… 2 …
News of the potential Senju-Sarutobi alliance spread like wildfire across the states, reaching the Uchiha clan first. Madara grimaced at the report Hikaku had sent him. He had returned only a week ago and had already received summons from the Fire daimyo again, most probably because of this damn alliance. Izuna had expressed a (defiant) notion that he would stay in the clan stronghold for a meeting this important, so currently Madara and he were debating who to leave in charge.
"Hideyoshi would be a strong candidate," suggested Izuna.
"Until his wife called him for dinner," snubbed Madara, grumpy.
"Fine. Nori—"
"Not a chance."
"Well, you refused Hikaku!"
"He would be better in a flexible position, something where he can travel between posts. He can take charge if something serious happens"
"Takahito?"
"No."
"Masahito?"
"We do not have a Masahito in this clan."
Izuna grinned cheekily. "Well, I thought since you have refused every able-body male so far … who do you have in mind?"
"My first choice refused."
"Justifiably so," Izuna deadpanned, "I would be better with you at the daimyo's palace."
"Then that leaves Toshii," He sighed. "He has the knowledge and the respect to be an interim leader of the clan while we are absent."
"I sense a 'but' somewhere."
"I worry about his age. If something should suddenly …"
"Then make Hikaku his second."
Madara contemplated the suggestion. "That could work. Toshii could command the interior while Hikaku manages external relations … each to their strengths. However …"
Izuna visibly disheartened. "Please, stop overthinking this decision, Brother."
The elder Uchiha chuckled. "We still do not know how long we will be gone." When his little brother sighed in exasperation, he laughed.
"Izuna-sama is staying in the Chrysanthemum suite down the hall," the old maid stated, bowing, "We prepared the Camellia suite for you as you are familiar with the rooms." With a final bow, she exited the suite and left him to silence.
No sooner had the woman gone, his brother was sneaking in. "So, what is the strategy? How should we deal with the daimyo?" he whispered conspiringly.
Madara tsked. "Until we know what he intends, nothing. Just bear in mind these facts: he is stubborn, he will use the Uchiha despite any casualties and lastly, he will only do what he believes will advance him." He heaved a sigh, scowling. "He is problematic, but his son is reasonable. It was the prince who agreed to terminate the marriage contract."
"Sounds like a charming man," Izuna muttered dryly.
The meeting with the daimyo did not happen until two days after the brothers arrived at the palace, by then Izuna was irritated and displeased with the daimyo's whims. However, they visited the village inside the palace walls. In an ochaya, one of the geishas informed them of a story dating back to the Shinto temple's creation. The daimyo of the time was said to be possessed by yokai and became cruel to the maidens in the temple, locking one in the palace dungeons until she renounced her beliefs and prayed to his god. Madara had scoffed at the story. The geiko had rebuked him with an appraising look, but said nothing more.
"Brother, do you think he will see us soon?"
"One cannot tell," Madara said resignedly.
"This is outrageous, calling the leader of the Uchiha clan and then neglecting him—"
Madara sighed and moved to open the window screens, feeling the room become stuffy. Outside he spotted the dim glow of a lantern. "Tsurara …"
"Huh? Did you say something?"
Snapping back to his surroundings, Madara cleared his throat and shut the window screen. "No, just a fleeting thought. Anyway, about the Senju's alliance …"
An old proverb his mother taught him was that one can judge a man not by how he treated his equals, but rather how he treated his inferiors. If he was to judge the daimyo, Izuna would say he was the most irritating, conceited, egotistical, corrupt, old-fashioned, bigoted old tosser that ever existed! Three days!
"I hate nobles …"
"Do not say in front of anyone here, please," Madara grunted, entering the suite. Izuna grumpily glared at him. "I thought we should take another trip to the village."
"For what?"
"To kill time," Madara stated blandly, "The daimyo expects us to wait on him and that is something I will not do for any man like him."
Izuna grinned. "I would love to accompany you, Brother."
Irchiraku Ryotei was exquisite. After being served green tea, a geiko waited on them with songs and poetry.
"Misako," Izuna started, "could you tell us some local legends? There must be lots in this region."
The painted face of the geiko curled into a smile, dimples almost blurred by the white makeup. "There are many stories from this region, Izuna-dono. What would you like to hear?"
"A tragedy!"
Madara shot him a look, displeased. "Tragic tales are not always best to hear, little brother," he chided lightly, "Think of the tale of Kiyohime."
"My lords?"
Izuna turned his attention to the girl. "Kiyohime is a story from our land. A princess who loved a travelling priest, only to be rejected and in her rage transforms into a dragon to pursue the man."
"Oh my! I have not heard of such a tale! Many of our stories talk of ghosts or tanukis."
"Ah, that must be interesting. Tanukis are my favourite—"
"That is because you are one." Madara muttered dryly. Misako held her mouth behind her sleeve and giggled secretly, while Izuna frowned at him. "Am I wrong?"
"Yes."
Madara's dark eyes glinted mischievously. "Surely not."
"Brother!"
"Misako, the story."
Bowing her head, she accepted his request; placing the teapot on the table, she begun, "In the founding of our town, the daimyo's ancestor Riichiro built a temple for priests and priestesses so they could bless the lands. They say the temple was beautiful, full of wealth and splendour greater than the palace. The priests had bargained with Lord Riichiro over its location, claiming that the temple should be in the centre of the town while the palace stood on the cliff face. They said it would symbolise the daimyo's closeness to the gods and the people's closeness to worship. But the daimyo thought they intended to intimidate the people and isolate his power.
"He instructed the temple to be build on the gateway to the mountains, so people could still visit and pray but the priests would have no influence on the town's governance. The priests had no choice but to accept, and they have lived in the mountains ever since.
"One day, after more than thirty years since the temple was built, a young priestess joined from Kirigakure. It's written that she was exiled from her temple because the priests lusted after her. And when the young lord saw her, he fell ill from a burning fever. Riichiro, fearing for his son, ordered the priestess to be brought before him. When she claimed she had done nothing to his son, he ordered her to receive a hundred lashes until she told him what curse she had placed on him. She said again she had done nothing. Even after a hundred lashes, she claimed innocence – it infuriated the daimyo! He ordered her to be locked up in the palace until she told him. Again and again he asked. For nearly two years she stayed confined to a dark room, fed only to keep her alive but powerless.
"On the anniversary of her arrival into our town, the daimyo's son discovered her hanging in the gardens. It is believed that the daimyo had ordered it."
Both brothers stared at her in repelled amazement. Izuna had been enthralled until the hanging, but Madara had grown more concerned between the similarities of the daimyo Riichiro and his living descendent. There seemed to be an inheritable trait of lingering, prolonging another's presence until no longer useful.
"So this story is genuine?" asked Izuna eagerly.
Misako inclined her head. "Yes, Izuna-dono. There are written records of a young miko being arrested and imprisoned by the daimyo on his son's behalf."
"And this is the same daimyo who supposedly locked maidens up if they did not pray to his god?"
Misako laughed kindly. "Izuna-dono, that tale is untrue. The daimyo only locked one maiden away, and that is the tale I have told you. He was a suspicious man, but not unjust."
"He sounds like the daimyo of now," groused Madara.
Just as he thought she would not appear, the dim pinkish glow crept through the bushes. She blinked owlishly at him.
"I did not think you would be outside so late," she explained, after he gave her an appraising look.
"So you deliberately waited until later before venturing into the garden, in hopes to avoid me?" Madara surmised, quirking an eyebrow. She frowned at him as he looked thoughtful. "Tsurara, what are you in the palace?"
"Why do you ask now? It did not bother you before."
"I heard a story in one of the ryotei."
"Those places have many stories. How should I know which one you were told?"
"It was about a priestess from Kirigakure," He paused, scrutinising her expression. "The first daimyo Riichiro killed her."
"I have not heard that one. Is it a ghost story?"
"No, a tragedy. I merely wondered why a miko would be walking the halls of this palace when there was such a history?"
"I wonder, too, why a shinobi meddles with the affairs of a Shinto maiden. Have you not heard of the story of Tenno and Umeko?"
"Enlighten me."
She scoffed. "I am in the palace because the Crown Prince ordered it."
"Why would Yuge do that?"
There was a subtle pitying expression in her eyes, though Madara hesitated to even define it as pity. It was closer to—
"Why would any cat corner a mouse? Amusement, power, domination? 'Men know how to command; women ought to obey.' That is what we are all led to believe. It is what corrupts the world and tears it into conflict. Have you never wanted peace?" Their eyes met and Madara felt a thrill of anxiety race up his spine. "I want that more than life itself."
With nothing else to say, she vacated the gardens. The pink hue of her lantern guiding her away.
Sometime between the twelfth and the thirteenth hour, Madara was awoken by his brother's clumsy attempt to be sneaky.
"What are you after, rascal?"
"Hikaku has sent a report. The Sarutobi have signed an alliance with the Senju."
Madara jerked out of his futon and glowered at his younger brother. "What?" he seethed. He snatched the parchment out of Izuna's hand.
"They are now brothers-in-arms, according to Hikaku. They have a ninjutsu contract, empowered by the Uzumaki Hashirama married. Brother, this will make it more difficult—"
"I know that! What is Toshii doing? Where is Hikaku now? The northern-west border must be reinforced with watchers, we must send at least another dozen men to the border in case of a—"
"Brother, the Sarutobi will not attack us."
"Oh?" Izuna flinched at his brother's leering tone. "And why not? Because they fear being overwhelmed? With the Senju's support, we will be fearing them!" It was against the natural order! Madara fumed.
Intimidated, Izuna cleared his throat. "There is another letter. From Toshii." He held it out to Madara. One more jeering look at the scroll and he accepted it – then immediately regretted it.
"THEY WANT WHAT?"
Fuming was not a word often used to describe Madara—at least, not to physically describe him at all—but today was a wholly different case. Hashirama's suggestion, as Toshii had reported it to his clan leader, can gone down worse than the metaphorical lead balloon. The Camellia suite was quite literally destroyed. Izuna had apologised profusely to the old maid, who had actually fainted at the sight before regaining consciousness and bleating like a mocked old goat. Afterwards Madara was shoved out into the gardens, as his hostility was worsening the situation. Thus, how he found himself staring at the charred ruins of an annex, tucked away at the far end of the palace gardens.
Feeling his ire ebb bit by bit, he wandered around the annex, trying to figure out what it had been. The skeletons of furniture indicated that it had been a living quarter of some sort. Perhaps for a concubine? The ash was nowhere near fresh, so it was not recent.
Stepping closer over broken wood and shredded debris, he noticed scratchings in the stone wall at the far side. At first he thought it looked like where the roof had fallen, scraping on its fall down. Then he recognised a symbol:
Thriving
It was cut deeper into the stone, so the smears of ash could not disguise it.
But the word made no sense. If anything, it was ironic. 'Thriving' in a derelict ruin? He crept closer and rubbed the wall. Sure enough, there were other scratches. Each forming a word.
Death … to live … and not … to thrive.
He couldn't discern what the other scratches translated. The writing was old, dating back perhaps several centuries. His knowledge of runes and the ancient tongue was limited, gathered from an elder he'd once met as a boy. Why, in the name of the Sage of Six Paths, was there writing here?
Feeling suddenly peculiar, Madara left the ruins, looking over his shoulder back at the runes.
That night he had been reassigned a suite, one of lesser furnishings and definitely lesser grandeur, but what troubled Madara was the runes more than the Senju proposition.
No one had mentioned a fire in the daimyo's palace before. The destroyed annex had looked abandoned for many years, with brambles growing over it and the ash hardened. The ambiguous roots of the runes, almost impersonating a curse, brought forth the story of the young priestess to Madara's mind. Misako had mentioned documents ascertaining the priestess's existence. She had died in the palace. Though he didn't believe it was hanging in the gardens, that sounded like a rather elaborate detail to embellish the tale.
Who in the palace would about this?
He could hardly approach the old maid. Certainly, she would know something about the annex and maybe even the priestess story, but she wanted him expelled from the town. He had no ally in her.
Damn.
Every time he came to this place, he ended up with a load of new questions and scarcely any answers.
Currently Madara had been exempted from meetings with the royals, so Izuna was forced to attend on his own. He hated snobs and here he was, surrounded by them. He'd have preferred a yukaku – things would have been much more entertaining.
"This alliance," started the Crown Prince, "how strongly would it threaten the Uchiha?"
"At present, the alliance has not admitted to any military agreements. It is a peace treaty, swearing that neither clan will fight the other."
"While the ideal is perhaps honourable for shinobi," sniffed the prince's wife, her doughy face a shade too haughty for Izuna's liking. "It has no realistic interpretation. Alliances between clans oft change, do they not? How may the Uchiha break this one?"
Izuna blinked. "Break?"
"Yes, break. It means to nullify, to split apart. You must know what I mean."
"Forgive me if this offends you, but shinobi clans have honour and our word is resolute when it is given. The Sarutobi and Senju, while I dislike both exceedingly, are clans of honour. They will not be broken apart, especially not on the demands of a woman ignorant of shinobi affairs."
The glaring contest between the two became blatantly clear. The Crown Prince Yuge cleared his throat and looked discouragingly at his wife. "Hatsusebe, enough. He is right. The clans will not be broken apart by others' deeds."
"Hmph!"
He looked over to Izuna, "Consult with your brother. I do not wish to rush into anything. These times are growing more perilous. The meeting will resume tomorrow morn."
"Yes, sir." Izuna inclined his head and stood up, following the maid out.
"Brother?"
"Did you know there are ruins at the back of the palace gardens?"
"Um, no. Is that important?"
"Or that Yuge has also ordered a miko to stay within the palace and will not let her leave?"
Izuna gave him a funny look. "Have you been dreaming again?"
"I have not dreamed for nine months, no. Why? And you did not answer my question."
"You are asking me odd questions, so that is why I asked." At Madara's flat look, Izuna added, "The meeting will resume tomorrow. You might even be allowed back."
"Urgh," The thought of it brought on a headache. "Did you not resolve anything today?"
"Well, the prince agrees with me that his wife knows nothing of our clans or the shinobi world in general. That does count?"
Madara considered it for a moment, then nodded once. "Well done. That is a victory."
Izuna smiled naughtily. "You think of her as highly as I do, then, brother," He sat down opposite him. "Why ever would a man marry someone like that?"
"Something," Madara corrected, "Women do not view others as weapons like that abazure does."
"Hmm," Izuna hummed quietly, eyeing his brother quietly. "Why were you asking about ruins in the palace? And a miko? That seems odd for you."
"I found some runes there and no one has mentioned any stories about the palace burning at any point," he mumbled, focusing on the pieces in front of him. "Play me."
"Madara, you know I dislike shoji."
"I am not playing cho-han in a palace."
"But—"
"If you say gambling is fun," snapped Madara, "then you can tell that to the council. I'm sure the elders will appreciate your sentiments."
Izuna swallowed. "Fine."
Madara arched an eyebrow.
"So, what's this about a miko?"
"Why do you focus on the woman instead of the ruins?"
"There are many ruins, Madara, this is a time of war. But a captive miko is interesting." reasoned Izuna plainly. "Now, how do you know about her?"
For a moment he faltered. "She, err, told me."
Izuna blinked. His brother never stumbled over his words! "So you have spoken with this miko? I have not seen her anywhere in this palace."
"I believe she is only granted freedom to roam at night."
"Careful, brother. Many yokai wander at night."
Madara scoffed. "Izuna, she is as living as you and I. That woman is not a yokai, but a prisoner in her lord's household."
"Kitsunes can adopt the personage of a beautiful woman, Madara. You—"
"I know what I see!" Madara growled, "She is living, not a ghoul or a fox trickster!"
Resigning himself, Izuna quietened down and listened to his brother's story.
-x-
Ochaya = tea-house where geisha entertain
Yokai = supernatural monsters, spirits and demons
Geiko = another word for geisha
Ryotei = restaurants where geisha entertain
