Authot's Note: So what did you think of my prologue chapter eh? I know that writing a long introductory chapter without even making the characters meet or interact is totally boring. Considering that this is even an OC x Canon thing… I'm already pushing it aren't I?
BUT. I am selfish like that. There is no way I'm just gonna throw them together so they can create love triangles out of nowhere. This ain't no Amaterasu! So please, let's be patient.
As of 6/21/2014: I've added the partial script of the prophecy, Steorra Portentum and that journal entry I keep forgetting. Sorry not sorry. Do enjoy.
(more notes at the end)
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insignia of rarities
A C T – I
「 Steorra Portentum 」
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Do we make our destiny or does destiny make us?
·×◊×·
STEORRA PORTENTUM
When the five elements are scourging the lands,
And calamities roil in the heavens,
The Daughter of Creation shall be borne,
In the rarest of lineages who dwell in the versatile
southern waters, who once drew
tears from Izanami's eye.
However, hark, the blood of those who have
Heaven's crimson eye
taints Her flesh.
A reminder of Her mortality and the failure
of Her mother's kin, but also a proof
that the even the gods are merciful
For they will allow mankind to have hope, the
means to have peace
through the Daughter who can hear
the pleas of the weak, the prayer of the sick, the
lamentations, the ache, the deepest desires of
those who come to Her.
And mark this portent to be true;
even a thing created from nothingness,
has a price, both trivial and dear.
She is servant to mankind.
What your heart asks for, you will have
Nothing more, nothing less.
And if She ever loves,
All will be right again.
as all comes to those who love.
Unity will bind the people,
Hope will rise from the ashes,
And the lands will come to know peace.
But once, twice, thrice broken,
Famines will ravage human flesh,
War will ride with Death, burning
everything to ashes. The world will come
to know of Her heart's scorn. For the darkest
of shadows are born of the brightest light.
'Tis better to spare the world of Her
wrath for it will surely bring only sorrow and suffering.
And so, exile her heart, encage it,
lest the curse of Hatred and Despair reach
its corners and illuminate darkness
upon the world.
—
(partial script from an abandoned shrine, translated from Mandarin. Land of Water, undated)
An Oracle once told me we are all part of the universe.
Our bodies are small, compact collections of the cosmos. Moving, colliding, separating. Our life cycle does not begin with birth, does not end with death. Before we are born, after we die, the in-between, even as we move towards our next life, we are part of the infinite tapestry. We constitute the universe and the universe constitutes us. Everyone you have met, everyone you will ever meet is just the universe unfolding.
How do I begin telling a story that has begun long before my time? Where do I begin a tale as placeless as the wind?
How do I start telling a story that is infinite?
Maybe I will start with what I have, what I remember. So I begin my tale with recollections. Gifts, said the Oracle who gave them to me, to help me pass eternity. These recollections are the result of multi-layered reminiscence. The retention of separate events by different people. This way, whatever transpired eighty years ago will have a semblance of authenticity, an evidence. Because one's memory can be a deceptive thing, it can be fabricated and reshaped to our desire, but combined, affirmed by many, it becomes a window to the truth.
These borrowed memories will tell you what I can't. I am passing these memories onto you now, a memory into another. Whatever you make of them, I leave entirely up to you.
But as the shinobi saying goes, learn to look underneath the underneath.
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S C E N E – I
byrth
·×◊×·
The first storm of the revolution rages against everything. Trees bow to its breath, the earth shakes against its torrential rain. It cleaves the very sky with its lightning, sings its song with thunder. This storm welcomes the birth of Himura Kaito's bastard child.
Faced with the calamities inside and outside its walls, tonight the House of Himura is a house of ghosts. The servants have been ordered to abandon their posts and retreat to their quarters as soon as the news spread. The Patriarch has gathered all the clan members in the palace to pray. Even throughout the Isle, every family under the Himura's protection has lit incense. They all ask the gods for Lady Kaito's strength and the child's safety.
All except for one.
Lady Himura Ayako, princess royal of the Himura, seer of the future, considers herself above prayers. She sits two rooms away from where her sister is giving birth, turning the pages of a book in her hand slowly. She looks at the text but unseeingly, her attention focused somewhere else. Kaito must not fail the Portentum. There can be no mistakes in the correcting of one.
A flash of lightning. A bright vision of Kaito smiling at two dark-haired children—
The shoji[1] to the hall slides open.
Hiroshi, Ayako's lady-in-waiting, bows low. "Mistress, Lady Kaito has given birth," she says. In the corner of her eye, Ayako can see the servant's hands trembling.
A complication?
She snaps the book shut. Of course. Kaito, the good for nothing fool that she is. In fluid movement, she stands up and walks outside the waiting room. No light shines in the hallway. Hiroshi stands as well, taking Ayako's book and begins to follow the princess royal to Kaito's room.
"No," Ayako stops in her tracks, fires her instructions methodically, "You are to relay the news to Lord Daisuke. Get a message to Asoka-hime as well. I don't want just anyone; send for messenger Li. Fetch the silk we bought from the Land of Moon—yes, the one woven by the Muses," a brief hesitation then, "…and might as well send for Qiang on your way."
Hiroshi is about to take her leave when Ayako adds, "But first, wash yourself, Hiroshi. You stink of blood."
The lady-in-waiting bows low once more, disappears into the shadows of the opposite direction.
The midwife and her helpers stand on the doorway of the room, heads bowed. Ayako looks beyond their sweat-shined faces, into the room, senses the complication grow stronger. Two girls, hand in hand, playing with two boys. One boy is black haired, the other silver. Senju?
No.
"Leave!" she barks. The women scurry away and the princess royal quickly steps inside, heavy kimono rustling as she moves, her porcelain hands pulling the doors shut behind her.
Here, the smell of blood and shame.
Himura Kaito sits on the bed, auburn hair clinging to her face and neck, dark circles around her eyes. Her exhaustion shows, but her smile is bright enough to light the darkened room with the two bundles of cloth in her arms. It is broken the moment she sees her older sister. Kaito tenses, arms around her babies suddenly defensive.
Ayako turns away.
Twins.
"You know no boundary in shaming our house," Ayako begins, hides her hands in the sleeves of her robe and grips her elbows tightly. "First, that Uchiha and now this. You know the Portentum spoke of only one child!"
"Ayako—"
"Disobeying the clan is one thing, Kaito, but the gods?"
Lightning. Wind. Kaito sounds pained, "I didn't mean to, Aya-chan—"
"How do you expect—" the idea strikes her swiftly, "No matter, we may still fix this."
"How? Can you see…"Kaito hesitates, voice quiet. Ayako's clairvoyance always makes her, and everyone,uneasy.
A crash of thunder.
"We must kill the younger one of the twins."
Ayako looks at her sister for the first time, sees Kaito's ashen face as lightning illuminates it. A small part of her triumphs, seeing Kaito this way.
Thunder roars outside, reverberates around the room. One of the infants starts to cry.
"Y-You can't," whispers Kaito, rocking the crying child. The scene is pitiful, a doomed mother and now a doomed child. It disgusts Ayako, seeing a Himura helpless (how the mighty have fallen). Then a look of understanding crosses Kaito's features. As if renewed with new hope, her mouth curves into a small smile. "You can't," she repeats, louder this time. "The Lǐwù[2]."
"What?"
The lightning reveals a cold glint to Kaito's eyes that takes Ayako off guard. It resembles their father's too much.
"The Kekkei Genkai," Kaito repeats it in the crude shinobi language, almost smugly now, "It skips."
The infant's cries grow louder. Kaito has stopped rocking her child for now she fights for her child's life. "You of all know this, Ayako. My children are twins. If you kill—" her throat catches at the word, "—either of them, you are cutting our lineage shorter than it already is. And you risk destroying the prophecy."
Anger fills Ayako. "How dare you. Who let our blood mix in with those dogs? Who asked for my help, begging for forgiveness and mercy? It was you.
"And I did help you, didn't I? I risked father's wrath, I've pleaded to the gods. The least you could do is do it right. And now you use the name of our lineage against me like you haven't betrayed us, the gall! If not for your idiocy we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place! Our family would lose face, my soul forever condemned by Izanami while you and your—your—"
"I've already sacrificed too much of my children to satisfy the whims of the gods. I'd rather let our clan die than let you kill my daughter."
Ayako stands stunned into silence. Words fail her and seeing this, Kaito softens. Some things reach bone deep, some deeper than others.
"I know," Kaito shifts her gaze down to her newborns, rocking them both gently, "It must hurt you, being asked to save an outsider and his children when you couldn't even—"
"Enough," Ayako's hands steady themselves. Lightning. Thunder. When Ayako breaks the silence, her voice is resigned, tired, "They say life for us Himura is easy; our clan is rich, powerful. Our lineage is blessed by the gods… But we are also cursed by them. They gave us power—and heartache. That is our destiny."
The wind howls outside. Rain pelts down on the roof. For a long while, they let history and the storm fill the empty question: Why is there so much ache around this house?
"There will come a day when even Izanagi will forgive us," Kaito whispers, letting it hang in the air for a moment before lifting the baby girl on her right arm.
"Shin," she says, following the Himura tradition to name the eldest child first. Lifting the one on her left, she says, "and Aki."
The princess royal takes a deep breath, holds it, and moves toward the left side of the bed. Ayako notes how Shin is much smaller than her twin. You'll be the one who will carry the heavier burden. She reaches out a hand to touch the forehead of the infant, summons her clairvoyance.
Midnight hair, alabaster skin. Bells. A necklace. Blindfold. A great fire. Ah, this one will be obedient, quiet, this one will—
Pulling her hand away quickly, Ayako stands back, schools her heart into its normal beat. For a fraction of a second, it tempts her to touch Shin again, to look, to tell her sister what she has seen but no. There is a limit to these kinds of things and she has sworn an oath and she just can't.
"Hark," she says instead, prays that finally the gods are appeased. Because, even without their wrath, there surely are more sorrows to come. "It is done."
—
Outside the room, Qiang, master blacksmith of the Himura, hears the keywords. It is done.
He shakes his head; Ayako will pay dearly for what she's asked him to do, what she's about to set in motion. Threading through spiritual energies, he seeks out Lord Daisuke's presence to check that the Eleventh Patriarch is nowhere near the prison compound. It is time to congratulate the Uchiha in his cell. After all, he is now a father.
Himura Qiang disappears into the shadows, butterfly swords[3] in hand.
—·×·—
Across the shores of Oregano, in the borders of the Land of Fire. The message from Himura Ayako arrives to the Senju stronghold at midnight.
"The Himura clan sends their gratitude to the Senju for your invaluable help," the soft Sinitic[4] tongue of the messenger, who introduced himself as Li, makes the native language sound foreign even to Asoka's ears. "And congratulates you and Butsuma-sama for your… splendid firstborn."
Ignoring the undertone in Li's voice and the insulted air of Taka in the corner, Senju Asoka smiles widely. Butsuma had specifically told her not to do so, especially in front of those who were not allies, but she cannot help it. Taka once remarked that Asoka looks like an overenthusiastic Inuzuka beast every time her son is complimented.
She holds up the bubbling two-month old to show him to the messenger kneeling just outside the room.
"Oh thank you very, very much! His name is Hashirama. Isn't he a dumpling?" Asoka catches the disproving stare of Taka, her long-suffering attendant, almost hears her say, I am going to tell Butsuma-sama. So with all the dignity of someone who has been caught picking her nose, she straightens in her seat, arranges Hashirama on her lap and clears her throat.
"Uh, oh yes. That happened seven moons ago though. We stumbled upon your culprit only by chance. I don't think it is of consequence now. But I do congratulate the Kaito-hime on her twins."
"It is of consequence to us, Asoka-hime. If you have not caught that Uchiha dog…"—here unfounded dislike spikes through Asoka—"…traveling your borders, the second princess might have been… The Patriarch Daisuke considers it as a personal debt. The Senju have saved his daughter from certain death."
She swallows, the gravity of circumstances dawning upon her. If the Himura representatives came a minute too late, Himura Kaito would have been executed along with that Uchiha. Not a wise thing to say. Instead, she chooses her next words carefully, neutrally, says what Butsuma taught her to say.
"I understand perfectly. I will make sure to relay your sentiment to my husband."
Vague and polite, just as she rehearsed it. In her peripheral vision, Taka nods in approval. Ha!
Beyond the customary respect, Butsuma wants nothing from the other clan, and Asoka knows that the sentiment is mutual. It is because their pride is insulting, Butsuma once said, and they are not even shinobi. One misplaced word can start a hostility that the Senju does not need right now. Dealing with the Uchiha already proves more than enough. Besides, there have been stories…
In her arms, Hashirama tugs at her silver hair.
Senju Asoka dares not speak in her husband's stead. Even if war has called the clan leader away from their stronghold and his wife now stands as his placeholder, she has no right. But that doesn't mean she cannot ask.
"Forgive me, but I'd like to know," the glare of Taka burns a hole on her forehead, "What did the Himura do to make the Uchiha kidnap the Patriarch's daughter?"
"We do not pick petty quarrels with shinobi," to his credit, Li tries to keep the condescension subtle, "It's not what we did, but what we can do."
Lie. If there is anything good about being married to Butsuma, it's being able to detect lies. There is more to it than that. The Uchiha would never resort to stealing power. They are too proud for that. However, something in Li's words ring true. What we can do. It makes Asoka's stomach churn.
She makes eye contact with Taka, who shakes her head imperceptibly. Should it matter? It does not concern us.
"And here is a letter from the princess royal Ayako-sama. For you."
Asoka furrows her brows. A written letter these days are dangerous, easily lost, misgiven. Receiving one from someone she has never met makes it more risky. Not able to keep discomfort off her face, she nods to Taka, indicating her to take the bamboo scroll from Li's outstretched hand.
A., Don't fret, your firstborn will have your heart and your next child will look just like you. A son.
—H.A.
She reads the message. Awfully direct. No names, no places, just initials. Asoka feels a small measure of relief for the princess royal's discretion. It shows courtesy and tactfulness unexpected of a non-shinobi. Then it sets in.
…your firstborn will have your heart
Asoka's heart jumps. She looks at the scroll again, reads and rereads. There is something about the words…that sound portentous. The Senju do not believe in fortune-telling, in fact, they abhor it. Asoka is no different, but the back of her neck prickles the way it does when someone breathes down too close behind her. She instinctively presses Hashirama to herself. Taka moves forward, eyes trained on the scroll, her hand already reaching inside her yukata—
"No," it's Asoka's turn to give Taka a look that says do not cause a scene. She opens her mouth, formulates a diplomatic way to say it. What sort of trick is this? Who is this Ayako, who is she to tell me things about my son?
Li beats her to it. "I am not allowed to divulge information about my masters. But believe me, Asoka-hime, when I say that whatever Ayako-sama has written, it is the truth. Or it will be."
She glances at the drenched royal messenger before looking out the window. Right across the stronghold, many miles away, a storm churns above the Isle of Oregano's mountainous silhouette. The Himura resides there, keeping to themselves, surrounded by myth and stories. A weight lands on her chest and suddenly she wants this messenger out of her sight, out of her home, wants nothing to do with his masters.
Your next child will look just like you.
A son. The scroll closes with a sharp clack.
Taka takes the cue. Her voice cuts the silence with barely masked condescension, "Did you row out in the storm?"
"Yes."
"Then please take great care in rowing back."
Li nods his covered head, "Before I leave, let me impart something to you Asoka-hime."
"You—"
"Taka."
"I am overstepping a line, of course, but I am a Himura too, even if I am only a courier and your clan has been accommodating enough," continues Li, oblivious to Taka's now seething aura.
"I suggest you make a wish."
The whole scene is suddenly very comical. Asoka raises her eyebrows, unsure what to make of that.
Li must have seen the look on her face, because he explains, "It is common tradition in Oregano to make a wish whenever a Himura is born. It is said that the gods open their ears for prayers."
In her corner, Taka rolls her eyes.
"Indeed?"Asoka has to make an active effort to keep herself from laughing.
As if sensing her restrained laughter, Li's voice turns joking (mocking?) as well, "They say it is a way of consoling the world, for allowing such abominations to be born."
—
Shortly after the messenger Li has left, Taka storms out of the room, muttering something about elitist superstitious bastards and gullible wives of clan leaders.
"Let's just hope Touka won't grow up to be as grouchy as her," laughs Asoka. "And you, little boy, I hope you don't get Butsuma's stupid jawline and his horrid snoring and—"
She stills. Hashirama looks up at her, blinking his big eyes sleepily. Her boy is the spitting image of his father. His brown skin, his round cheeks, dark eyes…
One day, he will grow up into a man.
When that day comes, Hashirama won't be her precious dumpling anymore. Hashirama will be a man, a warrior. Will burn the lands, dance too close to death. He will kill other sons, plough into daughters. In time, he will also wrap his fingers around a slender neck and make purple and yellow bloom across skin. Take what is not his, discard it after it loses its taste. Just like her husband.
Hashirama will be another Butsuma.
Your next child will look just like you. Asoka needs not be told. Inevitably, Hashirama won't be the last son she will have, not the last son who will kill and be killed. If Ayako foretells the truth, then the only difference will be that Asoka's second born will have his mother's face when he, too, wields the blade.
Asoka shuts her eyes, afraid for (of) her son (or should she say sons?). That is not what she wants, for her son to make war, to turn another girl into his mother. To have a daughter who will be just. like. her.
your son will have your heart
She turns the words over and over and over in her head, until they sound foreboding. Melancholy. Someone like Himura Ayako never understood those who live in constant war, does not know what those words mean to her. Those who have hearts like Asoka never live long. Not in here, where death waits just outside the door. Shinobi have no need of hearts made of cotton, they need hearts of blade and fire.
But.
Looking at her son, Asoka wonders if it is possible, if tenderness and compassion is enough for her boy to survive. If she can teach him how to do it. Your son will have your heart.
Will it be strong enough?
"I guess trying out that Himura bull wouldn't hurt," Asoka smiles, kisses her son's soft cheek, "I only have one wish. Strength for you, my dear Hashirama. Strength to change the world so that it isn't so."
—·×·—
In the western forest of the Land of Fire, another birth takes place. This one, in the camps of the Uchiha clan.
Between the cold and the pain, light.
Bones aching, Uchiha Hikari strokes her infant's forehead. She refuses to close her eyes, to rest, afraid that when and if she wakes, her baby would be gone (like the other one, the last one).
Somewhere, she hears the disembodied voice that has been plaguing her for the past year say, "When one life leaves this world, another replaces it. When you lose something, you gain another. Equivalent exchange. You've lost a son, now here's his replacement."
Replacement, the word sits ugly in Hikari's throat. As if the boy in her arms is an object of barter, a trade.
"Okaa-san?" the voice turns into her son's, mocking, "Are you replacing me already? Will you name him Sora as well? Cut his hair short like mine—?"
"Stop it! Don't mock my son's memory!"Hikari shouts in agitation.
"Okaa-san? Have you replaced me?"
"No," cries Hikari, "No one replaces anyone. My boy is not a replacement!"
Laughter echoes in the room in her ears in the cavity of her chest.
"You are right. That boy is not a replacement. He is simply another son to lose."
The Sharingan activates. Everything becomes too clear, too crisp, too sharp around the edges. Hikari scans her surroundings, looking for the source of the laughter that grows louder, louder, LOUDER—
"Okaa-san?"
Sora stands at the edge of her futon, black eyes studying her. Blood drips from his left temple. Sora, the firstborn of Uchiha Hikari, whose life stopped at five, head punctured with a kunai. Sora, who's dead.
"Okaa-san. Will you let him die like me?"
You are not my son, not my son. Suppressing a scream, Hikari shuts her eyes until everything goes quiet.
—
The Sharingan does not fade for a long time. She does not know how to deactivate it yet, she can only wait. So to while away the time and the voices, Hikari watches her infant son. Memorizes every feature, counts every breath.
When the Sharingan disappears, Hikari presses her lipson her son's head, "You are my light, my son."
"Our son."
Tajima stands panting by the door, dripping wet, smelling of rain, "I came as fast as I could when I heard."
Even in her presence, he keeps his Sharingan activated. It insults Hikari in a way, for it displays distrust. As if he is wary of his own wife, and now, his own son.
Even so, she does not deny her husband civility (and love). "Come, look at your son. He has your eyes. Puffy."
"I would like to hold him, but I'm sopping wet!" laughs Tajima, his mouth almost apologetic. To Hikari, it looks pathetic, cowardly. "Besides I have to go back to the borders… A troop of Senju has been spotted traveling half a league[5] away from here."
She only nods, turns toward her baby boy instead. Sensing her coldness, Tajima's voice turns placating, "What will we name him?"
"Why not name him Sora."
To ignore the return of the voice, Hikari brings herself back to a dear memory from childhood. The sea lulls the world with a morning song.
A fainter, "Sora."
Her mother and sisters, running towards the call out to her, to come in, the water's fine. This is just before the next war and everything is bright. Seagulls flying across the blue expanse. This is the only peace Hikari knows.
The waves pull her in, push her back, white foam dancing around her arms. On her lashes, beads of water that look like pinpoints of light.
Like spots.
Opening her eyes to the bleak world, Hikari looks at Tajima, his face lined with war and fighting, his eyes bright like blood. Her ears still hear the waves, the wind, drowns out the voice that laughs, "You've lost a lover, gained a husband instead. Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
I will not lose another son. Waves of calm pull her in now, push her back. Strangely devoid of fear and grief, she utters a prayer to the universe. Please let my son find peace, just like I did.
"Madara," she whispers, a smile breaking in her face for first time since Sora's death, "His name is Madara."
—·×·—
The first storm of the revolution rages against everything. Trees bow to its breath, the earth shakes against its torrential rain. It cleaves the very sky with its lightning, sings its song with thunder. The wheels of Fate have started to move.
·×◊×·
Author's Note II: (slow clapping) Well if you are reading this, it means you actually waded your way through this muck. (Or you just skipped to the end, you sneaky you). So, I bet you are confused. I wouldn't know where to start explaining anyway so if you want, go ask questions! It will also help me with plot holes that I may have overlooked.
And yes. I did use Chinese names for Li and Qiang. Why? You can guess. Or maybe just find out in the next chapters. Besides, I wanted to show a small bit of Hashirama and Madara's mothers because they will be key figures in how the two will grow up into their respective surroundings. Their dads shouldn't get all the limelight, y'know. I also took into considerations how women would have been treated at the time. Unfair but wait till the revolutionaries come in.
So before this note becomes as long as the work text, thank you for reading and tell me what you think!
Words:
[1] Shoji: Japanese sliding door.
[2] Lǐwù: means "gift" in Chinese
[3] Butterfly sword: a short dāo, or single-edged blade, having a crossguard like those of the sai. It is roughly as long as a human forearm. Usually wielded in pairs. A pair of swords will often be carried side by side within the same scabbard, so as to give the appearance of a single weapon.
[4] Sinitic: Of or relating to the Chinese people or their language or culture
[5] League: An obsolete unit of distance of variable length (usually 3 miles)