Interlude: The Curse of the Kurosawa
June 16, 1071 AS.
The turnout at Ren's funeral was about what Hana had expected. On the one hand, Ren had been the Kurosawa clan head, the woman who'd guided the clan through over a decade of success. Whatever else could be said about Hana's sister, she had been a hard worker, and in a clan whose Bloodline Limit encouraged convenient shortcuts and labour-saving tricks, hard work was a virtue to respect. On the other hand, Ren had died in disgrace, the Clan Lady who'd lost the Kurosawa the hat, the diplomat who'd been defeated by diplomacy, with no legacy to leave behind but mediocrity.
Her reputation had become an albatross around the clan's neck–though, in fairness to her, part of that was just how much she was eclipsed by her successor. The Sixth Mizukage was popular with the seniors: respectful and open to dialogue, even correction, where Yagura had been dictatorial and Ren too occupied with shoring up her authority. He was popular with the rank-and-file: the AMI backed him at every step where they had obstructed Ren, and he was the first mover behind a world peace that had ended Mist's bloodiest military conflict since the Battle of Nagi Island (a conflict, incidentally, which Ren had committed them to). He was popular with the populace at large: he was the reformer Mist had been waiting for ever since waking up from Yagura's nightmare, and there was a careful forethought behind his choices that seemed characteristic less of an enthusiastic beginner and more of an elder who had spent decades preparing for this era with all the calculation of the Mori.
Given her awkward position with regard to the clan, Hana had not been invited to speak. The Kurosawa had, however, yielded to her rights as blood kin, which was how she came to be standing closest to the priest as he intoned verses of supplication to the ancestors–and next to one of those very ancestors in the flesh.
Next to Hana, Kurosawa Raito,
Mother, wept in silence. It was not the way of the Kurosawa to hide their feelings at funerals–the fact that they
could, better than anyone in the world, made the sincere expression of grief a sacrament in its own way.
Hana wasn't showing any feelings–not because of the Iron Nerve, or because she was too uncaring. She'd never been accused of that. She just didn't know how to feel. Ren had been her sister. Loved, admired, hated, pitied. Her best friend and the woman who had betrayed her in a way only family could. There was an entire ball of emotions tangled inside Hana, too complex to unwind, and no longer meaningful to anyone but her. It felt like any emotion she let herself show would be a lie without all the others.
Mother was weeping. Would she have wept if it had been Hana?
The ceremony concluded. The empty vessel was pushed out to sea. The offerings within would call to Ren's lost spirit, guiding it down to the Abyss where her ancestors–the ancestors she'd once shared with Hana–waited in judgement.
The crowd began to disperse. Hana was headed to Kurohige's. She didn't drink much, only socially–escape into alcoholism was a temptation she'd faced down too many times–but today, maybe it would help loosen the knot of feelings inside her and help her figure out whether and how she was supposed to mourn.
"Hana."
The voice was quiet, soft, but unmistakable. There were voices you never forgot, even if you were hearing them for the first time in twenty years.
Hana turned to face the mother who had abandoned her.
"What is it?"
"Do you have time?" Mother asked her. "I'd like to talk to you."
Now? After all this time?
"Please," Mother said. "This is the second time I've lost a daughter before I could find the right words to say to her. I won't live to see a third."
Hana wavered. What did she owe the woman who'd turned her back on her all those years ago? Who'd placed the nebulous, invented needs of the clan over her own family? Who hadn't lifted a finger for Hana when she needed a helping hand?
But then, that was also how she felt about Ren. And now Ren was dead, and everything Hana didn't say, and everything Ren didn't say, would stay unsaid forever.
"Fine," Hana said.
-o-
The second Mother sat down in her parlour, her body language transformed. The ramrod-straight back sagged. The steady hands began to tremble. It hit Hana for the first time that Mother was
old now, and that even if she didn't hide her feelings with the Iron Nerve, that didn't mean she didn't hide anything else.
"Hana, I'm sorry."
Hana must have misheard.
"Wh-What did you say?"
Mother rolled her eyes. "You heard me, Hana. I can say it again. I'm sorry."
Hana stared at her, aghast. "Now? After all this time?"
"Better late than never, right?" Mother asked. "It turns out, the closer you get to never, the less your stupid pride starts to matter.
"It's the curse of the Kurosawa, you know," she added. "We have the power to always wear a brave face, so we forget that sometimes it's better to admit defeat. We never forget a wrong, even when remembering it just means we're the ones hurting ourselves. Time after time, we turn and walk away when we should be begging on our knees.
"I always knew deep down I was a lousy mother. Always so distant, even though you were still
my girls, and none of it was your fault. It's a miracle you turned out as well as you did. And then when I finally tried to do something for you, it all went to hell.
"You probably won't believe me, Hana, but I really did do it for you. I wanted to spare you the heartbreak I could see in your future. I didn't want you to go through all the pain I did when I made the same mistake. But if I'd only known you better, if I'd let myself be closer to you, I'd have realised just how much like the old me you were. There was never any chance of you choosing the sagely wisdom of your elders over your heart, was there?"
Hana sat silent, dumbstruck. In all her life, her mother had never spoken to her like this.
"What's worse," Mother went on, "I was wrong. Your lover, no, your husband never broke your heart. He put you first till the day he died. He even gave you the child you wanted. You can't imagine the idiot I felt when I heard news of his death and realised the betrayal I'd been waiting for was never going to happen."
"But…" Hana choked out, "if you already knew you were in the wrong back then… then
why?"
Mother chuckled bitterly. "A dozen excuses, each more pathetic than the last. The Clan Council wouldn't accept the loss of face from the clan backing down. But I was still clan head back then. I should have used that power to ram it down their throats, and damn the consequences. Ren was about to succeed, and having the real heir come back to overshadow the backup candidate would ruin her authority, maybe even split the clan. As if I'd ever been a slave to politics when love was on the line. You'd have turned me down anyway because you couldn't forgive me–I still do think that, but what would I have had to lose by trying except that damned pride?"
"I would have," Hana agreed. "You and Ren ruined my life for stupid, petty reasons when
I was never your enemy."
"Like I said, the curse of the Kurosawa," Mother said. "Just like after you'd been wronged to the Abyss and back, your own pride meant you wouldn't have been able to choke it down. Not even if it could've meant your son growing up with wealth and influence and clan heir training, because that's what he'd be until Ren had kids."
"If you're trying to tell me," Hana growled, "that after everything you did, I should've–"
"Oh, no," Mother interrupted," this is the Kurosawa Raito apology tour. And besides, it sounds like little Hazō is doing way better over in Leaf than he would have as Lord Kurosawa. They've got Hokage dying like flies over there, and our ambassador says he comes out stronger each time. Apparently, he's due to marry Mori Ami soon, and if that's not destiny, I don't know what is."
Hana would put money on that particular rumour being either a total fabrication by the shipping faction of Leaf's rumour mill, allegedly founded by Jiraiya in his spymaster days and since gone out of control, or part of a sophisticated political game by Ami that had precious little to do with reality.
"Is that all you had to say?" Hana asked.
"Pretty much," Mother said. "I don't have that long left, you know"–she glanced down at her hands–"a few years tops, and only because I've kept on top of the medical ninjutsu Tsunade of the Three's been publishing through the AMITY medical network. No amount of pride is going to fix that.
"You'll be welcome here, Hana," Mother said. "It's the interregnum now, with no standout candidate, so the clan's weak, and I've got a bunch of capital saved up and little reason to hoard it. Whether you want to challenge for Lady Kurosawa or just come and go for tea and snacks without snooty doormen getting in your way, now's the time for me to ram my will down the clan's throat like I should've done when it mattered."
Hana stared. Her, Lady Kurosawa? She couldn't decide whether Mother's brain coral was fracturing with age or whether this was that notorious Raito sense of humour that had somehow never come out around her daughters.
Though it
was halfway tempting, not for the possibility of victory but for the satisfaction of throwing the catfish among the pigeons. It would also be a nice excuse to take a break from the endless diplomacy missions the Sixth was throwing at her (she was still getting used to the luxury of being able to complain about too much work).
As for tea and snacks, if Mother thought it would be that easy to buy forgiveness for a stolen future, then she was definitely growing senile. But then again, she'd
apologised. Would things have been different before the end if Ren said she was sorry, from her heart and without making excuses?
"I'll think about it," Hana said, the non-answer the best she could manage.
That twisted ball of feelings inside her was the size of a Tailed Beast Bomb now, and no less volatile. Screw discipline. It was the day of her sister's funeral, and nobody would raise an eyebrow if, just for today, she drank Kurohige's dry.
-o-
Hana's brush hovered over the scroll, wet with ink. Hazō needed to know that his aunt had been declared dead. She hoped he wouldn't be too angry that the Kurosawa hadn't invited him to the funeral (though, then again, he'd be angry with the Kurosawa, and screw them), but the clan was more than happy to privately roll up the scroll on that chapter of its life rather than making the disgraced clan head's funeral an international occasion.
The brush hovered. She missed him. Ancestors, but she missed him. Was he happy? Healthy? Eating well? She knew what sealmasters were like. Did he have a consort, or was he still mourning that nice Akane girl? Hana was starting to feel her age, especially after yesterday's conversation, and having the question of grandchildren settled would do her heart a world of good.
A horrible thought occurred to her. What if the Ami rumour was true? It made no sense, but a rational woman like Hana had no hope of understanding what went through that girl's head, and young men had a tendency to think with their minnows even before they had to face a seduction specialist jōnin.
That would be a disaster. A catastrophe he'd regret for the rest of his life. Maybe she should forget the letter and go straight to Leaf to stage an intervention before it was too late.
(No, she was not her mother.
Hana would never disown her child, not even if he chose to engage in holy matrimony with chaos itself.)
Straight to Leaf. No, that wasn't an option for her anymore, was it? She'd written to Leaf before, asking for permission to visit, and been politely but unambiguously told she was persona non grata, on the explicit orders of the Fifth Hokage.
She hadn't pressed the matter. The Gōketsu had made their choice. Mari over her. They could surely have pressured Jiraiya into pardoning her otherwise. And she couldn't imagine it anyway if she tried, going back into that house where that monster was treated as family.
It's the curse of the Kurosawa, you know.
Mari was a monster. Hana loathed her from the bottom of her heart. That was true and justified and would never change.
We have the power to always wear a brave face, so we forget that sometimes it's better to admit defeat.
Hana's mother had given up on ever being with her daughter again, not because she didn't love her–implicitly; those were words she
hadn't said yesterday–but because she couldn't accept her mistake and throw everything she had into making it right.
Hana wasn't her mother. She would never be her mother.
We never forget a wrong, even when remembering it just means we're the ones hurting ourselves.
Hana loathed Mari. That would never change.
But did she loathe her more than she loved her son?
Time after time, we turn and walk away when we should be begging on our knees.
Hana sighed. She put away the scroll, marred by ink dripping from the brush like the tears that preceded closure.
She unrolled a new one.
Honoured Lord Hokage, she began.
-o-
Voting is closed.
