Chapter 85 - Urban Legend
Yakata gathered his courage with a swallow, shifted his bag over his shoulders, and went into the forest.
It wasn't like any forest he'd been in before. The trees were enormous; tall, with thick trunks and an even thicker canopy that let barely any sunlight through. The ground was damp, almost springy. Yakata tread carefully, unable to keep his eyes on any one thing for more than a few seconds. The air was thick with humidity and sounds both distant and near, and it tasted like moss and ozone.
The hyper-observation was all Yakata could fall back on so as not to panic. He was unfamiliar with the area, of course, but focusing on his surroundings helped in keeping his more distressing thoughts away.
Though they inevitably crept in anyways, and horribly so.
After all, why was it he was in this strange, dark place to begin with? Because people wanted to kill him, because of things that he had done in another life, with another name.
Even with every protestation rising in his throat, Yakata kept quiet. Though he would occasionally clutch his arms and squeeze himself, tightly, when his fear began to get the best of him.
Come on, you can't get scared now, you have to keep walking, you have to keep walking or they'll find you.
Sometimes this did nothing to help his fear, but at least it kept him somewhat distracted at the same time.
He managed, after a while, to find a river, which he supposed was as good a landmark as any to follow, so he wouldn't get lost. Following a riverbank was easy, and there were rocks here and there that Yakata felt he could recognize if he ever needed to turn back. Plus, the river would probably lead to the fence, so…
But he didn't want to go near the fence, not at all. They would find him if he did that. They would take him away, put him away somewhere, or kill him.
But I don't want to hurt anyone, I don't, I don't, I don't, Yakata thought, desperately, to himself. Even though he doubted it would be accepted as truth by the people out to get him. Not if he was no different than Itachi, not with a record like his.
He still didn't understand how in the world such a thing was even possible. Bringing a person back from the dead? That was something that could only be done in books, right? Yakata was just a normal kid, he wasn't reborn…
But unable to really help himself, Yakata sat down against a tree stump after walking along the riverbank for a good long while, and he took out the photograph that Sasuke had given him, all those weeks ago. The photograph of what he had once considered distant family.
Nothing had changed in the picture, naturally; there was still the stern-faced man that was Sasuke's father, Fugaku; his gently-smiling mother, Mikoto; a younger, happier Sasuke.
And there: Itachi.
The resemblance, however, was no longer a fascinating coincidence to Yakata, as it once had seemed. It was exact, and it was terrifying.
That was Yakata's face. Yes, his hair was longer, tied back with the bangs loose; yes, his expression was stern, serious, almost more mature than Fugaku's own thin-lipped stare.
But that was his face.
Yakata hastily stuffed the photograph back into his bag and closed it tightly, looking around, as if expecting someone to have been spying on him.
His heart was racing, far more intensely, now, than the quickened thump it had possessed before. Why, exactly, the photograph was so convincing, he couldn't quite tell. Perhaps all it took was a re-examination of the evidence, now that the façade had been ripped away—and, truly, Yakata's mind began wandering in other places after seeing that face, and making that connection of ownership.
All those skills he had, were they because he was naturally talented, like he had been in the past? Or were they abilities, long-forgotten, returning with Sasuke's training?
Would he get other memories back? Stronger memories?
(Memories of having killed all those people.)
Yakata shook his head, as if he could get the thoughts out of his mind like water from his hair. It didn't help much.
So he began to walk, to try and focus on his surroundings—anything other than himself.
No, no, no, that was impossible, that was impossible, like he was going to suddenly have memories of things he'd never done before. It hadn't happened yet, so why would it happen now?
…but then again, why wouldn't it happen? This was impossible to begin with. But it was true. And people were trying to kill him for it.
Yakata began to walk faster, but he found himself staring at his hands, now, rather than the trees around him.
But he wasn't a killer, he wasn't, he didn't want to hurt anyone, not ever, he was just scared and he wanted to go home, where it was safe, where there weren't people who wanted to hurt him, where his Mama and his Papa (and other people that hated him for better reasons) lived.
He wanted to go home. And he was going home, he just had to trust Takeru, trust Sasuke, who wanted to protect him, who didn't want him to turn out like he had been before, who was concerned about a corruption of the soul or the mind or-!
But it had set in when Nadeshiko was eight years old and she had been trained for years and Yakata was ten and he had only started training but-!
But he didn't want to hurt people, he just-!
And suddenly there was a strange, wet, clicking noise, coming from above Yakata's head, and it made his knees lock in place as he whipped his head around in trying to find it.
It was a centipede. An enormous one, with mandibles like dinner knives and fiercely wiggling antennae.
Yakata ran.
The centipede gave chase. It did not seem to be as fast as Yakata, but what it lacked in speed it made up for in fierceness and tenacity. Minutes that felt like hours passed and Yakata's legs were starting to burn, but the insect was still mere feet behind him, lashing out for a bite every now and then.
He was too scared to think, too scared to wonder what sort of nature reserve would house a creature such as this, too scared to even consider which direction to take. He knew only to run.
And then he tripped—perhaps because he truly hadn't seen the root, or perhaps because his legs, in their fatigue, had grown clumsy and more prone to such things. But he fell to the ground, hard, and was barely able to scoot himself against the trunk of the tree to avoid the centipede's approach.
He was unarmed, gasping for breath.
When a thought occurred to him, from strange, higher reaches in his brain: Use fire.
His hands came together and apart in whip-fast movements, and a sun-hot sensation in his chest began to grow and move into his mouth.
The blast that resulted enveloped the centipede in flame, and it unleashed an almost otherworldly screech as its exoskeleton popped and fizzed from the heat. It was with far greater speed that the creature retreated, still smoldering, leaving nothing but a horrible smell like burning hair.
Yakata pressed his back against the bark as he regained his breath, listening to the sound of the centipede's rampage receding.
It was then that the questions came, though the first question was a new one.
How did I know to do that? To use fire like that?
The logical answer, the one that he told himself to keep his mind from seizing with anxiety, was that it was only natural to use fire against bugs, who scuttled away from under the magnifying glasses of other boys, that it was a skill he had learned from Sasuke and had no reason to mistrust.
Yes, that was logical, that made sense, it was perfectly all right.
The quickness of his thinking disturbed him enough to keep his self-comfort from growing in much magnitude, and to ensure that his hands would not stop shaking, no matter how hard he tried to clench them into fists, or to his arms.
He managed to stand, after a long while. He felt well up to running again, but continued walking through the woods, conserving his energy, determined to find a safer place, one without giant devil-bugs. He'd lost sight of the river, and considered trying to find it again—but considering that was where he had found the giant centipede, he didn't know how safe it would be.
Besides, what did it matter if he got lost? Takeru would find him, eventually.
…eventually.
Looking up, it was hard to tell what the time of day was. The sky was metal-gray, and growing darker, from what snatches of it Yakata could see through the leaves. It looked like rain, and soon. Surely there were rocks or hollowed-out trees to be found for him to stay in, for when the rain eventually came. This only made him walk faster, eyes wildly scanning the horizon, both near and far, for shelter.
It began to rain long before that. The canopy managed to collect a fair bit of water and keep it from the falling, but still it fell, thick and inconsistent, to the ground, and within a few minutes, Yakata was utterly soaked. Wiping his face every few seconds to keep his eyes clear, he realized that the rain would probably keep the thicker-shelled bugs—if they were around—away from him.
He was momentarily caught by a mental image of giant, man-eating earthworms coming out of the ground to swallow him whole. He managed to dispel the thoughts with relative ease, compared to his other worries.
The rain also meant that whatever shelter he managed to find would also probably be occupied, but that was a chance he had to take. He didn't want to wander about in the rain for hours and get a cold from it.
Though he supposed it would be better to be home with a cold than dead and dry. He continued on.
Shelter came in the form of a small, rocky overhang. It wasn't much, but it was dry, and much preferable to the caves that Yakata had managed to find before it, which smelled bad and had the sounds of things scratching and crawling echoing from far inside. Though by the time Yakata found his patch of dryness, his clothes were soaked through and clinging to his skin, and very heavy. He was shivering, now, half out of fear, and half from the chill.
Yakata sat down, deciding to wait out the rain and warm up as much as he could. He took off his pants and shirt and laid them on the rock wall beside him to dry, and held his knees and waited and tried not to think, leaning against his pack for support.
(A voice inside his head, much like the voice that had destroyed the centipede, was telling him to make a fire with his breath to get warm.)
(Yakata refused.)
Eventually, his skin dried, which brought with it a minimal comfort, though the bandages on his face and arms were soaked to the point of uselessness, so he removed them. Being dry was preferable to the minor sting of his exposed skin. He also took some of the clothes from his pack that had remained dry—folded neatly by Ino, he noticed, with a twist of his stomach—and put them on, which helped a little more.
The comfort was small, but enough for him to nestle into.
Like the cold, it covered his mind like a blanket, and kept him from thinking.
About his true identity.
About Nadeshiko.
About his old family.
About Sasuke.
About all the people he had killed.
About his dangerous mind and fingers.
About when Takeru would find him, and how.
That last thought was benign enough to obsessively polish, so Yakata held fast to it, assuring himself that Takeru would find him (somehow), that he'd go home (somehow), that everything would be okay (somehow).
He fell asleep.
He woke three times in the passing hours. The first was when he found himself suddenly unable to breathe, which was because his head had slumped onto his legs, and his chest had constricted as a result. He resituated himself so that he was laying against his pack, which had dried some in the time passing, but the unbearable coldness was harder to ignore, seeming to constrict him now, rather than merely blanket him.
Still, he pushed past it, and drifted away to avoid thought and worry.
The second awakening occurred when he thought he felt something slithering over his arm and face, and wildly flailed his hands around in an effort to find what had found him. But no centipede nor snake was present, just Yakata and his harshly-beating heart, laced with paranoia.
He breathed more slowly, this time, arms holding shivering knees, cold holding shivering body.
The third time he awoke to a cold-wet-hot sensation on his shoulder, and turned over in waking to find a bear in his face.
Yakata bolted against the rock wall, knocking over his pack in the process. It was, by then, very dark, almost night-like. But the outline of the bear was astonishingly clear, as if Yakata could see every hair on its back, every wrinkle in its young face. And even with that, its stink was the most noticeable; a cave-stink.
There seemed to be only one of them, thank goodness.
But that was still one too many.
The bear, sniffing, almost gurgling curiously, was loping towards him.
Yakata stumbled to his feet and ran.
He did not even look back to see if the bear would follow, or if it would remain behind, distracted by the stronger scents of his pack and drying clothes and discarded bandages.
The only thing that followed him, however, was the cold, which cloaked the thick raindrops that stung the skin on his chest and face like thrown, familiar stones. Thunder rumbled over the crackle of the rain, paired with flashes of light that threw everything into sharp, blinding color for seconds that stretched on for far too long in Yakata's mind, the shapes distorting and the colors growing saturated in the after-image.
Yakata's thoughts were clear but too quick for coherence.
The only constants were the rain, the hot tears on his burning eyes, and the unbearable desire for safety, for home.
"Help!"
(Home with his Mama and Papa.)
"Some, someone, please!"
(Home in the flower shop with Nadeshiko.)
"Takeru-san, where, where, where are you?"
(Home in the warm, dry arms of someone who cared.)
"Ta-Takeru-san!"
(Someone who didn't want to hurt him.)
"Please, suh-someone…!"
(Someone who didn't hate him.)
"Help!"
And someone came.
Though the trees came first.
The path, which had been, before then, muddy and twisting and dark but open, became congested with moving branches that stretched forth like arms, rather than swaying from the wind. This became even more apparent when Yakata tried to slow down and find another path, but was enveloped in the unnaturally flexible wood instead.
He struggled, trying to free his arms from the strange bindings and flee, but he was being turned around all the same to face the way he had come.
He tried to scream, and couldn't, his voice losing strength in his panic.
And finding himself turned around again, maneuvered by the forest, he saw a person coming out of the darkness towards him.
It was a tall person, with broad shoulders and very, very long dark hair that fell over their shoulders and dripped to their knees. They walked slowly, and the snake-like branches that lined the path and held Yakata still parted where they passed.
When they spoke, their voice was deep, like a man's, but their words were female and formal. The sound cut through the patter of the rain and settled deep into Yakata's ears.
"What are you doing in my forest, child?"
And as the bonds around his arms loosened, Yakata knew almost immediately what he was dealing with.
(But Sasuke had said that she didn't exist.)
(But Sasuke had lied about everything.)
"Puh-please, don't, don't, don't hurt me…!" he squeaked.
The Woman of the Woods—because surely she couldn't have been anything else—did not reply immediately. "I will not hurt you. Nothing in my forest will, if I decide it. Now, please, tell me why you are here. A show of bravery, perhaps?"
Yakata shook his head. "I was, I was, I was hiding, I'm supposed to, to, to go home tonight, please, let me, let me go…!"
The Woman tilted her head, slightly. She was closer, now, and Yakata could see her face in the blue half-light. She had dark skin, the color of bark, and a face as mannish as her voice. She did not seem angry, though her expression was serious. "Hiding from what?"
"I, I can't, there are people trying to, to hurt me, because of, of, of something I did, but I, but I didn't do it, I swear, I didn't…" His hyperventilation turned into a sob. "Please, I just, I just, I just wanna go home, I don't, I don't, I don't want to hurt anyone, I, I, I swear…!"
"What was it that they think you did?" the Woman asked.
Yakata could only gulp air in response, his chest hiccupping with fear.
The Woman then reached forward and cupped the side of his face with one of her enormous hands; her fingers reached well into his hair. She smelled like earth and metal and leaves. "Calm down, child. What have you done that has caused you to hide here?"
There was a strange, warm-cold sensation that flowed out from her palm and behind Yakata's eyes, and a great relaxed tiredness seeped into his limbs.
"You will not be harmed here," the Woman said.
"…I, I, I did something, some, something bad, I, I don't even remember doing it, I, I don't even think you could say I even did it, but…" Yakata gulped, his shoulders seizing up again with anxiety. "Oh, please, I, I just want to go home, just, just let me go, please…"
"Hush, hush, I will not make you say any more." The Woman's hand drifted to his chin, forcing his gaze upon her face, with its dark, deep-set eyes and brows. She looked very suddenly surprised, though only slightly. "…what is your name, child?"
"Ho-Ho-Ho-Honbo Yakata."
"…really? You are not an Uchiha?"
Yakata's first instinct was to shake his head and he followed it despite the windy rush of thoughts that followed—but aren't you but you're Itachi but you're but you're-
"…pardon me, then. I have known far too many Uchiha, I suppose," the Woman replied, and her sharply-carved face softened. Her hair was sticking to her cheekbones. "There is a fair bit of a family resemblance, especially in the eyes."
Yakata sniffed again, trying to squeeze his fear into the bottom of his stomach. The thunder rumbled.
"Regardless of who you are or what you have or have not done, Yakata-kun, this is no place for a child to be hiding," the Woman continued, taking her hand off of his face. "You must leave."
"Oh, I'll, I'll leave right, right, right away, I'll, just, just please don't kill me, please," Yakata said.
The Woman shook her head, paired with a fatherly smile. "That is the last thing I would do. Relax, child. When you wake up, you will be somewhere far safer."
And before Yakata could do anything further, she had her rough hand on the side of his face again, and that strange sensation was behind his eyes, making everything feel heavy, his arms, and especially his eyes.
The last thing he remembered were his knees giving out, and something catching him and carrying him up and through the rain.
And then his dream ended, and he woke up.