Disclosure
"Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken. -Jane Austen
"You want me to do what."
"You heard me," Yahiko said while crossing his arms.
After a particularly unpleasant night spent getting reamed by my mother and being prodded awake before dawn, I was prepared to face a grueling session with Yahiko. Blood, sweat, and tears, or something like that. This is not what I expected.
I stared at the tangle of ninja wire he dumped in my lap. Surely, he was kidding. I thought he was going to force me into training, not playing a bastardized version of Cat's Cradle with sharp wire.
"Come on, hands up."
Begrudgingly, I obeyed. I wouldn't be able to deter Yahiko the same way I did Tarou and Daichi since he already knew I was smart. A small part of me also cringed at the thought of upsetting Hina again. The tension in her shoulders was more rigid than I had ever seen it after my stunt with the training group had been exposed last night.
He walked me through a series of complicated and almost painful contortions of my hands to weave the wire between my fingers into intricate patterns. When the wire got so taut with patterns that the blood was cut off from the tips of my fingers, he had me unwind and start over again. And again. And again.
Just as I was about to complain that my hands were cramping, he spoke up.
"So," he started casually, "has it always just been you and Hina-san?"
I shot him a look while transferring the wire between my middle and ring fingers. "What does it matter?"
"Just curious," he shrugged. There was a long pause where the only noise was the constant pattering of the rain on the tent above us.
"Did you ever get to meet your father?"
An irritated sigh ripped out of me before I could stop it. "No," I bit out, "I've never met him. It's just been me and my mother."
"Huh," Yahiko said while scratching his chin and staring at me critically.
"What?" I bit out after almost a minute of staring. Clearly, he wasn't going to let it go, whatever it was he was focused on.
"What about your mom's family? Have you met them?"
I huffed, resting my aching hands on my lap after finishing the latest round of wire manipulations.
"No. No father, no grandmother, no grandfather, no cousins. It has just been us this whole time. Why do you even care?"
For just a second, a sharp glint appeared in his eyes, but it was gone so fast I thought I must have imagined it.
"You're right," he waved it off. "I'm being nosy. I am an orphan, and so are Nagato and Konan. None of us remember much about our parents. It's fortunate you have such a loving mother."
"Yes," I said warily, not liking the turn of the conversation, "I am lucky to have my mother."
I picked up the wire again and began moving through the motions again, in hopes that he'll take the hint that the conversation was over.
"You've been worrying her, you know," Yahiko said pointedly, while leaning down slightly to meet my eyes.
My shoulders hunched slightly. Of course, I knew that she wasn't pleased with my choices. Hina had made it abundantly clear what she thought last night after Yahiko left and I wouldn't soon forget. While I could bear her anger and embarrassment at my less-than-stellar report, it was the worry that tinted her eyes that caused a trickle of shame to run down my spine.
"I'm just not meant to be a shinobi," I mumbled, looking away from him. "I don't think like you do."
"What way is that?" He asked lightly, as if he didn't just open a can of worms.
"Like people don't matter! How can you just kill people and ruin homes without caring?" I exclaimed.
I regretted saying it almost as soon as it left my mouth. I vowed to watch what I say around shinobi after my last outburst, but there was something about Yahiko.
Apparently, one of his talents is to irritate the people around him, I thought uncharitably.
"You're right," he admitted, making my hands still in surprise. "Most shinobi see civilians as irritating obstacles. They don't care about what happens to them as long as they finish their mission. That doesn't make it right though."
"No," I grunted, "It's not."
"I want to change that. I want to make the Land of Rain a place where shinobi protect civilians and families like yours can prosper." He didn't yell or even raise his voice, but the passion in his voice rang out even above the constant noise of the downpour.
I studied his face in the muted light. Judging by the granite-like resolve etched into the planes of his face, he was serious.
Ridiculous. I scoffed to myself. Who does he think he is? God? He's just one person. One person who is close friends with the owner of the legendary samsara eye, that is. So maybe it's not so ridiculous, a faint, almost hopeful voice whispered in the back of my mind.
Clearly feeling that the moment for a heart-to-heart has passed, he gestured for me to stand up and follow him out of the tent and through the narrow alleys. The mud squelched around my toes and into the gaps of my too-big sandals as we trudged our way to a large close-walled tent guarded by a tired-eyed kunoichi.
Upon entering the tent, we were greeted by the site of piles upon piles of rice sacks, canned vegetables, and packs of dried meat. Yahiko walked over to a haphazard pile, turned and looked at me with his hands on his hips.
"We have a project this week. We need to organize these supplies so we can continue to feed the camp. Get moving, kid. Those cans aren't going to stack themselves."
A fierce scowl slashed across my face, but I did as I was told. At least it was something non-violent, I told myself, even as my arms and legs started to ache with each transferred can.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The rest of the week passed similarly. Yahiko would alternate between weird games, like collecting lost kunai around the camp, throwing small sacks of salt into bins from increasingly far away, and the Cat's Cradle game, with various projects around the camp.
Each day, I returned to our tent completely exhausted. Even with breaks during the day to drink water and eat, I was ravenous at every meal time. Kumiko was delighted by my appetite and would even give me a little bit of her serving when nobody was looking. She was still on a mission to plump me up and I wasn't complaining.
Hina, similarly, was relieved that she hadn't received another bad report, but kept watching me like she expected a meltdown sooner rather than later. She was a wise woman, but Yahiko had had me working so hard, I hadn't had the energy to plan for my next escape. At least, not yet.
She seemed to have settled into camp life well since Kumiko took her under her wing. While I slaved away with Yahiko, she reported to one of the tents to work with other women on their mending. She didn't say much about it when I asked, but it seemed like she made a friend out of Nanami since we sat with her at every evening meal.
They sat together in the corner of a pavilion and talked quietly about this and that, refined voices a contrast to the rough tones of the others in the tent. It was good to see Hina connecting with someone else after years of being shunned in Yokoburi.
I couldn't help but notice that neither Nanami or Hina quite fit in with the other civilians though. Even wearing camp-issued clothes, they both stood out like exotic birds in a flock of pigeons. While the camp women didn't refer to Hina derogatorily like the villagers did in Yokoburi, they kept their distance nonetheless.
It was one such night, sitting next to Nanami, that the conversation turned to life before the Civil War.
"Your needle work today was exquisite, Nanami-san," Hina complimented while placing her empty bowl down on the mat in front of her, "I haven't seen stitches that neat in many years."
"Thank you, Hina-san," Nanami said demurely, "but my skill is nothing compared to your own."
Embarrassed by the compliment, my mother deflected, "You are too kind. I spent many hours practicing. Mother insisted on perfection. After all, what use is a woman who can't embroider or sew properly?"
Nanami tipped her head forward in agreement. "Your mother was quite right. A woman can't hope for an advantageous marriage without the right skills and virtues."
"I was supposed to marry into the Heishi clan," Nanami continued wistfully, "before the war began."
Hina glanced around the tent to make sure no one was watching and leaned in toward Nanami, "Do you know if the noble houses of Rain are still standing? I heard they were all destroyed by Hanzo."
Looking at her askance, Nanami responded, "No. The Fujiwara were the last to fall when Hanzo decided to consolidate control over the country by declaring himself Daimyo."
My mother's face paled before leaning back, her hands clenched in her lap. Hesitating slightly, she asked, "Are there any clan members left?"
Nanami shifted, belying her discomfort before admitting, "There are rumors that some survived, but it's unlikely. The noble families were already targeted by the rebels for funding Hanzo when he first took over, but after Hanzo himself turned on them..."
Even I knew that the chances of survival were astronomically small. They didn't have a chance when they were being hunted like rats by both factions. I felt bad for them in a distant way, kind of like how I used to feel when hearing about victims of natural disasters in my past life. Horrible, but not exactly relevant to my daily existence.
Hina, on the other hand, was so pale and still, that I half expected her to shatter into a million pieces.
"Mom, are you okay?" I whispered, nudging her arm.
Jarring a bit, Hina shook her head as if to dispel her thoughts, and moved to stand up. "Thank you for your help, Nanami-san, but Chieko-chan and I must turn in for the night."
With a troubled look, Nanami wished us both goodnight before turning back to her food.
There was something more to this. In all the years that I've had to observe her, Hina has been nigh inscrutable. Reacting as she had, in front of a relative stranger at that, suggested that there was something seriously wrong.
Slogging through the misty rain, I watched Hina on our short trek to the tent. Her face was still pallid under the cover of her cowl and her arms were crossed tightly against her chest.
"What's wrong?" I finally asked as we entered the tent and started stripping off our wet clothes and shoes.
Glancing at me, while preparing our pallets for sleep, Hina shook her head, "I am alright, Chieko-chan. Now, get ready for bed."
"You're lying," I asserted, moving toward her, "Why do you even care about those nobles that Nanami talked about?"
Breathing out sharply, she turned to me, "You need to know when to leave something alone, Chieko. This is not your concern."
"So I'm right," I said, conveniently ignoring her words about letting it go.
"Chieko-" she started.
"Do you know one of the noble clans, or something?" I continued, undeterred.
"Chieko!" she hissed. "Keep your voice down. You never know who is listening!"
"Then tell me," I insisted.
Collapsing into a seat on her pallet with her face cradled in her hands, Hina heaved a heavy breath.
"Come here," she ordered, after a tense pause.
I crawled onto the pallet next to her, as she asked, and looked at her expectantly.
"I did know the Fujiwara clan a long time ago," Hina admitted. "I had hoped they survived Hanzo's purge."
So I was right, she was connected to a noble clan. It must've been hard to hear that they were gone, but she reacted so strongly before. Surely, that couldn't be it?
"I'm sorry that you lost your friends," I patted her hands, not knowing what else to say.
For a moment, Hina looked pained, but then continued, "Thank you, Chieko-chan. You cannot bring this up again. If it were to come out that we are sympathetic to the old regime, let alone that I personally knew some of them..."
"I understand."
"Good, now get to sleep," she ordered, handing me a blanket.
Sliding back and onto my side, I stared at the tent wall, thoughts running wild. How did she know the Fujiwara clan if she's just a peasant woman? How well did she know them? How did she end up in Yokoburi if she had such connections?
Exhausted, I let my eyes shut, but resolved to find out more.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The next afternoon, after hours of moving supplies only broken by brief breaks for water and food, I trudged slowly along the perimeter of the camp, trying to dodge the mass of campers traversing between tents.
Every limb ached and my hands were almost numb with overexertion, but my mind was pleasantly clear. In my past life, I used to scoff at those zealous runners that bragged about the mood boost exercise gave them. It seemed like an oxymoron that something as dreadful as exercise would provide a mood boost. Guess they were on to something after all.
I lazily let my eyes drift across the trees at the boundaries of the camp and that's when I saw it - a flash of vivid red.
My head whipped in its direction and my spine jolted as I realized it wasn't just a trick of the light. It really was there: the talking salamander from before.
I glanced around, but no one else seemed to have noticed it. The smart thing to do would be to leave and immediately find the nearest shinobi. It was probably Hanzo's salamander, for god's sake.
That didn't stop the tidal wave of curiosity from crashing over me though. What could it really hurt, anyway? The salamander is already here, at the border of the camp, and I'm only the daughter of a peasant. I'm so unimportant in the scheme of things that I'm not even on the radar.
Breaching the tree line, I sidled up to the flaming salamander - the very same one from weeks before, judging by the makings on its back.
"You're not very sneaky, you know," I said to the salamander as I stood on the roots of a banyan tree tucked slightly back into the jungle.
It turned its head toward me and flicked its tongue with an air of disdain.
"Says the little girl that sounds like a stampede when she walks," the salamander rasped.
I knew it. The little creature did talk the last time I saw him. It wasn't just a trick of the ear. That's when it's snarky comment settled in and a fierce scowl crossed my face. Rude.
"Well, excuse me," I rolled my eyes. "I'll try not to walk so loudly next time."
"You do that," the salamander remarked imperiously.
The aching in my legs started to get worse, so I sat on one of the protruding roots and leaned against the trunk of the tree next to the salamander.
I had a thousand questions I wanted to ask the little salamander, but settled for the simplest and most pressing: "Is Hanzo going to attack the camp?"
Only a slight twitch gave away the salamander's surprise at the bluntness of my question, but it remained silent.
"Come on," I sighed with exhaustion straining my voice, "it's not hard to guess that you work with him. You're a talking salamander. His name is Hanzo of the Salamander. It doesn't take a genius."
The salamander shifted on the tree and looked away from me, but didn't disappear like I feared it would.
"Or, maybe I should ask," I wondered aloud, "why hasn't he attacked the camp yet?"
The salamander huffed and asked, "aren't you a little young to think about these things?"
"I'll be sure to tell that to the next ninja that tries to kill me. 'Excuse me, ninja-san, but I'm too young to worry about all this,'" I retorted. "I'm sure that'll stop 'em."
"What's your name, kid," the salamander asked.
I narrowed my eyes at it and turned the tables right back around, "what's your name, salamander?"
"Tch, my name is Ichio."
"Fine," I shrugged while trying to keep my nerves from showing, "my name is Chiyo."
"Well, Chiyo-" the salamander started to say before being interrupted by the sound of splashing footsteps and a voice calling from the camp.
"Chieko," my mother's voice came sharply from behind me, "what are you doing outside of the camp?"
When I turned my head back from looking toward the noise, the salamander had already poofed away, leaving just an innocuous tree trunk.
"Nothing," I muttered, standing up and shuffling toward her.
As Hina proceeded to lecture me on the way back into camp, my mind raced.
What is Hanzo up to? There had to be a reason why he had his summons observing the camp and it probably wasn't just to attack it.
Hanzo wasn't known for his unending patience, especially when it came to those he viewed as a threat, so why hasn't he attacked yet?
Unless, the thought dawned on me, there's something he wants in the camp. Something or someone that takes priority over destroying the rebels.
And that was, somehow, more terrifying.
So, um, hiiiii? It's been like, literally, a decade since I last updated and I have no excuse other than that life got busy. I tripped across the files for Metanoia while organizing my online drive and felt inspired to keep writing.
I do have a clear plan for where this story is supposed to go, but I cannot make any promises about updates. I know that's probably frustrating for some of my long (and I do mean long) time readers, but it is what it is.
I do hope that you enjoyed this chapter after so long!