… 4 …
The agreement between the Fire daimyo and the Shimura shifted many things into their favour. As the months drifted into autumn and then winter, there was no reason for Madara to be called away from the clan stronghold. His thoughts slowly became occupied with rations, war preparations and other necessities – gone were his conspiracies about the Crown Prince and a secluded miko. After a particularly trying mission to retrieve stolen scrolls for a Fire nobleman, he found himself in one of Izuna favourite places, staring at a nearly-overcrowded harimise. Many lovely faces stared up at them. But one caught his eye.
Her eyes were the wrong colour, and her hair was a shade too light, but she looked similar enough. Although similar enough to who, he couldn't explain.
Halfway through their foreplay, he realised.
"Tsurara …" he grunted.
His fingers traced the column of her neck. A faint pulse beat steadily under his fingers, strands of her hair slipping onto his hand. She was similar enough, this yujo, but not the same. Physically she was enough. He clasped her forearm and pulled her on top, his gaze becoming apathetic. The excitement had worn off, though his need was still thrumming underneath his skin. He grasped her hips and plunged himself inside her. Ignoring her squirming, he pumped and thrusted like a wild deer rutting. His doe had given quite a vocal performance before her mewling cries turned into whimpering gasps.
She was not similar, after all. But then why did he care?
The forests surrounding the Senju village was plentiful and abundant. In the days of their father, a rumour circulated that a kitsune had lived in it and seduced unruly shinobi who dared enter her lair. The endings of these stories varied, but there was a common moral: do not give into temptation. And Tobirama was one of those men who did not revel in excess of anything. Unlike his elder brother.
"Hashirama, will you put that down!"
"Awww, but Tobirama! We have a bet!"
"No."
Perhaps he took after his father more than he liked to admit. Hashirama resembled a scolded child with that pouty look. Still, he was the clan leader and gambling and drinking were not respectable hobbies! Eyeing his brother sternly, Tobirama grasped the scruff of his kimono. Hashirama's hands went to grab as many pieces of silver and gold as he could, but Tobirama yanked him away. They were leaving the gambling house before Hashirama lost a fortune.
On the way home, Hashirama pouted at him and Tobirama ignored it. Mito had asked him to locate him, he had done that. She had asked him to bring him home if he was gambling, he was doing it.
Yet … why had she married his brother?
Why not him?
She depended on him just as much as Hashirama and before they had revealed their marriage—or even their courtship, as no one knew of it previously—she had spent more time with him than Hashirama. Perhaps he would have not made as good a husband. He could not be openly emotional with anyone. After their mother's—
He shook his head.
Enough. Enough, enough! They were brothers and Tobirama was happy for him. They were alive and that meant more than anything else.
Even if he took after their father, he would always be kind to his brother. In his own way.
Cracks were beginning to deepen in the grand rooms; rot and moss spread about the palace gardens like a sickness. In his bedroom, the old daimyo choked out, "Stop." None but his doctor heard.
The curse had been triggered. Someone had slipped something away from the gardens. Orders had been given that not even a flower were to be removed! Who had defied him?
Not even the miko his forefather Riichiro employed could break the cursed writings. Even though it resembled a Kirigakure tongue, she claimed that it was nothing like she had seen before. Riichiro's journals indicated that it had existed before the palace was created. The site had belonged to an extinct clan who had been expelled from the Land of Water. Kajihime had been sent to many temples and shrines to locate someone capable of freeing the family from the perished clan's curse.
Never to thrive living.
And had they? Their wealth never increased, but it never lessened. Every marriage resulted in one child. Enough to keep going, but …
The miko that she had found – all his hopes rested on her.
Madara had postponed the meeting with the clan elders in hopes of finding Elder Nihon's journals. The library was sprawling with scrolls, orihon and washi-paper books. Yet the one he wanted would be tucked in the furthest corner, nearest to the most valuable scrolls.
There it was.
Flipping up to the top shelf, he grabbed it and then dropped back down to the ground with a light thump. Surely there would be something on runes.
Just as he was about to open it, a spiky-haired head stuck out from one of the long rows of manuscripts. "Madara-sama, the elders demand you attend the meeting instantly."
"Thank you, Hikaku. I'm coming."
He slipped the folding-book into his haori. When he turned around, he inclined his head to his kinsman and processed out of the library.
Things had been going well so far, though she knew there were a few disapproving clansmen—and women—around. Still she was secure and could do more good as a Senju than an Uzumaki. It had taken a lot of persuading, but she was finally in position.
The only problem was that now she was a wife, she wasn't permitted onto the battlefield.
She hadn't seen that curveball coming.
It would only be a matter of time, though. Some sweet-talking and maybe a bit of arm-twisting and she'd be back out there. The Senju were different from the Uzumaki, but the key values were the same: family first. Nothing was more important than family.
And she had done herself in with that, too.
To be fair to him, she had been tempted to marry him rather than Hashirama. But then her position would still be limited, and she doubted she'd be able to get away with nearly as much as she'd done already. Tobirama was more her type in a sense: direct, focused, serious – he never skived off to play cho-han or any other gambling game. He knew the importance of his position and respected it. Sometimes she felt that perhaps choosing suitability over position would have been a happier outcome. Then she would brush off the thought, tell herself that it needed to be done and consider her next move.
Like Ashina-sama said, "For family we must always choose the right choice. Never a selfish one." So that was the end of it.
"I'm home, Mito-chan!"
She heaved a sigh.
"Mama, tell me the story of the Yuki-onna again!"
His mother laughed, settling down beside his futon. "You like that story very much, Madara." She brushed aside his unruly hair and kissed his forehead. "Surely you know it by heart now."
"Please," Those big dark eyes always got him what he wanted. After all, he had two brothers now! "I love you, Mama."
"And I love you to the moon and stars, my little phoenix," Giggling, she nuzzled into him and he chuckled, eyes bright. "The Yuki-onna … they say she was a beautiful woman, a reincarnation of the great goddess Amaterasu herself. But …" Her lips curved upwards. "She was born different. She was immune to the cold and even in the hottest summer, her skin was cold to the touch. Her parents, fearing that they had displeased the gods, abandoned her to mountains and hoped that the gods would reclaim her. But she grew up, alone and scared of people. Then one day she met a man drowning in the shores of an icy lake.
"She called out to him and when he shouted for help, she used her powers to save him. She took him back to her cave and looked after him all night. When morning came, he felt much better and asked her how he could ever repay her.
"She said, "Please, visit me every week and tell me stories of the village at the base of the mountain." And he agreed. Every week he came and told her stories. Each time he told her about the village she wanted to see it for herself. To taste oden, to feel the warm kakefuton as she slept and to see the people! The village began to seem like a heavenly dream within reach.
"After four months, though, he stopped. By that time, the Yuki-onna had left the mountain and a new girl had come to the village."
"The Yuki-onna!" cheered Madara excitedly.
His mother chuckled. "Shh." He flushed and waited for her to continue. "This girl was perfect to the man; she was so beautiful, that all the other men in the village would envy him if he married her! So he approached her and asked her if he could court her, and she said yes. But only on one condition: that he would not ask her where she came from. The man agreed and started to woo her. Soon they were married and the man thought he had everything he could ever want. Then one day some villagers discovered the Yuki-onna's lair. Remembering his promise and how he had broken it, the man told his wife that they should move away.
""But why?" she asked him, "We are so happy here."
"The man could not answer his wife, worried that she might leave him if she knew about the Yuki-onna. But the Yuki-onna had not be seen in five years, and the couple had two children who were too young to move away. So the man did not ask his wife again. After a village meeting, the man returned home and told his wife that they were planning to find the Yuki-onna and kill her. He also mentioned that she had saved him when he nearly died years before and cried to his wife that he wanted to save her if he could.
"His wife replied, "But you have already saved her, my love." And when he asked her what she meant, she said, "It is I, the yuki-onna you met six years."
"The man was shocked and horrified. How could his beautiful wife be the yuki-onna? He would have known! And they looked nothing alike! The yuki-onna hid her face behind her hair and the only time he saw even a sliver of her face was her blue lips! He told her she was wrong and his wife became angry.
""I am a yuki-onna!" she shouted, "And I am your wife! I saved you from drowning in that lake and asked you to tell me stories every week!"
"The man could not believe what he was hearing. His beautiful wife was the creature his village was hunting. And their children … What would become of them, he wondered. What even were they, human or yukinko? He had so many questions. Fearing that he might betray her, the yuki-onna told him that as long as they had their children, they would be safe and happy. But that did not calm the man down. Fearing that the villagers would think he hid the yuki-onna from them, he resolved to tell the village elder the next day."
His mother smiled at him, stroking his cheek. "I think you should sleep now, little firebird."
Struggling to keep his eyes open, Madara mumbled a stubborn refusal but drifted into a slumber anyway. His mother giggled and kissed his forehead once more before exiting his room.
…
He had forgotten it was his mother who told him the story of the yuki-onna. Maybe that was why it was his favourite, because it was her story. How many years now …
He closed his eyes briefly as another elder begun speaking. How many more years to go before he could see them again …
"Get out of my study, rascal!"
A little sheepish grin settled on Izuna's features as he glanced up at his older brother. "But dear brother, you need a rest from all of these duties. I heard that Tatsumi-san has acquired some new girls from Kiriga—"
"I have not the slightest interest in loitering at a chaya or yukaku, Izuna. These provisions need to be decided before next week, so we can order enough rations of—"
"But Madara, you do nothing but work!"
"I am the clan leader, this is necessary—"
"Filling in forms for fish and cloth is not what a clan leader does. Leave it to Set—"
"If you will not be helpful, you can—"
"Oh honestly! Do you want to grow old without living?" snapped Izuna impatiently. He glared at Madara, who appeared taken aback at his little brother's rudeness. "You are clan leader all the time, Brother, one afternoon will not hurt. There is little war in winter and we both know it! The village has enough supplies for the next six weeks at least, so please take some time to take care of yourself!"
They blinked at each other, their minds stagnant. Finally, in a much gentler voice than usual, Madara said, "You are struggling with her anniversary."
Izuna pursed his lips and a cold expression masked his face.
"Izuna, tell me."
"No comment."
Madara sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Reopening his eyes, he stared at the man in front of him. The boyishness had been gone for some time, but still … how could he not look at his little brother and see him as a child to this very day?
"You loved her."
"Hn."
"Izuna. You loved her."
As he moved his head away, his bangs covered his eyes. "It no longer matters. She is gone."
Inside Madara's chest, he ached. For his little brother, for the life he could have had. These times took away so many things – happiness was something that often was snatched away so abruptly, the grief continued longer than the coldest winter. Though it had not been an option for him, a happy life had been for Izuna.
Her correspondence with the woman had been going well for some time, though there was a period where the woman in question had seemingly vanished. As she had discovered in this letter now, it was merely because of familial duties and nothing else.
Dear Kajihime-sama,
I first wish to express my apologises for prolonging my reply without prompt explanation. I have recently wedded and thus my husband's needs must be appeased first. As for your request, I will happily accept this task and research into the roots of the curse. I would like to persuse any archives at the palace and surrounding towns, in case there is anything to suggest the reason for these activities.
Furthermore, I would like to enlighten you to the fact that this being does not appear to be actively pursuing the curse, so I ask that you permit me to investigate the curse's originals and those of the yurei separately because ascertaining anything more.
Thank you for your patience and kindness.
Then she signed off, her name unchanged.
Kajihime breathed out a sigh of relief. Perhaps she would return to the palace now to help examine the root of her family's misfortune.
Nihon's journal was neatly laid beside the head of his futon when he retired to his bedchamber that night. For a few seconds after undressing he simply gazed at it, both transfixed and wary. It looks harmless, his curiosity told him. After all, how often was curiosity right over rationality?
Clutching the book in his hand, he opened it and skimmed the first few pages. Surmising the contents proved to be easy enough. Nihon had written a prudent content page, indicating 'groups' of ayakashi and other creatures, including their stories, were aligned under the appropriate category. Madara nearly scoffed at the man's attention to detail. To be expected, he supposed, from the man who managed the entire clan's accounts and finances …
Something niggled at him. A memory or a familiar sense that he had forgotten something. It was manageable but soon started to feel vexing. He'd had it for the last few weeks. The amount of times he had recounted the list of forms and paperwork to double-check he had not missed anything was beyond what he could measure. Still this feeling persisted.
But looking at Nihon's journal of ayakashi made that feeling ease.
Flicking through, he stopped at seeing the word: yuki-onna. He could remember his mother's face whenever he asked her to tell him the tale … he had imagined them, all of them, as a family …
Not one for feeling sentimental, he quickly flipped the page and stared in dawning realisation. The delicately handwritten name that headed it almost caused him to fling the book away from himself. Of course! That was what he had been thinking about, albeit on a subconscious level … It was like sparks from a fire had alighted the strings of a firework.
Tsurara-onna
Tsurara. The palace.
But … glancing at the name again, then reading Nihon's description, Madara knew right away that she was not an icicle-woman. Then again whenever did a yokai dress as a miko? Also, why would a miko be imprisoned in the royal palace, anyway?
Prowling the night once more, she peered into the Camellia room and found it empty again. Breathing in deeply, she squared her shoulders and resigned herself to the thought that maybe he wasn't the one. When she had seen him speak with that woman, she had been so sure – she had reported it to the prince the very same night, she was so sure! Alas! He had perhaps entertained her enough, though she obviously had not chosen him. It would have been so obvious if she had; he never would have returned to his clan.
The old maid shook her head and carried on walking down the hall.
There was still much to be done.
The last thing he had ever expected was to be summoned back to the palace and greeted with such familiarity from the royals, although the prince's wife looked down her nose at him with the same level of ignorance as before. Prince Yuge had whisked him inside for a drink and talk, as though they were old friends. Madara couldn't say he was impressed nor understood the reason behind the sudden change. When he had received the invite, he took so he could solve the runes in the ruined annex.
"You must understand," started Prince Yuge, "the reason I have asked for your return. It is a delicate matter."
Madara waited for him to continue.
"There is a curse on this palace, Uchiha-san," he explained, "Something from long ago, from the days of the second daimyo I think. It has caused a number of … misfortune in my family. We think it may be time that the curse is weakening, or coming to its peak."
He quirked an eyebrow and said nothing.
"Have you heard the story of Osakabe-hime, from the Lightning Lands?"
"I cannot say I know the tale."
"She haunts Himeji Castle, the old palace of the Lightning daimyo. Anyone who ventures onto the highest floor will be met by her and die." From Prince Yuge's face, Madara knew that the story held more meaning than to scare children. "There is also another story of a woman who haunted her husband after he poisoned her, appearing to him in paper lanterns."
He had heard that story. Okiku, the woman with a deformed face.
"What of these stories?"
"A yurei exists here, she who placed the curse upon us."
Immediately Tsurara's face came to mind, but Madara squashed the thought and instead focused on the man in front of him. "You are suggesting … that there is a vengeful spirit cursing your family … and doing what?" He paused drinking, observing the prince closely.
"She will kill us." There was a confidence in his voice that Madara couldn't quite understand.
"And you are certain?"
"Indeed. She has done so before and will—" He broke off suddenly, looking pained.
Madara surveyed him for another moment, then asked, "Have you sent for a priest?" He was answered by a bitter laugh. "A powerful priest." He added, frowning.
"Priests, onmyoji, you name it." The prince looked older, nearly resembling his father exactly. "They cannot fight her. Her powers are too strong, her hate has consumed her and made her into an onryo. Kajihime has contracted a miko to help us, but I fear that will not be enough." Rapidly it made sense why Tsurara was in the palace and her dislike of the residence. "This spirit will not rest until we have paid for the sins of our ancestor."
"Which are what?" His rude tone earned him a glower off the old maid, but Prince Yuge didn't seem to mind it.
"I … I do not know exactly."
At once Madara's eyes narrowed at the blatant lie. "The curse you mentioned," He decide to play along, let the royals think he was in the dark for the time being. "It is the one inscribed on the wall of that annex in the gardens." It clearly wasn't a question.
"You have seen it?"
"'Cursed to live and never to thrive', correct?" When Yuge nodded, he inhaled deeply. "Have you studied its meaning before?"
"No, only the history of my family and the effects of the curse on us," answered the prince softly, becoming more despondent. "The curse has caused our numbers to dwindle. Death is prevalent in—"
"Death is prevalent everywhere, we live in a time of war," snapped Madara waspishly, "It is not unique to any daimyo."
"It is the nature of the death that is unique," Prince Yuge retorted, at once irritated, "Does transforming into a skeleton in a night sound universal?"
Intrigued, Madara set down his cup and leaned forwards. "A skeleton?"
Cursed to live and never to thrive …
What did skeletons have to do with that?
Prince Yuge exhaled through his mouth and his shoulders drooped. "Every male heir dies the same; only males are born to this family. On that night there will be a cry, like a fox howling but it is not a fox. The moon will be dim, the night darker than usual, and when the heir falls asleep he will never awaken again."
"You have a daughter." Madara pointed out.
"She is the first daughter in over one hundred and fifty years," Prince Yuge spoke softly again, as though the conversation was exhausting him. "We took it as a sign."
"Of what?"
"We cannot be certain until the time comes."
-x-
Harimise = where prostitutes line up for a customer to select one of them. Oiran women did not partake in this form of prostitution
Thank you for your review,hissori-yoru. I'm glad you like it :) thanks for reading!
