daimyo's forces either. Who then? It was a question Sijo felt he would never get after seeing what the men were actually doing.

Blurred silhouettes flashed across the sky as the mass of people ran through the village. Sijo thought the peril was behind but it seemed to have caught up. Then the formless shapes solidified and Sijo saw one of them crouched atop a roof. His cuirass was glinting, an ornate sword belt wrapped around his hips and he wore a white headband. Sijo turned away from the man for a second, and when he turned back, he was gone. Finally, they reached the huge oaken doors... but they were sealed. Banging against the door the others screamed and Sijo could do little but join them. His heart sank. Were they going to die here? Where was their leader?

The others pleaded to no avail they were alone. When the armoured men leapt above them, many sank to their knees. Standing on the castle walls. Their hands moved in a blur, it looked as if they were doing one motion they were so fast. Words were said then there were more flames. A large spherical flame crashed and burned the tower and toppled it to the ground. Screams erupted from inside. The other attackers did their hand movements and fire breathing and blew into the castle compound. Fire came out of their breaths like they were dragons from the songs.

The villagers turned back to the Hegori. Anywhere to escape.

Their rampage continued. The men leapt from the roofs and jumped into the village to slice and break through the helpless people. Beyond him there were others. These people wore black steel and rode big warhorses that snorted. They wore masks of demons. Just like the samurai, Sijo realised. So then why were they fighting with these people?

Sijo trailed behind his father and he breathed in quick gasps. They were running to the riverbank where they would ferry themselves across the river. Tears were flowing down Sijo's eyes freely now. It was no use holding them back. His heart was beating so fast and hard he felt it was likely to burst out. His lungs were little and he couldn't take so much running, but he knew what the alternative was.

"Almost there, son. We are almost at safety where the Temple is," his mother tried to assure him, her sandals flapping against the earth. Only, when they reached the temple, they saw it heat and topple to the ground. The crowd screamed they were helpless. What were they to do now?

His mother sank to the ground. She stopped any act of strength and wailed loudly. His father looked around frantically. Sijo was crying too and his sister was.

"Stop that," his father said, eyes red and his voice raw. "Stop crying, woman!"

"There is not point, we are dead. Dead, Kise," she struggled between tears. Sijo felt the salty tears against his lip; he screamed so loud he didn't even know if there would be any voice left.

"All of you stop it. We will find a way. Get up we have to run."

"Where? Where is an escape?"

His father's fists were clenched. He scanned the area hopeful to find something. His mouth opened and closed. He couldn't say anything, he was lost like they all were.

"We can—"

Before an answer came a figure snapped into existence. A sword tip punched through the old man's throat, blood dripping from the edge. Sijo saw his father's last moments. His eyes were wide and white and his gagged before slumping to the ground. Sijo was frozen his eyes locked onto his father's still body. When he looked up, he saw the man preparing to kill them too. Then fate intervened.

He looked to the east where some villagers were charging. They had weapons too, clubs, sharpened sticks, hoes and knives. The killer leapt to them instead. Try as they might they were outmatched. Alone the killer was able to slay with ease, with his companions the bodies fell by the second. Sijo felt an arm grab him.

"Hurry," his mother's face was stone.

Together the three sprinted. His sister struggled to keep up. They hid inside a building licked by fire and crumbling. Inside the coppery smell overwhelmed all senses. Sijo's mother kneeled beside a body. She covered herself in dirt and blood and commanded the siblings to stay still. She wiped blood over their faces. The wet touch was sickening. They lay beside the body and waited.

Others had the idea to run near that area. That only made them targets. The ninja came and started the killing near where Sijo lay. In the corner of his eye, he saw bodies fall, limbs fall off and a sea of blood begin to emerge. When the fighting came inside, he fought every urge to move. He felt flecks of blood cover his face. He was crying internally.

He lay for so long. There were men inside talking and moving about. Sijo heard a footstep. It was so loud his body shook and he yelped. He could have cried. When the footsteps neared, he knew he made a grievous error. There were two of them in dull armour. They passed over Sijo and he felt a relief, but then his heart dropped as they stood over his mother.

"It was this wench, I think."

He saw a hand touch his mother's arm. He prayed she would stay still, long enough to dispel their doubts. Instead, she shuddered.

"She's alive!"

The roar made Sijo gasp. One of the men grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. She screamed and fought back, biting and kicking. Sijo could see his sister tearing up; he put a finger over his mouth. Please, he mouthed. A blow to the face ended her struggle. A few more silenced her completely. Sijo saw his mother's face well up and blood fell in waves. Her lips were cracked, blue and puffy by the time he was done. All she did was give a faint groan.

"Could have kept her face nice, at least."

"I like 'em bloody." The man's grin made his stomach turn. Sijo saw his mother being dragged by the hair into another room. It was too much to see.

Sijo leapt up and cried out. "You won't take my mother!" He ran to the man dragging his mother and punched him on the neck.

"Fucking whelp!"

The man rounded on Sijo and his eyes were wide. "I'll teach this one."

"No, please," his sister yelled. The other man was already on her and wailing away.

Sijo felt a fist crack against his jaw. He was knocked to the ground and not given any chance to rise. A flurry of punches followed. It felt like his skull was cracking, blood was smeared all over the man's fist. Sijo's weeping did little to help him. All Sijo could see was a blurry red haze.

It was hard to breathe. Heavy fists. There were noises. Steel. Screams. Would it end? Why did he have to die like this? Each punch smacked Sijo's head against the ground. Everything was fuzzy now. Sijo was so tired. He wanted to sleep, he wanted it to end.

So, he let the beating continue.

Something hot and heavy pressed down. Sijo could just about move his arms. Everything was dark. Reaching around he felt a wet surface and grabbed hold. As he tugged harder, he felt something loose and wet come out. Just a little more pushing and he was free. The body rolled away. Sijo looked at the pool of bodies in the small room. Then it all came back.

The massacre, the superhuman bandits, the samurai. Once Sijo waded through the bodies into open air he coughed. It was so constrictive in there and the first gush of fresh air felt so good. Once he became accustomed to breathing, he gasped. Turning left and right he scanned the village. Or what was left. Bodies lined the roads; buildings were black and crooked and the air was thick with the smell of iron and dung. The congealed bodies gave off a warmth but when he touched them, they were so cold. Sijo was crying again.

"Mother!"

He looked inside trying to find her. All the bodies were bloody and bruised. How could he hope to find her?

"Father!"

If he couldn't find his mother, his father would come to help. He would find his sister. Outside he searched the wreckage of buildings burnt and bodies scattered. No good. he ran to the river. It choked with bodies and jutting bits of wood. Sijo could barely control his body. He stood on the riverbank looking to the wooded horizon on the other side.

"I am the only one," he breathed. An external force seized him and he fell onto his knees. He dug his nails into the ground, a pain spreading across his body. He screamed until his throat was raw and the world faded to black.

"The roads are rough here but we are nearly there. Though, you could always turn back if you like?" the man asked sardonic.

"No, I think not."

A cackle. "More fool you, old man." He turned to his clansmen and they shared a laugh together. The mood was ill-fitted for such a day. There was a steady eastern breeze and the faint touch of sunlight kept the Elder warm. The steady and measured hoofbeats of the horses were rhythmic and calming.

Why do I wish to be with such foul company? It was a question that was multifaceted and the Elder did not really have an answer. Perhaps Sijo might. It might have started when he was a boy, though that was decades ago. Or maybe it started in the scrivener's hall, so full of narratives of ancient emperors, the gods and mythical tales, yet bereft of ninja and Ninshu. The enemy people, the people of the shadows who practised magic and martial arts. A people of intrigue. Perhaps this was why Sijo sought to know about these shinobi.

His journey started at the daimyo's court. It took a good pleading and a great deal of time, but he was granted the permission required. His years with the man he saw as a second father paid off. A retinue of samurai accompanied him to these men so he could travel with them whilst he recorded Travels. That was the name of the manuscript lodged into his saddle bag and waiting to be filled with newfound information. The type he needed to get in person as no others had. Indeed, his literary predecessors feared these people. The only notes they had of these ninjas were their avarice for gold and savageness to their foes. It was cautionary but not informative. Not the sort of thing that people would be able to connect with, never mind remember. That was where Sijo sought to reverse the line. It was the first time such an agreement was ever reached, these ninja agreed to hear his request, for a tale for posterity.

The sound of hooves permeated along with muted chatter. Sijo struggled controlling the horse. It was not his horse or that of the daimyo. It was a small and shaggy mountain pony supposedly ideal for the high and tricky northern roads. It proved nothing but an annoyance. Sijo had sat in the saddle for hours and it seemed to harden during that time. Now, it felt like he was sat on stone, the soreness in his arse making him have to shift every few minutes. It also was not the best riding situation. Setting off from the castle had been secure with fair winds and soft breezes. The northward path had made the weather bitter and wetter. Deep ruts had formed from the rains the night before soaking the ground His steed sloshed in the mud as they mounted the side of the hill. It took all Sijo's effort to control the wild horse so it didn't break lame itself. Life with the daimyo has made me too used to comfort. I hope we arrive at the place soon, Sijo thought. Luckily, he would not have to wait long.

As the road progressed it narrowed and winded upwards. There was the distant smattering of voices. Sijo faced sunlight in his eyes as they rose upwards in single file. His pony sloshed as it wading through the mud. When the brightness dimmed and his eyes adjusted, Sijo saw the settlement emerge. Banners hung limp in the bright sky, each emblazoned with a fan, red and white. Wooden shields lined the bottom of a hill that rose up and wound across the plains like a giant snake rising from the ground. Atop it was the camp.

The group creaked through a bridge passing over a stream; Sijo earned the curious glares of a few men with poles in their hand. The clan banners hung from the erect poles that served as a gate. There were small girls and women with wooden buckets. kneeling and hauling them to large hung pots with rising smoke. The smell of wet straw clung from the roofs of simple homes, as did that of burning meat. All around there were walls of cloth, large jinmaku that sectioned the camp. Sijo passed a band of men clad in white robes with dark symbols; their staffs banged against the earth and they were singing songs of a distant sage. They live in simple squalor and settle for little and less. These are the same people who terrorise us.

A wagon carted along with fat sacks of rice in the back. The men were bruised and bloody. Plunder, Sijo thought grimly. Squat tents rose from the ground with the sounds of laughter and chatter in some and the moans of pleasure of others. Indeed, Sijo saw as he rode by some women clad only in skin and men with smiles. Penned donkeys, cows and other livestock stayed in one section; in another there was a boy practising archery, aiming for an archery butt and being outshot by a young dimple-chinned girl. This was another thing he rued. Children bred for war. It was a sight that struck him personally.

"The Clan Head is this way. The boys will take our horse." Sijo gladly left the pony to them. When they saw him however, he gave them a shock.

"His hair is so grey," he heard one of the boys say. It was nothing he wasn't used to at his age.

Sijo marched through crude wooden watchtowers until he was atop the hill overlooking the camp. In the distance he saw a looming black castle, with curving pointed roofs. Before him he saw a palace of bright silk, with two guards in red. It was ringed in jinmaku, just outside were men sat around a trestle. Goblets and brimming pitchers surrounded a spread-out sheet. On it were figures carved as warriors and they seemed to be engaged in a game of war. As soon as Sijo's travelling companions were before the seated men, they bowed low. Sijo did the same. Looking up he knew this man must have been their master. When he signalled them to rise Sijo got a good look of their Clan Head.

Even seated Fuzaki Uchiha was a head above the others and his eyes measured Sijo with indifference. Like most of his clansmen, the man's eyes were dark, and his black hair reached just below his high collared tunic. Sijo kept a measured face.

"My lord, this is the scribe we received word of from the Fire daimyo."

"Ah, our new companion," one of them barked.

The Clan Head played another move, drank deep and looked at Sijo. "I see. We got word from the daimyo not long ago, along with some payment. You had a request I believe?"

"That much is correct," Sijo replied.

"Well, it would be rude to treat you in the air. Let us have this talk inside, there is good sake. Might I interest you in a glass?"

The pavilion was blasted by the heat of a low fire pit. It seemed dangerous to have heat inside, but these men didn't worry. The place was richly decorated and large. The Head assumed a sear at the head of large table. A map was spread out with writing. Beside him two other men stood still.

There were swords in open chests along with jewels and armour.

"Your request," his voice was deep and clear.

"Well, my purpose is to record the deeds and history of humanity, as I have done for decades. To the essence of man words that can be seen by the people of the Land of Fire. No work is complete without the shinobi."

The leader was silent for a moment then started to cackle. "Is that it, then? I see. Why?"

"The world deserves to know of the shinobi and their ways, what they are capable of. A despicable people you are, knowledge is the fruit of the learned. I seek to enrich the orchard of knowledge."

He looked up with a still face and a serious expression. "You speak with such hostility. The daimyo mentioned your dislike of the shinobi."

Sijo grimaced. "I have seen things... things no one should. They have marked me, damaged me. I know evil when I see it."

"You hate us but want to sleep in our camp. That is intriguing."

"I can still learn much from my enemy," Sijo retorted.

"Enemy?" the Clan Head said it like it was an obscenity. A voice barked out.

"This old fool wishes to slight us, lord. I will silence him!"

Fuzaki raised a hand. The other man was silenced.

"You are my enemy?"

Sijo froze; his tongue had got him caught and did not know what to say. Instead, he stood stiff and waited for the Clan Head.

"No, you are mistaken. If you were my enemy, you would know it. Instead, I can make you my pet," he smiled. The smile sent shivers down Sijo's spine.

"Wh-what do you think of my proposition? Do you accept? If not, I would feel much safer in the company of my mount and heading to another clan."

"I have a better question, why are you truly here? Most of your kind stay as far as they can get from us ninja, unless they have the security of treasure with them. Not you, though. That intrigues me the most."

Sijo had to be honest with himself, this was something that went deeper than knowledge. It was something that touched his heart.

"My previous experiences with ninja were traumatic, an event that scarred me until now. My family, my village butchered by flying men and samurai. You won't understand, but I can never fully sleep. I dream of bloody children, broken swords and screams. It's those that keep me up when others lie. The death throes of the village from accursed men. I'll never forget or forgive you." Sijo looked down; his knuckles were white and his fists were shaking.

"You have passion. The memories of the past cannot be shaken off. Such a sad story too, I mean it. So then, that begs the question why do this? You call them accursed, you speak with such hate," the Clan Head stood. His full frame towered over Sijo and he looked down with a cool and steady gaze. "Do you hate me?"

"I do not hate you," Sijo's voice shook. "I seek to understand you. How can I dissect the mind of those who massacre without regard, with apathy? That is why I am here. I want to see man can become so corrupt."

The Head's eyes were wide. "My family? You will find no corrupt soul with the Uchiha. Everyone here serves their family. Why risk your life and work tirelessly for the worth of another? No, we are loyal to blood only as the advancement of the family rewards the clan. Even if it means death. You should take heed, scribe."

"I serve the Fire daimyo with my heart; I would be dead if not for him. That is loyalty, serving those you believe in. The children outside have been indoctrinated. With the unity of the daimyos this way of life would be wiped and civilised. That is what you fear, sir. Civility, your away of life makes you king without consequence. If only we could unify, our power would wipe such an existence permanently."

The Clan Head's eyes still. "Is that what you think?"

His eyes, pinched and black, bled a bright crimson; spinning tomoe materialised where nothing. The design was beautiful but felt fatal. Sijo was on his knees. The world was dark. There were drips of water pouring... no blood. Around him were fires, smoke, bodies. He trembled and rolled on the ground. He covered his ears but the noises only got louder. The sky was red.

"Do you see what you fear? Is this futility for you?

Sijo just wanted it to end, kill him if need be. Something needed to save him. Not again.

"You speak of power you will never realise. Only fools speak of falsehoods. Do well to never forget the Uchiha's power."

The world was normal. Sijo was still on the ground tears covering his face. Was it a nightmare? He didn't want to ever find out. He felt a thump against the ground that made him tremble and he saw his scrolls and papers.

"Keep your writings, scribe. You will be my personal servant. In this time, you can write of the Uchiha clan and our histories for your people," he laughed.

Sijo was lurched to his feet. The same people who led him in gave him contemptuous glares. He looked to the clan head and bowed deep.

"Thank you, my lord."