#memorialia

[lexiconlatinum]

Stēlae quae vexillīs americānīs Diē Memoriālī ōrnātae sunt | Fōns - Dominiī Pūblicī

memoriālis, memoriālis, memoriāle -

quī aliquem aliquidve commemorat

quī ad memoriam recordātiōnemque attinet

memoriāle, memoriālis - (n.)

rēs quae ad commemorandum institūta est

(pl.) liber quō auctor ēventūs suae vītae scrīpsit

[cervamater]

Memorialĭa: Inheritance from a Phantom.

Second part of the work I’ve done for Yoshino’s birthday. Like, seven eons ago. Describes in detail Yoshino’s appointment as Nara clan head. Enjoy the suffering ride!

She didn’t know it yet, but that was going to be one of the recurrent dreams belonging to most of her nights. Not a dream though… more of a nightmare, indeed. Yoshino knew what she was experiencing was not real but at the same time she could not deny the sensations attached to it. Those were absolutely real and concrete.

She queued outside with many other people under a tangerine sky, they were all waiting for something hidden behind closed doors. There were friendly faces in blue uniforms at the heads of those lines, everyone of them was smiling and nodding politely as they welcomed the queued ones in, one by one. Yoshino shifted her gaze around, she wanted to understand what was going on, where she was, what she was doing there. She tried to grab somebody by their shoulder but regardless of the words she spoke, none seemed to figure her out. At that point she was desperate to learn even the slightest about that situation. “Excuse me!” she cried out in agony as she addressed one blue-dressed guard (guard? when did she realize those were guards?), a woman with luxurious blond hair cut in a short bob. “Yes, ma’am?” her voice was kind and soothing. “Where are we?” Yoshino asked, clinging at her clothes. “Please, ma’am, just follow the queue” the woman replied with a cold smile. Her politeness spread no warmth, it was as glacial as ice itself. It burnt on the Nara widow’s skin. “I want to know! Where are we going?! Tell me!” by that time she was wriggling like a hopeless fish which had swallowed the hook. Many ran to her, guards and not, attempting to contain her rage, but she managed to shake their hands off. “Where are we?! What is waiting for us?!” “No more question, ma’am. Please, get back in line.” Yoshino shouted and thrashed her arms. She wanted to escape. She needed to escape. The gentle expression of the woman turned into a furious frown. Her features changed accordingly: she became an aged man with salt-and-pepper, shoulder-lenght hair tied up into a bristly, erect ponytail. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth made him even more intimidating in his appearance. Yoshino knew whose that face was and had she been able to think rationally in that moment, she would have realized that was her father-in-law’s face, whom she had nothing to be scared about at the very least. Right then though… that was the most fearsome face in the entire world. “JUST GET BACK IN LINE!”

As she bolted upright with short breath, she had to get used to the lack of illumination in the room. It was plunged into the deepest darkness, the tealight candles she employed as night lights had to have been blown out. She was wheezing and trembling, her forehead was sticky with sweat as much as the back of her neck; she tied her hair up to find some rest, but that would not work against the nervousness she was feeling. It was too late to get a bath, moon was still up in the sky, so Yoshino sorted out to get herself a cup of tea and just wait for the sunrise. It was not the first time she would spent the entire night awake anyways, so she felt less irritated that usual. Honestly, there was nothing capable to pull an emotion out of her in that state. The only thing she wished for was to float around that sense of dullness forever until the end of her days would have approached: she didn’t want to feel anything. She didn’t want to fucking deal with any shit for as long as she was alive. Oh, of course, how could have she forgotten the migraine? It always made sure to turn up uninvited.  It felt pretty much like her skull was smashed with a fifteen-tons-weighting hammer, beaten up repeatedly and with gusto. Most of the times it came with such heavy pulsations she could barely lift her body up, the only thing she was enabled to do was crawling under the blankets and clenching her palms against her temples in hope to ease the pain. “Fuck” she moaned, teeth gritted, “go away. Go away. Go away.” It didn’t work, but Yoshino was not going to get overpowered by a bad headache, not that time. She wobbled through the large corridors of Nara compound, one side of her body pressed against the wall in order to support her up and onward. At every throb she found herself shoving her eyes shut and tightening her jaws in a hollow bite, but she manged to reach the kitchen and fill the boiler. Now the water was heating up, the woman sat at the rectangular-shaped table with her head in her hands. The next morning, the Three-Heads-Council would appoint her precious, little son head of his clan and Yoshino was so afraid. Shikamaru was still too young to take that responsibility upon himself, he didn’t know what being a clan head meant… Shikaku had no time to teach him. Oh, what a rash thought had just crossed her mind! How bold from her to think of that name, the name she had avoided for days. It affected her on a physical level: a precise stab into her chest, a tough one who would have hurt for weeks to come, it made her gasp for air. She raised her eyes and, as expected, he was there in front of her, his charcoal irises fixed on paperwork he brought home from the Hokage’s tower, his lips bent in a serious grimace. She had stared at him working for so much time… she remembered just how red she became when he looked up and found her studying his face like a love-stricken teenage girl. “Come here, darling” he used to say that, and as soon as she reached him, he pressed a kiss against her soft mouth. “I’m sorry. I promise I will not work at home anymore.” It was a lie, but Yoshino didn’t mind when he spoke at her like that, with that tenderness in his husky voice. No, no, she shook her head: he was not there. He would never be there again. He was dead. Dead for his village, dead for his homeland, dead for his comrades, dead for his honor. He was dead for everyone but her. Oh, yes, he preserved her safety… but what about her sanity? What about those unfilled silence none could take up? What about the coldness in her bed none else would ever be entitled to melt away? Without him, she was lost. Even worse, she was dead just as much as he was, she had no reason to be alive. Yoshino buried her head into her arms, too weak and tired to think properly, too sick to function. The kettle started an obnoxious whistle which only reinforced her headache, so the woman removed it from the stove. Was she to be considered a woman anymore though? That new label was already glued on her back and followed her wherever she went: widow, the widow of the Great Chief and Jounin Commander Nara Shikaku. According to the Konohanians, a widow had to renounce to her status of woman to fence herself in at home and grieve her husband until her eyes would have dried out or her children would have given her a grandchild to sacrifice her life for. So, if she wanted to list up what Shikaku’s demise had granted her by far, she would have written: 1) loneliness; 2) lunacy; 3) unwanted epithet. “Where are you getting all this bitterness out of, Shishi?” she mumbled to herself, stirring up the herbal mix she had selected for her tea, “aren’t you satisfied enough with his death? Do you really want to unravel your heart through over and again until the little shred of humanity you still hold will be ripped to pieces?” Of course not. Dullness and daze were much more preferable, a complete abstention from life and a consequent lack thereof. If only all the people around left her for dead just as her dead husband… Sound of tranquil sips consumed into the disturbing silence of the shadowed room accompanied the rest of Yoshino’s night, freed from draining lucubration that only brought unwanted pain forth. Morning was about to come and the mother (yes, she liked that label more) knew she had to wake Shikamaru up, as much as that made her cringe. She felt ashamed to disturb his well-deserved rest after having fought a war for such an embarrassing minor inconvenience as a formal appointment; they all knew his father’s place was his to inherit, just like Shikaku’s mansions he had already been charged with by Rokudaime. Her beautiful son, too young to be burdened with that title… her innocent, sweet, poor little fawn ready to be sacrificed to Atlas’ altar. “Shikamaru” she murmured so very quietly, gently shaking him away from his dreamless sleep, “wake up. It’s time.” His hazel eyes (or rather, her hazel eyes pasted onto a Nara-like face) fluttered open in bewilderment as his mouth twitched a couple of times. It took him a few seconds to realize he was home, safe and tucked into his bed, his mother was kneeling right beside him. Yoshino knew that look: his father and her had the same look for several months after the war. Son of two scarred souls, and yet those couldn’t prevent him from gaining one as well. Yoshino felt so sorry and regretful. “Yeah, ma’” Shikamaru muttered with a drowsy voice, rubbing his eyes open, “give me ten minutes.” “Okay. Just be sure to come down in time for breakfast.” He nodded with the same energy he had shown prior. That drew a sigh out of his mother’s lips but she knew better than fight with him about it: he was just made like that, but it was not his nature to contravene orders, especially considering just how much all the family was emotionally bound to breakfast. It had been the last meal the reunited members had eaten all together before the two males would leave for the battlefield. “Don’t cha eat anything?” the boy munches the words coming out of his mouth together with the warm rice as he observes his mother looking out of the window absentmindedly. He was perceptive and his gaze was as sharp as a sword: after all, it was his best weapon. “No, I’m not hungry” Yoshino shook her head with a soft temperament Shikamaru had hardly seen from her. Her stomach was corked and her mouth too exhausted to work on food… moreover, her morbid trail of thoughts did not help her appetite. Shikamaru decided not to reply. Wise choice. “You know, there are quite some possibilities I won’t be chosen as the next leader.” Yoshino hissed in denial, she maintained a skeptical attitude. “Tsk! Your grandfather is the one charged to elect a new clan head. Do you think he will risk removing the title from his own bloodline? Don’t be dumb, Shikamaru.” “Yeah, I know that myself” the younger acknowledged with a compliant tone, “but I am too young to be appointed. Breaking the rule will not do us any good… it would end up doing more harm than anything.” The woman bit down her lower lip as she realized Shikamaru was not wrong. Tradition was fundamental to Naras, a load-bearing pillar none would ever dare to break. Their clan was conservative and devoted to its culture to an enormous extent. Now that their head had passed away, would they have stuck with the tradition of appointing the first child of the previous leader or were they more close to the idea of never letting a young man like Shikamaru rule their lands? “Guess we will find out in a flash” the chuunin shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Yoshino could sense he was just forcing a tough approach, his actual self was much more worried. That was the closest and most precious inheritance his father had left to him and he was ready to take it upon himself. Not receiving that position would delude him beyond words and make him lose confidence in his ability, but at the same time he was aware he could not fight the law, he was taught to respect traditions above else. A teaching Yoshino had learnt to appreciate during the years she had spent by Shikaku’s side, yet now she was boiling with rage and anger… sure, there still was a chance Shikamaru would have been appointed as Nara clan head, but it was thinner than before. “Yoshino-sama, Shikamaru-dono…” a dark-haired head peeped out from behind the entrance door. The woman recognized Daichi’s figure, one member of her personal escort. Daichi was the youngest component of Nara Guards Corps, being him only nineteen at the moment of his designation; now he was twenty-four and still one of the best Kagemane-specialized shinobi in their clan. “It’s time to go. We are moving in five minutes.” Yoshino nodded in agreement weakly as she dismissed the ninja. She hoped her nerves would resist at least until the ceremony was over. In all fairness she didn’t even know where she had found the energy to wear an appropriate mofuku, that black garment only endorsed her funereal mood and worsened her dizziness and general ache. Shikamaru was at the head of their cortege wearing the most likely only one formal kimono he owed (he despised that kind of clothing because of the occasions it was linked with), Daichi and Daen both covered wings position while Yoshino walked in the middle, behind her son. On those official situations, she used to lead the procession alongside her husband with Shikamaru being secured strictly by two Guards. The symbolism was clear: clan head and his significant other conducted the clan towards a brighter future, while the fruit of their union was shielded by the highest-ranked ninjas in their family. Now, though, she was considered a frail, dried, crunchy leaf ready to be stepped on and crumbled. That dark humor elicited a bitter smile out of her lips. “All hail the proud fawn and his beautiful, honored mother doe” Yoshino was addressed by a sarcastic, adult male voice. It took her no effort to identify the source of such a comment: a tall man with a black eye patch was catching up with the group at his pace. He was similar to her deceased life companion the way a pine and an oak resemble one another: both shared the typical Nara traits (slanting eyes, thin, black hair and an oval face shape) but more than that there was nothing that could recall Shikaku to mind in him, although those two were blood-related cousins. The man was taller and bulkier than her husband, other than spreading a cockier vibe. Shikaku, on the other hand, was the proud bearer of a regal elegance in speech and step that that guy couldn’t even dream of. “Morimaru” Yoshino greeted him with the same sympathy she would save for a cockroach, “care to explain your presence here? The meeting we are going to attend is reserved to the titleholder family.” “In a hurry, Yoshino dear” he bowed respectfully, although Yoshino could sense no regard in his gestures. “I’m here in quality of eldest male blood-related to royal family.” “What?!” Shikamaru didn’t manage to bite his tongue in time. The look he gave Morimaru was as blistering as molten lava. Truly her son, without any doubt. The boy’s reply only made him gloat. “Oh, poor fawn, I thought your father taught you the law better. Don’t you know the rules of our clan? Now that our dear Leader is deceased, may Gods bless his soul, our legislation orders us to choose a new head. Legislation imposes to old Shikaichi-sama to choose a proper successor to my cousin, who would be you, without any doubt, but unfortunately you are way too young to guide our family, Shikamaru-kun.” “In case of premature passing away of the head, whether the first born child is younger than twenty, the eldest male related to the child will be appointed in their place” Shikamaru recited the code by heart, glowering at Morimaru like a rabid dog. Yoshino was shocked to a major extent. After all what Shikaku had done for the Naras, that was how he would have been repaid? With his beloved son being excluded from the leading race? That was an insult to his memory. “Do not dare to speak about Shikaku like that, you jerk—!” “Yoshino-sama” Daichi was fast to stop her before she would lapse into further badmouthing. “We have to go. If you wish to follow us, Morimaru-dono, we would be glad to escort you.” “Not a bad idea at all, Daichi-kun” Yoshino could see just how tight his face muscles became as soon as Morimaru called him that, “please, Shikamaru-kun, lead the way.”

The double doors were pushed open by the youngest Nara. They creaked as they revolved on hinges, stone screeching in contact with the floor. Anxiety clutched Yoshino’s chest, she couldn’t help but glancing at the man standing behind her and the threatening air about his relaxed expression. She couldn’t let her husband’s legacy go wasted with that human refuse, but she felt so powerless. She could not influence her father-in-law in any way and the rules could not be changed in accord to Shikamaru’s situation, could they? Morimaru would never return the title to Shikamaru once he had turned of age, he would have bore it until he was dead and after that his children would inherit what was once property of her son. Yoshino walked as slowly as she could, her steps echoed against the damp walls as she furiously turned her brain inside out in the desperate search for an idea. What could she do? What could she do? “Mom” Shikamaru put a hand on her shoulder, asking her for a brief pause. Yoshino looked at him, a bit worried for the sudden serious tone in his voice. “What’s wrong?” “Whatever happens from now on, I don’t want you to blame yourself.” Yoshino bit down her lip. Her son knew her all too well. “I’ll try. But don’t you dare to blame yourself either. Your f-father…” she choked on those words. She could not enunciate it without a solid knot springing in her throat. Shikamaru nodded solemnly. “I know. Shall we enter?” The doe took his hands and grasped it. “Let’s go.”

Upon seeing them all gathered together into that large room, Yoshino had no trouble remembering exactly why she hated those meetings. The dark chamber had only two narrow openings on the top and was built on two stagger levels. On the tallest part there were three hanging arrases with the clans symbols. Before those, three towering stalls where three old men seated. The Nara spouse immediately recognized Shikamaru’s grandfather, Nara Shikahiko, who was looking down at them with those black eyes of his in the middle of the line. On his right side there was Inoichi’s grandfather, Yamanaka Inoto, whose skin was so thin it looked translucent. He had been a very attractive man in his younger days, no doubt, but now there was almost none trace of it, aside for a pair of green orbs that still seemed bearing quite some brightness. On the left there was Chouza’s father, Akimichi Choutaro, a man even broader than his son (which was an impressive thing alone) with a wilder, white mane that fell loose on his back. He brought forward no hint of gentleness, his hands were as warty and knobbly as a farmer’s. At the floor lever there were a couple on the right and a trio on the left. Ino was accompanied by her grandfather, Inodai, and the two of them held a regal composure in their suffering: the elder man was encircling her shoulder in a tight embrace, while the girl kept her hands one into the other, her facial expression was neutral in the attempt of pushing away every emotion. Chouji and Yasuhime turned to glimpse at what was left of the Nara family as soon as they entered, but Chouza murmured some sort of warning that made them look away. Yoshino was grateful for it. The royal Naras stood in the center of the room, side by side, after they had politely bowed to the Council. Their escort kept themselves aside, as well as Morimaru: as much as he liked to make them feel his breath on their necks, he knew he had to follow etiquette. Yoshino was shaking a little bit, but with Shikamaru grabbing her hand she had nothing to be afraid of. “We are all here” Choutaro said austerely, scolding down at his audience with those hawk-like eyes of his, “to acknowledge a painful loss in our clans. Two heroes have been ripped away from the warm solace of their families. Before further discussion, I invite you and us all to pay our homages to the deceased and the bereaved through a minute of silence.” Spying from beneath her lashes, Yoshino saw Ino lowering her head down, some tears rolled fast down her porcelain cheeks. Shikamaru’s grip became more intense. “My grandson Inoichi has greatly honored his lineage and his whole clan” Inoto continued, his voice was shallow and breathy as expected for a man of his age, but still ruling.  “For this, his memory will be conserved in the years to come by his descendants as well as his subordinate clansmen.” “Same applies for my son, Shikaku” Shikahiko sounded worn out by grief to a trained ear like Yoshino’s, but she suspected none else could notice it. “He has been a great leader for our people and the Naras shall never forget him, as Yamanaka will never forget Inoichi. Yet this objective is only obtainable through the sacrifice of whom bears their name. Nara Shikamaru, Yamanaka Ino” the mentioned two knelt down in respect (Shikamaru also let go of her hand), “this task is upon you.” “We are honored to oblige!” they recited in unison. “Your intentions are commendable, but as you may well know this is not the only thing that counts for our families” Choutaro resumed the speech after a pause. “The desire in both your fathers’ hearts was for their clans to be passed down on you when the moment had come, but they have left us too early with two children that are not eligible for the position. Because of that, we have been called to choose substitutes while waiting for you to turn older.” Yoshino’s heart froze in her chest. And so, after all, Morimaru was right: Shikamaru was not going to be appointed next head of Nara clan. She could already sense his depraved sense of victory, his malicious self-gratification. It was appalling and revolting. She saw out of the corner of her slanting eye Shikamaru’s complexion growing paler. He could not gaze up to meet Shikahiko’s face, he felt too betrayed by his own blood. Inoto spoke first. He stood up, although with some difficulties, keeping himself on his feet with a long, ivory cane. “A man should never outlive his child” there was compassion in his teal eyes as he settled down on his son Inodai, Ino’s grandfather, “for the tragedy that has stricken you, Inodai, I express my condolences. I demand you to take back your role as leader of Yamanaka. This is not a task that should be passed on a man who had already suffered enough torments as you did, but please, keep it in mind that you are doing this for the future of us” he gestured at Ino, who was still leaned on one knee, “your granddaughter. Will you accept?” “I will” Inodai replied with force. “For the memory of my son and the future of his daughter.” “Shall your name be praised among our people, Yamanaka Inodai” Inoto said, Yoshino perceived his emotion as he spook, “for you have taken willingly the greatest responsibility for a man not only once, but twice.” He nodded and knelt down by Ino’s side. Yoshino started to tremble as she took into realization that it was Shikahiko’s time to speak. Morimaru grew more excited, she could hear his breath accelerating. When Inoto seated back, Shikahiko came to his feet. The woman’s hands were shuddering as she clung on the edge of her mourning vest, eyes open wide in the moment she fixated it on her father-in-law’s mouth. She hung off his words, like everyone else in the room. She could feel on her own skin their morbid curiosity about the destiny of Naras. She didn’t care about it one bit, she only wanted to know the fate of her son. “Traditions are determining to us all, be one a Yamanaka” he pointed at Inodai, his old comrade, that smiled a little at him in return, “a Nara” he indicated Morimaru, standing in the darkest shade of the room, “or an Akimichi” he proceeded to sign Chouza, who dropped his head in reverence. “Traditions, and the respect of those, are the very base of our clans and our greatest strength” he went on, his arms were open and parallel to the line of his body, “our most prized possession is the Ino-Shika-Cho formation, the covenant between our families.” “The past has always been a beacon for the future, a specimen for the path we should follow. That we should, not that we are called to.” Shikamaru raised his head in confusion. “Grandfather, please, speak clearly.” “What I mean is that tradition always proved to be a great model to imitate for us” the eldest Nara’s voice became more passionate, he clenched his fist closed, “but there are cases where tradition does not provide any archetype and a man has to take a stand and assume charge of innovation. That is, my friends and relatives, the case I found myself in.” Yoshino didn’t understand. Did that mean he choose to appoint Shikamaru, no matter his age? The clan might not have accepted it at first, but the woman was confident her son would provide a great leader just as much as his father had been in the past. She would be by his side to give him advice as long as he wanted to, as long as he didn’t find himself a woman to accompany his life course. “This is not the first time a Nara leader dies before his descendants have turned rightful to claim his heredity” this time, it was Morimaru’s turn to contest his uncle. He kept his voice steady, but Yoshino could feel it vibrate with fury and anxiety. The freshest occasion to steal her husband’s position and now he saw it being taken away right in front of his eyes. “The procedure has been established many and many years ago, Shikahiko-sama.” “This is the first time, though, that a Nara head dies without any rightful close relatives” Shikahiko remarked, “the law of our clan is oral and based on previous cases. When my father died in war, I was ready to welcome his clan as his last gift. When my great-grandfather Shikato became a victim of Uchiha’s fury, by the time Konoha was still a dream of Senju Hashirama, his brother treasured the clan waiting for the little Shikaichi to be ready to embrace his inheritance. The family bond connecting them was thick and close. Neither you, Morimaru, nor my niece Kadoko are close enough to custody Shikaku’s greatest possession.” “And who are you going to call for this job, uncle?” Morimaru was gritting his teeth, his voice was the shriek of a wounded lion, “who is more qualified than me to become head of Nara?” Shikahiko’s gaze spaced among his audience. Everyone was eager to know his answer to a question that, truth be honest, belonged to them all. Shikamaru was the most obvious reply the previous leader could give: his grandson had in him the power to look after the Nara. Please, say his name. “It can’t be me” Shikahiko started, “I already am a member of the Three-Heads-Council and I cannot resign from this enormous duty, it would be dishonorable from my part. My grandson, on the other hand, is too young and naive to fully cover the head role, he is not ready.” “Still, there is a person who has the bravery and the power needed to receive this task in memory of my son, a person who knows well the sacrifice requested to a leader for the sake of their clan… the wife of the prior mentioned leader.” Every single pair of eyes in the room turned to Yoshino. She felt like fainting. This can not be real. He could not do that to her, not after all she had endured… she would have broken right under that umpteenth burden thrown on her shoulders. “You cannot be serious!” Morimaru exploded, Daichi took him by his arm but the older man shook the guy off, “she is not born a Nara, she is not a member of our clan! Damn it, she is not even a member of our village! She is an outsider! She will never be acknowledged by us as the clan head!” Shikahiko ignored him and talked directly with Yoshino. Those burning black orbs were branding Yoshino’s frightened, hazel gaze, but he didn’t care. She knew why: the only thing that counted to him was to protect and guarantee Shikamaru’s future as a leader. Which was, after all, the same thing Yoshino wanted as well. “You, Yoshino, are chosen as the guardian of this title into our noble family. My son, Shikaku, is no longer here to watch over the forest and his people, the Nara. A placeholder you are, yes, though the time ahead of you is difficult and yeasty and the decisions you are called to make will mark our family’s destiny. Shikaku, my son, blood of my own blood, trusted you when he chose to put into your womb the seed and the hopes of our family, making you the mother of the heir. Now, I entrust you with the great appellation of honorable clan head of Nara. Will you accept?” What hurt Yoshino was the word he used, ‘placeholder’. According to him, she was an object useful to fulfill his aims, a piece of his shogi board. No, not a shogi board, for she was the Queen of chess. It suited her to a T, a powerful and strong piece, capable of slaying whatever enemy put in front of her for the sake of her King, but still weak enough to be eaten by a simple, well-positioned Pawn. The irony was evident. “I…” “Yoshino-sama…!” Shikaku made her the mother of the heir. The mother of the heir… like she had no will or voice in. It was nothing short of an atrocity to say out aloud, unforgivable, shameful, insulting. Shikaku had loved her! He did not reckon her a breeding cow, she was a woman, she was his beloved wife! She was a person! He had loved her! …had he not? The tangle forming in her throat was as hot as the blood she tasted in her mouth, a revolting sip of pure, liquid iron, the cry originating from her chest scratched her flesh open, she was falling apart.  Why her? Why it was always her? Shikahiko (and all the people in the room) were waiting for an answer with different heart dispositions. She could smell fear, power lust, indignation, sense of betrayal, consternation, daze… every emotion pierced her through like fine needles. She knew tears were watering her arid orbs, yet she could not fight them back. She was left truly defenseless. “I will” the faintest whisper left her pale lips, but in the thick, heavy silence filling the room it was as loud as a fired gun. “Ma’!” Shikamaru’s call fell on deaf ears. “I greet you, Nara Yoshino, head of the almighty Nara Clan, protector of the eastern forest and its people, paladin of the fawns and descendant of the ancient hunters” Shikahiko proclaimed with royal dignity. Each epithet weighted her back that threatened to break under all that pressure, but eventually she managed to keep herself intact. Not the same could be assured about her spirit. She was irremediably split. “May your reign be prosper and rich… Kage no Mibojin.”

“Yoshino-sama!” Daen was intended to stop her from asking further explanation. “We should head back to the compound. The news of succession should be announced by our new leader-” “Daen, please, spare me this pretense. It nauseates me” she was done with them all. His skewed, usually stern eyes were flooded with worry. Yoshino knew he was extremely faithful and loyal to the previous Nara head and, as a consequence, to his family he had sworn to protect. He would give his life to save Shikamaru’s or hers, she was not dubious about it. Nonetheless, she could not tolerate the sight of his face, of those Nara-ish features he brought forward. “Let Morimaru have this honor. I am sure he looks forward to sully my name in front of the whole clan reunited. He aches for destroying Shika-ke’s reputation, doesn’t he? I don’t care about it. Just fuckin’ let him do it!” “Yoshino-sama!” she lent no ears to the rebukes Daen kept on exclaiming, she moved towards the stairs. She had seen her father-in-law going to the rooftop deck straight after the meeting end. Inodai had striven to talk to him, but Shikahiko seemed not to appreciate his concerns, since Choutaro told his Yamanaka friend something about the hardness of his task, or at least she understood that from reading their lips. The hardness of his task… what task? Giving to a reluctant, dirty no-Nara the most important title for his family? The salt-and-pepper-haired man walked fast to his destination, Yoshino was familiar with that dignified stride: it was the same his son had used during all of his life. She would not surrender like Inodai. She had to speak with Shikahiko, no matter what he would have said. She didn’t believe his words: there was a different reason for why she had been appointed instead of Morimaru that Shikahiko had chosen not to reveal. She, though, was about to get the truth out of his deceitful tongue, that was her thought as she went up to the building rooftop. “Much time has passed from when your feet were heavy and secure as shinobi’s ones” Shikahiko stated. He was leaned against the short, gray rail, as he watched the forest down them. Birds sang no-stop, it was love season for them: sparrows, ravens, robins and many more she hadn’t learnt the voices of. “Now you’ve acquired the lithesomeness of a true lady and the gentle heart of a mother. I struggle to see again the cold-blooded kunoichi you once were, Yoshino.” “Not that you’ve ever wanted to see me anyways, old man” she replied as she went to flank him. The trees profound green was always a splendor to look at, she found it peaceful to breathe in the sweet, fresh air of the forest, especially in the moments of unrest. Those soft leaves were the witnesses of her shakuhachi melody, an ancient song full of sadness and regret that spoke of a love badly enshrined. “Our relationship has never moved mutually to the best direction” he admitted, “but I’ve never loathed you, Yoshino. You are the mother of my grandson, after all, and you were the pride of my pride.” “You didn’t want him to marry me” she accused him with her breath short. She would not allow him to go back to himself after her husband’s death: he had never been a good man, and he was not going to be one because of his loss. “I was a stain on your family’s reputation. The next-to-be clan head that marries a foreigner? Who had ever heard of that?! You’ve opposed our union since the moment he proposed to me!” “I was sure you would not prove a good mother, both for the lack of sensibility you had shown that far and for the ailment you harbor in your body” Shikahiko corrected her, “but reality of facts had belied me.” “Do not pull that sacrosanct attitude with me, old man” Yoshino spat out and turned right to glare at his composure. She gripped the rail with both her hands, trying to contain her anger. “You have never accepted me into your family, and it’s not only for my sickness or my bad temper… you have hoped I would die the very same day I gave birth to Shikamaru so that he would have been left with you and Naoko-san.” He kept quiet for a long minute, he examined the shapes of the clouds above their heads. Eventually, he sighed. “Yes, I did. I wanted you to be dead, Yoshino, because I believed you were worthy neither of my son, nor of my clan. When you’ve fallen unconscious after Shikamaru’s birth, I prayed you would never wake up again… the baby was healthy and Shikaku was attractive enough to find another spouse in no time, someone better who could raise his offspring.” Yoshino had to hold on to the balustrade in order not to fall off the rooftop. She didn’t expect Shikahiko to simply drop off his dead son’s name like it was nothing, nor that he would assert such a cruelty right across her face. He had wished her dead at least once in her life… but nonetheless he had made her the head of his clan. “Why not Morimaru?” “He would have stolen the title from Shika-ke and consigned it to Mori-ke” he retorted, “but I am sure you already know that. What do you really want to know?” “Had he been…” she swallowed her dreads down, “had he been a more trusted man, would have you given the clan to him?” “Without a second guess” Shikahiko said, “Morimaru is the best head for this clan, way more than his cousin. Shikaku was loved among the Naras, but he had major faults as their leader.” “How could you possibly be so vicious and disrespectful of your own son?” she cried out in disbelieve and hurt. She could not stand to hear anyone belittle her husband’s memory with unfounded criticisms… how could his father not bear any shame or pain covering his legacy’s name with mud? “He… he was the best clan head Naras have ever remembered! They loved him so much! He was their hero!” “Shikaku was a charmer, a captivator, who knew how to make himself appreciated” Shikahiko rectified her sentence with nonchalance, “unlike me, he had many ways to rabble-rouse people, he was a good leader because he had care to feed their illusions.” “Morimaru— Morimaru cannot do this, you know it.” “Yes.” “So why, in your opinion, should he be such a good head?” “Because he is just like me” Yoshino was taken aback by his response. She stumbled back, her whole body on alert just as much as her eyes, which were pierced by suspicion. “He and I are so much alike that more often than not I have wished he was born mine, instead of my brother’s.” “He does not sweet-talk people into anything he pleases, as my son used to do, he acts for the best. Often his actions are misinterpreted and make him appear as heartless and indifferent to other people’s lives, but there is nothing he loves more than his clan.” “In my entire life I’ve noticeably neglected my family: my wife has forgiven me this fault, but my son… my son never had. I supposed that’s why he cared so much for you and Shikamaru, why he had always made sure that you were lacking nothing. All I’ve ever seen in Shikaku’s eyes was his contempt and his disregard for my persona, we shared nothing else but a passion for shogi. And now… now he is…” Yoshino had never observed her father-in-law being prey of a sorrow as intense as the one he was experiencing in that moment. She saw him holding on to the metal as his head sunk down to mask a  pained expression, to mask a heartache he had all the rights to suffer. He pulled his face muscles taut to keep control of his reactions and Yoshino was suddenly stricken by the realization he was about to weep real tears. Nara Shikahiko, Tetsu no Dansei… was crumbling down under her eyes. “A man should never outlive his children” she recited, averting her gaze from the inglorious sight of  him. He did not deserve to be witnessed in such a state. She heard his breaths becoming more and more unsteady, some agonizing moans slipped out of his thin mouth, he was wheezing in anguish, yet he ultimately survived his crisis. He inhaled with force, then cleared his throat. In the end, Yoshino decided it was safe to look back. His face had turned redder and more fatigued, but aside for that nothing suggested he had just cried the death of his only child. Yoshino had buried a husband, of course, but that man had buried a son. She could never imagine the despair and the grief that would torment her, had she been in his place. She was surprised she found herself proving compassion for that man: after all, he was human just as much as she was. Do not harden your heart for anyone, my sweet child, that was what her mother whispered into her ear when she was a baby girl. World has been unfair to many people. If we all tried to understand each other, maybe it could become more just. “Old man…” Yoshino dared to look at his black eyes, so similar to the ones his son owed and had captured her so many years ago. “I am sorry for your loss.” “I am sorry for yours too, Yoshino” he murmured back, “but I am sure Shikaku has found his peace, wherever he is right now. He had a golden heart beating in his chest, just as his mother.” “He respected you very dearly, Shikahiko-san” Yoshino unfolded, this time her hazel pools were glued on the cerulean. She had faith Shikaku would not lament her disloyalty since it was done for the best of his father. “He took you as an example to improve himself. He was impressed by the strength you bear and although you two are very different people, he looked up to you. He considered you a great leader for the Naras.” Peeping from the corner of her eye, she noticed a tiny smile tugging at the edge of the older man’s lips. It was so hurtful to look at him during those times, just as much as it was to look at her own son: they all resembled him so much. Her dear, beloved husband… forever gone. “You still have to ask me the real question” he reminded her. “I think it’s time for you to do what you’ve come here for in first place.” The Nara widow took a deep breath. “Tell me… why me?” Shikahiko didn’t answer to it offhandedly, but instead he reflected upon the matter and the words to employ with great care. “Because you were the best choice” he confessed at last, dumbfounding Yoshino. That was not what she expected to hear him saying. “You have the passionate heart of a woman and the detachment of a shinobi, aside from being the mother of my grandson. You are smart and quick-witted, difficult to control and moreover, you have a taste for rebelling to anything you feel you are constricted to do. The other clan heads will have a hard time trying to frame you, unlike many other candidates I took into consideration. Although you may have been hurt by my utterance earlier, I meant what I said: Shikaku had chosen you to carry his child not only for the love that had tied the two of you. He had loved you to an extreme extent, but he was also sure you would provide a good second-in-chief for his leadership, which again proved to be a brilliant intuition from him.” “And despite you wanting to remove it from your memory, in your vessels flows the blood of a ruler. You have been trained to this since you were a child. You were once the princess of the Yukinohana and now the queen of Naras. You were meant to become a leader, a great one too. Let me ask you this again, away from any indiscreet ears: will you accept to guide our clan, Nara Yoshino?” Yoshino’s eyes were veiled by melancholy and sadness. She had no escape for that: her life had driven her to that point and there was no turning back. For Shikaku, for Shikamaru, but also for Haru, for Nuwa-obasan, for Arata, for Ayumu… she would not delude them. That was her last, colossal call: being the head of the clan who had welcomed her. She could already tell that would not be easy by any means, that there were lots and lots obstacles to surpass, that many snakes were already hidden in the grass, but she would not let anyone down. One last jump and finally she would have rested. It was time for her to adopt a new label: not a woman, not a mother, not a widow, but a clan head. The Nara head. She would give her best. “I will, for my son and the memory of my husband. This is my inheritance.” An inheritance from a phantom.