Chapter Text
A woman in gold fled across the Suna desert, and the Shinobi followed.
She thought she could lead the Rain Shinobi astray, using terrain he was unfamiliar with to her advantage.
She was mistaken.
They waded through 10 cycles of ice-cold nights and blistering days. The hooves of the camel became cracked and worn, and the Shinobi regretted wearing black. He hunted her down relentlessly, his bright red hair a pinprick always on the horizon. Never getting bigger, never disappearing.
She led him through the winding valleys and cravats of East and tumbled through two small rivers to hide her scent, double back on her path and changed direction.
But this is not a man she could trick.
This is not a man she could outrun.
She could not lose him here, not deep within the vast, echoing valleys of desolate sand, not on the long planes of shifting gold that befell a horizon so flat the mountains of fire country towered in the distance. During those days, the wind howled with shards of sand so sharp, it ripped and filled the silk of her kimono and weighed her purple headscarf low over Kohl traced eyes.
She had left hurriedly, but the whole day’s Head Start was merely a buffer. She doesn’t know how the rest of her travelling party faired. She could only imagine what the Shinobi had done, when they found sitting in her carriage a woman who was not her, wearing her clothes, waiting instead. She hoped Hakura was still alive; her beloved handmaiden had not hesitated for a moment to take her place while she fled into the desert.
She did not know that the caravan line was decimated not even hours after she left. The only survivor was a young samurai apprentice who was days away from aid and could no longer walk, thanks to the Shinobi’s blade.
And so, on the eleventh day, he cornered her In the Heat of noon. His opportunity came when the camel, exhausted from constant travel, had fallen by the rise of a sandhill. The winking red of his hair was now a stark line of black in the distance.
Close.
Too close.
She had scrambled down the rise, tumbling over heavy slippers to slide down molten hot sand through cool shadows, scraping past jutting rocks to crash onto the mud-baked floor beneath her. The coolness of the valley floor brought relief for but a moment before she moved to stand.
Then, she felt something snap.
White hot pain like fire nearly indistinguishable from the heat of the desert seared off her side.
“ARGH!” she cried out in agony, clutching her leg.
Something had broken.
Tears began gathering on her lashes, pooling so that she could not see; thick sand had sprung up during her descent and embedded itself in her eyes, scratching its white surface, so blood began to trickle.
She sat there for a while; maybe she was too injured to move, too tired to take another step, too resigned to muster up the courage.
Perhaps it didn’t matter. Because he caught her anyways.
"Thunk…thunk….thunk"
The echoes of footsteps.
no. no, no, No, nO, NO, NO.
Panic, fear, dread, it pooled like a swamp in her stomach, reached its slimy fingers up her throat, opened her mouth.
And.
Screamed.
Her scream bounced off sand walls, the darkness of that small Valley enveloping them as the Shinobi continued his charge. She struggled, crying out as she crawled through the hot sand. It burned as the ground slipped through her fingers, and she moved not an inch. He was closer. She stopped dead still. The deep brown and black of the infamous Amekagura jounin uniform appeared at her side. Her eyes were so wide you could see the wites tremble as he crouched next to her.
“Please don’t do this.”
The man said nothing and pulled a kunai from his jacket.
“Please”
He raised the kunai.
“Wait!”
The Shinobi paused. Her eyes bore into his, there, a spark of recognition.
“I know you, don’t I?” He started, shifting almost nervously from one foot to another.
“You’re not a Rain shinobi, aren’t you.” He fully drew his kunai.
“Stop, STOP, we both know what will happen now, don’t we?!” When she saw he didn’t move, she continued, mind whirring as she tried anything to get him to stop.
“As soon as they hear word of this, my Father will burn Rain to the ground. There will be war.”
He reached out and snatched her wrists tight. She struggled, kicking and bucking as he pushed her wrists down to kneel on them.
“Thousands wiLL DIE BECAUSE OF YOU” she screamed.
His now free hands ripped back her head, the scarf fell into the sand, her neck bared.
He could taste the sharp tang of sand on his tongue, the heat rising a musty, warm smell through his nose, the kunai cold and smooth against his palm, back hot beneath the sun.
The woman struggling like a lamb beneath him.
Red sprayed on purple. She gurgled, shook, legs kicking as the stench of blood thickened in the heat of the desert, clumping the sand around her. He reached inwards and grabbed a shining object from his cloak, placed it in her palm, and curled her fingers around it tight, so she held on.
A forehead protector, its fabric torn so as only the metal remained, was found days later, clutched in her dead hands.
It bore a leaf.
“The daughter of Iwa Daimyo Ahakamura was found dead last week. Her convoy was attacked en route to the wedding ceremony. One eye witness reports a male Shinobi from Amekagura responsible for the initial attack. But her body, found in the middle of the Reto Desert, suggests that two assassins were sent that night. One from Ame and one from Konoha…..’ A man with grey hair grit his teeth, flicking his eyes up to peer at his companion through the darkness.
“I know not of what missions Lord Hokage commands, but I cannot fathom a scenario that involves this”. He slammed the paper onto the table, brow furrowed dangerously.
Father shifted next to him, sweeping out a hand to grab the paper. I could barely see the words “The Good Shinobi” printed large on the front.
“There is no chance the Hokage would sanction a mission like this, not when we’re still recovering from the second war.” Itachi’s Father brandished the newspaper and clicked his fingers. Violent Fame erupted to envelop the paper, curling the black words into smoke.
“We’re lucky you found it on the Suna border before the merchants did, even luckier that none of your team did as well,” Father said, pushing himself up from the chair to stand before the
roaring fireplace. It was the middle of winter, and even in the Land of Fire, the nights were windy and cold, icy, that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore.
The other man began pacing.
His was a face I had not seen before, his hair long, wild and grey spiked like the mane of a mangy dog, a katana hung loosely at his side. He pursed his lips grimly; the white glint of a single canine peaked through thin, scarred lips like someone had taken a knife to his face and hit his teeth instead.
“Do you- do you think it’ll happen?” The Man said nervously, wringing bandage-wrapped fingers around the worn handle of a Katana by his side. A nervous habit, it seems. Father, however, did not appear ruffled, standing stock still, high nose casting a stark shadow against the fire’s soft glow.
“There’s no way to say if Iwa doesn’t respond. But if they do….” The Man’s brow set at the news, his mouth turned downwards.
“I can’t do this again,” he growled. “I can’t have more of us sent off to be killed by an old man well past his prime”.
“Watch your tongue!” Father hissed, whipping round to stalk towards The Man.
“Do you want others to hear you?” The Man cowed slightly under Father’s sharp gaze.
“You know how I felt about the last war Fugaku, how I feel about,” he threw his hands in the air,
“THIS”.
“The village doesn’t care about how you feel, and right now, neither do I. We are Shinobi. That’s final; we knew what we were getting into.”
“We have more important things to worry about.” “Do we? Do we really? He’s going to send us to DIE.”
“You’re wrong.”
The other man’s face began to redden. He looked enraged.
“Our sons will be in this. They’re children, not tools”.
“May, they may be in this. Stop talking like it’s already happened” Father sighed; he sounded weary, sad, tired.
“These aren’t decisions for you or me to make..”
What? What did they mean? What was happening? What was coming? My mind whirled as I leaned further on the wall, lifting myself higher to press closer to the half-open window.
“Have you told Lord Hokage?”
“I-”
“Itachi!” The window snapped shut.
Crap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I gulped. Mother stood over me, arms crossed, most definitely angry.
“Training my stealth skills, Mother?”
“I’m not stupid.” Worth a shot.
“Hurry up and get dressed. Madam Tsuru should be arriving soon.”
I carefully stepped my way down, trying to ignore how my mind fixates on the danger of being up this high, of what would happen if I jumped.
Even as I began to get ready in my room, my mind travelled back to what I heard in the study, my head spinning. Ame? Suna? Konoha? It was too early for the third shinobi war, wasn’t it? I wracked my brain, trying to find when it happened. Nothing. I didn’t have a frame of reference or a standard to go by. Itachi was nearly four; was this early, was this late? There was no way to know, was that meeting even about the war? Or was it just another political scandal?
“Itachi!”
I will have to think about this later. Now I needed to focus on more important things. I looked into the mirror, smoothening down Itachi’s Haori, flattening his hair. A long, perky nose, small plump lips, pale moon skin. Now faded Scars ringing thin wrists. He was a handsome child. The face in the mirror frowned, two tiny lines appearing between his dark brows. Yet another reminder that the person in the mirror wasn’t me.
A thump on the door; Madam Tsuru must have arrived.
The Madam is a woman that comes to watch Itachi on the nights when his parents cannot.
She is the second person to do so.
They tried at first with a young Uchiha man; he smelled of musty air and walked with a pronounced, jilted gait. He reminded me of someone I once knew, achingly tired, living without a care, asleep more often than not.
I liked him. Mother did not.
Mother wanted me to like The Madam instead.
She arrived oddly, too quiet, too silent. She moved languidly, like a lazy snake bathing in the rich warmth of the sun, slinking through our doorway one lonely evening.
Her silence, for she never spoke a word, seemed to be alive. I could feel it picking and prodding at my flesh, like something from within her was reaching out, out, out and enfolding me in its swampy arms. Its stealthy sucking tails inching along the insides of my skull, drowning my thoughts in slow, thick molasses.
Grey hair, a golden crane hairpin, straight back and high black collars, wrapped securely with red and white bandaging around the throat. She walked tall, hands steady and clasped me on the shoulder as she did each morning, the beady studded eyes of the crane staring down at me. Its long sharp beak and thin, wiry legs. The edges of the wings glistened wetly under the summer sun.
“Hello,” I say, bringing my right hand up, fingers splayed in a wave.
‘Nice to see you again, ma’am,’ my hands sweep across my chest, making thumbs towards her before bowing 90 degrees, as was considered proper for a civilian child of my station.
‘I am in your care, and look forward to today’s teachings, Madam’, I signed quickly. She looked on, mouth curling down into a sharp frown.
God, there’s just no pleasing them, is there?
She takes me outside; around the back, we have an extensive training Dojo, a large, square building with tall, pointed rooves and rugged tatami mats. She never did prefer the natural earthen training grounds of regular Shinobi. Not that it bothered me much.
Today she sat me down, whacked me with her stick when I slouched and hit my elbows into today’s forms. This would be the second fighting style I would learn, full of acrobatics, flexibility and kicks. I wasn’t strong enough to use the harsh techniques of my mother and lacked the Sharingan to pull off the ariel stunts of my Father. So a middle ground, focusing on an opponent’s legs and downing them, was a safer option. Or so that’s what The Madam told me.
WHACK!
My cheek stung, I could feel it rush hot. The Madam stood, a small tanto scabbard bared in one hand, the other signing harshly.
‘No daydreaming, daydream when you good shinobi.”
Yeah, yeah.
She pointed left.
Ahh, yes, the mind of a genius. I rotated my shoulder, lifted my fist, and shifted my weight to the left.
Whack!
Guess it wasn’t that, either.
“No, you do all wrong, here, do this stupid boy.”
She stomped forward, slammed forward my shoulders, kicked back my feet and prodded my hands into the air.
I straightened the stance, and pushed forward. I swung my fist.
“No, no, stop! I told you. Are you stupid? This is all wrong.”
Oh my lord, Kami, please, this woman. She adjusted my stance again.
‘Go’
We stayed like that for hours, going over the same form again and again and again. Till she finally had enough, shaking her head, The Madam stamped her foot and glared at me, signing in the slow, lazy way that told you she was both unimpressed and disappointed.
‘Heirs lead by example, show others what they could be, inspire them to do better.
WHACK
‘Not inspire them to do worse.’
There it is. I sighed in frustration, rubbing my stinging cheek with pudgy hands.
‘Madam,’ I signed.
‘Do you think not that since I am doing kata’s meant for students three years my senior, that we could stop for today.’
Yeah, that’s right, having the mind and body of a genius did wonders for my schooling.
‘No, we no finish. You failed the exam yesterday, do better, or I send you to Kami myself.’
My eye twitched.
“You bi-”
“Whack”
‘No questions, no excuses, do again’.
“Just you wait, your gonna be the first to go-”
WHACK
I struggled to pick myself up from the floor. Oh god, where did Mother find this woman?
WHACK
“Ouch! I WAS GOING, YOU MAD WOMAN. WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”
WHACK
‘huh?! You say something?’ She signed angrily, slapping her right fist down on her bicep and flipping up her left arm. She sneered down as she held the scabbard up high. Perfect distance to strike.
‘Oh no, Ma’am, I would never dream of it; I bowed back frantically, head bobbing to hit the ground like some woodpecker on repeat.
She huffed and tapped me on the shoulder.
‘For that, you practise more’
SLAP!
Oh god, did she just hit me with my own Tanto?
I struggled up from the ground, holding on for dear life, the earth shaking as I pried the scabbard of my sword from my face. Like ripping velcro, it made a slurp as it detached itself.
I love training with The Madam. So. Damn. Much.
‘Crane stance. Now’
I struggled up as fast as I could now. No way in hell was I being hit again for nothing. Holding the scabbard at my side, I rotated myself into the beginning form of the Crane Style, a tanto-based style that complimented the staple Uchiha fighting kind, nimble, fast and deadly. The simple black and brown scabbard was emblazoned with the Uchiwa on its helm; I had received it nearly two years ago for my third birthday. Father had so boasted to the owner when he bought it. Remembering that day sent a cold shiver through me. I hope my fifth birthday, next month, will not be as bad as that one was.
We continued on another excellent hour like that, redoing the same stances repeatedly so my dead body would wiggle its little crane dance at my funeral. Maybe then their pity-poor entertainer money would make it worthwhile.
‘Yes, finally, a kata that isn’t terrible.’
I was heaving; my breath seemed too tired to escape my lungs, much less pull itself back in. Sweat clung to my back and splayed down my face, leaking into my mouth and tasting of salt.
‘And it only took you all afternoon.
She signed, the air picking up the breeze to cool us down. She gestured for me to come closer. I trudged over, back straight, chin up. As much as I wanted to, Uchiha didn’t drag their feet. She placed a gnarly hand on my shoulder and grabbed the scabbard from me, hiding it between her long robes. Where it went, I don’t know; I tried not to think too hard about it. She tapped my forehead.
‘If you continue like this, you only be Uchiha, never heir.’
She signed.
My chest constricted, my throat tightening because I knew she was right. The real Itachi would be graduating next year. I was a genius, doing things no five-year-old could do. And yet, I paled in comparison to the natural Uchiha heir. All Uchiha were some sort of Prodigy, but that wasn’t the problem; the problem was being a genius among geniuses. When living with the greatest minds in the world, even gaining one fraction of knowledge above them was akin to a mountain of knowledge to the average person.
She watched me for a few moments before returning to the wooded path through the trees that led the way home. I ran to catch up with her.
‘Now come, we must get dinner. The Lord and Lady are out tonight.’
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After we had bathed, put on new clothes and taken to outside, the sun was falling, casting a soft glow over the street as we entered the Uchiha Main Square. The Uchiha district was more of a self-contained village than a suburb or living district. It held its own Uchiha-run Blacksmiths, food markets, hairdressers, and the Police Force. It seemed more like its own village that happened to live next to a larger city. Divided into three main areas, the Residental area where The Madam and most other Uchiha lived.
The commercial area included the square in the middle of the district, and the stations and smaller markets spattered throughout the residential areas. And finally, the outskirts, which held the Clan Temple, the Elder Council resident, and of course, the home of the Clan head, which sat on the rise of a long, low hill hidden behind a high fence, yet up high for all to see. I guess it felt safe to know one of the strongest and most influential Shinobi in Konoha lived right above your door.
We visit a store each week, a small merchant’s house at the edge of the central Uchiha square, tucked away out the back. I first enter alone. The Madam had gotten caught speaking with someone on the square, so I was greeted by the usual girl manning the counter. The store was long, with tall Uchiha flags waving at all four corners, the colours blue and red splayed across the walls.
“Welcome back, Young Lord”, she smiles warmly. Akiko, a young merchant, roughly seventeen years old, man this merchant house. Her skin, a warm sepia, which looked to have burned and darkened under the past summer’s sun, was flushed with the dark tones of blush high up her cheekbones as the icy cold air pricked her skin.
Even in the middle of winter, as cold as she looked to be rugged up in numerous layers, a warm glow clung to her skin like stubborn burrs. A smile revealed the bronze richness of her cheeks, which shone beneath a black bundle of hair, tightly braided and coiled into a loose bun atop her head that flopped lopsidedly each time she moved, much like the rolling plumes of smoke that puffed from the fire each morning. It drops over her forehead as she quickly ducks behind the counter, most likely sweeping the wayward novel in hand, before springing back up, a grin firmly on her cheeks.
We speak for a time; she animatedly tells me of her geraniums flowering at home, the bread she tried to bake but ended up burning instead, and her younger sister’s apprenticeship in the Local police unit. I’m glad Kaede was accepted.
The poor girl struggled with civilian schooling, lacking the discipline at home that could keep her on the straight and narrow. Akiko was too soft on her. If I simply mentioned her eagerness to become an officer to my Father, Akiko was none the wiser. Kaede’s first patrol will be tomorrow morning when the stalls begin to set up for the day’s sales. It always calmed me to speak to ordinary people like Akiko, to hear of her every day, so I told her of my days, my training with Akiko, and the possibility of my early admission into the academy next year.
The bell tinked softly, announcing The Madam’s arrival.
“Welcome!” Akiko greeted me from behind the front desk.
‘Hello Akiko’, I said as the Madam signed her greetings. Akiko could not read sign language, so it was up to me to interpret for her.
“I’m so excited to see you in the Academy next year, young lord !” She trills excitedly, wrapping the meat with a neat, tidy bow.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yes, your genius is far above any other in the clan, let alone the whole village”, she smiles smugly, rocking her hips to an imaginary tune.
“I’m pleased to hear that. I am still not used to the formality of being a clan heir. Thank you for your well wishes,” I reply stiffly.
“Oh, it is only natural,” she continued casually. “once the village sees how powerful our future clan head is, they will surely respect the Uchiha name then.”
Wait, what? “Do they not already?” I furrow my brow.
“Why, of course, they do, my lord,” she explained in surprise.
“We are a founding clan. I am just saying a simple reminder of what we do for them goes a long way.”
“I didn’t know you felt so strongly on the subject” I grabbed the package from the desk, settling it under my arm. She watch me and worried her lip for a moment, peeking at the Madam before she rounded the corner to squat down next to me.I stood confused as she squinted down at me, fingers tapping anxiously on her thigh.
“I would not dare mention this to your Father. He cares so strongly for the village….”She averted her gaze. She did not seem too nonchalant now.
“But I’ve seen the way some of them look at us, non-Uchiha, other Shinobi, they say the police force is in the wrong, but they don’t understand what we do for them. But-”
Her face lit up in excitement now, grabbing my shoulders tightly. I felt sick, my stomach rolling as she stared at me, eyes wide, almost manic.
“With you, the clan will be-”
The Madam approached the counter, a frown set on her face, hand with extended. "Ah! I'm so sorry, Ma'am, here let me ring that up for your", a calm smile washed over her features as Akiko stood and put through The Madam's, and my own order. I clutched the bag of meat tightly, squeezing it to my chest as cold sweat gathered on my palms. What just happened? I thought about what she had said all the way home, my mind jumping from one conclusion to another. Was this the beginning of the coup? No it was too early, wasn't it? But then, what was that all about this morning with Father, was the massacre before the war? After? And most importantly, why did I care? Were my parents involved? Was their nightly activities with the police causing the Uchiha divide, but how when Father seemed to defend te village so thoroughly? It took me two weeks to muster up the courage to ask The Madam what my parents did when they left me, in the middle of another shopping trip, this time in the middle of the square at Kenshi's fruit stall. I even had to sign it twice in my nervousness.
'What do they do, when they go?'
She didn’t answer me quickly then, instead taking her time as she inspected the apples with a frown, turning them over in her hands and shaking her head.
‘This Madam does not care,” She signed, paying the merchant before handing the bags to me.
‘No Uchiha are hurt, so neither should you.”
‘But..what if it’s bad?’ I struggled to sign back, stuttering with the bags on my arms.
‘So what if it is? You will be Shinobi soon, not a child.’
A child. A person. A shinobi. A tool. An heir.
For if children are people and cannot be tools. And Shinobi are tools who cannot be children, and Uchiha heirs must be people who inspire others.
What does that make me?
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We often return late into the afternoon, walking up the long winding road that leads to home. The Madam, as always, was frowning, rocking her head back and forth in anger. If she could speak, she’d curse the devil out of me. I cannot say she still does not unsettle me, for all of her stern glares and rough gestures have not yet maimed me too harshly. Yes, her presence, my hackles rise, and blood pump faster beneath my skin, like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. Luckily, for all of her aggression, The Madam was tempered in her old age, and retired to her room rather early in the afternoon. I often took this afternoon to sneak outside, past the tall wooden walls surrounding our home.
Their long shadows carved out valleys onto the grass, the late afternoon sun dipping slowly behind the horizon as I stepped out into the yard, down the solid terrace and to the fence. I try to keep my mind from wandering to that early morning, but the uneasiness settles in my gut like a stone. During the day, we don’t lock the gate, and for that, I am grateful. I glanced back at the kitchen window to ensure the curtains were still drawn.
It’s exciting to sneak out.
The exhilaration of doing something wrong is adrenaline; it pumps my pupils wide and makes me feel jittery, hands shaking as I lift the latch and push open the gate. I stand still for a moment, listening. Have I been caught?
Wind whistles through the branches.
I dash through the gate, slamming my feet to spring right off the road and straight into the forest that surrounds the compound. My feet bound over small branches and logs, following the flattered game trail that leads me, twirling and winding through darkness more profound and deeper into the forest.
There’s a clearing at the end of the trail, and it meets up with a long winding road at the edge of the compound, marking the end of Uchiha territory and the beginning of the Naara forests, with only a tiny stream dividing them. It smells fresh here, new, like growth and Rain. I feel even more alive like this, running, moving, not staying still in that dreary compound but bounding away from it, moving faster and faster till my little legs give out.
It had rained earlier water, still clings to the land like tiny teardrops, making the green shine and possibly bright. I nearly slipped once, twice, thrice on the Muddy Trail that leads to the clearing. It makes me even more excited; it makes it feel more dangerous that I could get hurt and I could fall.
And that No one is here to see it happen.
I arrive with my lungs burning, throat tight and knees shaking. I can feel it; I’m smiling. A laugh bubbles from my chest. It spills out my lips and follows me as I flop onto the damp grass. The earth is wet. I can feel ice seep into my back, my shirt clean to my skin. I breathe in deep, deep, deep. Here. I stop. I lie on the grass and stop. I’m not leaving a second life. I’m not going to die. My life isn’t a Manga. I’m a boy on the grass in a clearing that could be anywhere. Engulfed by long shadows that mark the end of the day in a world where my name isn’t Itachi, and I’m not five years old.
“Hey!”
I whip around. There, behind the fence, someone is running. I can hear it, their feet pounding on the dirt road.
“Where ya goin’, Piggy?!”
Fuck, they’re gonna see me. There is just enough time to stumble backwards into the bush behind me, hidden just behind the trunk of the old tree.
I sit still.
I sit there for minutes, listening as the running slowly comes to a stop. There are more feet now, the yelling’s louder, someone wheezing for breath, they’re so loud I can barely hear my own breaths. I’m glad they won’t hear me this way.
That’s when the shouting starts.
“Thought you could run, huh little rat?” the sneering voice gnaws my ears, accompanied by another boy’s rough, deep shout.
“Look at him, little kids so small his legs’ll fall off”.
They’re laughing now.
“But daddy’s not here to save you this time”, he sneers. “Not like you deserve a father like him”.
“Half-breed”
“Yeah, little rats got a whore of a mummy. Papa said it’s a wonder Kumo bitches could give birth at all.”
“Take that back!”
“Oh, he’s got bite, does he?” The boy grins wickedly.
“C’mon, man, this is pissing me off.”
The boy squeaked, his head crushed into the dirt. I could see his muscles cramping, spasming as the boys laughed above him. The boy shook his head like a maniac, nails scratching desperately into the grass.
“Get him up!”
They kicked him in the stomach, propping his face up into the air. The boy gasped, whimpering in agony as black and red bloomed over his cheeks.
They told him to get up, to run around the clearing. He didn’t move. They kicked him again.
“MOVE!”
He writhed there on the ground, grass probing his skin, and their feet slammed into his legs. He moved his legs away, tried to stand, trying to escape, but he lost his balance and fell flat.
The boy waded through their laughter, running around that clearing as fast as his chubby, trembling legs could take him.
“Oh no, kiddo, you’re not nearly fast enough.”
One of them hoisted the boy up, the older one with the jagged lip. The child kicked and screamed. The older boy walked forward, the sharp glint of metal flashing coyly.
I stopped watching when they used the kunai.
I couldn’t look; I couldn’t move. Horror drenched me like ice-cold water, prickling my skin like the kunai that boy held.
What if they saw me too? What if they thought I was gonna tell on them?
What was happening to that poor, poor boy?!
So I stayed there, hands clamped over my ears and eyes smashed into my knees, as the boy’s screams bled through my fingers.
I do nothing because I am ashamed. I stay silent because I am a coward. A part of me knows there is nothing they can do to me. I am the son of the clan head.
But I stayed silent; I even dare to be scared, terrified of what they could do to me, rather than what they were doing to that boy.
I’m not sure how long this went on or what exactly happened to that boy, but when I came to, the grounds were silent. I peeked cautiously around the tree. The clearing is empty now, long gashes of black, wet dirt colour the bright green grass, clumping into a heap of branches and stray earth before where a shallow hole was dug. Stray kunai are lodged into the trees at the other end of the clearing; my stomach churns when red drips from one of the blades, mixing with golden sap to drip thick, red blood down the trunk.
The clearing is ruined, but it is, thankfully, empty. Relief floods through me, my eyes falling shut as I sigh in relief. I feel sick knowing I’m glad I’m fine when that boy was beaten. I still find it hard to remember that kids could be so cruel that people would do this to each other for entertainment. That this probably happened in my old world too.
I stand jerkily, knees stiff and back aching as the bones snap back into place.
The Madam must be worried.
I turn to head back home when a flash of white catches my eye.
The heap of dirt moves. It shifts, rocks falling into the hole as it goes and trembles, rolling around as sticks become limbs and rocks perk up slowly, tilting left, then right, before the rest of it unravels to become a human, then a child, then a boy. A young boy. A short boy with small, black curls.
The young boy.
There is a puffed lump of black and blue on the front side of his head, which weeps sluggishly. It takes me a moment to realise that the grotesque fat bulge is the boy’s eye, swollen shut and bleeding tracks through the dirt and grime that sticks to the child’s face.
He sits up.
There’s a dark smudge of dirt under his unharmed right eye. It stares vacantly at the tree next to mine. It sticks out like a sore thumb, looking more like a beetle sunbathing on his cheek, having mistaken his dirty skin for a home. I squint, trying to look closer. Not a beetle, a mole.
That was different.
It didn’t make him look like an Uchiha, not wholly anyway, not like the other boys I’d seen before. His hair was wrong. Everyone else had dead straight hair or wild spikes but never short, springy curls. The rest of him, white, pale skin, small heart-shaped lips and dark eyes, could not deny his dominant heritage.
Uchiha doesn’t call their cousin rats, after all. I watch with bated breath, peering through the bushes, as the boy untangles himself from the rope, pulling on the knots with deft hands; it takes him only moments to slip from the clumsy bindings and stand on shaky, stumbling legs.
It seemed to escape those binding was a simple endeavour.
An intelligent child, then.
Best I leave now and not get involved. My stomach slowly wrings as I retreat, tiny feet stepping
back,
back,
back…
CRACK.
A dark eye snaps to mine. I’m frozen for a moment, breathing heavily as the boy’s face is framed through those branches, watching him as he curiously watches me, too. His head tilts.
“Hi!”The boy doesn’t miss a beat, running over excitedly till he meets the fence, stumbles, crashes into the brush and slides down. His hands grab the bark where mine last sat.
“I’m Shisui,” he grins breathlessly.
“You’re Itachi, right?”