9 - Phoenix 不死鳥
dying in the flames
of one's own self; the embers
flicker forgotten
It's dark. Around her is no movement except shadows slipping into the ground and the wind calling by.
Hisa wakes up with a scream, her breathing fast and shallow at the same time. There are no remnants of the day before, except the rumpled clothes creased and folded over a hundred times and the horror inflicted on her face.
A painting hanging on her wall. A lone flower, dancing in its vase. Her head spins. This is her room, right? So when...?
Her first kill.
It shouldn't have been real. It was only genjutsu, only an illusion.
How did he die?
Hisa pads across the room, hands reaching out to help her balance. Shakily, she pulls out the little match-box from the drawer, fingers feeling for the matches.
The first one doesn't strike properly, but the second ignites a flame which she then uses for the candle. A single dot of light, hovering over her like an angel. The room is clearer now. She'd have preferred to use the sharingan, but she's too tired to even try to activate it.
Slowly, Hisa pushes open the shoji screen, tiptoeing across the hallway and taking care not the make a sound. The floorboards gently creak underneath her feet. Shisui is sleeping - his bedroom is enshrouded in darkness. A few checks confirms that too. Haru, on the other hand-
His room is wide open and empty, even from where she stands. Maybe he's in the kitchen? She sets the candle down on the table, then feels around again for her way through. There's a note. A single slip of paper which she can't make out.
Hisa holds it to the light, trying to make out the words.
I will be gone for a few weeks, it reads. Be safe.
A mission, then. A small sigh of relief escapes her mouth, then the melancholy finally settles in. She just killed someone.
Hisa's stomach lurches, her insides twisting around as she stumbles back to the room. It spins, the paintings whirling in and out of her vision as her hands splay out again.
Crash!
Shit. Her heart drops and pupils dilate at the loud sound, glass smashing into a million pieces on the floor. The ground is inked red with her blood, trickling over the mats. Hisa winces as she blindly pulls out the splinter embedded in her hand, cursing with words she would normally never use in front of Shisui.
Shisui.
A wail echoes from the other room as she quickly snaps back to attention, gathering the pieces together with her hands. It's impossible to fix the vase again, but it's not like her family will ever miss it. Quick - before he hears...
"Aneki?" Hisa stands upright, letting her hands dangle loosely by her sides.
Shisui slides the door open, one hand holding the candle she'd previously placed down before. The dim light glows in the dark, and her brother stares curiously back at her.
"Nee-sama?" he pauses. "Where were you yesterday? Are you okay?"
"Nowhere," Hisa bites her lip. Her eyes stray to the candle in his hand. "I just got up for a drink of water, nothing much. You can go back to bed now."
But he doesn't leave. Instead, Shisui moves forward, kneeling to where she stands. Her legs collapse in a heap, betraying her fatigue as she gives a small sigh.
The boy looks at her fingers, raw and blistered with dry blood. "Did...did something happen yesterday?"
"No," Hisa exhales. "Now get back to bed."
He nods, placing the candle on the table in front of her and shutting the door quietly as he leaves.
It is only in the morning, when his clothes are spotted with blood and his fingers etched with glass that he realises she's lying.
At school, the clones are even more difficult to maintain. She has to give them strict orders to avoid anyone's touch, or they will disappear into dust. There've been many close calls, more than Hisa realises, and she knows she must step up her game. When she regains their memories, she sees herself dance around the other students, careful to dodge each brush of her fingers or even a single strand of her clothes.
On a rare weekend, Mikoto tries to take her out somewhere. Heavily pregnant and with the burden of a baby boy, it's not too far of a stretch to say that they can't walk too far. Fugaku is more irritable, nervous, and less inclined to let them go by every passing day.
Mikoto persuades him. Early spring sees tulips and sakura blossoms flower from delicate buds as their petals rise.
"We could just use the sharingan," Hisa objects, spotting the camera by Mikoto's side. They're quite rare - expense is not the only setback - and it's part of their symbol of power in this developing world.
"I don't have the sharingan, remember?" Mikoto nudges her with a nod. As they stop at the riverbank, Hisa looks over to see that she's cradling it fondly. "Your mother's," Mikoto explains, "and now yours, though not until you come of age."
Hisa tilts her head inquisitively, but Mikoto shrugs. "Just don't use the sharingan, alright? You've overworked yourself this week, whatever Haru-san says."
"Using the sharingan would be much easier," Hisa grumbles, but Mikoto waves a hand.
Stepping back to admire the scenery, the pregnant woman takes a picture to prove her point. "See - not everything needs the sharingan!"
"I thought you were actually good at this?" Hisa raises her eyebrows, a small smile curling on her face as Mikoto huffs.
"Alright, I'll let you show me how it's done," Mikoto concedes, after mulling it over for a few seconds. "Do be careful not to drop it, though, if you have even a shred of decency." She points to the bluebells blossoming on the other side of the bank. "If you can photograph those..."
It weighs in her hands, the unfamilliar feel and smooth texture pressing against her own lacerated fingers, contrasted to the unblemished glass of the lens. Careful not to drop it, Hisa rolls up her sleeves and wades into the icy cold water, trying not to shiver as her cuts sting.
"Y-you c-couldn't have chosen s-something else?" her teeth chatter, hands instinctively looping the camera strap over her neck. Her bare feet trudge closer as water washes the pebbles over her skin, trying to get a closer look.
The final product, over fifteen minutes later, is unfortunately something that she still can't see.
"We'll have to go to the city and develop them," Mikoto laughs, watching Hisa shake the camera and its contents. "It's not done y- be careful!"
"You can ask Fugaku-sama," Hisa suggests, placing it back into the safety of Mikoto's outstretched hands. "The Daimyo's recently called a meeting - it's not too far to hope he'll be there." Of course, she's only read the headlines when passing through the streets, glimpses of words not enough to formulate a guess. "Anyway, let's take a few more."
And then it's back again, back again to sombre skies and tedious days filled with nothing but work. Over time, the clones turn into genjutsu, a feat which drains half her energy each day she tries.
May arrives. She no longer gets invited to Mikoto's house, sorely because the pregnant woman is placed in confinement. Hisa starts longing for those tea ceremonies and friendly chats which already seem years away.
When Kurenai invites her over to a training session, it is with some degree of surprise Hisa finds that they are alone.
"The others had plans," Kurenai explains, "and Asuma-kun...well, he got dragged along by Raido-kun to something or other. Anyway, I was kinda bored, and I figured you'd be too. So, what'd you want to do? D'you have anything you need to improve on?"
"I need to work on my taijutsu," Hisa admits, taking out the uchiwa and turning it over in her hands. "But first - we need to talk."
It seems like Kurenai is getting along very well with her genin team, especially since they're her childhood friends. "Well, I expect sensei just knew we'd work together well," she says, "it's almost like everything's perfect."
"Yeah," Hisa answers, "I guess it'll be much harder for me then, you know."
"You're lucky you don't have to work on D-ranked missions," Kurenai groans, arms flopping over her face with a sigh. "That damned cat! It'll be the death of me, one day."
"I'll come to your funeral," Hisa snarks back, without missing a single beat. "Anyway, I gather we need to work on your genjutsu?"
"Yeah," Kurenai replies, and her face suddenly looks down. "I just..."
"I thought you got the highest marks for genjutsu last year?" Hisa remarks, brows furrowing with unease.
"Well, who got second?" Kurenai gives her a wry smile. Then it tilts back down into depression. "You know, I once thought the real world would be as easy as being a student. And then...I guess Asuma-kun and Raido-kun knocked me straight. They're already miles ahead of me, and it's just so...different."
"You hate yourself," Hisa guesses, "because you don't know why you're a kunoichi."
"I just don't know - I could be dead anytime soon and I'll be written off. It's so scary, Hisa-chan. Even if I'm still doing D-ranks, there are still rumours, and I'm never good enough."
"Rumours," Hisa appeases, "are not always to be believed."
They walk back from the front garden into the inner courtyard of the house, a spacious area mainly used for training.
"You have the sharingan," Kurenai hesitates, fully dismissing the previous situation, "and that's what I don't have. I'll help you on your taijutsu for a few hours, and then we can swap."
Hisa nods, her eyes flaming into red as she stares back at Kurenai.
Around the middle of June, Itachi is born.
Of course, she's not allowed in the room. Everyone waits in the adjacent one, wincing at each cry and holding their breath as they wait for the hard-earned result. Wooden window-panes are covered by blinds and curtains to relieve the effects of the swelteringly hot day, and the only thing she can hear is the vigorous fanning as the tension weighs heavy among them.
At the final scream, Fugaku sighs, stands up and walks to the door. Hesitates, for a second. The others crowd round him, and Hisa is pulled back into another room before she can even catch a glimpse of Itachi.
"It was difficult," Mikoto describes a few days later, cradling the giggling baby. Her face suddenly contorts into a relapse of pain, and then it subsides as she looks back down. "But it's worth it, you know, all for the baby."
Kushina prods at the baby's fingers. "Why did you have to call him Itachi?" she pouts. "I wouldn't name my child after a weasel, ya know? And his hands - they're so small!"
Hisa gives a small laugh. "Yours would be named after ramen, wouldn't they."
"If you're already thinking about children, then who's your beau, Kushina-chan?" Mikoto teases, a grin appearing on her face.
Kushina blushes bright red. "Not in front of the kid!" she hisses, frantically waving her hands. "And I don't have one!"
Itachi laughs again as Kushina tickles him, mood drastically changed at the sudden attention.
"He is rather small," Hisa remarks, ignoring Kushina's pointed look. "And he doesn't look like Fugaku-sama at all."
When Kushina does leave, the baby settles back down into silence as his mother places him back in his crib.
"He doesn't cry," Mikoto tells her, "and he rarely laughs. I just don't know how Kushina did it. I'm just wondering if something's wrong."
"It's normal," Hisa reassures. "Well, okaa-sama said that I never did when I was younger." Strange. She'd have thought she'd be more sad at the mention of her mother."
"I'm going to get a check-up soon, anyway. I've been feeling a little tired lately. Perhaps Shisui could play with him soon. But I've been talking too much about myself, I profess. How are you, Hisa-chan? Exhausted, I presume?"
"Look - I know it's not really the time, but..."
"Hm?"
"I-I killed someone."
Mikoto's face darkens and she pauses. "What?"
"Killing someone - it just feels so...wrong."
"You're a child!" Mikoto exclaims. "You're not meant to kill anyone until another decade!"
Hisa's eyes look down. "He was a boy. Just a boy. I could have finished it cleanly...but I didn't. And - he was tortured for hours, maybe days before."
"I remember mine," Mikoto winces. "It was really botched, but I had to do it, you know, to save my life. And you can't regret it either, because you know you'd be dead otherwise."
"Fugaku-sama doesn't know."
Mikoto stops and turns around. "It's better if he doesn't."
Suddenly, Itachi starts to cry.