Behind the Mask
Rated: T for language and violence
Disclaimer: Naruto characters (c) Masashi Kishimoto
Summary: We all wear masks. But that only makes it harder to tell the difference between truth and lies.

Note: Full chapter!

As RickyG pointed out in the preview for this chapter, I'm not sure where all the SasuSaku is coming from. While this story can be considered maybe one-sided SasuSaku on Sasuke's part, I think I have made it abundantly clear that SasuSaku isn't happening in this story. I'm sorry if this pushes away a lot of readers, but I think I need to make that clear.

Also, I don't like requesting for people to review, but I feel a bit disappointed by the lack of reviews I got last chapter. I hope to get more before I update this time and thanks to those who did take the time out to review :)

029: 余波
(repercussion)

Period of the Warring States
Reign of the 5th Emperor of Fire
Month 2

The gate squealed to a close behind him, the sound punctuating the otherwise silent room. The air was cold and biting; each breath he took assaulted his nostrils as if they were being scraped by millions of tiny knives. But that wasn't even the worst part. The room he was in was dank and offered little comfort against the cold snowy weather outside while smelling strongly of urine, excrement and sweat. Light filtered in through a small square window so far above their heads that even if he reached his fingers out, he still could not touch it. And he was by no means a short man.

The sole inhabitant of the room had not noticed him yet…or perhaps he didn't care to acknowledge him. He shifted farther into the room and removed the cap from his head, hoping to catch the man's attention. That proved for naught, as the man continued to stare off at the opposite wall, oblivious.

"Abalyshev?" He finally asked sharply.

Slowly, as if the man were a statue coming to life, the man moved and looked up at him. He knew that the man was far from being in his prime, but the years spent in this place had etched deep lines in his face and left dark, disturbing shadows under his eyes. His complexion had turned to a mottled grey that no amount of sunlight would ever fix. One eye was sharp and clear and glittered with more intelligence than he had expected while the other was clouded over. His one clear eye looked him over slowly, as if he were appraising him.

"Red hair is uncommon." The man finally said, and his voice was rough and thick from disuse. "You must not be a russkiye."

He ignored the man's comment and moved to stand near the wall. His tall boots clacked against the stone ground, the sound echoing around the small room. "The warden said you have been here for a while. You must have done something bad."

Abalyshev shifted and for a moment, it looked like the movement pained him. The sleeve of his rough cotton shirt lifted for a moment, allowing for a view of chain-like markings set in dark ink around his wrists. Chakra binding seals, he realized.

"I have been here a while." Abalyshev mused. "So long, that sometimes I even forget my own name."

"But it always seems that their faces – the face of my wife, my daughter, my son, my neighbors, the faces of those that I killed…they never stray far. They are always with me, even when I close my eyes. Maybe this is my punishment. That, and this place." Abalyshev spat on the ground, his spit creating a dark stain on the stone floor before he turned to face him. The stare from his lone eye was penetrating and unforgiving, but he didn't move to break it.

"Why are you interested in my story anyway? Visitors don't come all the way out here just to hear the stories of old men." Abalyshev said brusquely.

He shifted. "You're right. I don't much care for you, or your story. But I was looking for someone and I was told he died. I was hoping you could tell me how."

Abaylshev stared at him for a beat before letting out a bark of laughter that was quickly followed by a coughing spell. He turned away, disgusted by the sight and didn't turn back until he heard it had subsided. Abaylshev was wiping spittle from his chin and it took him a few moments before he bothered to look at him again. "I have seen many men die. God cares not whether you're a killer, rapist or lunatic, he will take us all indiscriminately. I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Yes." He said softly. "It is true all men must die. But this man…" He placed his hand on the wall before stepping away. The wall was cold to the touch and penetrated through the thick gloves he had on his hands. He moved to stand before Abaylshev, his form casting a lengthy shadow over him.

"He was the dvumya khvostami." He finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words had their desired effect. Abaylshev's sunken eyes widened and his face managed to become more ashen than it already was. His lips, pale and fleshy gaped for a moment and his bony fingers gripped at the stained sheets he was sitting on as if he were having some sort of spasm.

"How do you know of that?" Abaylshev asked when he finally regained his composure.

He allowed himself to shrug. "I have many ways, many resources. But I am only interested in hearing how he died. And I am told you are the only one who can tell me."

"Why?" Abaylshev demanded. "Why would you be interested in such a relic of the past? Why should I tell you anything? What would I get out of it?"

He cocked his head to the side and smiled, although Abaylshev could not see it behind his mask. It was a strained smile though and he could feel the muscles in his body tensing. It was with careful restraint, however, that he did not let his disdain for the man show. "I suppose even a retched man like yourself has morals, however perverse." He mused, turning away as he paced the room. "Or you must think that by holding out, I would be willing to grant you some sort of favor. But the only favor I would be willing to grant is death," He said, his voice turning icy. "And I am afraid you are undeserving of even that."

"Choose to remain silent, and I'm afraid that you'll find I can be very…persuasive." He turned back to face Abaylshev, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched as Abaylshev glared at him, perhaps weighing his options.

Finally, Abaylshev sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, it was as if he were lifting a great weight. "The dvumya khvostami was a man even older than I. But that isn't what killed him. There was something inside of him that was killing him from the inside."

"He died with the beast still inside of him then." His fingers curled as he felt his heart plummet to his stomach. Their plans would not be disrupted by the death of one beast, but that did not stop him from gritting his teeth in frustration. It seemed that coming out here into the middle of nowhere had been a dead-end; a waste of time. He idly experimented with the thought of ending the life of the man before him. Surely death would be appreciated and it would certainly tie up loose ends…

Abaylshev coughed again, disrupting his train of thought. "No." He choked out, spittle flying from his lips before he quickly bent his head and covered his mouth with his hand.

His eyes darted toward the man, his hopes lifting. He waited impatiently as Abaylshev tried to squash his coughing spell. Finally, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Being stuck in this place…it has made me realize that we all have a will to live, even when we shouldn't." He muttered. "Otherwise, I would be dead already. Let me tell you, that beast had a will to live."

He could scarcely believe the man's words. Was there hope after all? He jerked forward, as if he meant to grasp Abaylshev's shoulders, but he quickly composed himself. "It escaped. You are telling me the beast escaped?" He asked, trying to keep his tone even.

Abaylshevshook his head. "It looked as if had come straight out of hell. I never seen or felt anything like it." He muttered darkly. Suddenly, Abaylshev looked up, his eyes narrowed and suspicious, as if finally, he realized that things were not adding up. "You are awful curious about something that most people wouldn't even dream of, not even in their nightmares." He said, carefully getting to his feet. "The village knows nothing of the dvumya khvostami. Who are you?"

He sighed. He had been hoping to avoid this. He cast a cursory glance toward the barred door before he moved quickly, shoving the man down on the bed, his gloved hand at Abaylshev's throat. Abaylshev's eyes widened, surprised by his actions. "Guards!" He cried out, his voice grating against his ears.

"No one can hear you. I took certain precautions to ensure our privacy." He answered smoothly. He tightened his grip on Abaylshev's throat and he could feel him start to squirm. "Now answer the question. Did the beast escape?"

Abaylshev, perhaps realizing he had no choice but to speak the truth quickly shook his head. "No." He rasped. "Thank God for that little girl."

His answer was unexpected. There weren't many left in the prison, let alone women. He quickly thought back to the roster the warden had let him flip through when he arrived. He couldn't recall there being a woman's name. Was she an inmate who had since died? Would all this lead to a dead-end as he had originally thought?

Grunting in frustration, he effortlessly lifted Abaylshev by the neck and shoved him against the cool wall. "What little girl? Are you telling me the beast was sealed into another host? Who?"

"The doctor's daughter," Abaylshev sputtered. "He came to make sure the disease wasn't being spread. Only God can know why he brought that poor little girl with him."

There was still hope. After everything, there was still hope. "His name! What was his name?"

Abaylshev was starting to gasp for air. Feebly, he pulled at his gloved hands, but with his chakra bound, there was not much he could do. Abaylshev started to shake his head and with reluctance, his loosened his grip. "It was ten years ago, how can you expect a man as old as I to remember?"

Shaking his head, he released Abaylshev and watched as he crumbled to the ground in a heap before dissolving into another coughing spell. He ignored him as he dusted his long grey coat off. "There are ways to extract a memory…painful ways." He said when the coughing subsided. "I could perform them, but I would prefer not to. But if you push my hand, I will show no mercy."

Abaylshev stared up at him, his clear eye glaring at him. For a moment, it seemed as if he really wouldn't say anything as mouth remained clamped shut. But then the moment passed and he gazed down at the ground, a faraway look in his already clouded eyes.

"Vtoroi." Abaylshev said finally, after a moment. "And his daughter was Yuliya. How could I forget? My daughter had the same name once."

Glossary:
Russkiye – Russian
Dvumya khvostami – Two Tails

She could concentrate on nothing but the white hot heat, like thousands of burning needles repeatedly stabbing her leg. It was a pain so intense it had the seasoned shinobi doubled over as if she had been punched in the stomach. Haruno Sakura squeezed her eyes shut as a sound halfway between a whimper and a snarl escaped her lips.

They were just phantom pains, she reminded herself, they were not real. But her leg was still throbbing with pain and her chakra points still burning as if they had been doused with gas and lit on fire. This was not a first time occurrence for Sakura. She sat down on the chilly paved stones beneath her and pushed her hands flat against the surface; the pressure giving a welcome distraction as she waited for the fiery sensations to subside. Slowly, the pain ebbed away as if it had never been there, leaving only the cold sting of the winter air.

Sakura had let herself fall into a routine since she had been in Peking. She ate, she trained, she slept. New Years had come and gone, yet the months dragged on, moving at a speed slower than the melting snow. Time was measured by the amount of rice that vanished from the cupboard, by the amount of hair that reached past her shoulders until she got tired of it and cut it off. The pain was never far from Sakura's mind; always worse during the hours when Sakura pushed herself to train and at night, when there was nothing to distract her from feeling it.

She was perfectly fine – she knew this in her head, she knew this from Tsunade telling her. But every time she walked, every time she moved her leg she could the pain lurking, like a cat ready to pounce. She had had countless injuries over the years; limbs broken and fractured, chakra points assaulted and blocked. She always recovered easily but the psychological impact of this latest attack was more profound than she had ever experienced.

Her dismay, her disappointment was causing her to fold in on herself, as if she were seeking refuge behind an impenetrable wall. She began isolating herself to the guesthouse and the courtyard immediately in front so that she could train. She shied away from human contact, going so far as to ignore Tsunade's summons to the main estate and feigning sleep when Shizune came to help her train. Her mother, no doubt having heard about her condition from Kakashi, began sending her weekly communiques via carrier pigeon which she dutifully ignored until they finally stopped. Kakashi's own communiques were more frequent and much harder to ignore. But she kept them piled against the door, untouched.

Naruto remained unheard since he had broken his promise to Sakura and set off in search of Uchiha Sasuke and Orochimaru. When she had discovered him gone, sometime after Kakashi's departure to Peking, she had been angry. Now, however, she was nothing but grateful. Although she sometimes ached as much for Naruto as she ached for the pain to just go away. But a larger part of her knew she didn't want to see him, that she would just push him away until she was herself again.

Sakura stood up, a fierce and cold wind blowing past her. She hardly shivered – the cold, like everything else barely phased her when compared to both the pain and her own frustration. She pushed away tears with gloved hands and once more channeled the chakra into her leg.

The servants who hurried about the estate ignored the scream that ripped its way from Sakura's throat, as they had been accustomed to doing for some time now.

Feng Temari pivoted smoothly and quietly to the left. She paused; eyes closed, head cocked and she listened. She heard a bird overhead, its powerful wings beating once as it glided through the air before it was out of earshot. A soft wind rustled through the forest, blowing in from the east as it picked its way through the bare branches above her head. She flexed her outstretched arms lightly, making sure to keep them at the ready. Two steel fans were gripped in her gloved hands. The beauty and intricacy of their design veiled their deadly nature.

A soft thud resounded against the bark of a tree twenty meters away, forty-five degrees to her right before landing in the snow with a soft crunch.

Before the pebble could even land in the snow Temari had turned, her arm moving in a graceful, fluid motion as the fan cut through the air. A precise stream of wind burst through the air, slashing at the bark of the tree where the pebble had previously hit. Small pieces of bark fell to the ground as Temari resumed her previous position, the forest once again a picture of serenity.

The next sound came from two pebbles hitting the trees simultaneously; one coming from ninety degrees to her left, the other only a couple degrees to her right. Temari spun, wrists flicking and steel fans glinting in the sun as they sliced through the air. Temari brought her arms back to her side and bowed her head, her ears trained to listen.

When the stones came again, they came all at once. They whizzed past Temari's cheeks, although none actually touched her as they thumped against the trees like hail falling from the sky. Temari didn't move, only listened until she could hear the last stone falling into the snow.

And then she moved.

She moved with a speed and grace that was almost inherent, born from the days when she had first began training with Kabuto but with a precision and efficiency that was entirely newfound. She became a whirlwind of limbs and steel as she pivoted and counter-pivoted around a set point. When Temari finally stilled, her surroundings remained undisturbed save for every tree within a ten foot radius had a small precise slash on its trunk.

Temari stood upright, only opening her eyes when she felt the presence of Baki before her. He was surveying the trees when she looked at him. He turned back to her, although she could not see his expression behind his mask.

"You missed one." He commented, his voice without rebuke. He pointed some feet away where a tree stood beyond the perimeter, its trunk unmarred. A tiny pebble stood out like a sore thumb in the snow. Temari stared at it, drawing her lips into a thin line before she finally drew her gaze back to Baki and gave a short nod of her head.

"I'll try harder next time." She said.

"You did well considering." Baki said. "Come," He gestured. "I have food waiting."

Although unsatisfied, it was as close to a compliment as she would get from Baki.

Over the months, Temari had learned to become a nomad, trailing after Baki, never staying in any one place for more than a week or so. They trekked through forests, across rivers; their icy waters frozen at the banks, and around crumbling mountain passes. Temari learned how to live off the land, hunting when necessary or otherwise fishing and gathering plants. She learned how to distinguish the subtle features of the land which was how she knew they were currently skirting the Menggu boarder, somewhere north of the Land of Earth as they made their way west.

Despite being unattended for some time, the fire was still crackling when Temari and Baki returned to the campsite. A slab of venison was already being roasted over the fire, grease and fat dripping over the edges of the meat before falling into the spitting fire. Temari took her seat, folding her legs under her.

"Any news?" Temari asked. Although Baki was loath to go into the cities and towns they passed, he frequently kept in contact with Suna via messenger hawk. Baki maintained that it was important for a shinobi to remain up to date at all times.

Baki grimaced underneath his mask. "After the blockade of the Zhu Jiang and the bloodbath at Foochow, the Land of Crowns is more wary with whom they pick a fight with." He said wearily. "Fighting continues in the Land of Rivers and the Land of Water has officially closed their sea boarders, although with the International Concession, it is unlikely they would be attacked anyway."

Unbidden, an image of her father and Gaara fluttered into her mind before Temari angrily pushed them away. Peking was too far inland to be considered, but Tianjin was close to the sea. If the foreigners were already at the Land of Water, it wouldn't be long before they reached Shantung…

"And my father?" Temari asked as casually as she could manage.

Baki froze, his body stiffening at her question. He was immediately thankful for the mask that hid his face. "I've had no news." He said swiftly as he moved to turn the meat.

Temari gave a singular nod. She told herself it was better this way, to not know. But still, she couldn't help her mind from spinning, wondering what would happen if war reached her home…

"If the Land of Fire goes to war," She began tentatively, "Will Suna come to their aid?"

Baki didn't look at Temari as he turned the meat over the flames, sparks spitting as the grease dropped against the wood. "We shinobi have no autonomy outside our government. Suna may be Konoha's ally, but unless the Land of Wind allows it, we have no right to aid the Land of Fire."

Temari scowled and looked away. "Yet during the shinobi wars, the civilian cities are always first to get attacked."

Baki shrugged. "We shinobi are trained to spot weaknesses and use them to our advantage." Baki's hand stilled on the stick the meat was speared on before slowly pulling his hand away. Temari had her face turned away from the fire, her lips pulled into a slight scowl as she stared off into the distance. She had a striking profile – a trait that she had inherited from her father – yet there was a softness about her that Baki could attribute to Karura.

"You don't approve of shinobi methods." Said Baki. "And you have made it clear that you do not intend on becoming one. So tell me, Feng-xiaojie, why am I training you? What will you do when I have nothing else to teach you?"

Temari's eyes flicked toward Baki and he could see the fire dancing in their depths as the sky grew darker around them. She had told Baki multiple times to stop referring to her as 'Feng-xiaojie', yet he always seemed to ignore her. It was a testament to Baki's training that she didn't berate him for it.

His question surprised her. It was true she had no intentions of becoming a shinobi – it was a notion she quickly discarded after stealing the Tian Tang Jian. She knew she could never return to Peking, or to her brothers. Family was the price that she had paid for freedom and Temari knew that it was something that could not be exchanged. Shikamaru was lost to her as well; a thought that still brought tears stinging at her eyes. She knew she would never love another man, never bear any children. She thought back to Wu He and Wo Lang and the kindness they had shown her when she had only spurned them in return. She thought back to Uchiha Sasuke and wondered if he was paying the price for her escape or if he already had someone new to come home to, someone new to fulfill the wishes of his clan.

She had nothing, she realized; no ambitions, no goals, no promises to keep. But still, she realized that there were some things that needed to be done.

Glossary:
Menggu – Mongolia
Xiaojie – Miss

Over the course of his stay, Uchiha Sasuke had learned many things about the man known as Orochimaru, the Konoha traitor. Not all of the things he learned pleased him, but Sasuke finally came to realize he didn't come to Orochimaru so that he could be his friend. He came because Orochimaru offered him something that no one else would. He didn't need to approve of the man or his methods…he only needed to approve of the results.

Sasuke ran out onto the frozen lake, the wind stinging against his already cold cheeks and biting at his chapped lips. He licked at his lips and pulled his heavy robes tighter around his lithe frame although the cold still managed to sting his bones. Despite the late hour, the sky was moonless and the color of heavy crème. The ice around him reflected the sky like a large mirror, but beneath the surface, Sasuke could see the heavy darkness of the waters beneath.

Sasuke slowed as he approached the center of the lake, his feet coated in a thin layer of chakra – he didn't want to end up submerged under the frozen waters should the ice crack under his weight. Despite only knowing the basics of chakra manipulation from his studies, he had taken to the chakra exercises Orochimaru gave him quite quickly. Within a day, he had mastered the leaf and tree climbing exercises. Learning to walk on water had taken more time, especially when then un-frozen waters moved unsteadily beneath his feet. But within days he had mastered that as well, much to his own delight. Although Orochimaru was coy with his own reactions to Sasuke's progress, Sasuke surmised that the pale older man was pleased as well.

After that, the tasks became steadily more difficult. Sasuke was already adept at both Taijutsu and Kenjutsu but he had some difficulty manipulating kunai and shuriken. Genjutsus crumbled easily under his Sharingan, but creating them wasn't as easy as he might have guessed. But Sasuke was diligent in his studies even when Orochimaru wasn't around.

And Orochimaru didn't happen to be around often. Aside from the hours they spent training, the traitor shinobi left Sasuke to his own devices although sometimes Sasuke was sure that he could feel his presence even when he didn't see him. Orochimaru was strict, efficient and brutal in his tutelage, although his peculiar eyes always managed to sparkle as if he were in on some sort of joke that Sasuke did not yet know. While training, the snake shinobi kept his distance, instructing Sasuke from afar as if he were loath to touch him.

Sasuke spun around, looking left and right as if searching for someone as he plucked a small brown pill from the folds of his robe and quickly dry swallowed it, wincing at the bitter taste. As innocuous as the pill was, Sasuke suspected it was more of a performance enhancer rather than a mere supplement like Orochimaru claimed it was. But, as Sasuke had come to realize, he need only approve of the results, not the methods.

Immediately, Sasuke could feel his chakra coils burns with energy and his muscles tighten in anticipation as his Sharingan flared to life. Orochimaru had proved himself to be an invaluable asset in his quest to grow stronger, but even Orochimaru's seemingly limitless knowledge drew a line where the Sharingan was concerned. His only knowledge came from the dusty tomes he had read about the Dojustu back in Konoha and those were woefully lacking. So Sasuke had taken it upon himself to train his Sharingan, hoping to hone it so that not even the smallest of details would be able to escape his attention.

He could see the trees around him with amazing clarity – down to the thickly clustered boughs. The forest around the lake was tranquil; Sasuke could detect the restful energies of some birds slumbering in their nests and of some deer that were grazing just beyond the first ring of trees. But that wasn't what Sasuke was looking for as he grunted in frustration.

Why couldn't he find him? Could he have really moved so quickly as to have vanished out of Sasuke's range of sense or was he more skilled at hiding than Sasuke had attributed him for? If there was one person who was more of an enigma than Orochimaru it was Yakushi Kabuto.

Despite the initial humor in his attitude when he first saved Sasuke, his expression was often dour whenever Sasuke saw him henceforth. Sasuke noticed him staring at him often, as if he were a puzzle-box that Kabuto could just not piece together. He was never present during Sasuke's training sessions with Orochimaru and seemed to be missing from Orochimaru's underground compound more often than not. But Orochimaru seemed to give Kabuto a wide berth and when Sasuke finally grew suspicious enough to investigate, he hadn't been able to find anything worthwhile.

Despite the evidence, Sasuke's gut still told him something was off about the white-haired man so when Sasuke had seen Kabuto slip from the compound late this evening, Sasuke had given chase…until Kabuto somehow managed to evade him.

Sasuke shook his head, peering out into the moonless night. His Sharingan slowed to a gentle stop and the forest blended into a monochromatic wash of color.

He felt the spike of chakra only seconds before he heard the distinct sound of a body hitting the ice and the splintering crack afterward. "Oh Sasuke-hou. And here I thought you were done following me."

Sasuke whirled around, his eyes spinning madly. Kabuto's were like shiny steel underneath his lenses and his mouth was pulled into a thin line.

"Whatever should I do with you?"

Note2: One of the main inspirations for Temari's scene with Baki came from the Echo Dance in the film House of Flying Daggers. If you haven't seen it, you should definitely check it out. You can find the scene on YouTube.

Note3: Foochow is an older way of referring to Fuzhou which would be in the Land of Rain. The International Concession is this universe's equivalent of the French Concession in Shanghai.

Character Corner

Name: Eguchi Daichi
Shinobi Name: Shan Shi Zi
Age: 45
Height: '5-10"
Affiliation: Iwagakure
Specializes: Ninjutsu, Taijutsu, Kenjutsu
Born from a long line of prestigious shinobi, Daichi was born in Iwagakure. Gifted at an early age, Daichi joined the Iwa shinobi academy at age 7 before graduating at age 10 and recieving his own Jounin instructor. After being promoted to Jounin, Daichi was married to a skilled kunoichi and Asuka was born when Daichi was 19. As a gifted shinobi, Daichi was being considered for the role as the Fourth Tsuchikage when the Third Great Shinobi War broke out. After the death of the Third Tsuchikage Onoki, Daichi was automatically made the Fourth and was tasked with rebuilding Iwa after it had been almost destroyed by Konoha infiltrators.

Daichi often spent his childhood days in solitude and was considered a very serious and prideful person, even as he grew into an adult. Iwa's destruction at the hands on Konoha during the Third War was a huge blow to Daichi's pride as he was left to rebuild not only the village, but its reputation as well. This has fueled an intense hatred toward Konoha. When Daichi's wife meant to betray Iwa, he had her assassinated by Iwa ANBU forces despite the fact that he did love her. His affection and love for his family is often eclipsed by his ambition toward his village. His shinobi name means Mountain Lion.