Naruto 1. Prelude

Note: So. I just uploaded a new story, "Blind Spot," when I realized that I have so much more inspiration, _momentum_, if you will, for this one. Please enjoy, give it a shot, if you're feeling bored and in need of an obscure pairing and alternate universe fix, as I do.

This is a completely revamped version of an old (and most likely discontinued) story, "Mistress of the Hounds." I should probably add that this is COMPLETELY AU, like a version of feudal Japan written by someone very ignorant and slightly unhinged.

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine - not even the more obscure ones.

* * *

He will return any day now.

Two months ago, word arrived that he would be back before spring; this is what the _yamabushi_ wrote, and men like him do not lie, nor have any reason to. As winter draws to an end, the household flings itself into frenzied activity. It sweeps up the marketplace and scatters the Uchiha's army of servants in its wake; in the rush to find priests who will furnish the house with the appropriate blessings, reserve seasonal delicacies that cannot be purchased this very moment lest they spoil before the clan heir sets foot in Konoha, and (most of all) educate every member of the clan on the exact hierarchy which even the four-year-olds must know, there is no time to seek solace in clean silence or singing blades.

Nonetheless, Hana is sure that Shisui has been practicing daily. Sometimes on a frigid evening, she hears – above the melancholy shamisen strumming of a disgraced Uchiha grandmother who remembers only her geisha days – (and perhaps the distant echo of a glass chime) his shout as the sword in his hands slashes through boundaries drawn in air by light. She steals purpose and peace from the sound as she hurries on with a bucket of dirty water in her hands. Once emptied from the small sluice gate in the wall, the water slips through the cracks in the ground and winds its way to the lowest levels of the city, where the dark silence stifles more screams than the crows made when their youngest fell out of the nest.

There are beats in time that resonate in Hana's awareness; a flash of images when she turns her zori around before stepping onto the _engawa_ and sees the smaller slippers of a child. She remembers a day when her five-year-old self, too consumed by the urgency of her mother's orders, neglected to turn her zori around and almost sprinted right into a staid, younger boy with intent, soot-grey eyes. Then she finds herself listening for the wrong kind of footfalls, expecting the space near her to suddenly fill with the presence of a thirteen-year-old embedded too deeply in her memory to be exorcised. To her, he will never be more than thirteen, a lithe youth with deadly grace reminiscent of leaping flames. She cannot see him as a man, as Shisui has been even before he turned nineteen this year.

But any day now, Itachi will walk among the shadows of the house once more, and perhaps he will look the part of an heir then; he always did have the aura, and now, after these four years, he may have gained the physical stature. Or maybe his demeanor is unchanged, though he will have spent nearly half a decade on a lonely mountain with little else but snow and wind.

Maybe he will bring some of that distant, impersonal calm into the city and quell these frenetic rumors of conspiracy and spies and dark futures. Or perhaps he will bring the long-awaited war instead.

She stops speculating there, and tries to imagine him grown tall and formidable; her mind's eye conjures up at most an Itachi on the verge of fourteen, give or take two months. There is no knowing for sure until his actual arrival.

_Until then_.


	2. Running Through a Maze of Whispers

**Disclaimer: **I own everything that doesn't make sense/is unfamiliar.

Dug this out from my old stuff due to a revival of interest on my part, thanks – oddly enough – to another tale on FF called "The Secrets of Scary People." It's just a (happy?) coincidence that both chapters I've recently updated happen to focus on Shisui. Itachi will be appearing momentarily…

Some musical inspiration credits go to: "Endless Sorrow" (Ayumi Hamasaki), "Proof" (Angela), "Silver and Cold" (AFI), "Reset" (Ayaka Hirahara)

* * *

_If only one wish can be fulfilled,_  
_I want to deliver this song to you back in time._

* * *

Hana's first memory of the Main House – if indeed it can be called a memory, since it is not quite hers – is of crying. Keening wails rend the air, high enough to pierce the boom of thunder that shakes the house. They come in gusts, spaced between dry, heaving sobs. A resounding slap, a crash, and then silence. Low, masculine voices and susurrations, always the whisper of wind through the gaps between wood frame and paper, hissing past the room and causing a glass bell to chime somewhere in the courtyard out of sight.

Somewhere inside those rooms lies a lady with her long black hair in disarray, her face wrenched by a terrible expression of incoherent grief. A man stands over her as she sobs breathlessly, looking down at the inert body of their only son. Other observers, their clothes marked by the red and white crest of their clan, exchange looks of apprehension and unease.

The lightning flashes again, and there is a second voice – the baby that was dead is crying.

* * *

Hana knows it and dreams it, wondering whose eyes she has borrowed; she says no more of it to Mother, who shoots her a quelling look. She never had to be so discreet back in the village by the river where they once lived. Everyone there knew of the Inuzuka Clan's ability to talk with dogs and sometimes even to see as they did when asleep.

The answer to her unvoiced question trots past on the raised wooden walkway one spring day soon after her eighth birthday as she walks on the narrow dirt corridor for the servants' use. The old Uchiha matriarch, evidently, keeps a mean little dog as a pet. As an Inuzuka, Hana has a knack with canines, but it fails her when confronted by a tiny beast that has been spoiled its entire life.

The Uchiha's pet makes a wild snapping motion. Prickly teeth click against each other; the little dog growls, twisting to tear at the hand that has hoisted it up by the nape. The dog persists, but even despite the rather unimpressive stature and strength of its captor, does not break free. At last, the boy puts another arm around the dog and heaves it in the opposite direction, whereupon the humiliated animal finds its legs, rolls its bulging eyes in malicious rage, and scurries off.

"I could have –" Hana starts, then catches how ungracious it must sound. "Thank you."

"Had someone in the household seen you deal with Grandmother's pet yourself, there would have been hell to pay." The boy offers her a brief smile, neither confiding nor friendly but exasperated, perhaps even relieved about a crisis averted. There is a faint air of superiority about him, one that comes all too naturally to an Uchiha on his own turf. It is harder for Hana to stomach than his maddening not-smile.

"Who are you?" She knows that adults still like to pinch her cheeks, and hopes she looks young enough for her rudeness to go excused. It would never fly if Mother were present.

"Uchiha Shisui. Who are _you_, and what are you supposed to be doing?"

"Inuzuka Hana, and I am supposed to find the _kamijochu-sama_ and let him know there is a huge scratch in the north-facing dojo floors so that he can arrange for someone to fix it." Hana rattles this off with unmistakable annoyance, in the misguided belief that the importance of her mission will put out the vague condescension in the boy's eyes.

To her dismay, he grins, as at a private joke. "Oh, yes. Itachi and I put it there, when last we sparred."

Hana blurts without forethought - "They let you handle sharp blades?" She recalls a stinging slap on the back of her hand, not long ago, when she reached for a knife because no scissors were at hand to cut a length of bandages.

"Since we turned six; Itachi will be seven soon. I shall be nine." He reveals that tidbit of information as if it is nothing, and it may well be nothing to him if not for the quicksilver glance he gives her from the side of his eyes. His nonchalance is greatly exaggerated.

Hana refuses to be impressed. "What kind of blade were you using?"

"Naginata. We have done exercises with shinai for a long time; my uncle will start us with wakizashi soon." And eventually with full-length swords, when they are older.

"You're a braggart."

"It's true!" Shisui retorts; he is not naturally inclined to violence against his peers, but such a direct insult cannot be borne. "You're a lazy, ignorant servant and you don't know anything."

"I'll grow up and learn, but you'll always be an Uchiha."

Shisui blinks. He has never had that flung at him as a slur before. "What of it?"

"Uchiha can't do anything. They don't even let you leave the compound until you're _really_ old." Hana's teeth flash out in a smug smile. "When I'm nine I can go outside to help."

"On errands for my family," he rejoins. "Thanks for telling me. I'll be sure you get the most bothersome tasks."

"Anything to be out of _here_."

Finally, Shisui makes a face, utterly baffled and no less offended. "What is so terrible about _here?_"

Hana stares at him with true amazement then; all her life, she has possessed the preternatural empathy with dogs that any significant amount of Inuzuka blood will guarantee, and she cannot yet imagine how much less those who do not have that ability might perceive of their surroundings.

"It's crowded, for one. Everyone's smells overlap, and even the Lady's white plum fragrance is disgusting when overlaid with fish oil and worm salts. And all the rooms are so old, almost every single one has its own ghost. The only part of the Main House that doesn't have a ghost is the servants' quarters because they're newer, but a draft comes through, and behind the yard, the shrine attracts all kinds of strange spirits. At least, that's what Kuromaru says, and the Haimaru brothers think so too, and I don't doubt them."

She thinks it a fair censure, kindly worded; she has given the matter much thought, after all, whenever Mother scolds her for complaining or even hinting at dissatisfaction. The boy gives her a long, considering look, perhaps trying to puzzle out who Kuromaru and the Haimaru brothers are; it is better if he never finds out.

"The city stinks of rubbish, manure, and dirt," he declares at last. "And it is just as crowded and unpleasant. Haven't you ever been?"

Hana frowns. "In the morning…" Now that she tries to pinpoint her impressions, part of her realizes that it _was_ quite early in the morning, the day of their arrival in Konoha. There had been less people and noise, to be sure, with most of the city asleep and the sky only marginally paler than it had been at midnight.

"A city before dawn is completely different from a city at noon, which is when the market is open." Authority laces Shisui's voice. "You don't even know how the city is; how dare you criticize the Uchiha Compound?"

"Well, I don't like it, and I don't like you." No matter what else, Hana's tone makes it clear that this point is not in dispute. "Mother says it's your family's fault that we even had to come here."

Shisui crosses his arms, leaning against the side of a screen. He is light enough for there to be no danger of toppling it out of its place. "How so?"

Hana rummages through her memory, and comes up with snatches of argument, of liege lords who did not fulfill their obligations to outlying subjects, of things and people being "expendable" and retaining possession of the river whether or not this settlement or that was pared away. Of conserving their strength – _While people are dying! _– though she has forgotten the speaker's name, only that he smelled always of singed clothes and metal. The village blacksmith, perhaps.

"You didn't come and fight when you were supposed to," she says. "You took everyone's grain and things, and you took our dogs but you didn't come."

"My family wouldn't do that." But he sounds a little shaken by the implacability of Hana's charge. "Anyway, if I had been old enough to fight, I would certainly have come. I know Uncle and some of my cousins would have come, if only for Honor." He speaks of honor as if it is a Great Thing – important, if nebulous.

"So what?"

"So I would!"

Hana looks away. "I still have to live here."

The color in Shisui's cheeks deepens. "I'll ask, all right? I'll ask my family, and they'll tell you we never knew about the raid planned against your village, not until it was too late. I'll prove you wrong, and you _will_ take it back."

They glare at each other, their eyes holding that grim challenge between them until one of them breaks the stare; they will never know who was the first to look away. Nor does Shisui remember to tell her the answer.

* * *

The Uchiha Compound, as Hana has noted since moving in, is rank with ghosts. There is a certain heaviness in the dusky air, a deep-seated fatigue which no amount of scrubbing with vinegar or lye can remove. There are the ever-present glass chimes, dusty inside translucent shells that no maid will clean – they ring at odd intervals in the night, bright and distant, even when no breeze is ruffling the jasmine or the pale, fragrant leaves in the garden and courtyard. They say that when a wind bell rings, a spirit is entering or leaving a house – and the Uchiha ghosts are restless spirits.

Some other servants are sensitive to their passage. Haruno-sama – or so Mother has told Hana to address the petite, soft-spoken woman – tells of troubles with her child when she first entered the Uchiha's service. Little Haruno Sakura refused to sleep within hearing of the chimes and did not allow anyone else to sleep either with her distressing cries. She lives with the Yamanaka family for now, in the rooms above their flower shop. Haruno-sama visits her whenever she can, grateful to have good friends so close by in the city.

Hana notices the ghosts, too, but her irritation is second-hand, stemming from the Haimaru brothers' lively complaints. Kiba, when he does decide to sleep, hardly seems aware of their presence, and Hana is diverted at night by the shadows cast by moonlight on the rice paper screens. Mother never makes much noise, and meanwhile, the shadows take strange shapes, sometimes of people talking – old ladies fussing over their blue-grey bowls of tea, the steam making shadows even more indistinct – other times simply of men and elders striding purposefully on the engawa, though Hana hears no footsteps and the brightest light along the cracks shine unimpeded.

When Hana is eight, the watery silhouette of a man pauses before the screen. With shadows, one can never tell if they are facing the room or turned away, but Hana knows the moment the man looks into the room. There are dim red lights where his eyes would be. Even as she watches him, the eyes seem to sweep over the room in a careless, proprietary arc, when suddenly the man realizes she is observing him and the crimson gaze fixes on her.

For a long moment Hana looks back, sensing no malice. Then she moves her hands under the thick blanket, because her fingers have gone cold. Her stomach churns, and she ducks to swipe at the thin layer of sweat that has sprung upon her forehead. She glances up; the blood red gaze is still there. For the first time, she is afraid.

Mother lies within arm's reach but leagues away, lost in slumber; Hana does not think she will wake in time to be of help. The screen creaks, a thundering sound in the stifling quiet. Perhaps it is a freakish wind. More likely a malevolent hand has gripped its side to remove the last barrier between shadow and room.

Just as Hana curls up into a tighter ball, a true wind does pick up, carrying the drawn-out baying of dogs on a hunt. The red eyes darken; all the shadows shiver like images underwater, ink running off paper, and dissipate.

Ghosts do not bother the Inuzuka.

.


End file.

Naruto, Drama, Supernatural