… 3 …

Not long after he finished did Izuna speak. "You met her when you first came and assumed she was the princess? A Shinto shrine maiden as a princess?" For some reason he just could not wrap his head round it. "And if she was, would you … ?"

"Does it matter? That issue has been dealt with. I want to know what the royals are hiding."

"Apart from a miko and some ruins," Izuna muttered dryly, "Brother, does this matter? There are daimyos everywhere who acquire concubines or handmaidens. It is not uncommon."

"But …"

Izuna narrowed his eyes at him. "I thought you never believed in yokai stories."

"I do not. They are fantasies."

"Mm-hmm. I think your miko is a fan—"

Madara clapped a hand over his mouth and gazed ardently at the open window. Izuna turned his eyes and noticed a strange pink glow. Madara looked back to him. "Come. You will meet her."

"Wait, what?"

Without looking back, Madara dashed to the window overlooking the far end of the palace gardens. "Tsurara?" he called out to the darkness. Several minutes of silence echoed through the shadowy landscape. When Madara was going to call for her again, there was a faint rustle.

"Madara?"

Hearing his brother's name, Izuna became alert and cautious. He stepped closer to the window beside his brother and gazed out. What he saw surprised him. Silver coils of hair framed a pale face, the colours of a priestess's uniform misplaced amongst the regal magnolias. Violet eyes blinked at him. "You have company," she murmured.

"My brother, Izuna," introduced Madara, "Tsurara, the ghost of the gardens."

Tsurara's face tightened. "Ghost? Are you trying to be spiteful?"

"No," Izuna blurted out. "No, he means it … he means that you only appear at late hours." Madara raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. They remained staring at the woman outside. "Would – would you come in, Tsurara-san?"

At first she regarded him warily, trying to suss out his intentions. Seeing no threat, she nodded and stepped towards the porch, settling her lantern outside on the garden path.


A bright, scorching sun rested on the town the next day. After a fruitless meeting with the royals, Izuna and Madara had taken to a chaya – at Izuna's insistence, Madara would claim. An exceptionally fine oiran had tended to the brothers and was currently fawning over Izuna, who had sprawled across the cushions and rested his head on her lap.

Trailing a finger along her thigh, Izuna called over to Madara, "You should pick a companion. Release that stress you have built up with this daimyo, brother."

"I would rather have the energy to contend with the old goat than spend it on menial pleasures, Izuna." was the curt response.

"The daimyo will keep us here regardless of our energy," Izuna defended, "Just like his son. We might as well enjoy ourselves while we are in this – charming – town." His eyes glowed as the oiran blushed, his fingers creeping into the folds of her kimono.

Madara harrumphed. "Take him to a room and be done with him." He snapped.

Izuna guffawed. "You have no finesse! Poor lady, please excuse my brother. He needs to be soothed by a feminine touch."

At the implication she nodded and called out towards the door, in a soft tone, "Kotone."

A few seconds later, the door slid open to reveal a dashing young woman kneeling on the threshold. Bowing her head once more, she rose and glided into the room. The oiran subtly gestured to the reproachful-looking Uchiha in the corner, staring hard at her. Kotone bowed before him. "My lord."

"You can rise."

"Thank you for your kindness, my lord."

Her voice already grated on his nerves. Izuna smirked at him from his position on the cushions. Madara stared down at her, almost defiantly challenging her to make the first move. "Let me guess … a taiko shinzou?"

She bristled, although she tried to hide it. "Nay, my lord. Though I am flattered by your assumption."

Inwardly, he felt displeased – not because she was a tomosode shinzou, but rather because he simply did not want to be in this situation. Whatever she chose for her career was none of his concern.

"Work at a yukaku? That is hardly worth living."

He nearly choked on his tongue, recalling the abrasive comment. Violet eyes pierced his mind's eye, the pink glow illuminating her cheekbones, accenting the peak of her lips—

His hand shot out without a thought. The fragile wrist of the young woman—perhaps he should say girl, for she was much younger than him—quivered underneath his fingers. The oiran's eyes narrowed at him from across the room. Izuna cleared his throat loudly.

"Brother?"

Madara's eyes bored into hers. "I want no woman to think she is above me," his voice rumbled, though he wasn't sure what he was saying, "nor do I want that kind of entertainment. Play the koto, or leave."

Across the room the oiran had seen enough. She barked for her kamura to enter and a little girl tottered inside, alarm scarring her face as she saw her sister-friend cowering at a man. The little helper looked to her mistress, who nudged her head towards the shinzou. With the bravery of a shinobi child, she went to him and tapped his sleeve gently. "Please, Uchiha-dono, let Kotone-chan go."

His eyes flickered down to the child. Then his fingers sprung back, like a lock breaking, and the girl clutched her wrist to her chest. The kamura sighed. Another bark from the oiran and all three departed, apparently no longer interested in doing business with them.

"Urgh, Madara!" groaned Izuna.

He stared at his hand, now laying limply in his lap. He wasn't sure why, but Tsurara's words seemed to have hit a nerve. At the time he had agreed that joining a yukaku was not a pleasant life, but surely to be alive outweighed the cost? Being lined up in a harimise would be intimidating, he could guess that, but to be still living … then when he was propositioned by the girl, he just – he couldn't describe it.

He was starting to see what she meant.


More than twenty times Izuna brought up the fact that the oiran was secured with great painstaking difficulty, so to get one without the proper procedure was a 'once-in-a-lifetime' feat. In the end, Madara handed him some money and sent him off to the yukaku district. He wanted nothing to do with yuujyo anymore.

Instead he returned to the palace and ventured back to the burnt ruins in the gardens. One rune in particular had been on his mind. If his second thoughts on it were right, then the meaning may be different to what he first thought.

There. That one.

Death … to plague … to be afflicted … to be cursed …

Ah. His second thoughts were right. The runes uttered a curse of some sort, though he still couldn't figure out all the symbols. Cursed to live … and not to thrive … It didn't make much sense. What sort of curse forced someone to live? He must be reading it wrong. Maybe he could ask Hikaku or Toshii to send Elder Nihon's journal.


Later that night, once Izuna had returned sporting a rather content expression, Madara brought to his attention his plan for the next meeting.

"If we suggest that an alliance with another clan appears weak, then maybe we can persuade them to finance more than just our clan. Say, the Shimura? The Sarutobi and Shimura have long been rivals, especially for the notice of the Senju. The Shimura must feel unacknowledged by Hashirama because of this contract. If we can manipulate them just so, make them think that maybe the Senju are not aware of the Shimura's persistence and ability to strategize – we may be able to make things work in our favour."

"Sounds good," Izuna nodded, "But what about the daimyo and Crown Prince? Will they be convinced?"

Madara only offered a simple answer: "They will be."

Watching his little brother nod in agreement, Madara waited for him to finally say what had been on his mind. Izuna noticed the change in the air and pulled an innocent face. "Are you waiting for something, brother?"

"Out with it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Whatever it is. Say it."

A wicked grin crawled across his lips. "I spoke to the yarite."

"Ugh. Izuna!"

"We are going to the yukaku tomorrow afternoon and—"

"I am not going to a whorehouse!"

"You had no problems with going before," Izuna pointed out, pouting. "I understand you have never been keen on young girls – and that one was young. She was even younger than me! But I think—"

"I do not want it, Izuna."

"Saving yourself for a miko, are you?"

Madara's eyes flashed red, a warning. "Do not be so ridiculous!"

"Then why the sudden change? I know that you have not found your faith! You swore off gods and prayers long ago, so …" He leaned forwards. "Why the sudden change, big brother?"

Silence enveloped them. "Because I … I no longer think it is right for a woman to sell herself in order to live."

A cold stare met his words. "Right? Is it right for us and our brothers to fight for our survival? A woman can marry and remain honourable if she wishes, selling her body to a willing payer means nothing to the suffering of our brothers, Madara. Our clan." Izuna's eyes searched his face. "Why should a woman's feeble body symbolise more importance than our own lives?"

"That is not what it symbolises," Madara explained slowly, "What she symbolises is the corruption in this world. Power has become monetary, there is value in coins and paper and not in people."

Izuna blinked, visibly taken aback.

"Women and men are no different; we must all survive. They bargain their bodies and we our lives. Who is to say which is worthier? The life of a yujo or a shinobi?"

Izuna saw his point, and Madara finally understood Kiyohime's anger.


Ripples in the pond rocked the lilies ever so slightly and above them the magnolia's blossoms scattered to the ground. Sunset streaked the skies in burnt-out orange and rosy flushes of red. The gardens were bathed in a golden light from the sun, rich in warmth and highlighting the beauty of the flowers. The water of the pond was almost transparent, like a film across a window that allows the looker to see out within being touched.

There, beside the ageing birdbath laid an unlit lantern, crumbled and untouched.


"You must adore evenings, Madara-san. I cannot think of why you would frolic in the garden at such times otherwise."

He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile. "Ah, yes. It is the only time I find solitude from bigoted old men and politics."

"Ah, it must be hard. To barter for power." She tutted lightly, fanning her face. This evening she didn't have the peony lantern. "A man's world is a cruel mistress."

He tutted at her. "Alas, the lady is without a light. How should I have known you were coming?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "After your surprise the other night, I thought it was best." She looked over to the magnolia trees. "It is best few know of me, in case."

"In case of what?" was his question, but she shook her head and he accepted it for now. "Are you local to this land?"

"To the land, yes, but not to this town. Are you?"

"I live within the borders," His eyes glinted defiantly, "But I have no true ruler. My clan and I are not servants—" He spat the word. "—to anyone. If only you knew our history."

"I have heard of the Uchiha throughout my life." At his defensive look, Tsurara laughed. "It was rather obvious."

"You have still to reveal your name to me," Madara suggested pointedly.

"You know my name and you have guessed it as well. Wrongly, too."

They shared a secret smile and then Tsurara turned away, unexpectedly breathless. "You could get in trouble for being seen with me."

"Are you sure you are not Kajihime?"

Her laugh became cold. "No, good Heavens! I would not like to be related—" Horrified, she clapped her hands over her mouth and stared, wide-eyed, at him. "Ignore that! Forget what I say—"

He leaned in closer, so close it would have been considered inappropriate for them to be alone together. "What have you drunk?"

"Be quiet, you are no better!"

"Since when have I met you that pickled?"

"I am not pickled! I am not a fruit!"

He raised an eyebrow and decided against arguing. "Let me return you to your room." She pushed his hand away and stepped back. "You should not be wandering the gardens in your state—"

"What do you know of my state?"

Every other time they had met, her eyes had held a semblance of something warm, something alive and spirited – like a wild horse running across the plains. She was unbridled with that sharp tongue, but clever. Not wild in a barbaric way. Her intelligence shone through in her speech. But seeing her now, with those hardened eyes and detached voice … he found this side of her thrilling and yet … threatening.

"What do you know of my state?"

It didn't register, the word she emphasised. The question seemed intimidating, even for him. All friendliness had been washed from her face like a mask removed. He was seeing her again for the first time, bare and inexplicitly raw. So many emotions crashed into her eyes, a calamitous wave of emotions hurled between him and her. What did he know … she was trapped here in the palace by a royal, away from a life she craved for … did she have a family, friends … or a beloved back there, in her village?

"I … I'm sorry."

That broke the spell. Tsurara's eyes watered and her face crumpled. "I have nothing." She whispered. Madara held out an arm to steady her, but instead she clung to him. "I am becoming nothing."

"That is hardly worth living."

Her words were beginning to make sense in a disjointed way. Her disapproval of men betraying their word, abandoning women to ruin … it must have something to do with her imprisonment. Did she see the palace as a yukaku or something worse?


This meeting was more eventful than the last two, in Izuna's opinion.

Madara had made a strong entrance: he loosened his kimono and forwent any formalities. He was here for a decision, a verdict. That was his brother, always ready to fight for the clan. Defiantly, he stared at the daimyo in the eye and raised his chin. Done was he with waiting on the old fart or his son. The Uchiha clan's future was his priority.

"I propose the Shimura as a precautionary truce against the Senju-Sarutobi alliance."

The old daimyo blinked at him, quite astonished by the shinobi's attitude. Then his features twisted into an outraged expression. "You propose or you command?"

A snide smirk replied.

"You dare impose upon me your desires? What good would the Shimura be against the Senju?"

"They would be an advantage against the Sarutobi, whilst we deal with the Senju." Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey was the strategy. So far it seemed to be working; Madara could see the disused gears grinding strenuously in the old man's head. "The contract with the Shimura need not be permanent. It can be a temporary measure for now."

The daimyo weighed up his options. Prince Yuge looked to his father and then at Madara curiously. "Your plan sounds persuasive. But what if the Shimura refuse?"

Madara's face held an indescribable emotion as he focused on the prince. Since hearing Tsurara claim him as her capturer, he wasn't sure what to make of the man. "I highly doubt they will."

"Then …" He looked to his father. "This sounds much more agreeable, Father. If you consider—"

"So … the Uchiha would not be able to defeat them, if that what you are saying?" The daimyo sneered, adding, "Or rather, trying not to say."

Madara would have liked to rip his head off, but he knew he couldn't say that. "The Uchiha can match the Senju. But there is no clan capable of holding their own against two distinguished clans on the same battlefield."

The daimyo snorted. Prince Yuge turned to him and frowned. "Father, these men give their lives for us. And Madara has a good point – no one can fight two clans at once. Please, do not expect the impossible. They are still men, not gods."

"I heard a story when I was a young boy."

Madara did not comment, though Izuna's sceptical face spoke volumes.

"The Uchiha and the Senju were the sons of the Sage of Six Paths. He himself was a god! Both clans have overcome – unfeasibly – phenomenal achievements. Nonetheless, one cannot expect – perhaps – another kind of phenomenon from them?"

"Father!"

The old man sneered at the brothers, his wrinkled face crinkling like aged paper. "Enact whatever plan you wish. I will have no part in it. Yuge," he barked suddenly, "you will bear responsibility should this fail miserably. With all my experience, I do not believe the Shimura will make an ounce of difference – a clan like that!" Without anything left to say, he waved as arm, clearly disgruntled.

The Uchiha men did not wait for another gesture, rose and soundlessly left. Their goal had been accomplished.


After talking things through the Crown Prince, finalising details about the treaty, they were allowed one last night in the palace before returning to their clan. Just as Izuna turned to leave Madara's room, he paused by the doorway. "Brother?"

"Hmm?"

"What the daimyo said … how do you think he knows that story?"

Madara paused. He, too, had been concerned when the old goat mentioned it. "I am unsure. He may have overheard it from somewhere. As long as we do not prove him correct, there should be no problem. Do not worry."

Though his brother could not see, Izuna nodded. "And there's something else."

"Go on."

"Do you ever … do you think of them sometimes? Of what they would be like now?"

At once Madara's shoulders drooped and he sighed. "I think of them every day. I would have been proud no matter how they turned out. Even if it was like you."

A weak smile and a trickle of feeble laughter. "I am glad. That I am not alone."

"No," Madara murmured, becoming quieter, "Neither of us are."


-x-

Oiran = beautiful prostitute in a yukaku, Edo period. Highly regarded.

Chaya = a tea-house where one could engage an oiran's services.

Harimise = where prostitutes line up for a customer to select one of them. Oiran women did not partake in this form of prostitution

Kamuro = 10 years old. They did everyday chores of the oiran and learned about yuujyo (prostitution).

Shinzou = (furisode) young girls 15-16 who are learning to be oiran; did not take customers. (bandou) not particularly attractive girls/too old to become yuujyo. (tomosode) same age as furisode but were not going to be high class oiran and so took customers. (taiko) did not do sexual services, but showed off talents and entertained.

Yarite = person who contact to get the oiran and other prostitutes


Thank you for your reviews, Blahyourface1234 and CrimsonSorceress. :) hope you enjoyed it!