4 - Hibiscus 扶桑
crimson plummeting
into glimmers of virtue;
staining into vice
Poison is slow. It creeps into your mind - the decider of life and death, withering away at the intricate network of feelings hidden beneath.
Poison is selfish.
The light, delicate powder weighs barely anything in Hisa's palm, so soft it could scatter into ashes all over the tatami mats.
Gulp.
Gasp.
While she kneels there, vulnerable and shaking, Hisa presses her hand to her lips before she can regurgitate the poison back. The air feels coagulated with languidity, a sliver of drowsiness drowning her in its sorrows.
Do what you must.
A sharp, acridly bitter taste engulfs her mouth, acid burning her throat as she tries her best not to retch. The minutes which tick by seem like hours, her body convulsing in a frenzied effort to search for relief.
"Wh-"
Haru sits there, silently waiting for her fit to finish. "You need to build up a resistance to poison," he interjects, almost as if he's calculating what he should do next. "You will take a dose every day, then. Poisoning shinobi is an uncommon but efficient method to get rid of any enemies, and you are certainly a threat to half the nations right now."
Hisa rolls over on to her side, goosebumps running down her flesh at the thought of death, One minute passes in silence. Then two.
A sigh. She's not dead yet. Yet.
Then really - what does it matter anyway? Either the poison will kill her, or someone else will. She'd rather take her chances than have her life weathered away before her.
Maybe she can mix it in her tea. A small amount - less than a teaspoon - deadly if even a tiny drop more than needed. The side effects seem to last for the whole day, though they wear off as time passes. Hisa groans, trying to stretch her legs from the cramped, curled-up position she is currently in.
"It's for the best," Haru informs her. She can barely hear him over the rapid heartbeats which hammer into her skin.
Should she go to the pharmacy? Konoha's hospitals are known all over for their abundance of diverse pills, and she's sure she can probably find something there. Though she's not too sure how they'd react to finding out that she's poisoned herself.
The faint dizziness of the dōjutsu seems to subside as she activates it day by day, under Haru's watchful eye. They both sit there, waiting for the effects to seep into her mind, a river of knowledge and truth.
"You awakened it with two tomoe," Haru says, peering intently at her eyes. She's not sure what the difference is. Maybe because her mother died in front of her instead of the mild hatred and grief which Uchiha usually feel at some point in their lives.
This sharingan feels more...advanced though. She wasn't by any means perfect when she started, but Hisa can now successfully write her characters down and read lips without any lapses in thought. She knows her herbal antidotes inside out, but she's not learning out of enjoyment, it's more the relish that comes out of knowing she can poison Shisui any day and get away with it.
"The first tomoe is for clarity and perception," Haru instructs as she looks in the ornamental mirror which Mariko once used. There's an intelligible distinction between the usual one tomoe sharingan and two.
"What can I do, then? With the second tomoe, I mean," Hisa asks, the first time she's said a word in hours.
"Copy," Haru says. "Now practice."
It really is much easier to recall scripts and texts, page by page swallowed into slanted katakana and hiragana and drowned into whole novels - until she can fully memorise a whole book just by looking once. Although she's not really sure how this is helpful, a sense of self-esteem wanders over her as her mind turns to something new. It's not complete mastery, but Hisa can see the embers of pride flicker in Haru's eyes, a nod at her satisfactory performance. He'll never acknowledge her verbally, but the signs just might be enough for her.
The next day is different. He seems more austere and severe, lashing out at every little mistake she does. So much that she is slightly remembered of a harsher version of Mariko.
When she pours the tea from the finely carved kyūsu, it drips all over the tatami mats, though surprisingly, he doesn't make a single sound of reproval. They talk in courtesy, their manners refined but a storm brewing inside their hearts.
"This year," says Haru, "There won't be many Clan Heirs. I suppose the Heads are all stepping up now. Why, Hyūga Hiashi was married the other day in an elaborate wedding, as they call it. Lady Hyūga seems to be quite frail nowadays. Apparently they don't know when she'll have a child, seeing as she doesn't want one yet."
"Which clan was she from?"
"You'd better ask Mikoto-san," Haru advises her, packing his soldier pills into the backpack. "They used to be in the same class at the Academy."
"The Hyūga clan are all prodigies, aren't they? The Byakugan...I read that it's a capable dōjutsu, isn't it? It can see for 360 degrees around and for miles ahead."
"Both clans' dōjutsu follow high standards," Haru reassures her, "Thpugh we also have our flaws at times. However, the sharingan can make up for any defects by having a sensor type on their team."
"Will I be a sensor type?" Hisa's thoughts wander into words as she pauses from her scribbling. "After I turn graduate - what would happen then? It's not like I'm going to join the Police Force or anything, right?"
This is the only thing they are in agreement on. Even Haru knows the harassment she'll face if she enters as a female, a child at that. The hereditary arrogance extends to members of their own clan, whether more brittle or inexperienced than them.
"You want me to rise up the ranks then? To serve under the Hokage as a jōnin?"
"Not necessarily as a jōnin either," Haru sighs, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. All his clothes are neatly folded to one side.
"Then what should I do? Does this training already start at the Academy? What did Fugaku-sama tell you? I'm supposed to know, because I'm the one doing it, and if I am, I want to know everything."
"I can't tell you everything right now. You'll find out for yourself someday."
"You always say that," Hisa complains, but leaves the subject at that.
Haru finds her later, folding origami cranes in Shisui's bedroom, hands creasing the edges as if she's done this a thousand times before. He slides the door shut so quietly she mistakes the creak for the wind blowing through the window, leaving her there to stay with her sleeping brother.
When Shisui wakes up, it's a little to midnight, the clock ticking loudly, warningly, disturbing the fragile peace throughout the house. "Aneki?" Strangely enough, there seem to be a plethora of paper birds sprawled all over the floor in bright colours, a fiery plumage.
She doesn't hear him.
Shisui closes his eyes and pretends to go back to sleep. A few minutes later, he can hear the click of the door as the shoji screens slide shut.
Unlike the previous days, the sun doesn't stream in, instead hailing down as the morning's hostile greeting. The cinders of rain flare anew while she fidgets with the tassels of her obi, the velvety kimono meeting its soft stitches at the hem.
The long trek to the Academy is riddled with stray stones and lone, winding paths, a twist of lanes so complex that Hisa's in awe at how her ancestors could navigate through the labyrinthine streets of Konoha.
She's actually never been outside alone before. Occasionally Mariko might take her out shopping as a baby, carrying her in her arms as she browsed. Sometimes Haru would proudly show off his daughter to friends, and maybe a foreign ambassador or two. But it's been a long time since such a thing ever happened.
Although the maze-like paths confuse her a little bit, it's difficult not to notice the large, conspicuously designed building which lies at the foot of the Hokage mountain. For a split second, Hisa wonders if there will ever be an Uchiha Hokage. Then the thought fades from her mind - a tide which slowly ebbs away as time passes.
It flits to Shisui, his curly tufts so unlike hers vivid in her mind - is he crying, sleeping, eating, she doesn't know. He can take care of himself.
And then she's there. Inside a brightly-coloured classroom where thirty or so children stare up at her in boredom. Daifoku-sensei (as she is told) is a cheerfully optimistic man, perhaps so sanguine that he is oblivious to the goings-on in his class. In the corner of her eye, an Aburame's bugs crawl up the folds of his shirt, a Nara lazily reclining back as an Akimichi crunches on his chips.
"Hisana-san," sensei smiles up at her - though is he wary or reassured, she doesn't know - "I have great expectations for you in the future, as one of the Uchiha."
Great, Hisa thinks dully. A chatter rises throughout the class at her clan name, everyone having evidently heard the teacher's words. In the corner, some civilian girls pass notes while the boys behind them throw paper aeroplanes, disturbing a Yamanaka who is concentrating on weaving daisies into a flower crown.
"Settle down," Daifoku-sensei orders, a momentary frown crossing his face. It changes into a beam so quickly that Hisa almost doesn't catch it. "Sit next to Ririka-san, over there," he directs, pointing to an empty space on the bench.
And then she stills, her eyes meeting Ririka's lilac ones, orbs that seem as if they could peer into the darkest depths of Hisa's soul. "Hyūga Ririka," the girl says, so softly that a shudder runs down her flesh, chilling her to the bone.
As far as she knows, the Hyūga have a long-standing rivalry with the Uchiha which is only second best to the Senju. Though she's never been told the extent to which it stretched, both sides are more hostile than ever to stay on top of Konoha.
"Uchiha Hisa," she answers, leaning back on the bench. Although she knows she shouldn't talk to her, she's sorely tempted to do so instead of listening to sensei's constant droning.
"An Uchiha, huh? Hope you don't look down on us like the rest. Kami knows where the rest have got to, maybe serving as some jōnin somewhere."
"There were more?" As far as she can see, the colourful crowd of children includes not one Uchiha crest."
"Yeah, they left after a few months. I expect you will too, seeing that everyone from your clan just has to be a prodigy."
"I guess so."
"Friends...?" Ririka trails off, unsure of the thoughts rushing through Hisa's mind. "
"I can't." She turns away with a hint of an apologetic smile. Her clan over anything, always. "You know that."
Hisa sits - hides? - in a tree at lunchtime, tucking into the bento which Mikoto neatly packed for her with great vigour. She can feel a tremor as the branches shake, so violently that she almost falls off. Ririka's unmistakeable violet locks swing in front of her, leaves piling down in a heap at the strain of their combined weight.
The other girl takes out her chopsticks, a steady rhythm maintained between them as the bamboo taps against the lacquered wood. They sit there in silence, a sense of comfort and home filling the air.
Chakra control is supposed to be a relaxing, peaceful lesson without any distractions. A highly-sought after relief after the chaos in the classroom. As Daifoku-sensei teaches them all on meditation, Hisa feels the familiar surge of chakra circulating around her body, tingles jolting her into conscious thought.
After a while, everyone stands in a twisted, confused version of a line, waiting as sensei hands out pieces of paper.
("Troublesome," mumbles a Nara as Inoha Yamanaka nudges him into place.)
"Chakra Induction Paper shows your nature affinity," sensei tells them, making them all stand up straighter. "Water, fire, wind, lightning, and earth."
A boy - an Inuzuka? - shoves her over as the others push to be first in line, Daifoku-sensei's tense smile only hiding his frazzled expression. Should she do something about it? Hisa thinks, wondering if she can perform the Fire-Style jutsu at a time like this.
No. Better to lay low for now.
But she can't help but get a splinter of revenge. Her uchiwa fan, a violent red and pure white, collides with the poor boy in all its glory, a small cry emitting from his mouth.
"Oops," she waves her hand. "I was just fanning myself - it's too hot out here." Actually, it's freezing, having rained in the morning, though no-one really notices. Ririka watches quietly and makes no motion to stop her.
When it's her turn, she fully expects the blank slip of paper in front of her to burst into flames, waiting for it to crumble into ash like the rest of her clan. There is a pause as a wave of water crashes down, flooding into the grass in a whirlpool of water and - nothingness. A drizzle gushes out as rivulets run down, suddenly submerging the paper and drenching her kimono.
Hisa isn't wet, though. Maybe it's just her imagination.
On second thought, at the way Daifoku-sensei and the rest stare up at her, perhaps it's not. "A powerful water affinity," sensei muses, looking at Hisa strangely.
"What about...fire?" Hisa asks. Doesn't it naturally run through her Uchiha veins?
"Nature transformations always have an imbalance," he explains. "You are also inclined to fire, but water will always be your strongest."
Hisa nods absentmindedly, watching as Ririka's paper splits into two halves, a soft line marring into jagged edges as a light breeze sweeps them apart.
"Is a water nature common in our clan?" Hisa asks Mikoto while the older woman sews, the ends of the black thread flying as the needle darts in and out. "It's supposed to be my most powerfuk affinity, but everyone else in our clan has fire."
"Not necessarily, but it's not unusual either," Mikoto reassures her, eyes focused on the clothes in front of her. "Mariko-san may have had it, or passed it down to you. You never know, right?"
Hisa moves to help with the torn fabric. "How would you know?" It's not exactly impolite, just questioning.
"Ah, I was a kunoichi before I married Fugaku," Mikoto grins. "Quite recently, in fact. I had water, the genes passed down from my mother. I actually used to be a branched-off Uchiha clan member, perhaps Fugaku's distant cousin. Marriages inside the clan are still common, you know."
"Ne, I won't think about that for my own sake," Hisa giggles.
"No, no!" Mikoto flails her hands for a moment, forgetting about the needle and thread. "I suppose you shouldn't think about these things at your age. Anyway, how was school? I heard today was your first day."
At the obvious change of subject and the frantic way in which Mikoto does it, Hisa cannot help but conceal a slight titter. "It was fine, I guess. Nothing much. We did normal things, but it all just seems too...well, easy."
"It does seem like that, doesn't it? Well, I know you did something," Mikoto notices.
"I - I may or may not have hit someone with my fan," she reveals sheepishly, holding out the uchiwa to soothe Mikoto's fears. She can still feel the ghost of her mother's laboured breathing through the cherry-coloured paper blossoms.
"Who? I hope it wasn't too hard, because kami knows what your father would do. Especially if it's an important clan member. "
"An Inuzuka. He pushed me in the line, so I secretly smacked him before anyone noticed."
Mikoto chortles loudly, placing down her needlework. "Ah, I never really liked that clan anyway. Their dogs are too loud for my sense of relaxation. But Tsume-san is a nice person, don't get me wrong."
"Mikoto-nee!" Hisa admonishes, appalled.
"You did worse," Mikoto raises her eyebrows, shaking her finger for a comedic effect.
Hisa almost pricks her finger as she stabs the needle through the cloth, immediately trying to cover it up. It doesn't go unnoticed, however. "Did you make any friends?" Mikoto asks anxiously.
She glances down, a little annoyed and frustrated at the same time. "I - I tried to..." she lies.
"But?" Mikoto presses on.
"She was a Hyūga. We ate lunch together, y'know?"
"So?"
"I know we have some sort of inter-clan rivalry, so I thought that I don't want to make life any more strained between them. I don't think otou-san would like to know either."
Mikoto sighs. "Just make friends with who you want to, Hisa-chan. Forget about Haru-san, okay?"
"Really?" she asks, looking up at Mikoto in suspicion. "But-"
"No doubt Fugaku placed this idea into his head," Mikoto's brow creases into a frown. "Just relax a little, though. Even if you can't make friends with one person, there are many others in your class, aren't there?"
"Yes," Hisa nods. "I'm not really sure though."
"If you want to be friends with her, then it's okay." Mikoto reassures.
"I suppose."
"Do whatever you think is best, then."
But she doesn't know what is best, Hisa thinks.
At lunch the next day, they're both sitting on the tree again, watching the others play hide and seek in the obstacle-ridden playground. The spring finally slips its true colours away as green blooms across the fields, newly-sparkling from the tears of the rain.
Hisa wonders if the flowers are good enough to make tea with. White tints spread throughout the edges, a shadow of red gyring through the vortex of blushing petals. A hibiscus. She's never been good at hanakotoba, but the gentle infusion of magenta and roselle is a fleeting beauty - destined to live forever in transience. Like her life.
"You seem so peaceful," Ririka opens her mouth for the first time, and it is only then that Hisa realises she is looking at her.
"Yes," she agrees. It's a virtue in a world full of vice - she's long learned to ignore all other aspects of the world.
Ririka's fingers lightly brush over the hairband which slants steeply over her forehead, perhaps self-consciously. "You can't be friends with me, can you?"
"It's because of my clan," Hisa explains as the other girl nods in understanding. "And why are you always following me around? Stalking me?"
"Not stalking," the girl says stubbornly.
"Then what do you call it?"
"Your clan is similar to mine," Ririka says. "The branch family of the Hyūga clan is less important than the main family."
"What do you mean?" Hisa asks, a little puzzled.
The hairband slips down slightly before Ririka hesitates. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"I won't," she promises, though she's not really sure what about.
Then the cursed seal is revealed, the condemning symbol of the Hyūga which separates the branch members from the main house. A mark which controls Ririka's fate, one which she is destined to wear until death. Hisa knows a little about the Hyūga clan feud from her parents' conversations in the past, but even this is information to be coveted. A secret which only a few outsiders know.
"Why are you telling me this?" Isn't this too private to share with just anyone, let alone a stranger?
"Because you're just like me," Ririka admits. "We're both bound by our clans - their tools in their fight for Konoha."
Ririka knows more than she's letting on, Hisa thinks. "Bound by our clans," she echoes, "To play in their game."
A game for Konoha. A game where the stakes are higher than she'd ever dreamed of.
"What will you do?" she asks Ririka. "What will you do to escape the ties that bind us all?"
"I don't know," Ririka concedes, pale eyes flaring up as, nearby, innocent children scream with joy.
"I don't know either," Hisa confesses. "The game they're playing," she points to the other students, "Is different from ours."
They both know that war is threatening them all, that war will expose them to the deepest and darkest perils of which have never been seen, that war will destroy them all, inside out, into lifeless figures of ash and smoke. They are almost certainly done for, dead already, their petals not even half-formed from the precious bud.
"Maybe we should be friends." And then, perhaps, an unlikely friendship sparks between an Uchiha and a Hyūga.
lovehearts,
m.b.