Chapter 8

Temari (approximate time: 2:00 AM)

Temari jumped from her bed in the Kazekage's palace. She was breathing hard, throwing the covers when she heard the noise. The loud, jarring, soul-splitting, agonizing screams. She covered her ears.

Kankuro? she thought, instantly thinking about her brother, Where is he?

And as if on cue, Kankuro wearing his puppeteer blacks barged into her room. Ordinarily, she'd be mad at her brother for violating her privacy, but in this case, it was necessary.

"Is that Gaara?!" she interrogated, shock from being so suddenly awoken still on her voice. My… other… brother?

Temari kept her breathing even, sucking in deep breaths despite the panic. Kankuro grabbed her arm. "Come on. All the ANBU are mobilizing."

Temari's heart dropped into her stomach. What? What happened? "Kankuro, we can't go out there—he's going to kill us."

Kankuro blinked. "We need to help with the evacuation. Don't worry. Father's the one who's going to deal with him. We just need to get everyone else out. Get dressed and let's go."

Temari looked around her room and then wretched her arm out of his to change. She began to tie her blonde hair into a single ponytail rather than their usual four bunches as fast as she could. "You gonna stand there while I change or what?" she asked, throwing a towel over his face in a hurry. In any other scenario, the interaction would have been humorous.

Kankuro turned slightly red, then ran out, shutting the door behind him, the towel falling to the floor. "I'll meet you downstairs!" he called behind him.

She mounted her shinobi pouches onto her pajamas and pulled on standard Suna-nin battle armor (meaning Suna's tan padded vest and shinobi sandal-boots in her case) and grabbed her gear, including her signature giant fan.

She rushed out.

…

Sand pelted their faces. Temari regretted not bringing a head scarf or goggles. "This way! This way!" she yelled over the noise. Huge crowds of people were running into the underground evacuation shelters, sliding down the ladders and pushing everyone else aside in an attempt to get in.

Temari gritted her teeth. She had her fan extended to use as a shield against the torrent of wind and sand flying about but it didn't help much.

Kankuro leapt down in front of her holding a small child. "In you go," Temari's other brother, Kankuro, said.

"Is this it?" she asked. Panic's edge was still in her voice.

"Yeah. About all of it."

Although Kankuro had clearly slept in his black Puppeteer Corp uniform, he hadn't yet drawn on his daily war paint. Temari saw what she knew to be her own reflection of fear on his face.

"RRRRRRrrrrrraaaahhhhHHH!" their youngest brother yelled, currently buried beneath the sand shell of Shukaku's raccoon-like body. Temari and Kankuro flinched at the sound—one despite being kilometers away, sounded so close beside them. Shukaku's writhing sand-skin hissed like the shifting of snakes in a crypt. Their crypt.

CRASH!

Crack. Crack. Floosh.

Gaara—Shukaku swung his arm. A chunk of roof came careening down towards them. Temari pulled her fan up in what she knew would be a futile attempt to bat it away, only for the piece of roof to be caught by golden dust particles. Father, she thought.

The Kazekage jumped to the space in front of them, flanked by about twenty squadrons of his ANBU. "Get inside you two."

Temari and Kankuro watched, for one last moment, their father throwing his own golden sand at Gaara—no—Shukaku. Killing intent from the both of them hung in the air, but Shukaku's was suffocating. The smell of ash and blood. It wasn't a little spat between father and son. It was madness. The two were attempting to kill each other.

Temari looked on a hair longer before entering the evacuation chamber with the civilians. She had the image of Shukaku—a vile, shifting mass of sand, whose blue fur-markings oozed predatory chakra—whose agonizing screams made it feel like she was just an ant beneath her brother's foot—who managed to break the bones of highly trained, elite ANBU seared into her mind.

The image would haunt her for years.

That monster was her youngest brother.

Katiya (approximate time: 2:00 AM)

It was only a few hours after she left Gaara, and she was still no further along the seemingly infinite expanse to the next village. It was nighttime, and she was using the cooling heat to cross the roasting desert. She used the moon as her guide, its glassy orb a beacon in the dark, but even then the seeming infinity of the dark was disorienting.

She was surprised no ANBU or other Suna-nin had attempted to pursue her throughout the day, even though she took a quiet way out. But she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she counted it as a blessing.

Then, at midnight, she felt the sensation that a ghost had passed by, or a person over her grave. But there was no reason, not a physical one, for her to feel that way; the desert expanse abandoned. A tickle of a change in the chakra of someone she knew, but a sensation she had no former experience with.

So she brushed it off.

… (approximate time: 12:00 PM)

Katiya had been moving an entire night, and had found an alcove under a desert rock to wait out the noon. She was still a few kilometers away from an oasis and another village on a journey that would've taken a civilian caravan weeks, and the average shinobi two days and a half if they didn't rest. There was no water nearby, or food, so Katiya sat quenching her hunger and thirst on emergency water stored in scrolls, and a bitter food pill. But soon, Katiya was startled by a call and a rustle of bird feathers—a private Suna messenger hawk circling around before landing on her shoulder, thrusting its leg out to her.

Warily, she took it, checked for anyone within attack distance, scanned it with a quick jutsu, and then treated it with a genjutsu release. All clear. She unwrapped it, the bird still perched on her shoulder.

But within a few moments, tears pricked her eyes, and the bird had flown away.

…

"Hello Katiya,

"By the time you have read this, I will be long gone. You see, while your mission was to train Gaara, mine was slightly different. I was to keep an eye on Gaara's psychological and emotional development, and when the time was right, test him. Test Gaara and his capacity to be a weapon. Because unlike what you assumed, regardless of whether or not you trained him, Gaara was going to be turned into one.

"The Kazekage had the intention of testing him earlier, but I convinced him to wait for you to try and talk to Gaara first. Because you were the only one to have sincerely approached him. Today was the last day you were supposed to be given. A month short of when you were supposed to leave. Because like you, the Kazekage had the intention of blindsiding the other—he had the intention of blindsiding you. Only he was doing it to suit his needs, and use you as a pawn to manipulate Gaara after I am gone. Your leaving prevents this from happening. The real reason why you could not stay, why I did nothing to stop you from leaving despite being aware of the Kazekage's plan.

"This test, I know, will ultimately end in failure. But my going through with it is one of the few things that will let you escape free, and save Gaara. Because if I don't, I'll not only be dead, but also used to weaken Gaara—to the point he can be easily assassinated. By testing him myself, I have given him the strength to survive the Kazekage at any cost. And possibly prevent the Kazekage from needing to pursue you, by occupying the Kazekage with something more pressing.

"I will not make it out alive, and if you care for him, you'll leave Suna until the Kazekage is dead. Because that's the only time when Gaara can find balance—the only time I know he can approach you without trying to harm you. Because as of right now, in his eyes, you are as guilty of hurting him as I am.

"I'm sorry.

"I feel the failure of my test will leave the Kazekage with his hands full, so you should have a good few days or so—or at least a few hours of peace before Suna ANBU start coming after you.

"Please. Don't blame yourself. This was my choice, and mine alone. And believe me when I say I had no choice. Please. Please, run, and for the sake of yourself and Gaara so long as the Kazekage still stands, never come back. This was something I had to do. My life for the both of yours.

"May your journey be kind.

"Yashamaru

...

Katiya's eyes stung, but she willed herself not to cry.

What the hell... Yashamaru...

Her eyes stayed dry, water a precious resource in the desert. She couldn't go back, not immediately, if she knew what the letter said was true. She couldn't stay there, she'd be chased out eventually, by sand worms, or the Kazekage himself. She had to move. She took deep breaths through her nose and out through her mouth.

Had to move on. But the question was in what direction.

Where? Where will I go? What now? What now?

She reread the message again, hoping she misread it, the message not sitting well with her yet. She thought back to the boy she raised as her brother, who smiled at her after winning a game of "glob dancing". She thought back to Yashamaru, whose deception she should've seen coming. She thought back to her interactions with the villagers and the libraries and the Kazekage, and how she could've done something if she just—just…

Just did what, exactly?

She held Yashamaru's letter in her hands. Gaara, she thought. He must hate me now, for abandoning him to deal with this. Gaara, what happened to you?

… (approximate time: 6:30 PM)

Katiya was in her own little trance, in a dream, watching the sun move across the sky.

She sat there, reflecting. She thought back to the first time she met him. Itachi. It was Itachi that convinced her not to return to Konohagakure, if she could avoid it. It was him who confirmed the rumors her father heard back in the clan, even before she was born.

She was about fifteen at the time, truly fifteen, and he only about thirteen. They met in Takigakure, when she had just started traveling. He was on a mission in pursuit of someone in Konoha's "bingo book", and something about her caught his attention. But it was his eyes that caught hers. The Sharingan, just like her father's. In the span of the three days they spoke to each other, she had learned much, and confirmed much. All the time they had, before he had to leave.

She, who was born into a family that hid everything, learned everything in pieces. Everything she put together, she put together herself. The boundaries she found, she just never tested, something her parents taught her not to do for fear of ruining their peace. Her talent was something she never tested, not completely. Just in bits and pieces, which she kept hidden for her own safety and that for those she loved. And so she couldn't feel upset, at this piece of information falling into her hands so late.

But what Yashamaru did… reminded her of him, what she heard he did years later, Itachi. What she knew he would do, what he implied he'd do. Because in the shinobi world, implications were just as important as spoken words.

Itachi—Yashamaru, you fools.

She admired Itachi then, what he was going to do, to take the blame and hatred of everyone—the village who would never know—his brother—all for the benefit of the village. To stop a coup made from stupidity, generations in the making.

Such stupidity was a factor in making her father desert just before the Second Shinobi War, faking his death and changing his name. She blamed the Uchiha clan's stupidity for its downfall, and being so far from the clan, she hadn't cared about the clan's downfall either. Nor had Itachi cared about her knowing about his plan, for her existence was effectively a secret, one they both knew wouldn't mean a thing by the time she revealed it. She was a Shiratori from her mother's side and an Uehashi from her father's. Neither of them was an Uchiha, and besides her (still only two-tomoe) Sharingan she kept hidden at all times and her too-strong fireballs, no one could tell. It was a lie they told, one she told as her truth.

But now, I'm on the other side. The other side of that damn massacre. Someone who survived courtesy of someone else's machinations, and so was Gaara. Only… Gaara would think I had abandoned him at best, betrayed him at worst. He'd think I was an accomplice...Or worse.

Gaara... Katiya thought as she played with the sand where her hand laid. She could only guess at how badly Yashamaru's actions would have affected him. And with Shukaku there...

She couldn't live with that, not like Itachi could. She'd have to make some difficult decisions, but in the end, she'd still have to make one.* But at least, with some thought, she'd be able to make a good one.

Do I have it in me to just leave him like that and never come back?

Maybe, she thought. But I'd be giving up, giving up on him… giving up on the hope that kept me going. Like up on my parents' faith in me, back then... The people who raised me, who cared for me. Giving up… everything that may happen, that has happened, for a dark expanse of the unknown.

She was not going to leave the closest thing she had to a brother to his own devices, to be taken over and used, not if she could help it. She wasn't going to die some death, not anytime soon. She wasn't going to die some death pointlessly, not remembered, a story untold, no lessons to learn from. She wanted to be a part of life, the lives of people she cared for, making sure the lessons she learned were taught, her at their side.

Because I would have tried, and taken the possibly infinitely better path before me on my own accord. It's bad now, but-but I can—if I can—I will—get through it. Make it better. Walk past this road bump, one that's only temporary... only temporary... and let life smooth... it over by experience…

But how can I go back to him? How can he accept me, would he accept me, after all that's happened?

In her mind, the point of life was improvement. In her mind, improvement meant learning from other people's experiences. And she had learned, now, that stupidity was best fought with the brush, and danger with the knife.* The Uchiha's attempted coup was built on ignorance and stupidity, best fought with the brush. Itachi's assassination of his own clan was danger—and if she had survived it like a member of the clan rather than an outsider—to be countered with the knife, to protect the people she loved. But it meant she had to hone hers. To protect Gaara.

She held her hand out to the sand—feeling for the water beneath, actively pushing her chakra into the ground to feel for its presence. Deep, deep down below.

I'm going to make a different decision. I have to. Because I have to learn.

Before, she admired Itachi for the decision he was going to make, to stop so much death on behalf of a village much larger than a single clan. Now, she saw it as another shade of ignorance. Itachi was now an example of a life Katiya did not want to lead—Itachi's brother's path, a path she did not want to push Gaara to.

Hatred consuming everything, leaving nothing but an empty shell.

If I give up, I'd be no better than Yashamaru. Stupid, to not have thought, to just take this one path—there had to have been a better way. He didn't have to do this—he didn't have to die—HE DIDN'T HAVE TO DIE AND BRING GAARA DOWN TO HELL AND RAISE UP A DEMON.

Katiya frowned, her eyes narrowed—anger and adrenaline amplifying her will. She felt the resistance and the weight of the water below, thick with sediment. She felt the chakra flowing out of her, reaching down and grabbing at scraps.

It had been nearly ten years since she used her Sharingan. It had been nearly eight years since she threw a fireball. She had started traveling to find a new home after the old one had been lost. But in doing so, she lost the means to protect it.

I was too eager to use someone else as my protection—and too lazy to see what they truly were. My knives had gone blunt, rotten in their sheathes. My mind had gone dull, with nothing to sharpen it on. No more. I can pretend to be weak all I want, to fool all I want, but I'll be damned if I become weak myself. I'll be damned if I wear a moldy sheathe without a sharp blade hidden within.

...

I should have seen it coming.

The water began to gather, oozing up from the sand. It was slow, and heavy, and tired her, but it began to form into her open hand. Yet it was water, where the desert burned off all of it at its surface.

She molded the water that came up, pushing her chakra into it until what she had was a firm shape of a pointed kunai blade. She twisted the kunai into a throwing grip by its handle and then hurled it. It landed there, without turning into a puddle, buried in the earth, held together from her will.

"Water has the brilliant ability to shape what it touches while adapting to it. It carves mountains into canyons, all the while presenting the image of weakness. But look deeper, and you see its strength," Katiya remembered her mother telling her.

I'm weak now. Compared to what I saw in the libraries about the Kazekage—weak compared to Gaara. But I'll get stronger, and then, I'll return. I will find Gaara again. He won't need to be alone after that. As long as I can find him and return. She got so caught up with presenting the image of weakness, hiding herself and her heritage, she had forgotten her own strength.

I should have seen it coming, but I didn't. It doesn't matter—not anymore—what matters is what I do about it.

"Fire's a wild thing, little one. Get too close and you burn. Yet you need a flame, your own strength and hope to see past the dark," her father once told her, "Find your fire and enemies dare not approach."

She resolved to find it, and then return. Return to Suna. Return to Gaara, no matter what would stop her, even if he no longer wanted her. Because it was her choice to take the burdens she chose, not Yashamaru's. She looked up at the horizon determinedly. All of these grains of sand make a desert even the shinobi find daunting. She held her hand out for her water-made kunai and stood up. The water flew to her hand, leaving a diamond shaped, slightly damp hole in the sand. But like water, I'll cut past it like a canyon to a river. Like fire, I'll melt it all into glass, another weapon at my disposal.

I will find Gaara again. And the Kazekage better be dead by then, or I'll kill him myself. Not out of hatred—out of love—for any other poor soul the damned Kazekage dared to touch. For Gaara.

Author's Note

"Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones. But you still have to choose." (Doctor Who, The Mummy on the Orient Express)

"Fight ignorance with your words, fight danger with your knife." (Cameron Wright, author of The Rent Collector)