Hey friends! Welcome back. It's been a busy month, I can't even begin to tell you, and I'm sorry for the long wait. Anyway, this chapter brings us to the end of Book Two and into the final stretch of this story. Woo-hoo!
And after 33 chapters, I finally present to you not one, NOT ONE, but two sex scenes. It's pretty PG-13 stuff here. But I thought I'd warn you (and no, obviously, there is no smut in the opening scene, only angst T-T)
My life is going to be very busy for the next month and a half: things are picking up with work, I will be house-hunting and hopefully moving, and I will also be participating in writing a Story-A-Day in September (google that, it's awesome). So my fanfic will have to take a back seat for just a little while. Expect another update on this fic at the end of September. Thanks for understanding.
Thanks so much to all my wonderful readers for being, well, wonderful, and to my splendid beta, Uchiha.s, who crushes spelling mistakes and grammatical errors beneath the heel of her shoe. Crush. Crush.
Without further ado: enjoy!
Chapter 34: Corona Borealis
At this point, Yuki was completely subsumed by Mukudori's consciousness: Mukudori's scream was Yuki's scream; the terror of one was of the terror of the other. For one moment, two candles had put their wicks together and had become one flame.
"Itachi!" Mukudori cried, her voice ringing hollow and shrill as she shrank back. Itachi gazed at her with cold, dispassionate eyes. Mukudori glanced to the side and saw her parents' corpses on the top of the stairwell; their blood ran down it in a red waterfall.
With horror, Mukudori looked back at Itachi―weren't they engaged? Wasn't she fated to bear his children cheerfully―and if not cheerfully, then quietly?
How could this be happening?
Itachi advanced on her, his sword still dripping with the blood of her kinsmen. Paralyzed by fear, Mukudori watched with vacuous fascination as his sword darted forward to pierce her heart―
Suddenly, an unseen hand parried Itachi's sword. His katana clanged to the floor, coming to rest at the foot of the wet, red stairs.
Mukudori regained control over her shaking limbs and gasped in renewed horror: Kaito had saved her―and now he, too, was doomed.
"Itachi!" Kaito snarled, "What the fuck is going on! Mukudori is your fiancé, for Kami's sake! What the..." Kaito trailed off when he noticed the corpses splayed at the top of the stairwell, their hearts still raining blood down the steps. Kaito's mouth was set in a firm line as he faced his adversary once more.
"Itachi. This is unforgivable!" He lunged for Itachi.
"Kaito—no!" Mukudori shrieked, finally finding her voice. She shook herself out of her stupor and activated her sharingan, but it was too late.
Kaito, who had no doujutsu, had no chance against Itachi. Even as Mukudori came to Kaito's side, Itachi had already run Kaito through with a kunai.
It wasn't long before Mukudori joined Kaito on the floor, a shuriken embedded in her heart. Itachi left through the open window in a swish of black fabric; in his wake, moonlight filtered in through the curtains, illuminating the room in silver and red.
Coughing up blood, Mukudori dragged herself over to Kaito.
"Kaito," she rasped, "why...?"
He grinned at her even as blood trailed down his face. "I love you, Mukudori-chan. Always have. I'm glad I got to...die...protecting you...like a true...shinobi..." His grin remained even as the light left his eyes. A cold shudder wracked his body, and then he lay still.
Mukudori clenched her teeth against the pain. This was it, then. She had been slain at the hands of her fiancé, and now her friend was dying because of her. No, not just a friend―her comrade; someone whom she might have truly loved, given the chance. It was here on the floor that her blood would pool with Kaito's, becoming one, at last, in death.
As she gasped her final breaths, Mukudori smiled a bittersweet smile, for she had been loved, albeit briefly. She looked out through the open window and saw the constellation called the Corona Borealis; the starry crown, which winked in the inky sky.
Mukudori mused that she was like that woman in mythology―the one whose lover had left her to die, but instead of perishing, had married a god. What was that woman's name, the one who had become the constellation of stars that Mukudori now gazed upon?
Mukudori closed her eyes and remembered the woman's name: Ariadne. Like Ariadne, Mukudori's own blood was wine, and Kaito—a macabre Dionysus.
Kaito, Mukudori thought with her last shreds of consciousness, come draw me up to the next world with you. I don't want to be alone, to linger here any longer...
In that instant of death, Yuki fled Mukudori's body and returned to herself: her soul flew up through the silvered window and up over the wheeling stars. A hand descended from the murky heavens and grabbed ahold of Yuki; it pulled her up through the purple clouds, until she stood in a white room.
Shaking all over, Yuki took in her surroundings. She looked at the hand clasping hers, and slowly, her gaze traveled up to his face. She gasped―
Ryuu stood before her, appearing as he had been before their fateful mission to Ame.
Naruto stood by the open window, thinking of his son. The moon above was a pale, sickly yellow; its light jaundiced everything it touched. Naruto regarded the moon as if it were an enemy spy, its shining face one of treachery and unrest.
Ever since afternoon, the village lay under a dense shroud: the air was humid and stifling. The only breezes that blew were hot and did not dispel the darkness in Naruto's heart.
He looked at his hands:hands which were said to be the strongest in the village. But these hands had not been able to to save his son. They had not been able to rescue Sasuke's daughter, either. What good was his strength if he could not save the village's children from early graves? He was unfit to be called Hokage, Naruto thought bitterly.
He looked back up at the moon; its pale light seemed to mock him. Naruto was about to draw the shade closed when a cool hand stopped him―it was Hinata, though he hadn't noticed that she had entered the room. He looked up into Hinata's eyes, as wide and luminescent as the moon itself; but unlike the moon, the light of Hinata's eyes didn't deprecate his grief. They shone with kindness and a soft, desperate sadness that mirrored his own.
"You feel it too, don't you, Hinata-chan?" Naruto withdrew his hand from the curtain and held onto Hinata's hand instead, lowering their entwined fingers to rest in his lap.
"What is this feeling, Naruto-kun?" Hinata whispered, her eyes looking up at the hazy sky. "I haven't felt so sad since Ryuu-kun..." She sniffled, and there was a long pause. "I thought it would get easier with time, but it doesn't. The grief just never stops..."
"It will probably never get better," Naruto confided in a whisper. He looked away from the moon and turned towards Hinata, whose eyes were closed; silver tears streamed down her face. He took a step closer to her and kissed her eyelids.
"I have a horrible feeling that things are about to get worse," Naruto murmured. "There is such a terrible feeling in the air―"
Hinata held a finger to his lips and stopped him.
"Let's not speak like this, Naruto-kun." She drew the shade, blotting out the moonlight, and they both sighed in relief. Naruto held Hinata close.
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm feeling so morbid," he muttered. "It's not like me."
"I'm tired, Naruto-kun," was her faint reply. "Let's go to sleep." She kissed his whiskered cheek and turned away in the darkness.
But when they lay in bed, they were unable to rest. Tossing and turning, the sheets twisted around their bodies. It was impossible to breathe; the air was viscous, and their minds would not let them rest. At last, unable to bear it any longer, Naruto reached for his wife; his hand grazed her bare back, and she turned to him. The sheets rustled, falling off the bed like old snake skins.
Sadness was eased by feather-light caresses, while kisses erased salty tears. Hope danced in the corners of their mouths; they defied the oppressive air by flying without wings. Here in the curve of a hip, in the bend of a knee, they remembered that dawn would come again; that the moon would disappear in time.
Hinata looked into her husband's eyes and saw his sorrow―but there was also softness, and joy, and light. She thought to herself that the darkness could never conquer Naruto's eyes. As long as his eyes held such a light, life was still possible.
And as they clasped each other, life blossomed in their bodies; it coursed through their hearts like a river fed with new rain.
With uneven breath, they shuddered against each other, and then lay still. Hinata rose up on her elbows and kissed his closed eyes, the source of her sunlight. He smiled sleepily and held her in his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder.
They had pushed back the oppressive curtain of night, and for that moment, it was enough. It was not an ending, but a beginning to many bright, precious things.
Takeo was in bed, Saki was sleeping over at the Uzumaki household, and Sasuke had not come home yet. Sakura didn't know where he was―he could have been dead for all she cared. Walking to her bedroom, she passed by the Yuki's vacant room; Sakura sighed bitterly.
It just didn't make any sense. Why did Yuki leave? Who was Akemi baachan, really? Certainly not a harmless old woman who sold antiques, that was for sure. And now her her baby...was gone.
Strangely, Saki had seemed to cheer up after her parents' failure to recover Yuki. Saki had said something about having faith, that Yuki had something she needed to do; the sentiment reminded Sakura of Naruto's indomitable faith in his friends. But what could Yuki, a ten-year-old slip of a girl, hope to accomplish by running away?
Was she even still alive?
Sakura bit her lip. She must not think like this―it would get her nowhere. But despite herself, she entered Yuki's room and sat on the cold bed. Bitterness and hatred welled up in her heart: it was Sasuke who had pushed Yuki over the edge, Sasuke who had made Yuki leave.
Sakura would never forgive him.
For all the times he had tried to murder her, or tried to murder Naruto and Kakashi-sensei, these assaults she could forgive. Even the death of the Konoha nin in the last war who had fallen by Sasuke's hand, this, too, she could forgive.
But placing their daughter in danger? Giving her a lethal weapon? Causing her to run away from home? No, this was beyond the pale of her compassion. Her heart became like a hard, withered pomegranate rattling with bitter seeds. Slow, hot tears fell from her face and onto Yuki's quilt.
Sakura was not a religious person, but in that moment, she was at her rope's end. What more did she have to lose, at this point? She clasped her hands together and thought about her parents, her ancestors, all in theory watching over her and her children.
"Mother…" she whispered, all vestiges of self-consciousness banished from her despair, "Father, Spirits, I don't know what to do. Please help me; watch over Yuki-chan..." she trailed off, tears choking her words.
She sat there for a long time until she was emotionally spent, and then with slow movements, like the hobble of an elderly woman, she made her way into her own bedroom. She didn't bother turning on the lights. She didn't change into her nightgown. She simply laid on the bed and looked up at the sky through her window. The moon, a sallow gibbous, hung like an evil eye.
Suddenly, her wan view of the moon was cast into darkness; she looked up and realized it was Sasuke standing over her. She wanted to scream at him―to tell him he could sleep on the floor again, or better yet, that he could go to hell, but her mouth was dry and her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She had no words. She merely stared, glassy eyed, up at the monolithic shadow that was her husband.
Sasuke made no motion to move, either; he simply stared down at his wife. They stayed like that for a while, until at last, Sasuke moved from the window and sat down on the bed next to Sakura. The moonlight returned, streaming its yellow, waxen light over Sakura's face and dyeing it a pale ocher.
Sasuke couldn't think of anything to say and, anyway, he knew that any words he might find would anger Sakura. He remembered his resolve to make Sakura hate him, to strengthen her resolve to kill him―he had no appetite for it now. The sentiment seemed puerile and insipid at a moment like this.
He had spent the evening sitting quietly on the roof, watching the sun set and the stars wink into existence. He was firm in his resolve to tell Naruto the truth about Madara, and with his decision came an empty kind of peace—a detachment from reality.
It was a tranquility that felt half like death, and half like something he couldn't name. He was an empty vessel, filled only by the passing moment. He was an artisial well: water constantly flowed through him, but nothing of permanence stayed.
But now, seeing Sakura's face bathed in the sickly moonlight, half of her face in light, half in shadow, the sorrow clearly etched in her lifeless eyes…this stirred Sasuke out of his cocoon of nothingness. It struck him that tomorrow would be the last day―the last day of Takeo's life, and by extension, the last day of his marriage. Sakura would no longer love Sasuke after he murdered Takeo, even if it was to save the village...
Sasuke took a deep breath and thought about the past ten years of his marriage. It hadn't always been beautiful, or enjoyable, or even special; but Sasuke wouldn't trade a single day of the past decade for anything. They were, without a doubt, the best years of his pitiful existence. Tonight would be the last night of his life; after this, if Sakura didn't kill him, then surely the guilt over Takeo's death would drive him down into the grave.
As if of its own volition, his hand brushed the half of Sakura's face that was bathed in shadow. She flinched, but did not move away. Her skin was cold. With the gentlest of movements, he ran his fingers through her hair, knotted from days of neglect but still soft and beautiful.
If exchanging fists was how he and Naruto understood each other, then this was how he and Sakura communicated. And perhaps the gulf between them had emerged from a lack of touch. Sasuke's hand in Sakura's hair was truth, and any words were mere shells of meaning. Sound beguiled, and sight deceived; the only truth was in silence and darkness.
Sasuke withdrew his hand then and, rising stiffly, he fumbled through his drawers. Sakura felt cold from the sudden withdrawal of his fingers, but she did not move; she merely looked up at the yellow moon. When Sasuke returned, he wore a scarf tied around his eyes, and in his hands he held another.
He leaned over her body and tied the fabric over her eyes. She didn't protest, or ask him what he was doing, or why; she was too weary to question him. She lay like a limp rag doll as he tied it in place. Then there was no moon, and there was no light, only darkness and the cloth that was damp from her fresh tears.
He kissed her. It was neither gentle nor passionate, it just was; but with it came electricity that animated her body. She forgot all the moments that came before this one, and she could not care for the moments that would follow. All her hate and anger seemed to have belonged to another person. Here, there was only darkness, and lips; calloused fingers brushing her hair and wiping the tears from her cheeks.
The wind blew in through the window; goose-bumps formed on her shoulders. Sasuke sighed, and his breath fanned out over her arms, making her shiver, but not from cold. Her mouth found purchase on his salty neck.
She breathed into the shell of his ear, whispering the silent song of her broken heart. And his fingers danced across her body as if he were playing an instrument, only she made no sound except the sound of her breath, which was the sound of the wind, or the ocean. With deft motions, they removed each other's garments; the clothing fell around them like yellowed leaves from autumnal trees.
When he touched her, the bare skin of her breasts, or the soft down on her neck, he was devouring her; when he moved inside of her, it was a small death each time; an exquisite death. Each breath she took shuddered inside of her, and each exhalation was a silent cry.
And she was weeping―her face was wet with her tears, while his tears were falling on her face and on her hair, until Sakura was sure that she was drowning; that the ocean was dissolving her in brine. She moved with the push and the pull of the tide, she was bathed in moonlight and in the sea. Inside her and around her were the silent whispers of his soul: crushing, dark, beautiful. It was sadness and insanity all in one, sonorous and dissonant and precious.
She held him until they both fell, their lips pressed together and their breath the same breath in surrender to each other. Stars pierced the darkness, dancing on their closed eyelids: this was life and death, the exquisite oblivion which can not be named, which has no words; only sorrow and ecstasy and dissolution.
They collapsed into each other like the crashing waves on the ocean. He held her, still inside of her; they fell asleep clothed only in moonlight and in darkness.
―――End of Book II―――
I was left for dead on the battlefield,
After the first, so called, great war;
My lifeblood pooling in the earth,
My eyes broken and dark.
She came striding through the carnage,
Like an angel draped in black;
When she saw my labored breathing,
She carried me on her back.
Saying "All my kin lay fallen,
My village is ash, smoldering in rain;
But your life I can save with my hands,
And the herb 'Angel of the Mountain.'"
I awoke the next morning,
Her brother's eyes where once were mine;
And gasping with my newfound sight,
Realized she hailed from the enemy's side.
I sat straight up in bed,
My blood all froze;
Crying "Why'd you save me, woman?
I'm the very one who razed your home."
She sighed, "My home has vanished in fire and smoke,
My family is all dead;
But your death won't bring them back―
Your death would mark one more among the dead."
I shook my head and cried, "It could have been I
Who killed your mother and dad!
Who set fire to your house and fields
And destroyed all you ever had."
Said she, "It does not matter at all to me―
They are dead, my dad and mother,
And likewise lifeless lay all my kin;
I've given you the eyes of my brother.
The sun always rises in the east,
In the west lays her weary head:
When you return to your village,
All that you once loved will also be dead."
The maiden traveled with me,
Back to the place of my birth;
It was all as she had prophesied―
All was dead and burned.
So the lady and I, we traveled south,
To the Mountains of the Aether;
And there we build a home,
Among the wild roses and the heather.
Singing prayers to the dead,
All cold and dumb in their graves;
War is the trumpet of the idiots,
Her soldiers all ignorant slaves.
Dark is the dawn in winter,
The sun obscured by snow;
Long is the night in December,
Where the stars coldly glow.
The battlefield is scattered with bones,
The ground is cold and frozen;
The ghosts of soldiers wander and groan,
Lost, incorporeal, and forsaken.
What is there to gain by firing
Hot forges and forming weapons;
Just to help the soldier kill for unknown gain,
Leaving the fields burned and barren.
I once had friends and kin,
And a wife by my side;
Now all I have are memories of war,
And exile on the mountainside.
The lady of the mountain,
She mourns both night and day;
Though the birds sing round our cabin,
They cannot keep the night away.
Song of the aether,
Where the air is thin and cold;
And the dance of the dragonflies,
Knows nothing of the burning in my soul.
Song of the aether,
Where the sea shapes the horizon gray;
And all the thoughts of yesteryear,
Poisons the movement of the day.
Song of the aether,
Where my heart feels small and old;
And every night we clutch at each other
For comfort that has grown cold.
a/n
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And see you again at the end of September!
Please review;)