Hymn of Forsaken
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Summary: History repeats itself. Myths and legends can become cornerstones of the land and it's people.
Notes: I was supposed to have a start and resolution with this chapter, but I realised i was probably rushing it. Since, this isn't oneshots as I first imagined, I thought a build-up would be better. I have to ask everyone what do they think about the switching POVs and events? Do you like it or would it be better to stick to one per chapter instead of this juggling act? What do you think?
As always, I have no beta so I probably missed a bit of typos and awkward phrasings. Please do tell me if there is anything.
Reviews and comments are greatly appreciated.
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IV - Tales of the Storm God
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Gaara released a long contained sigh as he stepped out of the room. He didn't know what to feel after the conversation with his Most Reverend Abe. Actually, he wondered if that man deserved the title of Most Reverend for all the contempt he felt for his office.
"Religion is nothing more than an opium of the masses," Masahiro Abe shrugged. His confidence having returned when he realised he was not going to be persecuted. The treaty with the Land of Fire protected him. His only punishment was his confinement to the Atsuta Shrine. All his movements, curtailed and all conversations, always monitored.
"Why do you think you all cling to the memories of the gods and kings when they have truly done nothing?"
Gaara stared at disgust in the blathering of the snake. Masahiro Abe has never been a citizen of the Land of the Wind. He never was born one and he surely never saw himself as one. He was simply forced upon their land and their people by the Land of Fire. He had made it very clear when he ascended to the rank of Head Priest of the Atsuta Shrine, Masahiro Abe made no attempts to know and understand the country and the people he was transported to. Instead he judged. Dismissed their traditions and beliefs as old-fashioned and irrelevant against the thinking prevalent in the Land of Fire. It had left their clergy discontent, and the common man confused.
The sight of him had always brought a full measure of guilt in Gaara. His life having been traded at the expense of the old high priest of the Atsuta Shrine. When his life was saved by Konoha, a treaty was served by Konoha as a form of payment. It forced not only a unquestioned and unprecedented interference of the Ise Shrine on the Atsuta Shrine, it also demanded the abdication of the Head of the Atsuta to a successor was chosen by Ise.
There had been a uproar on those demands. Everyone could see that it was the Land of Fire's move to influence and bring them under their yoke. He had been horrified that the proposal had been considered. He had been still labouring under the guilt of elder Chiyo's death, and for him to tolerate the attempts to kill their culture and way of life; he would rather die.
Gaara had been prepared for it. Had taken preparations in naming his successor. Let Konoha try to explain their manipulations which would hopefully blow open upon his death. Unfortunately, His Most Reverend Hijitaka had easily predicted his actions. The old man took his own life in the ancient form of ritual suicide.
Gaara had remembered gnashing his teeth as the ruling court had come to watch the priest's sacrifice. Earlier, Lord Shigeru and the old man had called him with knowing looks.
"You are one of the few Lord Commanders that have been allowed to challenge the storm god in battle," Hijitaka spoke, eschewing the title of Kazekage. Kage was a title popularised during the end of the warring states era when countries began to follow the Land of Fire's lead with the creation of the hidden village system. Considered an innovative solution to the constant state of warfare and constantly shifting borders, it created a secondary highly fortified military capital. Self-sufficient, self-governing and highly unassailable with the ability to easily secure any part of its nation's borders, the hidden villages ushered the era of stability and the Cold War.
Lord Commander was the traditional form of address given to the military leader in the Land of Wind. The Head Priest of the Atsuta Shrine by being the keeper of tradition and culture would just as easily used the ancient forms and its modern equivalents.
"In all our history," he continued. "There has only been three people recorded. The first was the legendary Lord Commander Oda. The second was the first Kazekage, Reto. And the third is you. The people have heard of your deeds and have transformed it to song. They have called you and by extension our land, blessed."
"The Land of Wind will survive," Lord Shigeru assured Gaara. "We have endured the unendurable before, until His Highness Prince Indra gave us life when he judged Lord Commander Oda worthy."
Gaara would remember the old priest patting him comfortingly at the cheek.
"Worry not young Lord Commander," he would say. "The people have judged you worthy, and isn't it time the young take our place?"
Gaara would never forget those words. It was a little sliver of comfort to him. It was also a reminder of his duty to his people and to the land. Gaara knew that he was no longer a simple boy or a simple Shinobi, he was a symbol of his land. The Land of the Wind, the great desolate nation with untold riches. A land of contradiction, deadly and nurturing, accursed and blessed.
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Let us speak of the history of the Land of the Wind. A history so old, it followed the ebb and flow of the Imperial line. It began with a tale of a monk and a mischievous boy. A small drop in the ocean of the first emperor, Jimmu Tennou's journey to forge the empire. It was a fitting excerpt in the life of the last Crown Prince, Indra, before his father, Emperor Keiko, ripped the land into pieces. A reflection of the nation that saw the start and end of the empire.
The journey to forge the empire was perilous. The lands were lawless places where power reigned supreme. Demons and spirits ran unchecked. Men were vagabonds that preyed on the weak and helpless. The then warlord Jimmu Tennou scoured the land to bring order into chaos. Some praised him, others feared him, and a few resisted. But godlike Jimmu would not be deterred. He saw a lawless land where hope was few and men suffered at the vagaries of the powerful. He could not bear such an injustice. He raised his banners with Yatagarasu's caw. Asked for the blessing of his great grandmother, the goddess Amaterasu, and great grand uncles, the gods Susano'o and Tsukiyomi, and left to raise the hopes of men. Many answered his call. Many flocked to Jimmu for he saw the worth of men. Saw them as more than mere fodder for the spirits and demons to play with as they see fit.
Jimmu Tennou rode the lands. Conquering. Taming. Driving the spirits to accept his law. Causing the demons to flee his blade.
"Rejoice, rejoice," Yatagarasu, the three legged crow, would call out. "The Emperor is here."
So these words would ring across the world. The land, the seas, and the skies have found its ruler. The men and spirits have found their king.
Jimmu Tennou would travel across his domain. His cohort with him, searching for a place to set their roots. One day they chanced upon miles and miles of rich and verdant fields, dotted with great big forests, where people lived in comfort. Jimmu swung off his horse to meet his people and give his courtesy to the chieftain and his family. With him was the warrior monk, Bunkupu. A fierce and proud man who carried a yoke laden with baskets filled with blessed sand. These baskets protected the emperor and his band, a deterrent to all the tricks the demons play on men. The Emperor may have won the war, but the demons and spirits resented their loss. They hungered for a chance to spill Jimmu's blood and reclaim their power.
But the spirit Shukaku was sly. He may not be able to cast his tricks, but he realised he could still influence the unwary residents of the plain. The younger, the better. So he searched for a young impressionable boy and found it in the chieftains's young son. A spoiled little boy who knew nothing much mischief.
Shukaku whispered in the boy's ear. Urged him to torment the monk. Played nasty tricks until the Bunkupu lost his temper and chased after the snickering child. The monk was so incensed and quickly forgot his precious burden. All he thought was to catch the brat that made his days a misery. Round and round he chased the boy by the lakeside, until he tripped and sent the blessed sand spilling onto the waters and the earth.
Shukaku watched with glee as the sand roared out of its container. All watched aghast as it covered everything in desolation. The lush fields, gone. The mighty forests, dead. The lake, a shimmering basin of sand.
The Emperor saw the damage wrought and tried to renegade the curse, but he was powerless. He sought the mercy of the gods, but they too had refused his pleas. Instead the gods sent a Kirin to deliver their judgement. The messenger stood and with the voice of chimes gave the gods' decree, that the monk and boy stay and toil in the sands as penance for their carelessness. When Jimmu sought to bring the rest of the people away from the newly cursed land, they thanked him for his courtesy but refused the Emperor's offer.
"This is our land," the people spoke. "We will live and die here. We will never abandon it even in its hopelessness."
Jimmu wept at those words. He vowed that one day his descendant would come to bring them hope.
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In Sasuke's mind, it was always dark. It wasn't because of anything really. It was just what he wanted. It was a reminder and a promise. It was a comfort and a protection. Sasuke realised his mind wasn't his own any longer. The clamouring of thousands and millions of memories should have enough to turn anyone mad. Sometimes he thought he was mad, but other times he wished he was. Turn mad and let darkness take him until he was a body rotting in the earth. But what were wishes but wants that could never happen.
"Memories were a right by an Uchiha," his mother, Mikoto, would say as she taught him their lore.
"It's a responsibility," his father, Fugaku, would say as he taught him the Katon.
"It can become a curse," the old Uchiha priest, Genji, would warn.
"It's our burden," Kouya, the priest-in-waiting, would say.
Before, it has confused him. All the different interpretations the different members of his clan would give. Now, he realised they were all correct. Common knowledge would speak of the Sharingan as the source of an Uchiha's ability to remember with crystal clarity. It was a truth, but not the whole truth. The reality is that the Uchiha were born to remember. Anything they paid attention to would easily be etched in their minds. The Sharingan simply made the process more instinctive and allowed them to grasp even the most minuscule detail and analyse it in one glance. That is why lying to an Uchiha was so difficult. The hitch of your breathe, the thunder of your pulse, the minuscule ticks of your expression, all of them easily remembered and analysed to form a general idea of a person. A deviation from it would reveal much, even those they wished to conceal. This was the reality that the clan kept to themselves. They had already been feared. To know that every secret may never become sacrosanct in their presence would have driven people to cry for their deaths.
It's ironic though, no matter what they did, death did come knocking.
Sasuke buried himself in his own memories. He sat and watched the reel of happy days flashed by in his mind like a reel. Father and mother dancing in the kitchen while he hid behind the door. Itachi sharing his dango with him. Shisui swinging him up in the air. Kouya waving hello as Sasuke bounded in the temple. The impassive face of the old priest Genji as he sputtered at his first taste of the harsh bitterness of the ceremonial tea. The colourful sweet Grandma Yuki would pass him to wash the bitter taste away. Uncle Sanosuke's hand rubbing Aunt Megumi's swelling tummy. Calligraphy lesson from Uncle Tatsu. The roaring blaze of the ceremonial Katon.
He watched these moments, again and again, never tiring. After all, this was the only thing he had left.
"Are you just going to hide here?"
Sasuke felt his lips tug in amusement as his father's voice reached his ears. He scoffed.
"I'm doing what you just did," Sasuke shot back. He refused to look back at his father, knowing how his choices had led to this. Sasuke was too tired with all this rampant justification.
"What do you mean?"
Sasuke felt the heat of Fugaku's at his back. It was strange how real this felt, even though it was all in his mind. Even though Fugaku was nothing more than a conglomeration of memories passed on by his father on his death throes. It felt so much like him. It was as if he was still alive and judging. But perhaps he is. This figure was after all everything that Fugaku has ever experienced and thought of.
"Didn't you decide to die? Didn't you allow everyone to be killed? Isn't that hiding as well?!"
Sasuke voice turned into a shout. Rage just poured out of him as he whirled to face his father.
"You're a hypocrite," Sasuke spat out. "You're both hypocrites. I'm surrounded by hypocrites!"
He saw Fugaku's stricken expression, but he couldn't stop anymore. He didn't want to stop as all his frustration boiled over. Frustration of Fugaku who simply gave up and left him to his own devices, a whole clan dead with people secretly braying for his blood. Itachi for saying he did everything because he loved Sasuke when in truth the only thing he loved is himself. Konoha for saying they grieved with his loss when in fact they caused it and celebrated it. For Team Seven who said they cared for him when the only thing they really cared about is their own wishes. Sasuke didn't see any merit in this world and yet here he was alive because everyone wanted his life to validate their own choices.
"I actually maybe thought I could push myself to live," Sasuke continued speaking. "But knowing all of this why should I? You gave up hope and the will to live. You easily accepted the decision for everyone to die, for you to die. But now you're demanding that I endure the fallout of your choices, that I live when you couldn't even do it!"
"I loved you," Fugaku sighed. "But I am a selfish man, I just wanted my children to live."
Sasuke could feel the steamroll of his anger wane. He stared at the figure of his father. The larger than life character that dominated his childhood. The stern bedrock he judged everything. It was strange to see a figure that was all too human, at times weak and fallible, and at times strong and unassailable.
"You know," Sasuke whispered. "I told myself I would live until I could avenge you all and until I would see remorse in brother's face. But I didn't get what I hoped for, I got something worse."
Sasuke could feel bitterness well in him. He would remember his last conversation with Itachi. He had actually dreamed of that moment. A faint hope that it wasn't his brother who did it, a small minuscule chance there was a good reason for everything and that he would no longer be so alone. He didn't get what he wanted. What he got was worse.
Sasuke would remember Itachi's burning eyes. He would remember the faint ticks in his expression. The light turn of the lips that was a faint sneer. The slight tremor of his fingers as it wanted to bring all the violence it could bear. The oh so tiny hitch in tone, a sense of satisfaction that was hidden behind entreaties. Sasuke realised this was the curse the Most Reverend Genji would talk about. The weary statements he would slip as he taught Sasuke all the ticks an Uchiha would observe and remember. How this created a cornerstone in which a moment was judged.
"At the back of his mind, even though he denies it," Sasuke continued as his mind drifted on how his brother would respond to accusations by the Uchiha. The contempt showed at their close mindedness. "He resented us. And me most especially."
Sasuke would remember how easy it was for Itachi to condemn him in the Tsukiyomi and it's endless suffering. That there had been no hesitation when Itachi cast the genjutsu; and no matter how Sasuke at first refused to acknowledge it, the undercurrent of satisfaction he felt as it overwhelmed him.
Sasuke realised how stupid he was.
"This wasn't just a stroke of desperation that you and the past clan heads were passed onto me, isn't it?"
Even with all those knowledge, he was so wilfully blind. If Itachi was the heir, he should have gotten a smattering of this knowledge. Out of the Fugaku-construct's lips itself, he did say that these memories should be passed on slowly. To think a declared clan heir who was an adult had no inkling of this was laughable.
Fugaku closed his eyes. It was all the proof Sasuke needed. Everything slotted into place. His father suddenly accelerating the milestones he should pass. The way Fugaku would push him to learn the Katon and all its derivatives. His Eminence Genji sudden visits to teach him Uchiha lore and tradition. Or when Kouya would show him all the sacred seals and rituals as if forcing him to etch it in his memories. Or his mother giving him the heirloom tessen of the clan heads and letting him mimic the forms in wielding it. Uncle Tatsu infusing his calligraphy lessons with a treatise of the sacred seals of the Uchiha Clan. Even Grandma Yuki knew when she suddenly began introducing him to scads of strangers and whispered about their place in the different nations.
"I'm not sure if he resented me because I never felt the pressure of being clan heir," Sasuke mused. "But for sure he felt it because he worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and it was snatched away when you declared me clan heir."
"You were both being trained as clan heir," Fugaku clarified. There was guilt in his eyes. "It's foolish just to train one. But I made a fatal mistake with Itachi...and Shisui. I thought we could end this standoff if I gave our best and brightest to Konoha. They would serve as a bridgeway to understanding. I thought being raised and surrounded by the clan would be enough. That I pushed them, demanded much from them because I saw them as an avenue to the peace we so longed for. I was wrong, so wrong, when they began to see that it was right for our clan to be locked, to be watched, to be isolated. When they began to sprout the same accusations about our pride, our arrogance, our lack of the will of fire. I was so blinded that they were being accepted that I realised they had fallen into the trap and I could never get them out. I realised Itachi could never become clan head when he could not even find anything of value to the people he was supposed to represent."
A pause and with a self-depreciating look, Fugaku continued, "or maybe I was a weak fool like everything else. I didn't fight for us. I didn't fight for them."
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The loud cries of birds, it was the first thing Sasuke heard as he swam into consciousness. It was an unusual sound. Living in the compound, he got used to the stillness of his empty home. The miasma of death and despair having driven out all. In Konoha, it was the chatter of men and sometimes the faint chirping of birds. When, he left, only the whispers of men would follow him or the hollowed silence of nothingness.
Sasuke opened his eyes and found himself in a great grand traditional room. The high wooden vaulted ceiling with it ornate carvings as far as the eye could see with the great towering cedar poles that serve as the support columns. His hands grasped at the rick swatches of silk that covered him while his fingers felt the the plush woven tatami mats beneath him.
Pushing himself upright, ignoring the slight pull of his wound, Sasuke looked to the source of the noise. His mouth dropped open in awe. Past the monumental sliding doors was a great balcony made of huge wooden planks and a vast view of the mountains cloaked in misty clouds. It was a picture, where huge birds danced and swooped, calling to each other.
Curious, Sasuke stumbled out of the rich confines of his room. His wounds throbbed painfully, though bearably. Sasuke realised that he was at a huge palace complex, perched on the cliffs. The wind was strong and chilly. The wood, cold on his bare feet. Yet he stayed warm, wrapped tightly he was in thick-hewn sleeping silks.
A familiar caw got his attention. Sasuke looked up to the source of the sound and found Yatagarasu flying towards him.
"You're back," the three legged crow spoke happily as it settled on his shoulder. "You kept trying to fade away. Fugaku had a hard time calling you back."
Guilt washed over Sasuke, he thought back of the last conversation he had with his father's construct. Though there was truth to his statements, the words had been harsh. He had been cruel too. Sasuke carried the same measure of guilt and burden. It was only a foolish boy who would blame all on one man. Fugaku had been long dead, he should give the dead the peace they were due.
"I'm sorry," Sasuke murmured in apology. Before he could say anything more, a solid thump drew their attention away from each other. He gaze flicked to Garuda instead, who had landed, crouched on the wooden floors. Sasuke and the summon king's eyes met, and he was struck by the relief and worry that shown in those inhuman orbs.
"Let me welcome you to my palace, my Lord," Garuda spoke as he swiftly strode towards Sasuke. "But," he interjected as he hovered protectively. "You're not well enough to allow anyone to indulge in their curiosity at your expense."
Sasuke gave a confused stare, wanting to know what he meant. He had woken up alone. He had no one with him except Yatagarasu as company. Garuda met his stare steadily. Yatagarasu was oddly abashed. A second. One, two, when Garuda acquiescent at last. He shifted slightly to give him a view of the vast balcony. Sasuke felt a slight tingle of chakra that sent sharp pinches in his wound. But it was nothing to the sight that bloomed before his very eyes. He was not alone. The vast wooden floor, the blue sky was filled with chimeras and animals dressed as humans. Hundreds, if not thousands. It was eerily silent crowd. They were all staring at him. There was a russet coloured fox in a dark formal kimono, it's golden eyes intent on him. He saw a raccoon dressed in armor who gripped the handle of its sword and gave him a deep bow. A crane in a traditional priest's robe clasped its wings in prayer when it saw Sasuke's wide eyed look. Youkais, will of the wisps, half-men and half-beast creatures, all placed their gaze upon him.
"You have crossed my Lands, my Imperial Lord," Garuda explained. "This is the place where the spirits resides. This is the Land of the Summons."
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Time moved slowly in the Land of the Summons. Sasuke realized it early on. Perhaps it was because he was slowly recovering under the stern auspices of the Head Priest Sorata Yamamoto. The man had strangely followed him to Garuda's lands, making them the only humans present.
It may also be because Garuda and Yatagarasu had zealously guarded his privacy. Sasuke would remember the imperious command Garuda had snapped out, sending all his curious subjects scrambling away. Yatagarasu had sternly observed any of the summons who had visited Sasuke, making sure they never exhausted him, and driving away everyone when he found himself drifting in tiredness. So much so Sasuke sometime felt he was being treated like glass. Like they would rather not tell him anything, let him do anything, afraid any little thing would send him shattering into pieces.
It could also because he had realized this land was a peaceful place. The constant push and pull of borders found in the other side of the veil was anathema to the spirits. Oh they knew of war, for these summons answer the call of men. But it was not for lust of power and control, it was more of a complicated mix of loyalty, fate, and love. Summons can fight each other in the world of men, bound they were to the tightest threads to the one who summoned them. But in their lands, it is the ancient laws that bound them. The divine will of the gods that have set an unbreakable path to them. Wars are never fought in the Land of the Summons for each summons' fate in their world has been carved from the beginning to end.
Sasuke thought it was such a strange feeling. At the back of his mind, he wondered if this was the peace that he sought. There was a sense of stillness so immovable, he had never thought it possible. Sasuke could never get used to the feeling, the feeling that there was nothing pushing him just as there was nothing waiting for him. That everything was written from start to finish, and there was nothing more to be said.
Don't get him wrong. There was a certain sense of easiness to it. You could say it was a glorious idea, to simply rest with no expectation. It was freeing to know there were no consequences to any of his actions. No eyes waiting to pounce at any little mistake. But he did feel a bit aimless, lethargic.
"You're getting better," His Holiness Sorata Yamamoto observed as he began to re-bandage Sasuke's wound. "I'm glad."
Sasuke gave a murmur of thanks. He tried to draw up his courage in asking why the leader of all the shrines would spend his time in healing him. It's not as if he was ignorant of his clan's place in history. Although clan myths and legends only allude to their rich history, his father made sure he knew it well by the memory transference Sasuke was subjected to. But it was more of the reality that the Uchiha is but a dead clan. It was also because he could not help but see himself as a failure. Didn't he fail as Indra when he let the empire plunge into civil war? Fail again and again from protecting his people in the warring states era? Fail as Madara when he could not show his people the bleak future that he saw? Or that he failed time and time again with every Great War that happened? When he failed to protect his own son and clan from certain death? When he as Sasuke failed to amount to anything?
Even when his ancestors failed, they at least did something. They at least made something of their life. And what about him? He just lived a useless life unable to even give peace that his dead clan should have.
"Why?" Sasuke at last spoke. He couldn't even ask more. Such a coward he was.
"Many reasons," Sorata replied. His tone was soft, contemplative. "I could say that we honour the rightful Imperial line...but that's not the whole story." A pause before he continued, "Loyalty is earned by deeds. I can't say for my predecessors, but for me I remember your father, your grandfather and even your great grandfather. I most especially remember Lord Kenshin, your great grandfather. I was so young back then, and I didn't know how to handle a tricky dispute. He just swept in. Charismatic, almost arrogant in his assertion, but by the gods how he handled it masterfully. And then I realised he was kind, he just had to be so self-assured so no doubt would fester. That's one important lesson I learned from him."
Sasuke turned curiously. He was fascinated at the nostalgic look he found at His Holiness' face.
Sorata gave Sasuke a find smile as he said, "then there's you."
"Me?"
"Do you remember when I visited you in disguise?"
"Whatever for," Sasuke asked in confusion. He did remember that day when Grandmother Yuki introduced him to a supposed random monk on a pilgrimage. He had found the monk suspicious for every word that he said rang false. Hiding behind his grandma's legs, he had slowly warmed up to him upon seeing grandmother's knowing twinkle in her eye. Now that he had been properly introduced, he realised it was His Holiness. But back then, he simply introduced himself as the monk, Basho. It was just a silly thing now that he thought of it. The stupid self-importance of a child.
"I fooled most of the Konoha Shinobi," Sorata spoke. "Maybe not all for I certainly did not fool your clan or the Copy-Nin, but you were just a child. I knew you would be special."
Sasuke let loose a bitter laugh. "You placed your bet on the wrong person. I'm sorry but I am nothing special."
"Or maybe you're wrong," was the gentle riposte by Sorata. "His Majesty Garuda believes in you."
It felt such a stinging blow to Sasuke. Perhaps he is wrong in thinking he had fled the weight of expectation. He looked down on his oh so useless hands.
"I'm not Kenshin," Sasuke whispered. "I'm not Indra."
"Of course not, but you are Uchiha."
How wrong he was. It seemed the world would not let him go.
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Let us return to the history of the Land of the Wind with it's toil and burden the first Emperor could not revoke. Even Jimmu's descendants could do nothing. All succeeding emperors and their heirs came, yet the land remained stubbornly barren. So the people endured for countless of generations, working in the cursed sands with nothing but bleached bone in return.
One day the then Crown Prince Indra was passing through the wasteland that was Wind. The Prince was traveling as the Imperial Justice. An important symbol of imperial power, for in his role he roamed the land to hear the cries, cares and disputes of men, and to render judgement and justice in the Emperor's stead.
He was attacked by a young man named Oda. Barely a man, more of a boy, Oda was filled with fire and rage at the fate he and his people for forced to endure. Hot blooded Oda was the descendant of the mischievous boy who brought about the curse that plagued the land. He had long despaired of their fate. Had always refused to accept such cruelty for something so small.
Crown Prince Indra listened to such a tale. A monk had come to beg for Oda's foolish life for how could a little boy be able to catch the warrior prince and his cohort of loyal men unaware?
Indra and his cohort watched as the bedraggled populace echoed the monk's entreaties while their tale of woe unfolded.
"Mercy," they cried out for the boy who had toiled as much as them. For the boy who defied the wrathful sun to hunt and scavenge so that there would be enough to eat.
"Kill me you coward," Oda taunted. "You're nothing but fat pigs who gorge on our misery. Oath breakers!"
"It is our duty to help, your Imperial Highness," Garuda the summon king advised. He was the Prince's most loyal man. An ancient ruler who had long swore fealty to the Imperial line in Jimmu's time. He saw something in the young prince and had offered his sword, heart and mind to see what deeds Indra would wrought. "Yet let not such defiance pass, for he may only bring war to your doorstep. The boy feels no remorse for what he has attempted to do. If you give him mercy and the lords hear of it, they will call you weak. They will defy you at every turn until they can seize the power that is rightly yours."
Indra studied the defiant boy. Looked into his burning eyes. He saw a raging courage that brought a smile to his lips.
"Tell me boy," Indra spoke with a curious mien. "Why you should get what you wished?"
The boy gaped in disbelief at the Prince's words. He had expected death, a last act of defiance against the rulers that have forgotten and condemned them to misery. And perhaps in the depths of his heart, he had wished to quickly end his suffering.
"What have you said that spoke of your dreams?" Prince Indra continued, "what have you done to reach your goals?"
"How can I dream when living is a struggle?!"
The boy's frustrated roar echoed in the desert.
"Then show me you mettle," Indra challenged as he unsheathed his sword and threw it to the stunned Oda. The Prince drew his tessen out and held it in a challenge. "Show the gods what your worth is."
And so the two clashed. It was an uneven fight for the Prince was skilled and the boy untutored. The Prince simply dodged the Oda's clumsy swings. He observed the screaming young man, and raised not his iron fan. Again and again they danced upon the noonday sun.
"Fight me," Oda cried out. "I may be a fool but if there is a small chance of hope for everyone, then I will take it."
Indra's features softened. He raised his iron fan to block the savage swing of the sword. Twisted it and sent Oda's borrowed blade hurtling out of his hands. Oda stared back in defiance, he saw his death was near. As the blade fell between the two fighters, Indra did not press his advantage. Instead he raised his arm up into the sky. His chakra glowed, dancing arm his limb and the fan it held, before he sent it up into the heavens.
The clouds gathered. The sky rumbled and to the awestruck men, a Kirin appeared and blasted the sword into slag. As the heavenly messenger's hooves struck the ground, water began to bubble from the gash left by the melted blade. The Crown Prince bowed low in respect and thanks to the creature and all followed suit. With a toss of its regal head, the Kirin disappeared into a crackle of lightning.
"This is just a tiny thing," Indra spoke, his gaze intent on Oda. "I do not have the right nor the power to end this curse, but I can give you this small spring of hope."
The Prince turned his gaze to the horizon. He absently fingered a pouch hanging from his belt, then tossed it to the silent Oda. With fumbling fingers, the boy opened it to reveal it filled with gold sand. Bereft of words, Oda could only stare.
"They say," Indra continued with a shrug. "That hardship bequeaths riches. That the gods are not needlessly cruel, for with great suffering comes great blessings."
"Where?"
Indra laughed out loud. "Prove your resolve boy. Search the earth, toil and build instead of cursing and languishing in your fate. Master your own destiny."
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Gaara released a sigh as the he finished the last reams of information gathered by their intelligence division. It was disconcerting to realise that they were inching closer and closer to war. The reports had been eye opening. More so now that they had finally found a chink in the Land of Fire's armour, information had now become more reliable and simply more. In a way, Suna had to thank Konoha's ambition for such a coup. This was one of the reason's Lord Shigeru agreed to the Ise treaty.
Don't let your feelings squander an opportunity," Gaara would remember Lord Shigeru cautioning him much to his disbelief. "This will give us ample chances to gather information within the Land of Fire and initiate contact with the remaining loyal retainers of the Uchiha clan within Fire."
"It's a opening we cannot ignore," Renji, the Suna spymaster rumbled. "We have never managed to create a reliable information network within the Land of Fire. This is our chance."
In truth, Gaara was never comfortable with all the cloak and dagger Suna seemed to be indulging in. Unfortunately considering the current situation, Gaara knew that refusing to use this avenue would do the Land of Wind a disservice. No matter how governments and their propaganda want to cultivate an image of peace and harmony, it was all a lie. The Land of the Five Great Shinobi Nation's have been in a stalemate ever since the end of the warring states era. A constant state of Cold War that had erupted from time to time into the World Wars before once again shimmering down.
"The Imperial line fell when Ashura, the bastard son, beguiled his father to name him Crown Prince," the old head priest Hijitaka spoke to Gaara and his siblings in one of their weekly lessons. They had been declared as possible heirs to the title of Kazekage. These sessions was one aspect of their training and assessment on who was most fitted to the responsibility and rank. "The kingdom slowly fell into chaos, for who would trust a man without any known feats and skill? Who had never contributed anything to the land and it's governance. Those who pledged their loyalty to such a man, were the power-hungry who knew they could manipulate such a naive and ignorant boy."
"Always remember Gaara," his father, Rasa, would mussed in one of their rare conversations. "We are always at war. Every great Shinobi nation has aspired to become the new seat of Imperial power. All the great wars have been the result of these ambitions."
In fact, now that Gaara thought about it. This was one of the last few conversations he had with his father that Shukaku had been silent. Gaara would remember Shukaku hissing, 'Be careful what you wished for. We dreamed of destroying Jimmu's line and rejoiced when it was so. We forgot that it was better to deal with devil you know than a sinner masquerading as a saint.'
It would become etched in Gaara's mind, Shukaku and Rasa's voices blending. His father had spoken, contemplative, "The is always a cycle between every Great War. It always begins with the nations consolidating their new borders and rebuilding. After that is all the diplomatic posturing that inevitably turns into ways they try to influence each other's society and economy. You hear them condemn and negotiate until one day it becomes actual intervention. Then it's followed by minor military border skirmishes until they find a moral cause to declare their war."
'How foolish we were,' Shukaku sibilant tones curled into his mind. 'To celebrate the man whose descendant would remake us into beasts of burden.'
"Bad news?"
Kankuro's voice broke thru his musings. Gaara looked up to see his brother throwing him sympathetic looks, making him realise that how much his jaw had been aching with tension.
"Expected news."
"So bad news," Kankuro scoffed. "Konoha at it again?"
Gaara scowled which prompted Kankuro to protest, pointing out the shenanigans that bought about the death of the Head Priest Hijitaka and that dragged Gaara into the mess. Gaara sighed, seeing his brother's mulish expression. It warmed his heart to know Kankuro cared, but he wished it was not at the cost of his good opinion on his friends in Konoha. The whole incident had soured Kankuro's outlook on the Land of Fire and all its citizenry, most especially their Shinobi.
"Konoha is instituting steps to call for the abdication of His Holiness Sorata Yamamoto for aiding and abetting a international criminal and terrorist," Gaara spoke, internally wincing as he saw Kankuro's features morph in outrage. To call for the removal of the Head of the Izumo Taisha Shrine, the cornerstone of the whole religious order, was an overreach. None had dared do such as thing in all living memory.
"Those bloody wankers!" Kankuro spat out. "It's the damn Second World War over again!"
It was a fairly accurate assessment, no matter how crude the delivery. But then, this was Kankuro, his brash older brother who teemed with arrogance for good or for ill. Kankuro cared not a whit for what everyone thought. A philosophy in life that brought him in opposition with Gaara's friends in Konoha. Pansy assed weaklings, Kankuro would describe them. He never understood their desire to court the good opinion of all sundry, having lived all his life marching on his own banner.
Gaara could understand Kankuro's frustration. Calling for the abdication of His Holiness might be a significant step to another world war. The call would essentially divide the known world into two factions waiting for any slight reason to attack. It was a similar state of affairs that bought about the Second World War. It began with a sect calling for the secularisation of the Izumo Taisha lands and its reunification as the Land of Whirlpool. The Izumo Taisha lands were vast swaths fertile territory partly coming from selected sections of the defunct Land of Whirlpool and the lands gifted to the shrine by an ancient Imperial edict. The situation was further escalated by the Izumo Taisha lands having been surrounded by the former territories of the Land of the Whirlpool that have been acquired by the Land of Fire and the Land of Water after the First Great War. The nationalistic fervour having spread to those conquered territories brought increasing calls to recreate Whirlpool and absorb the old lands belonging to the shrine. This bubbling dispute brought about the opportunists ready to acquire this grain belt in any form possible.
The tension all came to head at the attempted assassination of the leader of the Izumo Taisha Shrine. The reunification sect took responsibility and raised the call for independence. The border territories of Fire and Water soon followed and erupted in secessionist violence. Nearly all the nations soon followed in either a declaration of war or support for the rebels, and so began the Second Great War.
Although the Izumo Taisha Shrine never recovered its temporal powers as the ruler of the said lands, it was able to rebuild its influence thru a select number of treaties. They took advantage of the resentment that fermented against Fire and Water when the two nations carved the former territories of Izumo Taisha into North and South. These two section became beholden to one of each nation and were independent lands in name only. The unrest brought about by the Third Great War was also used to their advantage. These treaties assured that any attempt of interference with the shrine would most likely bring about sanctions at best, and at worst, a call to arms.
"What the hell are they thinking?" Kankuro shook his head in disbelief.
"They maybe banking on the fact that they hold influence over the shrines of Ise and Atsuta," Gaara spoke grimly. "If they can bring another great nation like the Land of Lightning, some of the nations may follow. It may be enough of a bloc that the rest of the nations will be persuaded to ignore the treaties."
Gaara's lips thinned as he considered the current situation. Everyone knew who Konoha considered to be the international criminal.
"Lord Sasuke shouldn't have acted that way in Kumo," Gaara continued. "When he took the Yata mirror and burned all their labs down, it was a insult the Land of Lighting would never let pass."
"Fuck them!" Kankuro spat back. "You know what they did to his father. They desecrated his father's body. If I was Sasuke and I found father's body, Temari's body or YOUR body being experimented on, I wouldn't have just burnt those labs down. I would make them suffer that they would be begging to die."
Wide eyed, Gaara watched as Kankuro continued his rant. "So what if I pissed them off? You all are my family. I love you."
It was heartening to hear it from Kankuro. His rough and tumble brother that normally never talked about softer sentiments. But then, what happened to Lord Fugaku had been horrifying that it had etched itself in all their collective memories.
Gaara shuddered. He would never forget that day. The whole of Suna had awoken when a roiling mass of chakra exploded into existence. It had suddenly appeared on the Atsuta Shrine and it had been by luck that Gaara and Kankuro with their guards had been visiting the shrine. They scrambled to meet the intruder, rushing to the sacred spring where the intense chakra emanated from. He would remember how Shukaku had suddenly stilled and retreated to himself. There had been a sense of fear and awe, and oddly a sense of anticipation from the tailed beast.
The sight that greeted them said it all.
Uchiha Sasuke stood wrapped in soot stained clothes. His eyes were dark and bleak. In front of him looked like two bodies, though Gaara was unsure covered they were by cloth. Before he and his men could step nearer, a chimera blocked their way. It was Garuda, much to Gaara's surprise. Kankuro sputtered besides him, while shock and wonder rippled thru the rest of the Suna nin. Gaara and Kankuro knew about Garuda. Mitsuki had reported meeting the legends summon king, but to be honest, it had been too fantastical a report to truly imagine. But now here he was in the flesh.
"My Lord," Hijitaka hobbled towards Sasuke.
"Your Most Reverend Hijitaka," Sasuke spoke, his voice quivering with a suppressed emotion. "The Atsuta Shrine is the only main shrine I know and trust..."
He paused. The air quivered in anticipation. Sasuke suddenly kneeled down and flung off the fabric that lay at his feet.
Pain. A miasma of agony and despair burst into the air. It was so strong it nearly left a tangible stench in the air. It took all of Gaara's will to remain standing. Shukaku, in fact, hissed with a front. Behind him, he could hear Kankuro collapse to his knees. His other men heaved. Some even vomited. The white cloth fluttered in the breeze. Underneath it was the mutilated bodies of two men and a smattering handful of eyeballs, blood red with the Sharingan. On top of them, a ancient mirror gleamed, stained with blood and gore.
"Lord Fugaku," Hijitaka whispered in shock. "Your Eminence Kouya. The Yata no Kagami."
"I am asking you allow me to use your sacred spring to purify my father and my clan."
"Of course," the Most Reverend agreed, but it difficult for any of the priest's to draw near. The reek that the mutilated bodies emitted was so strong the priest's had to resort to dipping blessed strips of silk onto the sacred springs which they would use to cover their noses and mouth. Buckets and buckets of the sacred water were poured. Again and again while the head priest Hijitaka offered prayers of purification until the miasma died down. Throughout it all, Sasuke stood uncaring as the hem of his Hakama became soaked to the skin.
When the purification was completed, the priests strode to prepare the bodies for a wake. Sasuke held out his palm to stop them.
"My family had been forced to linger too long in this world," he explained as his hands began to form the rapid fire signs of the funerary Katon. His hands shook at every shift, until the last sign. His hands stilled at the last. "Suzaku," he entreated. "Give them peace."
"Step back. You're too near," Garuda called out as nearly all that was left of the Uchiha clan burst into white hot flames. Smoke rose like storm clouds.
Sasuke seemingly heard not the words of caution. He remained where he was. In fact, he looked like he was lost in another world. His stance reminded Kankuro of a puppet who was readied to be wielded by his master. It was confusing, unnerving.
The flames were a hands-breadth from him, but he never recoiled. In fact, Sasuke reached out to the flames with the steel tessen he held in his bare hand. He moved so stiffly, almost as if he was moving in a body he was unused to.
No one could move. There was a weight that prevented everyone from moving. They could only watch as the metal turn red hot. His hand and arm glowed with chakra. The air was thick and humid. It felt almost tangible. It was ready to burst.
The chakra laden arm was raised up. The steel fan he held glowed with such intense heat. As it pointed up in the sky, the chakra and the heat was sent up into the smoke clouds.
Everyone watched in disbelief as the sky rumbled. Flashes of lightning lit the grey clouds, and it parted to reveal a dragon like creature with cloven hooves.
Hijitaka and his acolytes exclaimed, "a Kirin!"
Garuda whispered. "Indra."
"Fucking...hell...," Kankuro breathed out.
"My God," Gaara could only say.
'So the heavens have decided,' Shukaku laughed.
Sasuke tipped his head up to acknowledge the creature. A spark of recognition flashed between the two. Their gazes landed on each other before Sasuke closed his. The Kirin tossed its horned head and cried out like tinkling bells. As it's voice rang, it transformed into a construct made of lighting and drove to the flames in a great sound and fury of light.
Rain had fallen. The storm had come.
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Further Notes:
-The description of a Kirin follows the traditional description which is a dragon-like creature with hooved feet and voice like bells or chimes.
-I've taken inspiration about the story of the monk with a basket of sand and the boy from a traditional Chinese folktale on how the Gobi desert was formed. I'm not actually sure it is a traditional tale linked about the Gobi desert, but I do vaguely remember this tale and that was what I remember. It is of course only inspired from it, as I've taken liberties.
-The second shinobi war of course was not described this way in Naruto. As you can see, I've taken supreme liberties on the source material. In fact, my description of the second shinobi war was inspired by a couple of historical events. Please note this is inspired only.