[Dream | Week 5, Day 4] Perfect
His first memory was blood and his mother's screams.
The scent of the blood was gritty. It did not have the cold metallic clang of fresh blood, of war blood. It was earthy and warm, when it should not have been in the dead of winter, when everything was frozen and smelled like snow. Izuna was born in winter. Under the banshee winds that ripped the sky apart above the thin walls of the tent came a small bloody thing emerging from between his mother's legs. She wailed like she was dying, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her body heaved, pushing against an invisible wave that rocked her back. Each time she pushed forward, she was sent back again, and the sea that spilled from her was frothy and red. The brave few women who dared to stay with her seemed terrified at the sight. This was no ordinary birth, they said. Whispering to one another as Madara watched the little thing coming out from his mother's body, dragging out of her with each heave. First a bulbous, blood-covered thing in a thin pink membrane, then an entire head. Small curled fists, like it was fighting its way out of her. Madara did not want to see his mother dying any longer, and rushed forward and held the creature emerging from his mother's body, and that was when he caught the scent of that blood -- when he was kneeling on the cold earth, pulling his little brother out of his mother's womb as the women stood around their tent and watched and whispered in awe.
It was only much later that he discovered what the awe truly was.
They said it should have been a demon that came out between her legs, not a perfectly healthy baby boy whose cry sounded more a whisper than a wail.
~
Maybe if he had cried the way all other babies cried, the men in the cloaks would have never come for their father.
Two nights after Izuna was born and named, they came for him. Madara watched from where he had been sharpening the blade of his father's kusarigama as these men who were as large as his father came into their home. His father was the biggest man Madara had ever known until then. He was as tall as the moon, taller than their home. A towering giant with eyes like fire and a scar that made him look like he was always smiling. When they came to take him away, Madara could not tell if he was smiling. The scar winked at him when his father stood and looked at the men.
"It is time," the first one said.
"You can either come out like a man if you are one, or we can drag you out in front of your family. What will it be?" The second one must have said this, because Madara only heard the words but did not see them. He saw his mother, though, as she threw herself down on the floor between his father and the men, screaming. Her face was wet and red and her eyes were like fire too. Her back bent all the way over, and strange noises that sounded like the banshee winds above their tents left her throat. They called those winds the crying winds; he never knew if it was named after crying women or if it was what caused them to cry. But at that moment, the wind was silent, except for the cries his mother made.
"It was only a mistake! He only made a mistake! Have mercy, please, have mercy. I beg of you. Please don't take my children's father from them. They will starve without him! We will all starve! He did not mean to make this mistake, did you, darling? Please forgive him, for the sake of my children. Look how young they are! How can they survive without a father? How?" Madara was supposed to say something here, but he was too small and the men were so large, looming in the doorway of their tent.
His father had told him what to say the night before, standing on the very edge of a battlefield, scarred with enemy bodies given burial by the vultures that circled the sky. He had captured a small boy, who was around Madara's age. This boy had short brown hair and big green eyes. He was not as smart as Madara, because all he could do was cry for his mother. He wore a green yukata with a yellow belt, and his cheeks were ruddy, wind-bitten, and wet. He was a small thing that shook and shook and shook, and Madara couldn't understand why he shook in this way when everyone knew the way to conquer winter was to become one with it. To go with the wind, instead of shake against it. The cold grows upon the skin and toughens it up, but this boy, he must have been an indoors boy. His skin was white and smooth, and when Madara touched it, it felt expensive. Not like Madara's, which was rough and crumbly. A little like the cold sand of the desert, after it had been frozen by the northern winds.
"This boy is your enemy. He is a Senju," his father said as he held the boy by the back of his neck so that he could not run away easily, and Madara thought his voice sounded as dead as the bodies being buried by the sky. There was no fire to his language, no heat like the impassioned call to arms against the Senju monsters that fed Uchiha children to the wolves and took their mothers for wives. The war hollers were a hot contrast to the winter that they were always at war with in these Northern Territories.
There was always a war that the Uchiha were fighting. This was what it meant to be Uchiha.
"You know what you must do," his father said as he gave him a pouch filled with kunai and shuriken, then let go of the boy, who ran away screaming towards the vultures perched on bodies in the distance.
Madara only needed one.
He knew what he needed to do, because it was what all Uchiha did when they encountered a Senju.
The boy was fast, but Madara was faster. His skin opened up like butter, melted under the blade. His blood steamed in the winter air, and the smell of it was cold and metallic. Madara watched as he staggered forward, and then fell over face-first. He died so quietly. So prettily. It was easier than killing an animal. Animals were much more vicious, especially the ones with claws.
"You are a man now, Madara," his father said after Madara brought him the head of the boy. The scar on his father's face made his smile stretch wider, but his eyes didn't crinkle up. There was something dark in them that Madara didn't understand. "You must protect your mother and your little brother. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father."
But he did not understand, because he was not yet five, and wasn't certain if he was ready to be a man. He was not quite tall enough to be one -- his father was as tall as the moon. He would have to grow very fast to be as large as him. There were words that his father told him then that he should say, but the men that came for his father were just as tall as him, and in that moment, Madara did not feel like a man and forgot all the words his father made him recite on the plains that day, holding the head of the little boy who was his enemy. He watched as the first man's large foot came out very quickly and struck his mother, tumbling her over and over in their tent and almost into the cradle that held his baby brother.
"Uchiha do not make mistakes," the man said. And then they took his father from their tent.
The banshee winds started to scream when he was gone.
Or maybe it was just his mother.
~
Uchiha do not make mistakes.
They do not know how to make them, for they are the perfect ones, the chosen ones. The ones that bring the fire and the sun. That light the way, and create the future. They are the enlightened ones, the blessed ones, and their eyes see the truth of the world. Their blood is pure. So when there is impurity in it, it must be expunged. Burnt up in the winter sun. This is the fate of all Uchiha who betray their clan, for there is nothing thicker than blood, and all who would live for it must die for it.
"This man has shamed our clan," the elder said, his voice booming over the quiet camp. Madara had snuck past the guard that was supposed to be watching his family by leaving a shadow clone behind. He hid himself in an empty barrel that once held the oil they used to sharpen their weapons and watched through the cracks. His father was not wearing any clothing and he was tied to a cross. He no longer looked as tall as the moon and all Madara could think to himself as he stared and watched was how he could get himself out of the barrel and save his father in time.
"He gave the Senju a gift of life that he did not have the right to give! He ordered a retreat from the camp of women and children instead of burning the camp down as Uchiha law demands! For that failure, the Senju were notified of our second battalion's location, and we sustained great losses in battle that we would not have had! This man is not worthy of being called a man. Or of being an Uchiha. The punishment for this is death."
Before Madara could get himself out of the barrel, the two men in the cloaks that had taken his father lined up with ten more. Their fingers created the seals for fire, for the great fireball jutsu. No one noticed the barrel falling over or a little boy's scream. No one saw as the little boy crawl out of the oil barrel and into the mud at the base of it.
The roar of the flames and the crackle pop of skin was deafening.
Madara could only watch as the flames engulfed his father's body, saw the fire in his eyes one last time before they went coal black. He thought he saw his father looking at him, but that must have been his imagination because no one could see through all those flames.
~
Later that evening, when Madara scrubbed the oil off his feet and his father's ashes off his skin, he quietly informed his mother, "They burned Father to death because he shamed our clan."
The hand that came down on his cheek was so hard Madara tasted blood and saw stars when his head went crashing into one of the support beams of their tent. His mother stood over him with Izuna in one of her arms, and her eyes were red like the fire that burnt his father up, salt-tracks lining her cheeks, dripping down to the apex of her chin. "Don't you ever speak about your father like that again. Your father was a very good man. He may have made some mistakes, but he had a good heart, and he is your flesh and blood! You mustn't ever speak poorly of your father. You do not understand the sacrifices that he made for our family."
All Madara could think of as he collected himself off the floor was the scent of his father burning, all of the Uchiha watching with eyes filled with judgment. If he was such a good man, he would not have been condemned to such a death and left his wife and children to starve in the coldest winter they had experienced yet on the Northern Plains.
One day he will tell Izuna this story.
One day Izuna must also learn.
Uchiha are the ones who bring the fire. They light the way and create the future. They do not make mistakes.
[ Madara wakes up slowly, staring up at the ceiling for a very long time. He then remembers the Hitomi, and reaches out for it with a slight frown pressing upon his brow, then turns the damned thing off. ]
The scent of the blood was gritty. It did not have the cold metallic clang of fresh blood, of war blood. It was earthy and warm, when it should not have been in the dead of winter, when everything was frozen and smelled like snow. Izuna was born in winter. Under the banshee winds that ripped the sky apart above the thin walls of the tent came a small bloody thing emerging from between his mother's legs. She wailed like she was dying, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her body heaved, pushing against an invisible wave that rocked her back. Each time she pushed forward, she was sent back again, and the sea that spilled from her was frothy and red. The brave few women who dared to stay with her seemed terrified at the sight. This was no ordinary birth, they said. Whispering to one another as Madara watched the little thing coming out from his mother's body, dragging out of her with each heave. First a bulbous, blood-covered thing in a thin pink membrane, then an entire head. Small curled fists, like it was fighting its way out of her. Madara did not want to see his mother dying any longer, and rushed forward and held the creature emerging from his mother's body, and that was when he caught the scent of that blood -- when he was kneeling on the cold earth, pulling his little brother out of his mother's womb as the women stood around their tent and watched and whispered in awe.
It was only much later that he discovered what the awe truly was.
They said it should have been a demon that came out between her legs, not a perfectly healthy baby boy whose cry sounded more a whisper than a wail.
~
Maybe if he had cried the way all other babies cried, the men in the cloaks would have never come for their father.
Two nights after Izuna was born and named, they came for him. Madara watched from where he had been sharpening the blade of his father's kusarigama as these men who were as large as his father came into their home. His father was the biggest man Madara had ever known until then. He was as tall as the moon, taller than their home. A towering giant with eyes like fire and a scar that made him look like he was always smiling. When they came to take him away, Madara could not tell if he was smiling. The scar winked at him when his father stood and looked at the men.
"It is time," the first one said.
"You can either come out like a man if you are one, or we can drag you out in front of your family. What will it be?" The second one must have said this, because Madara only heard the words but did not see them. He saw his mother, though, as she threw herself down on the floor between his father and the men, screaming. Her face was wet and red and her eyes were like fire too. Her back bent all the way over, and strange noises that sounded like the banshee winds above their tents left her throat. They called those winds the crying winds; he never knew if it was named after crying women or if it was what caused them to cry. But at that moment, the wind was silent, except for the cries his mother made.
"It was only a mistake! He only made a mistake! Have mercy, please, have mercy. I beg of you. Please don't take my children's father from them. They will starve without him! We will all starve! He did not mean to make this mistake, did you, darling? Please forgive him, for the sake of my children. Look how young they are! How can they survive without a father? How?" Madara was supposed to say something here, but he was too small and the men were so large, looming in the doorway of their tent.
His father had told him what to say the night before, standing on the very edge of a battlefield, scarred with enemy bodies given burial by the vultures that circled the sky. He had captured a small boy, who was around Madara's age. This boy had short brown hair and big green eyes. He was not as smart as Madara, because all he could do was cry for his mother. He wore a green yukata with a yellow belt, and his cheeks were ruddy, wind-bitten, and wet. He was a small thing that shook and shook and shook, and Madara couldn't understand why he shook in this way when everyone knew the way to conquer winter was to become one with it. To go with the wind, instead of shake against it. The cold grows upon the skin and toughens it up, but this boy, he must have been an indoors boy. His skin was white and smooth, and when Madara touched it, it felt expensive. Not like Madara's, which was rough and crumbly. A little like the cold sand of the desert, after it had been frozen by the northern winds.
"This boy is your enemy. He is a Senju," his father said as he held the boy by the back of his neck so that he could not run away easily, and Madara thought his voice sounded as dead as the bodies being buried by the sky. There was no fire to his language, no heat like the impassioned call to arms against the Senju monsters that fed Uchiha children to the wolves and took their mothers for wives. The war hollers were a hot contrast to the winter that they were always at war with in these Northern Territories.
There was always a war that the Uchiha were fighting. This was what it meant to be Uchiha.
"You know what you must do," his father said as he gave him a pouch filled with kunai and shuriken, then let go of the boy, who ran away screaming towards the vultures perched on bodies in the distance.
Madara only needed one.
He knew what he needed to do, because it was what all Uchiha did when they encountered a Senju.
The boy was fast, but Madara was faster. His skin opened up like butter, melted under the blade. His blood steamed in the winter air, and the smell of it was cold and metallic. Madara watched as he staggered forward, and then fell over face-first. He died so quietly. So prettily. It was easier than killing an animal. Animals were much more vicious, especially the ones with claws.
"You are a man now, Madara," his father said after Madara brought him the head of the boy. The scar on his father's face made his smile stretch wider, but his eyes didn't crinkle up. There was something dark in them that Madara didn't understand. "You must protect your mother and your little brother. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father."
But he did not understand, because he was not yet five, and wasn't certain if he was ready to be a man. He was not quite tall enough to be one -- his father was as tall as the moon. He would have to grow very fast to be as large as him. There were words that his father told him then that he should say, but the men that came for his father were just as tall as him, and in that moment, Madara did not feel like a man and forgot all the words his father made him recite on the plains that day, holding the head of the little boy who was his enemy. He watched as the first man's large foot came out very quickly and struck his mother, tumbling her over and over in their tent and almost into the cradle that held his baby brother.
"Uchiha do not make mistakes," the man said. And then they took his father from their tent.
The banshee winds started to scream when he was gone.
Or maybe it was just his mother.
~
Uchiha do not make mistakes.
They do not know how to make them, for they are the perfect ones, the chosen ones. The ones that bring the fire and the sun. That light the way, and create the future. They are the enlightened ones, the blessed ones, and their eyes see the truth of the world. Their blood is pure. So when there is impurity in it, it must be expunged. Burnt up in the winter sun. This is the fate of all Uchiha who betray their clan, for there is nothing thicker than blood, and all who would live for it must die for it.
"This man has shamed our clan," the elder said, his voice booming over the quiet camp. Madara had snuck past the guard that was supposed to be watching his family by leaving a shadow clone behind. He hid himself in an empty barrel that once held the oil they used to sharpen their weapons and watched through the cracks. His father was not wearing any clothing and he was tied to a cross. He no longer looked as tall as the moon and all Madara could think to himself as he stared and watched was how he could get himself out of the barrel and save his father in time.
"He gave the Senju a gift of life that he did not have the right to give! He ordered a retreat from the camp of women and children instead of burning the camp down as Uchiha law demands! For that failure, the Senju were notified of our second battalion's location, and we sustained great losses in battle that we would not have had! This man is not worthy of being called a man. Or of being an Uchiha. The punishment for this is death."
Before Madara could get himself out of the barrel, the two men in the cloaks that had taken his father lined up with ten more. Their fingers created the seals for fire, for the great fireball jutsu. No one noticed the barrel falling over or a little boy's scream. No one saw as the little boy crawl out of the oil barrel and into the mud at the base of it.
The roar of the flames and the crackle pop of skin was deafening.
Madara could only watch as the flames engulfed his father's body, saw the fire in his eyes one last time before they went coal black. He thought he saw his father looking at him, but that must have been his imagination because no one could see through all those flames.
~
Later that evening, when Madara scrubbed the oil off his feet and his father's ashes off his skin, he quietly informed his mother, "They burned Father to death because he shamed our clan."
The hand that came down on his cheek was so hard Madara tasted blood and saw stars when his head went crashing into one of the support beams of their tent. His mother stood over him with Izuna in one of her arms, and her eyes were red like the fire that burnt his father up, salt-tracks lining her cheeks, dripping down to the apex of her chin. "Don't you ever speak about your father like that again. Your father was a very good man. He may have made some mistakes, but he had a good heart, and he is your flesh and blood! You mustn't ever speak poorly of your father. You do not understand the sacrifices that he made for our family."
All Madara could think of as he collected himself off the floor was the scent of his father burning, all of the Uchiha watching with eyes filled with judgment. If he was such a good man, he would not have been condemned to such a death and left his wife and children to starve in the coldest winter they had experienced yet on the Northern Plains.
One day he will tell Izuna this story.
One day Izuna must also learn.
Uchiha are the ones who bring the fire. They light the way and create the future. They do not make mistakes.
[ Madara wakes up slowly, staring up at the ceiling for a very long time. He then remembers the Hitomi, and reaches out for it with a slight frown pressing upon his brow, then turns the damned thing off. ]