INTERLUDE
WITCH BOY
"Hey, witch-boy! What are you doing?"
The gang of children behind him sounded so, so loud. He tightened his grip on the basket in his hands, resisting the urge to run or to cover his ears.
"C'mon, answer us!"
"Yeah, give us an answer!"
"Where you going, witch-boy?"
But he did not reply, just continuing to walk, ignoring them as best he could.
A rock collided with the back of his head, and though it was not a big one, a hand leaped up to smother the pain that it caused.
"Ow! St-stop it, please…"
"Tell us what you're doin'."
"Yeah. We don't want you messin' things up."
He could hear a soft scraping noise as one of the boys in the gang grabbed another rock off the dirt road. Their footprints came closer and faster.
"I'm, I'm just… just going home, that's, that's, that's all… N-now, now leave me alone, please…"
The leader stepped in front of him, and he had to stop. He kept his eyes in the basket, which was full of radishes he had recently and reluctantly acquired.
"…please let me… let me through, Shimon…" he mumbled.
"Where'd you get those burns, witch-boy? Someone try to burn you, huh?"
"I just, I just wanna go home, please…"
"They send you back 'cos they thought you were a freak too, huh?"
"Even that weird shinobi didn't want you."
"Yeah, weird."
He didn't say anything, just tightening his grip on his basket, and making another attempt at getting past them.
"Hey, hey, we didn't say you could leave yet."
"My, my mama's expecting me, I, I, I have to, to get these to her… She, she sent me out…"
His voice was getting quieter and quieter.
"Oh, what's that? Did you steal 'em?"
"N-No, I got them from, from Takeda-san…"
Her hateful stare still itched at the back of his mind.
"What'd you do to get them from her, huh? You curse her?"
"…Shimon, p-please, just, just let me through…" He tried walking forward. He kept his hands tight.
"I think we should take these back. I'm sure your mom would appreciate it, eh, Sou?"
"Yeah, those are my family's."
(But Sou's real family had died in the landslide.)
(The landslide that he had seen coming.)
He shut his eyes tight. His arms were aching.
Don't stand for this. Hurt them back. It's only fair.
He felt hands on his hands.
He let go immediately, and balled them into fists.
That's right, don't stand for this.
But he ran instead of fighting. The basket fell to the ground, radishes tumbling everywhere.
"Hey, where are you going?"
"How the heck is he so fast?"
"Freak! Get back here, freak!"
But soon he could no longer hear them. But his heart was pounding.
The brown comfort of his home was in sight. And as soon as he was inside, he shut the door, almost slamming it, to keep everything else out.
"Mama, I'm, I'm, I'm home…" he said, his voice thick.
She was pouring dry rice into a pot. "Oh, Yakata, welcome home. Why are you out of breath?"
"I, I, I, I ran into… a little, a little trouble…"
"A little trouble? Sweetheart, what happened?" She left her work to kneel down to eye level with him.
"Just… just Shimon and, and some other boys, they, they took the… the radishes. I, I, I mean, I got them, Mama, I, I got them from Takeda-san, but…"
"Oh, Yakata…"
"I, I didn't meant to, to lose them, I just…"
"Hush, it's all right." She kissed him on the forehead. "Did Takeda-san give you any trouble either?"
"N-no, not really…"
"Well, that's good. She usually pulls through for us…" She went back to the hearth. "I'll go talk to her once your papa gets home."
"…just, Mama?"
"Mm?"
"…I, I know you… you an' Papa need my help now that I'm… back, but, but, but can I stay home for, for a little while longer?"
His mama's look back was tired. "I'm sorry, Yakata," she said again. "I didn't think… this would happen again."
He could hear the unspoken "so soon" at the end of the sentence.
"Of course you can stay home. I'll see if you can do things for me here in the house."
"Thanks, Mama…"
He stayed in the corner with his arms wrapped around his knees, the rest of the afternoon, watching her cook, waiting for his papa to return from the fields.
He had been home only a few days.
He hadn't told either of them anything about who he really was.
Then again, how could he?
It wasn't like… they knew who he was. He knew the story of how they'd come to be his parents: he'd been left in their care during a fierce blizzard by an even fiercer man.
And Takeru… had said that someone had made him. So perhaps that man, the one that had chosen his parent-guardians, was his… creator?
Thinking about it in terms like that made him shiver.
His existence was unnatural. He was supposed to be dead.
(And he deserved to be dead, what with everything he had done.)
But someone had brought him back.
Incomplete, he had to suppose. He didn't have any memories of his past life, nor much of anything else.
But.
But learning with Sasuke had gone so very, almost frighteningly swiftly. A blurred memory remained, as well, of an instinctual use of fire, and a light feeling in the head that accompanied it. It was like he had always known how to use these things, and was just getting used to them again, after a very long rest.
And.
He was having nightmares. And what scared him the most about them wasn't the content, but the clarity of them, and the dull, insistent feeling that these were memories, resurfacing in his mind.
He usually dreamed about people he knew. His parents, the elder, warped, screaming projections of the woman at the schoolhouse. His recollections of them were always diluted by the morning, and never terribly vivid.
But these.
He dreamed of things he knew he had never seen before.
(In this life.)
He dreamed of endless hallways of glass pillars, filled with water that glowed firefly-green, of a blue man that belonged with that water.
He dreamed of endless rooms full of bodies—dead bodies—human, but deformed by shadows or mangled limbs, he couldn't tell. There was blood on the walls, on everything.
He dreamed of crows and of snakes, and blinding, world-ending explosions, like the brightest lightning brought to earth.
But most often, he dreamed of himself, in confrontation.
His past life, his reflection, would stare him in the face with such red eyes, not saying a word. The presence was like a specter, clothed in black and hidden in red mist and rolling clouds. Distant, and yet so close.
The dreams were terrifying paradoxes, and always rested in his mind with unnatural clarity long after he'd woken up.
(And then.)
(There were the voices.)
(He fought against those hardest.)
(They scared him the most.)
But Satoko and Gishi, the people that had raised him so lovingly, knew nothing of this. And their love was unconditional, though not without pain.
Even before this, they knew their "son" was different. And this brought them nothing but trouble in the village.
His return seemed to have only made things worse.
Once, he had thought he'd have been relieved to return home. Not because he didn't enjoy his time with Sasuke, but because he worried about how they would be without him, if they would be lonely, or if tasks around the house would be more difficult.
Now, he almost wanted to leave again, so they'd be free of his damning presence.
(And safe from the corruption that might have been setting in, the danger he might become.)
(He still couldn't remember how he had gotten out of that forest. But he did remember what he had done to the fence.)
(And the voices.)
But Satoko, despite all this, seemed happy to have him back, and was worried and warm towards him. And Gishi seemed the same, even with his hard-skin personality.
So he would stay. At least for a little while.
Until he couldn't remain any longer. For whatever reason.
He probably wouldn't have to leave, he told himself. Things would probably get better. The harvest would conclude and they would all eat well and the winter would keep him indoors and away from all those other people. He would have an excuse.
(But this would never happen.)
His papa came home in the evening, and his wife told him, with a lowered voice, to stay at home for a little bit, while she went out to look for something.
They shared the room in silence. He sat back, listening to the muffled crackle of the fire in the hearth. His papa was whittling something.
Satoko came back a while later. "All right, let me get dinner started."
They were supposed to have eaten radishes with their rice, that night. But something must have happened.
He tightened further into himself, and did not eat much. They were supposed to have radishes, but because of him, they didn't.
It's all right, you know. It was your responsibility, but you took a higher road.
"Yakata, is there something wrong?" his mama asked, seeing him bend over, clutching his arms, trying to drown the noise out.
"I, I, I don't feel so good," he replied, almost moaning. "I'm... I'm gonna go lie down…"
"You do that, sweetheart," she said.
Under his futon, in the other room, he heard them start a new conversation. His papa's voice rose in anger, at one point. They were talking about Mrs. Takeda.
In his effort at sleeping, so he wouldn't have to listen, he fell into another vivid dream.
He was looking at himself again.
"This is a defiled bloodline."
His voice was older, lower, harder.
"You, too, are entwined in its destiny."
The darkness around him seemed to get darker, and deeper.
His own face terrified him.
He woke very, very early the next morning, breathing heavily, with wet spots on the pillow beneath him, from his mouth and his tears.
He didn't fall back asleep again.
His papa went back to the fields, after breakfast. And his mama went to aid in rice-cleaning, or laundry, it wasn't quite clear.
"If you need something to eat, there's rice in the box, you know where it is," she told him.
He ended up leaving the house before he got hungry, however.
He wanted to fix something.
The Takeda family didn't live terribly far away. Just down the road, on the southern side of the village. Their house was the same size as everyone else's.
But even with that short distance, he was still caught.
Just like the day before.
But things went differently, this time.
"What are you doing back here, witch-boy?"
He kept his eyes down. "I, I, I'm here to… to replace the radishes I… I lost yesterday…"
"Lost?" Shimon's expression was mocking enough to suggest his face. "You stole those. You never lost 'em."
"I, I, I didn't… Takeda-san… she, she gave them to me, be, because my mama asked…"
"Her? She came by last night. Askin' for more. We can't spare more. Your family's not big like mine. We need it more."
(A twisting sensation accompanied the thought that, if he weren't around, the construct known as the Honbo family would need less.)
"But… but, what about the ones from yesterday… You, you, you guys took them, can I… can I have them back, p-please?"
"What in the heck are you talkin' about?" Shimon said. "We never took any radishes from you."
There were sniggers from the gang.
"B-but, but you did…"
"Even if we did, you don't deserve 'em back, witch-boy," Sou said.
"You should know better than to go askin' stuff of us," someone else said.
"Yeah, you should leave us alone, or else."
He had his eyes almost closed, to avoid conflict.
But then he felt a hand on his arm. "Actually, why don't we teach you a little lesson? Keep this from happening again."
He yanked his arm, but couldn't free himself from the hard grip. "N-no, no, please, I, I, I, I'll leave you alone, p-please, just…"
He was pulled very close. "Hm, so what'll it be? Anyone got any matches?"
But then words came out of his mouth that didn't feel like his own.
"No… you are… going to leave me… alone."
"…what's that you said?" Shimon replied, yanking his arm harder.
But he yanked back. "I'm… not going to allow… your threats to… affect me. Besides… they're baseless."
The words came slowly, as if his tongue were dry and swollen.
They were not his words. They were not the words he was wanting to say. But he was saying them.
And he was also pulling his arm out of Shimon's grip.
His senses began to blur around the edges. His arms were not doing what he wanted them to do.
He wanted to curl into himself, make himself smaller.
But instead, fingers were wrapping around Shimon's arm, and gripping harder than he'd have ever allowed.
"I think… you are the one in need of a lesson," he heard himself saying.
He opened his eyes. His vision was over-saturated with color, and the outline of his feet seemed at once fuzzy and sharp.
His hand began to, slowly, move around.
He looked up.
The last thing he clearly heard was Sou, his voice quiet and echoing, as if he were very far away:
"What the heck is wrong with his eyes?!"
Whatever happened after that passed in a timeless, cloudy blur. He was aware of impacts, suggestions of contact, and noises like the wind during a storm.
But when the cloud passed, he found himself standing over Shimon. The boy was curled into himself on the ground, clutching his arm. His hand was bent in a position it shouldn't have been, and he was making anguished attempts at air.
Other boys were laying, on their stomachs or backs, nearby, moaning. Two or three were tearing down the road into the town. He could hear them as they went.
"WITCH-BOY! THE WITCH-BOY HURT SHIMON!"
"HE'S A DEMON! A DEMON!"
He had done this.
But he didn't remember doing this.
(Just like the forest.)
Justice served.
He turned and ran back home as fast as he could, and threw himself into the protection of the bedroom.
The protection wasn't for him, however.
It was for everyone else.
He stayed there, holding his knees in a vice-grip, even after he heard his mama come home. He was concentrating, fearfully, searching every thought, every memory, trying to stay aware of every single movement his body made.
He didn't want to hurt them, didn't want to hurt his mama and papa, he would stay in control, he just needed to wait.
But in the evening, the elder came.
This was during dinner. He wasn't eating, staying in the bedroom, still shivering and searching for any twinges of strangeness within him.
He knew it was the elder from the way his parents greeted them. "Furoku-san, what brings you here?" Satoko said.
"I'd like to talk to you about Yakata-kun, if that's all right," the elder replied. "I assume he's here with you?"
"He hasn't been feeling well lately," Satoko replied. "He's asleep right now."
"Oh, that's just fine. He doesn't need to be here."
His grip tightened as he strained to listen. Even though he already knew why the elder was probably visiting.
"Yoko-san and her husband came to me in quite a panic today. They say that your Yakata went into a frenzy and badly injured Shimon-kun, and a few of his friends."
"A frenzy?" Gishi said, already defensive. "What do you mean by that?"
"I suppose my telling will be a bit inaccurate, but from what Yoko-san and Shimon-kun told me, it seems that Yakata-kun went into some sort of daze and attacked him and some of his friends in the middle of a conversation, before running off."
"Yakata wouldn't hurt anyone," Satoko said. "You know him. He's such a shy little boy."
"I know, I know," the elder replied. "But there's another detail that worries me. Apparently, Shimon-kun said that Yakata's eyes changed color before he attacked."
He remembered what Sou had said, though the memory was as thin and echoing as the whole event, now.
"Changed color? What kind of nonsense is that." Gishi's voice became rougher. "That's impossible."
But he remembered. Gishi might have forgotten, but he remembered what Sasuke had asked, when they had met for the second time.
He had asked if his eyes had ever changed color.
And his eyes were always red in his dreams.
"Not always, Gishi. You forget where we come from." The elder had suddenly become very quiet, and very serious.
"Yakata isn't one of us," Gishi said, equally as firm. "His father was a ninja. He was just left with us."
"Of course. I forget, sometimes," the elder replied. "I understand that Yakata-kun has spent some time away, training with a ninja, in fact?"
"Yes, his uncle," Satoko replied, quickly. "Uchiha Sasuke-san. It was very gracious of him."
His shoulders shuddered at the name, and the lie. That was his brother. Not his uncle.
"I see," said the elder. "Since coming back, however, have you noticed any… changes in your son?"
"Well, he's been… more withdrawn than usual." He could imagine Satoko had her hand over her mouth, at this point. "And he's been having such awful nightmares, but that's not much to worry about, is it? He said he had a wonderful time at Uchiha-san's."
"More withdrawn?"
"He's having a hard time getting used to life back at home, is all. It's nothing to worry about, Furoku-san," Satoko continued. There was a quiet strength in her voice. "He's always been a quiet boy."
"I don't understand where all this is coming from, Furoku-san," Gishi added. "You know Yakata. You know how the boys in town treat him. You know what I think? I think they were hassling him and he finally fought back, for once. Learned a thing or two from Uchiha-san."
"Gishi…" his mama said.
"He must not know his own strength, then," the elder said. "Yakata broke Shimon-kun's arm, you know."
Of course I did, there was no other way he'd have left us alone.
"…I don't believe you," Gishi said. "Yakata couldn't do that."
"I have the word of six boys and a doctor," the elder replied, "that he did do that. And I'm trying to be quite understanding, Gishi, but I find that extremely frightening."
"It must have been an accident." Satoko's voice was growing higher. "Honestly, Yakata would never…"
"Satoko, the boy's always been… different. And you're young, you probably don't remember, but in the… old days, there were children like him. The ones that were modified."
"He has not been modified," Gishi said.
Yes he was.
"You can't say for sure, Gishi. You don't know where he really came from. If his real parents were… allies of The Doctor. His father was a ninja, you told me, so…"
The Doctor was that great, faceless figure that so many of the older people mentioned, always with hushed voices, always to blame any sort of disease or deformation.
He was the reason why so many people couldn't have children, and when they did have children, they were so-often unhealthy, or strange. Why fearful and incurable diseases would sometimes strike otherwise healthy people in the prime of their lives, or madness like bolts of lightning.
But Gishi interrupted.
"My son is not one of them. What happened with Shimon was an accident, and I'm sure it wouldn't have happened if that little brat had just left my kid alone." He had gotten very loud. "I doubt it will happen again."
There was a hard, fire-crackling silence. He could hear the elder swallowing, wetting his lips and opening his mouth to speak.
"If that's what you insist. I recommend you talk to Yakata-kun about this when he wakes up, then, find out what happened from him. At least let me know that."
"Of course, of course," Satoko said, quietly.
"And… if anything else happens, perhaps you should consider finding somewhere else to li-"
"We'll talk to our son and tell you what he says," Gishi said. "Thank you, Furoku-san."
Another swallow. "Good evening, then."
The door out opened, and closed.
He considered, for a moment, leaving the bedroom, to talk to them, to tell them how his body had grown numb, how another him—the same him—the true him—had been controlling it, dealing out the punishment he was too cowardly to pay out in this life.
But that would have scared them.
They believed that he was their beloved, unusual, but otherwise normal son.
Not a monster.
He got under the futon and pretended to sleep, instead. In case they came in.
He didn't want to talk about this. Not yet.
If and when they talked to him about it, he would say it had been an accident, just like Gishi had said. He could say that the ninja training with Sasuke had thrown him off some, that he didn't know his own, new strength, and that he was sorry. That wouldn't scare them. That would be what they expected.
Satoko checked on him later, as he lay on his side, eyes closed, but still awake. She kissed him on the forehead, whispering to her husband that they would ask in the morning.
But even after the two of them settled with soft, cloth sounds into their futons beside him, and the sighing sounds of the evening filled the room, he could not go to sleep.
Or, rather, he did not want to go to sleep.
Some small, almost vibrating part of him was terrified of what would have happened if he did. Would it be easier to lose control, if he were unconscious? Would he do something to the defenseless, gentle people asleep on the floor?
And the nightmares, always the nightmares.
Don't be afraid. You're okay.
He remained in the stark blackness behind his eyes for as long as he could manage. Soon, silence joined the blackness.
His eyes snapped open when an itching in his ear broke him out of his carefully-aware imitation of sleep. The light through the windows near the ceiling was pale and weak. It was barely sunrise. None of the roosters had crowed yet.
He realized, in noting how quickly time seemed to have passed, that he must have fallen asleep. But he had not dreamed, during that time, which came as only a slight relief. His senses, though drowsy, were clear.
But he wanted to check one last thing.
Satoko and Gishi were still asleep, curled into themselves, and he took care not to wake them as he crawled across the room to the box where Satoko kept her comb and mirror and ribbons.
He looked at his eyes with the makeup mirror. They were still black.
Sasuke's eyes were red, the same as his own eyes in his dreams. Though that color seemed natural, and permanent, and never changed.
(Though in the photograph that Sasuke had given him, of his former family—it remained in his bag, untouched—and in the photograph that crowned his list of atrocities, both his and his brother's eyes were black.)
He couldn't see how his eyes could have changed color.
He put the mirror away and began making a pot of rice porridge for breakfast, which Satoko discovered with almost disbelief when she finally got up.
The morning meal was quiet. He expected them to ask him questions, and he kept his answers poised behind his mouth, but they said not a word about Shimon, nor the elder and the things he wanted to know. And he was all right with this.
But then, as they were cleaning, the mob arrived.
There couldn't have been many of them, but the noise they were making seemed to come from the entire village.
"Open up! Open up and talk to us!"
"There's no use hiding!"
They were banging on the door.
Satoko froze. "Gishi, what's going on."
"Stay inside, I'll handle this."
For reasons he entirely understood, she kneeled between him and the door.
Gishi slid open the door, his shoulders squared. "Excuse me, but what is the meaning of this?" he said.
The head of the group was Shimon's father, Kaminari. He could be seen through the space of the open door, with out-of-focus colors that must have been other people, behind him. "Where's that boy of yours, Gishi?"
"He's inside with his mother, why?"
"Bring him out here."
"Why? Is this about Shimon?"
"Yeah, it's about Shimon," Kaminari replied, crossing his arms.
"He hurt my boy too!" someone said.
"He's a menace!" someone else said.
He tightened into himself.
"Furoku-san told us about what happened with Shimon-kun," Gishi said. His feet were firm. "From what I've heard, I get the feeling that you're all blowing this a bit out of proportion."
"You call a broken arm not proportional?" Kaminari replied, almost shouting.
"It was probably an accident."
"That was no accident!" A female voice, probably Shimon's mother. "His bones were snapped in half!"
He felt Satoko's hand on his shoulder. He was trembling, and winced at her contact.
"Whatever happened, it was probably an accident," Gishi said, again, his voice lower. "Yakata would never do something like that on purpose."
"Bring that boy out here. I want to hear him tell me that to my face. I can sniff out liars."
"You'll do no such thing, Kaminari," Gishi said.
"I'll do whatever the hell I want! Drag that little creep out here!" Kaminari lunged forward, his chest colliding with Gishi's as he tried to get inside.
"Stay out of my house," Gishi said.
"Bring him out or we'll drag him out," Kaminari growled.
"Yeah, bring him out! Bring him out!" The crowd began to rumble and crash with voices.
"Get out of my house, and away from my son," Gishi said. He pressed his hands against the doorframe, his arms growing rigid and restrictive. "I'm not going to let you hurt him or anyone else, just because you're angry."
"Hurt him? I just want that little snake to leave us alone!" Kaminari pushed himself against Gishi again, and the impact made Gishi cough from the stolen breath.
His own jaw was trembling, teeth rattling against each other, as he watched this, heard the angry people outside, crying for deserved blood.
He began to stand.
"Yakata, no, stay here," his mama whispered, grabbing onto his arm in a feeble attempt.
But he kept rising, and eventually got to his feet.
"Yakata!"
Kaminari didn't seem to notice his approach, too preoccupied with ramming Gishi in the chest with his shoulder.
He made sure he'd be noticed. He ducked under one of Gishi's arms, and started waving his hands at the people beyond. "St-stop! Puh-please, I'm, I'm, I'm here, what do you… what do you want?"
And they did stop. Kaminari ceased his assault, and the crowd grew silent.
"I want to know why you hurt my son," Kaminari said, drawing all of his intimidation into his skinny, sunburnt shoulders.
"It, it, it was an accident…" he replied.
The crowd—and he noticed now that there were at least twenty people present—rumbled with discontent at this.
"Yakata, get back inside," Gishi said, hoarsely.
"An accident? So breaking his damn arm was an accident?"
He could feel Kaminari's steam-breath on his forehead as he bore down. "Y-yes, I was… I was only trying to, to, to protect myself, h-honest…"
"Protect yourself? From what?"
He didn't answer.
Kaminari straightened his back. "I knew it, he's a liar. Attacked my son for no reason."
"Kaminari, that's enough." Gishi's voice was gaining strength.
"Cursing our crops wasn't enough, now you have to hurt our children?" A woman's voice burst out of the crowd, like a popped balloon. Loud, rolling murmurs followed her, agreeing.
"Get out of our town!"
"Leave us alone!"
His breath was starting to quicken, and he stared sideways, away from Kaminari, away from the angry people.
What a pitiful display. They're like rabbits, running at the first disturbance.
"I, I, I, I'm sorry, I'm, I'm so sorry…" he muttered.
"He hasn't done anything!" Gishi had left the doorway, and was standing between him and the crowd, now. "You leave us alone!"
"Why don't we solve both of our problems, Gishi, and you take your little brat and your wife and get the hell out of here!" Kaminari said.
There was an affirmative roar from the crowd.
"We're not going anywhere, this is our home," Gishi said. "I was born here, just like all the rest of you. I helped build this village!"
"The kid didn't!" someone called.
"He isn't even your son," one of the mothers added, spitefully. "I've known all along, he's really a demon, a… a changeling!"
Resorting to superstition now, are they? How very typical.
"I don't care, he's my son to me," Gishi said. He put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to him, and I'm not gonna leave."
Perhaps now…
"If he stays he's only going to hurt more of our children!"
A familiar, dreadful feeling began seeping over his body. His fingers and toes grew numb, and then his arms and legs.
"He's barely been back a week and look at all the trouble he's already caused!"
The ground was exploding with ten million different shades of brown.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" he said. He was starting to bend over himself, his arms crossed over his chest, fists clenched tightly into balls.
"Only because your little shit of a son provoked him!" Gishi snarled.
Anything to make sure his body was still doing what he wanted it to do.
"You take that back." Kaminari's voice curled, cobra-like, confrontational.
"I won't," Gishi said.
"Normal people don't break arms when 'provoked!'" That voice again; definitely Shimon's mother, but she sounded so far away.
"He's not normal! He's a freak, get him out of here!"
So far away…
"Witch-boy!"
So…
"Monster!"
"…normal, I… certainly am not. But call me a monster again, and… I'll have to correct you."
He could feel his head rising, his eyes opening, as if thick, cold wires were inside of him, ordering every movement.
"You're all… pathetic. But… I suppose you have an honest reason to… worry…"
His mouth felt like it was made of cotton. He wanted to choke, but there was nothing to choke on.
"Yakata, what are you doing…?" Gishi stepped away from the frozen conflict. There was a suggestion of Satoko at the door, her fingers wrapped around the frame.
But he stepped forward, fighting the movement. His legs felt stiff.
"You should all be… ashamed of yourselves… Antagonizing me like this when I've… obviously suffered enough."
"Yakata…?"
He was approaching Kaminari. He could see everything so, so clearly.
"That… boy of yours attacked me. Tried to burn me. Though what I did was… not self-defense, entirely. It was… retribution. For the years of humiliation I suffered at his hands. And… I shall continue it here."
His hand reached out and grabbed Kaminari's arm. The man struggled, but somehow, could not break free.
"I did not… snap your son's bones in half, you know. Those type of fractures look… much different. Why don't I show you?"
Blurriness swept over his eyes like moss, turning everything into undefined, enormous bacterium full of the brightest, most painful colors. He could still feel what his arms were doing as he fought, desperately, against them.
There was a wet, muted crack. And a full-throated yell tore into the air.
The fungus-blur parted momentarily. All he could hear were the screams of the fleeing mob, and Kaminari's anguished cries.
"His eyes! Those are demon's eyes!"
"Save me, save me!"
"Don't kill me!"
That should be enough.
A great and sickening sensation of lightness swept over him, and suddenly his body was his again.
People were running in scattered panic, fleeing in every direction away from the Honbo house, from him.
Kaminari was on the ground beside him, his eyes half-closed and his mouth slack. His wife was on her knees, her face red and contorted with sobs, cradling his head.
There was a great wound in his arm, where flesh was left exposed and raw, and bone splintered, piercing the skin.
And standing by the door of his house were his mama and papa.
Looking the most terrified of all.
And he knew what he had to do.
"St-stay away from me, please, I, I, I, I don't want to hurt you, I don't, please, I don't want to hurt you…!"
They didn't say anything. Gishi slowly walked back, in front of Satoko, who clung to his arm once he was close enough. Her eyes were glazing over, with horror, with tears.
"Get, get away from me, I, I don't, I don't, I… I'm sorry…!"
He ran away from the house, through the bird-migration of people, without shoes or any idea of what was going on.
Well, he had some idea.
The corruption.
He was becoming violent with less and less to provoke him.
And he couldn't control it. He could only remain barely aware, at best.
He had to get away. So he wouldn't hurt anyone else.
Where he would go, he didn't know. Somewhere else. Somewhere distant.
Just, anywhere but here, where familiar faces that had once looked at him only in disdain now twisted with utter fear, and screams.
Another town, perhaps, but what if he hurt those people too?
He didn't want to live alone for the rest of his life! But what if he had no choice?
Maybe all he had to do was… was tame his other self. After all, he'd never felt like this before Takeru told him the truth—or maybe he had, and he had just never been aware of it enough to define it. And Nadeshiko certainly lived with the corruption that had settled in, when she was far younger than him. Nadeshiko didn't hurt anyone else any more. He could be like her.
He just needed a quiet place. Somewhere they would leave him alone. Somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone, not for a while.
"Yakata!"
He heard someone calling after him. He ran faster.
"Yakata, hold on, stop!"
Whoever was chasing him was faster than him.
Hozuki dashed in front of him, and held a hand out to intercept him. "Yakata, where the hell are you going?" he said.
"I, I, I have to get away, I, I don't want to hurt anyone, please, let me, let me go."
"No, no, slow down. What happened?" Hozuki was now standing in front of him, and his face was wrinkled, just like all the others.
"I, I hurt someone, please, for, for your own good, get away from me!"
He tried to push past the man, with that sword strapped to his back—surely he could fight, but he didn't want to fight, he didn't know what he could do—but arms that were far more muscular than his sprang out and clasped large-boned fingers to his shoulders.
"Yakata, stop. What happened, did you hurt someone?"
"It, it, it was an accident, but I couldn't control it—let me go, I, I don't want to hurt you too." His body rocked, fighting against Hozuki's hands, keeping his own hands down and away.
"What couldn't you control?"
"The, the corruption, please, I'm, I'm dangerous, please get away from me!" His hands were rising.
"Dangerous? You?" There was no mocking, no humor in his voice. (Concern, maybe.)
"Please, I, I don't want to hurt anyone, I don't, I don't want to hurt you." His hands were at his chest now, but he at least was still in control of them, he could at least feel his fingers. "I, I don't want to hurt a-any more people."
Hozuki's grip tightened on his shoulders. "Kid, stand still." He looked up and away as a woman's scream sang out from nearby, like a gull's cry. "Look, do you need me to take you somewhere safer so you can calm down?"
"No, no, just… please, let me go, I, I, I, I really don't want to h-hurt you, I, I don't know if I'll, I'll lose control again…" He fought against the hands once more, but the grip was even stronger.
There was another scream. Someone began to hammer at the village bell, each strike sounding like a knife against a rock.
"Oh, for the love of—what the hell is happening?" Hozuki said, though it was not clear if he was talking to him or to himself.
The voice of a crier was his answer: "Find the witch-boy! Find him!"
His chest seized up, and his hands curled into claws that tried to cover his face.
"Aw, no…" Hozuki shook his head, exhaling so loudly that it turned into a growl. "Yakata, what the hell happened?"
"Please, I, I don't want to hurt anyone, I don't, I don't want to k-kill anyone, I'm, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"
"Stay with me and none of that's gonna happen. C'mon."
And Hozuki took his hand and they began to run for the forest.
"No, please, st-stop, where are we-?" but he caught himself, and tried to wrench himself away more strongly. "No, you, you can't take me with you, you'll, you'll get hurt!"
"Trust me, kid, I can more than handle myself. It's you I gotta worry about." Hozuki kept his face forward, his brows low. "I know somewhere you can stay 'til this boils over. An' if it doesn't… well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"No, please, you, you can't take me with you, I, I might hurt you, you don't…" He pulled harder, managing a firm yank on Hozuki's arm that jerked him back for a moment. "You don't know who I really, who I really am! I'm, I'm… I'm a monster, okay? I'm, I'm a murderer!"
"You're not a monster." There was pain in Hozuki's voice, and he pulled stronger. He moved with purpose towards the hill that overshadowed the village, keeping between the trees. "Where was that door…"
He was hyperventilating again, now, struggling against each step. "Aren't you… aren't you, aren't you listening to me?"
"I'm not listening, because you're just freaking out," Hozuki replied, firmly. "I have to keep you safe."
"I don't… I don't need that, I, I, I need… I need to get away, so, so, so I don't hurt anyone else, okay? I, I, I don't… I don't want to be a killer again, I, I don't want to hurt people!"
And there Hozuki stopped, his hand spread upon an ivy-covered boulder. "What the heck do you mean, 'again?'"
He managed to break out of Hozuki's grip, and cupped his hands together on his chest. "I, I, I used to be a, a bad person, Hozuki-san. A, a really bad person. My, my real name isn't Yakata. It… it, it's Itachi. Uchiha Itachi. My, my past life, and, and, and," and his eyes were sliding sideways, and he was holding his hands so tightly they were growing numb, "and I killed a, a lot of people a long time ago, and I think I, I, I might be st-starting again, so you, you have to get away from me…"
And Hozuki, in the faded corners of his eyes, looked horrified.
"Yakata, what are you... talking about?" He removed his hand from the boulder, but it felt limply to his side. "Who… told you those things?"
"I, I found out who I… who I really was while I was… while I was in Konoha. Sasuke, he, he, he was trying to protect me, trying to… trying to keep me from, from, from… but… but they found out, e-everyone knows now, th-they wanted to kill me before I, before I killed them and-"
"Who told you?" Hozuki had gotten very close to him, now, and his hands were hovering over his shoulders. "Yakata, tell me!"
But he didn't answer, his words now drowning in his choppy breaths. His eyes were now tightly closed, his legs stiff and hurting.
Hozuki breathed in, deeply, through his teeth. "Come on." His voice was stronger. "Come on, come with me. It's not safe here."
A hand reached for his, but he stepped back with barely-bending legs.
"Yakata, please, come on." Desperation. "Please. You can tell me everything, you need to tell me who told you all that, just please come with me."
But he took another step back, and another. He started turning around.
"You won't hurt anyone, I promise—Yakata, stop!"
But he was now turned around, and he was running, his eyes barely open. His joints felt like they were made of metal.
"Yakata!"
He couldn't remember ever running so fast in his life. But his legs did not burn, instead throbbing with an icy, hollowed-out coolness.
It wasn't until he opened his eyes fully that he realized he didn't know where he was going.
But his body did.
Hozuki was still running after him. "Yakata, come back! Stop! Stop, come on!"
He started to whimper, feeling, watching his arms and legs pump mechanically, now, at his sides, in a steady gait that was not his. He dodged and wove past trees, his bare feet crunching on the leaves, not feeling the pain of pine cones nor sharp rocks that drew blood.
Where was it, where was it…
And then the voice. He wanted to smash his hands over his ears but he couldn't. His horrified moans were dying in his throat.
And, finally, he stopped.
Ah, here's the place.
It was a river, winding through the forest. It eventually ran to a reservoir that was used to feed the fields. He knew this. Leaves clotted at its edges.
He heard Hozuki arrive behind him. "Yakata!"
He did not turn around to face him; his eyes remained fixed on the river. Its waters were clear, and deep, and the bottom was muddy.
Come on out, boy. I'm here.
"Yakata, please, I promise, I'm not going to hurt you, I'm going to keep you safe." Hozuki was out of breath, coming closer, slowly.
The lids of his eyes felt so heavy. It was unnatural and terrifying, especially with his heart beating so fast.
"It doesn't matter... what you've done, either now or-" Hozuki exhaled, frustrated. "Okay, none of that matters, all right?"
His head lolled, lightly, sideways. His vision grew half-focused and dim, though whether it was from his eyelashes or—or the corruption, he couldn't tell.
"I'm gonna take you back to Konoha, and there are people there who can talk with you about this. Nobody's going to kill you. Okay?"
His head tilted to the other side and he blinked, slowly. His tongue ran over his lips once, wetting them, his mouth remaining slightly open afterward.
"That's… all right, Suigetsu, I think I'll find my way back there myself. You won't need to… escort me."
Hozuki's footsteps halted. "What did you just call me…?"
"Suigetsu? That… is your name, isn't it?"
A bubbly wreath of euphoria wrapped around his brain and squeezed. And he smiled, and it was entirely his own action.
He turned around. "What, you… didn't think I didn't remember… did you?"
Suigetsu's mouth fell open with horror, and his barely-frantic breaths began to increase.
"Yakata, what the… hell is wrong with your eyes…?"
"Nothing at all," he replied. "They're perfectly… fine." He laughed again.
"No, you're… that's impossible." He was starting to step backward.
"I don't really believe in… impossible," he said. He swayed in a twisting motion, his arms swinging outward from the centrifugal force. "Chance, however… and luck, too, mm, I suppose." He giggled, ceasing his swaying. "I'm… a very lucky boy."
"Who the hell are you," Suigetsu was reaching for the sword on his back, "and what have you done with Yakata?"
"Oh, come now, you know who I am. I'm just going for a little joy ride." He leaned forward cheekily. "Or something like that. Now." He stood upright, poising a finger on his lips. "Where is that dear boy?"
"No." Suigetsu had his sword, now, the blade resting on the forest floor. "No, it—this isn't you. You're not back. This can't-"
"This can't what?" he interrupted. "You're well aware of what I'm capable of." Another giggle. "Honestly, this is quite old-fashioned of me."
Suigetsu's teeth were drawn like daggers. His face was growing extremely red.
"Not this child. Not this child. You're supposed to be dead!" He raised the sword above his head.
And he raised a finger. "Ah-ah-ah, you, you don't, you don't really want to, to, to hurt me, do you…?"
And the sword fell with a thump to the ground again. "No, stuh… STOP that! Stop it!" An arm whipped itself, uselessly, angrily, out.
He laughed good-naturedly, almost knowingly. "You really shouldn't hurt this child. Really. He's far too precious and you know it."
Suigetsu seethed, his mouth pressed tight.
"Then I won't." He let go of his sword, stabbing it into the soft earth, and he pressed a fist into his palm. "I'm not gonna let this happen."
"Oh, and how do you plan on doing that?"
"I'll knock you out, you fucking bastard, and I'll take you back to Konoha and have you… have you destroyed."
"Suigetsu, sweet child," he replied, shaking his head, "you might want to formulate plans that are actually doable, for one. And for two, I won't let that happen anyways."
"I don't care," Suigetsu said.
He sighed. "When have you ever."
Suigetsu's eyes were narrowed with expectant pain as he ran forward. "I'm sorry…!"
But even before he could begin to effortlessly dodge the passion-stained blow, there was a wet sound, like ripping paper, like a gasp of air.
Something was coming out of the river.
Suigetsu stumbled forward.
He merely watched, smiling.
"There you are," he said.
The man emerging from the river was familiar, though his proportions seemed far more compact and correct, now that he was not being viewed through tinier, golden eyes. His movements were just as jerky, however. As erratic as his appearance.
And he lunged forward, and with an enormous, dripping, ashen hand, he reached for Suigetsu's neck.
"You, you tried, you tried to hurt my master, my master's, new, his new body."
Suigetsu began to liquefy, but the man's other hand shot out like a rake and sucked the water towards it, stretching the liquid flesh in a blue-transparent mass.
"You're scum, you're, scum, you tried to hurt him."
"Darling, please take care of the scum for me?" he said, sweetly, his hands folded behind his back.
"I'm, I'm not, that's not my name, Master, I want you to, use my, name…" his servant replied, almost meekly.
"Of course, darling." That's right, during the negotiations the nights previous, in his exploratory snake-form, away from the safety of warm ears and minds, he had decided on a new name with the precious creature, so that things would be easier, after gaining his initial trust. "I only say these things because I love you, you know."
"Love and, you told me, you gave me a, new name, a better one."
"I know, sweet child. Now… Riverman, could you please take care of this nuisance for me?"
Suigetsu was struggling to free himself from the amorphous prison of his own body, and what could be seen of his face was contorted in fear and anger.
"Of course, Master, of course, I'll, I'll do a good job…"
"I know you will. And afterwards, it's on to Konoha for the both of us."
"Konoha, again, like, like the, false, snake requested…" He pressed his hands together, Suigetsu's flesh oozing out through his fingers. "But you're, you're not, false, Master, you're my true Master…"
"And the only one you'll ever need," Orochimaru replied.