the samurai is a storyteller
A/N: Written in the samurai's perspective this time, and during my work hours because I hate not being a nepobaby. My personal laptop is on its last legs, so… I hope I get money soon.
As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.
"A story, just to pass the time."
The samurai is a storyteller. The Akatsuki are the audience.
The sword knows when it's about to rain.
It's a crackle in her body, a shiver in each step. The sword sealed within her rattles her bones, clatters within her body. The sword has a mind of its own, a will of its own, and a new master with more courage than strength. But isn't that what the stories always told? Those heroes whose hearts are tougher than armor. Those characters with more goodwill in them than skill or natural-born talent. Good-natured and warm-hearted, those are the heroes of old, the classical heroes. Like Kintaro and Momotaro. Those with pure intentions and goodwill are deserving of the greatest honors and fealties.
So what does that make her?
The sword knows when it's about to rain. It tells it to her body in shivers and shakes. It makes her cold. It makes her yearn for warmth, for fire. The sword knows when the sky is about to bring forth rain, and in this way, she is like a messenger for the dragon god. Albeit self-appointed, she is a carrier of the heavens' will and want, but again, what does that make her?
She is not of such pure heart or intention, her body is littered with scars and scratches, and her mind if occupied by guilt and worry. She was a samurai of the highest honor, tasked with protecting the lord of this land, the great daimyo of Kaze no Kuni, and what had she done? She watched a war be waged in in the very court of His Most Honorable. She let a war spring forth from the daimyo's own people. She allowed a war to unfold before the pages of this land's history, because what war wouldn't be waged against a man who abused his own power to make himself a god? What war wouldn't be waged against a fool of a man who thought he was worthy of a treasure from the heavens?
"I am entrusting this to you, my most loyal warrior, to retrieve the sword and offer it to me, your lord and master!"
What war wouldn't she allow to happen if she was more worthy than him to wield such a thing?
"I will do as you command me, my lord, for I owe you much debt and gratitude."
She did as she was told, and undertook a journey that would have lasted decades if not for luck, if not for the gods' favor. A year later, she returned to the daimyo's court and was praised for her obedience, for swiftness. The daimyo had granted her a new title and any land of her choosing, and her response to the daimyo who was eager to receive his gift, was simply:
"It is enough for me to serve under a willing god."
That night, the daimyo's palace was set ablaze, and she watched it from afar, clutching to her chest the final token of the daimyo's son, the traitor himself, her once-lover Atsumori. It is his flute, the instrument he played in the gardens, the first instrument he had introduced to her, when she had finally obliged his request to call him by his own name and not his title.
"I'm not any younger than you, please just call me by name."
The first instrument he had used to serenade her in the early afternoons.
"I am eager to give music to the stories you know."
The first thing he had vowed to give her.
"To remember me by, should the time come."
Being with him, she could remember, was akin to those stories she had read as a child. The short stories. The romantic stories. The stories of blushing girls and smiling boys. The stories set in the springtime, the summertime. The stories she could remember as being sunrise-colored and vibrant. But she was no formal lover to him, she was his… partner, as he'd fondly say. She accompanied him, sparred with him, read to him stories as he played his music, he was… a presence that brought her much comfort.
And in the years they have known each other, he also became a presence of confusion.
"My father has to pay for his crimes!"
Atsumori had wanted to rebel against his father, remove him from his position and make him answer for the vile things he had done. And she was complicit in all this, wasn't she?
"How could you let him do this? Have you no honor?"
"My honor is tied to your father's, whatever he deems right–"
"What he sees right will never be!"
She did as she was told, as she was ordered to, as she was praised for. Kill, kill, kill– Atsumori had grown tired of it, of seeing her in blood, seeing her so tired…
"My heart grows weary for you."
Atsumori had no interest in war and violence. She had known him as a sweet boy, and he had known her as an adventurous girl. And as the years passed, the sweet boy planned to dethrone his own father and the adventurous girl planned to stop him.
"What justice can you give to the dead, Atsumori?"
"I'll give justice to their spirits, at least, to their memory."
But in the end, like most stories of this manner, love prevailed and the daimyo's palace burned. And she had watched it from afar, following Atsumori's orders to flee and not his father's orders to fight, to protect him, to preserve her honor and dignity by sacrificing her life for his.
"You are a samurai! You die so that I may live, thrive, become god!"
The daimyo's parting words to her were harsh, cruel, full of spite– She believed then that he would become a vengeful ghost and haunt the land for eternity. Against the backdrop of the pitch-black sky and the blazing fires, she swore he would become a spirit out for vengeance, a bloodthirsty ghost, a haunting.
"Do not hate me for what your son has done."
In the end, she did not curse him, and she did not return either. Atsumori, as she had realized then, would rather not have her by his side as he ruled over the land of ash and dust, sand and arid desert. Atsumori is no longer a gentle boy and she is no longer a storyteller girl. Instead, they are now reminders of each other, the past, the impossible, the dreamers. On Atsumori's flute, he had a verse engraved on it:
If you think about it, this world is not for us to inhabit forever; it is more transient than dewdrops on blades of grass, or the moon reflected in the water.
It reminds her of Atsumori's farewell:
"Is there anything at all that, once given life, won't perish?"
It was a farewell so similar to the stories she read as a child, the stories she had wanted to live. And today, as the sword clatters inside her, as it signals the coming of rain, she wonders still:
What does that make her?
"Forgive me, Atsumori."
She looks up at the night sky, at the bright moon above, and wishes for his happiness.
That night, she had become a wanderer, and wander the world she did. She would have had wealth to her name, Atsumori had promised to give her whatever his father would have supposedly granted her, the land and title both, but she wanted none of it. If that was to be their true farewell, the end of their story, she ought to leave both him and everything else behind. But what she did take, due to Atsumori's persistence, was the contents of a safety deposit in his father's name. But it was far from Kaze no Kuni and in the foggy, treacherous country of Mizu no Kuni.
The ocean.
She then remembered the boy she had promised to take there, all the flimsy promises she made him when they were both children who knew nothing of war.
"I'm going to bring you to the ocean, I promise."
In that war, she had lost an arm; cut from her by a heavy, heavy cleaver. She had screamed that day, screamed and cried and vowed death and destruction and defiance– But as she thought of it many, many years later, she realized her father was right. She was strong enough to fight, but not smart enough to win. And now? What was she now? Two-thirds of her arm had been replaced by toughened wood and steel. But she had outgrown the original, the one given to her by the boy, so each year she had it repaired or replaced, but no craftsman could ever recreate the original.
"I promise I'll come back."
She wondered what had become of the boy, wondered if she should venture into Sunagakure again after all these years, but decided against it. The war was too fresh, too new, and even if Sunagakure's allegiance was to the daimyo's dynasty, Atsumori having taken his father's position by force would be questioned, potentially refused. Atsumori wanted her to leave the war and himself behind, and so she followed. She made her way to Kirigakure to find the man called the Broker of the Gods.
But when she did find him, his body was mangled and beaten, very much dead. The rest of the safety deposits were too, all either broken through or burned through. It felt as if it was the beginning of a mystery, one she had read as a child. One of those mysteries set in quiet villages where no crime had ever been committed that was as heinous and violent as this.
Thankfully though, she had found a copy of the missing ledger wedged under the floorboards, and another man who had wanted to make a withdrawal.
"It seems we are both owed a significant amount."
And she has never met anyone like him before, neither shinobi nor samurai, who wore a mask over his mouth and dressed in a long black cloak with red clouds. It's such a curious thing, she had thought then, so she decided to play as if this was a mystery and she were the investigator assigned to such a case.
"Would you mind working together to solve this mystery, then?"
He laughed at her, mocked her with such determination, "You have no idea who this man is, do you?"
The man explained to her that the so-called Broker of the Gods was a criminal broker, a fence, a man who bought and sold information as it came, a man who bought, sold, and overpriced whatever it was that came his way. He was wanted in five countries, except Mizu no Kuni, and had decided to station himself here.
"He had something promised to me," she lied through her teeth, "I am owed."
"He's done no business with the samurai."
"The daimyo," she showed him the Okabe badge, "he owes me."
"Ah," the man sounded amused, "and so it is true, Okabe is dead and his scattered wealth is for the taking."
She did not ask how he knew the daimyo, but she did ask, "And where else is his wealth located?"
She could play a fool well, she thought, because she knew its locations, the daimyo had entrusted them to her after all.
"You wouldn't happen to be a vassal, would you?" The man seemed to have believed her, "Come to take it for his son?"
"No," she shook her head, "I've come for his treasures myself."
The man simply nodded, as if he understood. She felt giddy then, as this was no mystery after all, this was going to be an adventure, an epic. Atsumori would want nothing to do with father's dirty wealth, would he? If he did, he would have sent his own people after it. If he did, he would have found it by now, retrieved all the goods and done with it whatever he wanted. But no, no treasure had been dug, and no deposits had been retrieved, it's as if Atsumori wanted nothing more to do with his father.
So his father's wealth was for anyone's taking.
And who was she but a wanderer in need of security?
"Will you help me?" She asked the man, "Whatever we retrieve, we split in half."
The man scoffed, "And you think that is fair."
She looked around and found no one else. She looked outside and found no one else. It's as if no one else seemed interested to meddle in this sort of thing, as if the villagers of this small town had wanted nothing to do with this broker or whatever he had. Or it was the villagers themselves who had wanted him gone.
"What do you think is fair, then?"
"A third each, for yourself, for myself, and for the organization I represent."
"And what organization would that be?"
"The Akatsuki."
She had never heard of such a group, but she agreed all the same.
"A third suits me just fine," she smiled, "I look forward to working together."
She bowed out of respect, but when she was about to introduce herself, the man had simply said, "A third is more than enough."
Now, many months since that initial meeting, the samurai finds herself in the company of such an organization. Criminals and vagabonds alike, and isn't that what she is now? She had allowed such a war to happen, allowed her lord and master to perish while she watched his palace burn, allowed his own son to usurp him, and abandoned her post and title for this… this rouge-like journey with no destination in mind. She already has the mythical sword sealed inside her, and if Atsumori had so desired it the same as his father, he would have sent for her and she would have given it to him with no question.
But no message came. Then again, Atsumori knew nothing of her current whereabouts, nothing of her current company. But if he did, what would he think of her now? Sharing shelter and supplies with such villains and characters.
She looks up at the night sky at the hazy light of the moon from behind the clouds, and thinks of the nights Atsumori had played for her. In the shadow of a willow tree and the moon reflected in the pond, Atsumori played as she laid on the grass, dreaming.
She shivers. The sword knows when it's about to rain, again. A thunderclap in the distance. A flash of lightning behind her. She frowns. It seems the dragon god is in a foul mood today. Her skin turns cold, she can tell the sword is still hungry for a fight. She can tell the sword thinks the Samehada is a fit challenger to satisfy it.
Above her, a crow perches itself atop a high branch. Its silhouette is outlined by the faded light, and she is reminded of the prophetic bird.
"Samurai-san."
The voice is soft, almost quiet, and when she turns it is the person she had least expected to approach her at this time.
Uchiha Itachi.
"Good evening," she greets him, bowing her head.
"Kisame spoke of your bout earlier," he continued, stepping beside her, "very few have ever received his praise."
She might say the same, about how many have crossed their paths and not died instantly.
"I consider myself extremely lucky," she says under her breath, still not looking at him, "but I am grateful he obliged me."
She wonders then, why he had decided to approach her at this time, at this place… Could he be wishing to see for himself her strength after his partner had spoken of her? And to speak of her highly… she might blush, she thinks, at the idea of receiving such praise from someone so renowned, so infamous… But what would Atsumori think of her now, blushing praises coming from foul mouths?
"It is not often to come across your kind, the samurai."
What could he mean by that? Does he distrust her, her intentions for being in their company?
"Well, it is not often that my kind find themselves… free."
Was that the word for it? "Free"? Conceptually, yes, because samurai are contracted to serve under whoever had… bought them. And these contracts are for life, or at least until they've passed on to another master. And the Akatsuki did not "purchase" her, nor did they contract her to serve under them, she had come here of her own accord, hadn't she? She was the one who asked if she could join them, if she could work for them to…
"So your purpose is to serve, is that it? Whether your master be a criminal or a noble."
She understands now, why the masked man had mocked her.
"Free," he echoed, "it is not often that shinobi find themselves in that state either."
She wonders then, what could have brought him here. She has heard of the massacre, the tragedy, and thinks it is like a play she had once watched in the marshlands of Tamashigi, about a family curse and the man who wanted to be rid of it. The play had that prophetic bird too, didn't it? It had watched the man, haunted his sleepless nights and his restless days. And it was that same bird that delivered the epilogue.
"What do you think of crows, Uchiha-san?"
She is unsure whether she had any right to call him by name, he had not yet introduced himself to her and neither had she. But when he did not answer, she thought she should do it, but that would entail looking at his eyes, and that would mean–
"They are lonesome birds," he answers, "they are often mistaken to be birds of prey."
Right, because crows are scavengers, hunters of the already hunted, watchers of death, warnings of decay. It is not often that one sees a crow without the rest of its flock, and it is not often that one sees a crow looking directly at them, waiting for them.
This is no normal crow, is it?
It cocks its head at her.
So she mirrors its movement.
Then it flaps its wings at her, but does not speak when she doesn't respond, instead it moves to preen itself. It looks at her with its one eye.
Suddenly, she feels itchy.
Suddenly, she feels her throat go dry.
Suddenly, the entire world shifts and changes, darkens.
It couldn't be–
And then, suddenly, very, very suddenly, she is knocked to the ground. She is out of breath. She is panting. She is heaving. Her entire body is cold. Her entire body is wet–
Rain?
No, it smells of salt, the sea, iron. Blood.
She coughs.
She recoils into herself.
And suddenly, so suddenly, it is cold, cold, cold–
Death.
Is this her death? So soon?
"Samurai-san."
But the voice jolts her back, awake, and when she turns… She is face-to-face with Uchiha Itachi himself, and never did she think she would have to look the Sharigan in the eye– How bright it is, she thinks, how bright and vibrant and full of… life, almost.
The Uchiha's Sharingan, she also thinks, could very well breathe life into the dead.
But then, like a reed, she is snapped back. Her eyes are forced closed, as if they had stared straight into the bright, burning sun. And suddenly her body feels hot, flushed with embarrassment. She feels an internal need to recoil into herself, to hide.
Uchiha Itachi must be some avatar, she thinks, a harbinger of divine punishment.
Because what else could he me? Having massacred his entire clan, surely there was a higher reason for all that. Surely there must be some god who had appeared to him in a vision and proclaimed him his tragic destiny. Surely, as sure as the crow perched atop the tree–
When she looks up, she the trees have been overtaken by such birds, crows, that are all staring at her with their beady, glimmering eyes.
How terrifying.
"Crows are indeed often mistaken to be birds of the hunt," he continues as the birds gawk and stare, but she cannot look at him, her entire body is frozen, "often mistaken to be mere scavengers."
Has she somehow found herself the target all this time? Had someone she wronged before finally decided to be petty and wanted her dead? Or have the late daimyo's loyalists decided to act on vengeance and root out those who had usurped him? What about Atsumori, would he be safe– Or was this the dragon god's will in action? Her karma? Misfortune?
"But they are harbingers, aren't they?"
Suddenly she cannot breathe.
"They are… prophetic."
Suddenly, light flashes and everything, everything…
Suddenly, everything is pulled back and she is thrown to her feet.
She is unsteady and out of breath, but by the hunted instinct, she searches for his eyes. The vibrant crimson against the dark, dreary, rained-upon landscape. And when she sees them, she does not think they are real.
"I apologize," he says with unwavering eyes, "I had wanted to determine your intentions."
She thinks, at that moment, that Uchiha Itachi is far too young to be as feared as he is.
"Asking me would be enough, I think," she admits, "but I understand you doing so, it's…"
She doesn't tell him she understands his apprehensions towards her, so she changes the conversation altogether, "What have you determined, then, if I may ask?"
He does not answer, instead she hears a crow cawing overhead and immediately searches for it.
Is it the same crow?
But she does not find it.
"Uchiha-san," she asks, "have you heard of the Yogen no Tori?"
"The prophetic bird," he answers distantly, "I had heard of the myth."
"It is a crow," she continues, "a crow with two heads, one of which is white."
She steps away from him to search for the cawing crow.
"It is said to be a messenger of the gods," she says to herself, "one that warns against pestilence and disease, death and disaster. If one were to spot such a thing…"
"…he should be so lucky to bear witness to a divine messenger," he concluded for her.
She smiles inwardly.
"What do think I am, Uchiha-san?"
He had seen through her, hadn't he? He'd used the Sharingan on her, subjected her to such grave sensations, to determine whether she was an ally or an enemy. But she doesn't understand why he wouldn't just ask her– It's not as if she is at his level of prowess, of fearsome skill. He could easily disarm her with a look, rendering her paralyzed in her own body. Why would he do such a thing, and on purpose? Does he sense something that she doesn't? Does he think of all her kind as the enemy? Or does he simply not know when not to use that deathly ability?
"I think you are in mourning."
He is… not wrong.
"I think you are seeking retribution."
That is not wrong either.
"I think you want to repent."
That is far too invasive, she thinks, he has seen through her and deep inside her.
"Why are you here?"
Instead of answering, she lets the question hang between them as she searches for the crow. She continues stepping farther away from him, refusing for his eyes to continue digging into her.
"I am here the same as anyone, I think," she replies, "what else would a bird seek than its own kind?"
She thinks she is so clever with her expressions.
"But you are no bird, nor are you shinobi."
He is right on that.
"Perhaps I am just looking for a sign," she mutters, "like all people do."
In truth, she does not know why she is still here, why she still lingers. But if not here, then where would she be? Where else would she be needed? What other would accept her, treat her this way? He has seen through her enough already, so why does he still ask? Why does he still wonder? Or perhaps he had seen nothing at all? Maybe he only subjected her to such a thing because he wanted to see what she'd do, what she'd say?
"Then you should know you won't find it here."
She thinks he is frowning as he says it, so she finally turns to him and appreciates the distance between them. She cannot see his eyes clearly.
"What about, Uchiha-san? Why are you here?"
She thinks she is so bold now, so confident in her skin. If her mother could see her now, conversing with the young man who massacred his entire family, surely she would be disowned on the spot.
But he does not answer, instead he turns away. He does not owe her anything.
The crow caws still, somewhere near, somewhere up above. She searches for it, peers through tree branches and clouds to see it. If it were the prophetic bird… She hears the flapping of wings and the rustle of leaves, and turns to its direction.
She sees the crow perched on his shoulder.
"It is yours," she sighs, "I should have known."
He does not say anything else to her, besides a hushed, "Good evening, samurai-san."
She watches him enter the building. He does not yet know her name, and she thinks it's all right. He wouldn't ask for it if it was any importance, and she would have given it to him if he had any interest in knowing. But he has seen through her, hasn't he? He's used his own technique, that vile, fearsome dojutsu, so of course he has seen through her. But would he have seen the sword as well? Would he have seen the emblem of the dragon god thrumming within her, signaling the coming of storms, the call of rain? Would he have seen her past and all she had done? Would he have seen everything she was?
She looks up at the sky and shivers. The sword inside her clatters.
Rain will come soon, it tells her, rain will always come.
In the morning, the samurai finds both the swordsman and his partner gone.
"Where are you headed, Shikai-san?"
She looks at Tenkou, at the girl's tireless face, and smiles.
"To where the storm will be," she says, feeling much like an ancient poet, "I will greet it."
"Your arm needs looking after," Tenkou sighs, "you should see him when he's available."
"The arm is fine," she flexes the fingers to show her, "it just needs to be used more often."
"How long has it been?" Tenkou ignores her, "You remember what he said–"
"I do, I do," she sighs, "but it's fine. I'm fine, if he ever wondered."
She turns away from the girl, she shouldn't see her scowl at her concern.
"He did," Tenkou nodded, "and I'll be sure to let him know."
She doesn't wonder how Tenkou had gotten on good terms with him, doesn't wonder why he would ever converse with the girl. The girl is the Toy Maker, who hailed from a line of expert craftsmen and bomb-makers in Tsuchi no Kuni. If anything, this girl is more like him than anyone else in this organization, at least as far as she knows.
"I'm traveling to Sawa no Kuni, if he wants to find me."
She makes her way out the entrance.
And Tenkou's reply to her is simply, "You know he always does."
She does not know whether to smile or frown at that fact.