If wishes were graveyards...

He watches the deserted landscape, the graveyard where most of their men are buried after battle if their remains are found. There are only a handful of huts there; only one is occupied. The women who pass by on their way to the river hasten their steps to avoid the deathly place.

The wind always seems to blow here. There are no trees to bend at their will, no bushes to wave with the breeze. Everything here is harsh.

Sometimes, the wind sounds like wailing.

Sounds like his mother.

Sounds like his mind.

Sobs.

And silence.

~ * ~

"You would think..."

He looked up; his mother was leaning against the doorframe, her fingers playing with the paper material. Her eyes had that blank look as she stared out to the vast land. She didn't say anything for a long time that he thought she had not said anything at all.

"You would think...with all the amusements the gods would have, they would have to pick on more."

He looked down at his lap. There was rice beside his plate.

"You would think," his mother continued, "that they would find someone else to amuse themselves with."

"Is this all the gods' fault?" he asked.

There was no answer. He picked on the rice beside his plate, carefully using his chopsticks to raise them. Food was scarce these days. Nobody liked giving them food. He ate them carefully, taking his time chewing each grain.

His mother stood and knelt beside him, touching his hands. "No. Don't eat that. It's dirty," she said.

He looked up and saw her face. She was very pale and thin. Later, he knew, when he was outside she would pick up the cooked grains of rice on the floor and eat them for herself. It was all for his benefit. He knew that, too. He laid the rice bowl on the floor and his chopsticks resting above it. He stood up. "The others are waiting for me," he said. "We're going to play."

It was a lie, and that they both knew it. He could never go out to play because the children were warned by their mothers to avoid them. It was one of their punishments, isolation. But it sounded so normal and he wished desperately for everything to be normal again.

She nodded, keeping her eyes averted from him. He stepped outside and shielded his eyes from the sun's rays.

Tata...ta...tatata...

That sound. His mother was using the chopsticks to pick up the grains. A practiced art that she would now use as a sign of their poverty. He stepped outside and cursed the sun.

~ * ~

His mother cries every night. She would bite her knuckles and try to muffle the sound. It is all for him, he knows. She suffers so much because of him. In her breath, he would hear her curses and regrets. She would never curse him but her...the other woman. And that creature.

He would try to drown out the sound with his hands. The tatami mat is cold and worn out, and it is usually only he who uses it. His mother would always sleep beside the stove, letting him have the blanket, even though she knows he does not need it.

When the crying ceases, he would sit up and stare at his hands.

Palm patterning.

The destiny, they say, is in someone's palms.

He stares at the lines of his palms, clenches it into a fist then opens it again. He doesn't believe them. He believes the lines are there only to let the hand close easily. Hands do what they're supposed to do. Lines don't tell the hands what to do.

He stares hard, stares long.

The lines begin to widen, his hand begins to shake. And from his fingers, a purple  fire illuminates. Its color affirms its gentleness and would cool him despite his sweat.

He stands and stares at his mother, shivering and huddled in her faded blue kimono beside the stove. He reaches out and lights the dry ashes with his purple  flame. Warmth surrounds the room and his mother begins to stop shuddering. He lets the fire in his hand die.

Then, he slips into his mother's arms and she cradles him, cooing to him unconsciously. He stares at the violet fire all night; it never dies away. When the sky begins to show pink and orange clouds, he slips out and extinguishes the fire. Then, he would crawl back to his tatami mat and pull the blanket over his body once more to sleep.

~ * ~

"You're only four," she said suddenly.

He looked up. He was trying to mend his slippers, trying to weave it. He had slipped in the river, he said to her earlier, and the fastenings have broken. That didn't explain his black eye, but it did explain his dampness and his torn yukata. "Yes."

She sighed as she folded another of his yukata. "It seems like a long time ago," she said hollowly.

"Yes."

She opened her mouth as if to say more but all that came out was a harsh coughing. He made no move to comfort her; she would only push him away and smile, saying it was nothing. But he knew it was getting worse.

"Mother, maybe we should accept the gifts..."

Her eyes were little slits focused on him. "Would you accept a gift from the demon herself, son?" she asked harshly. "I forbid you to speak of her or anything about her again." She turned away.

He sat there, unwilling to move, as she continued to fold and refold his yukata, always fussing that it wasn't properly done.

"Mother..."

She did not look up. "Mm?"

"Did you...love Father?"

Her hands stilled for a brief moment before she finally put the yukata away at the dusty corner. "I suppose I did," she replied, her back to him. "But it was such a long time ago."

He didn't want to remind her that it had only been seven months since their exile. It didn't matter if she still loved him. It didn't matter if she still hated his other family. He just needed to ask. That was all.

~ * ~

He comes home sometimes to find his mother gone. He would not try to look for her. Instead, he would arrange the hut and wait for her return.

Most of those times, there are rice grains, fruits and vegetables lying scattered on the foot of the door to the earth. With them are dried ceramic pots and trays that are now damaged beyond repair. During those times, he would stand there, uncertain whether to leave them there, clean it up and throw them away, or pick it up and eat them before his mother arrives.

The gifts come more and more, and the food lay scattered always. Sometimes, he would eat them, hating himself.

And then, one day, his mother arrives home to see him biting into a banana.

"You insolent child!" she cries, slapping his face. "How dare you eat those? They are from her! She's trying to buy you, the scheming devil! Spit it out! Spit it out!"

He spits the half-chewed banana to the earth, trembling under her touch. She bursts out crying once more as she embraces him. "She's sure to be laughing right now," his mother sobs. "Laughing as we eat her so-called gifts. She puts on a mask and acts the mother of the next flame-wielder. My child...if it was not for her...not for her...for her...her..."

He sits there stupidly. His mother has not embraced him like that for a long time now. Her tears fall into his yukata. He knows the story.

His mother continues to rock him, murmuring soothing words more to herself than to him. A few moments later, she revives herself and begins to clean up the mess.

He stands. "Mother, may I go now?"

She looks out to the horizon, noticing the sun already setting. But she only nods and continues with her task.

He runs far away, to the river, to the forest. There, he vomits everything he has eaten up, feeling his stomach churning and recoiling at the thought of what he has done. It is repulsive to think he was tricked into eating the gift.

After it all, he sits beside the river, scrubbing and washing his mouth and face until they swell with ache.

~ * ~

He met the second wife one day after a few turns of the moon. Her head was down and her hair neatly arranged as a pile on the top of her head. In her arms was a balance of trays. Her face was strong and sweet, most unlike his mother's who was already withdrawn and pale.

He stopped walking and stared at her coming towards his direction. He had just come from the house, ready to go out for his daily walk to let his mother eat the grains of rice on the floor. More and more he began to scatter them on purpose so his mother would eat more.

Second Wife stopped before him and smiled. "Kurei," she said, mentioning his name. "Kurei, is your mother home?"

He stared at her silently for a long time. Then, slowly, his head bobbed up and down as an affirmation. She smiled again. "Thank you. I'll just visit her myself."

She gave a small bow; it was custom that he was to bow, too. After all, she outranked him now. But he continued to regard her silently, watching her for any signs of fury. There was none. But mother said that the demon takes many faces. So he watched as she bowed again, looked flustered, then walked to their house.

He stared at her retreating figure, all the while knowing that she knew he was watching him.

He wanted to rail at her, wanted to slam his fists into the tray that she brought as he knew his mother would do once Second Wife arrived at the porch.

But the pieces were too beautiful and, for some unknown reason, he could not destroy something so prettily made, even if it was created by the Devil himself.

~ * ~

And sometimes, as nights, as he stays by his mother's embrace, she would mumble incoherent words, barely audible despite his closeness. He can only make up the names. "Reina", "My Lord", "Kurei". And then, the cursed name: "Recca".

Even though he has only seen his brother twice in his lifetime, he would silently curse him as well. The face of the baby boy he has seen only during his birth and that eighth day of the baby's life. He remembers the fevered sobs of his mother as the Second Wife pleaded for the Hokage Master to spare them both.

I wish I can die.

Whenever his mother mutters the name in her sleep, he would touch her face, hollow and pale as the winter chill passes them.

Mother.

He weeps silently in his mind, wishing he can do something to ease her pain. What can I do? Tell me what to do, Mother! Mother! Don't leave me...!

But his mother would only continue to sleep, and every morning at dawn, he creeps out of his embrace and returns to the coldness of his memories.

~ * ~

Once upon a time, a Man was born out of the Hokage Clan of Ninjas in Japan. Man was kind, he was the Keeper of the Flame in their Clan, and he was, as expected among the firstborn sons, one of the best ninjas in Japan. He could kill swiftly if necessary. Yet he was firm and generous in his rule over the farmlands.

Man had two wives. First Wife bore him a son, who, at three days old, began to initiate the element of fire through his bare hands and pure thoughts. He was celebrated as the Heir to the Flames. Proud and happy, First Wife named her son "Kurei". Man, too, was proud, and before long, they performed the ceremony to ensure Kurei's place among the people.

However, Man also had Second Wife. More and more, First Wife noticed that Man would not visit her anymore. More and more, she noticed that the people began to despise her. Fearful for her son's and her own safety, she began to accuse Man of playing favoritism. Man denied this.

But Second Wife bore a child, a male child. As if to mock them, she named the baby "Recca" which meant "wild fire". That day First Wife heard this, her lips thinned into a line. She painted her face white, shadowed her eyes, colored her lips with blood red and pulled her hair into a careless bun. She filled her basket with things and snatched Kurei, newly turned four, into her arms. Together, they marched half the day towards the West where Second Wife's cottage stood in front of the setting sun.

It was already nighttime when she arrived. By then, the paint from her face had melted; her hair was already drooping and falling over her eyes. Nevertheless, she pushed the crowd of gifts away.

There, she found Second Wife on the bed beside the newly-born child. Beside her was an old woman. Second Wife cowered as if in fear.

"So, you bear him a son," First Wife jeered. "A fine son, indeed! He will be a protector of my son. Kurei will be the leader of the Hokage, you must remember that!" With that said, she threw the basket into the floor.

"No!" Second Wife moaned, snatching her child and pressing his face against her breast. "Nooo!"

Out rolled the skulls from the graveyard, piling on top of each other, scattering from the basket. First Wife scowled. "Are you not going to thank me?"

Second Wife had the grace to lower her eyes. "Thank you very much," she whispered.

But Man came then and appeared consternated. He ordered First Wife to leave immediately with Kurei. All the while, the little boy kept quiet, staring curiously at his newly-born half-brother. He looked so small, so innocent. He liked him. He wanted to touch his new sibling.

But the two left, and in a week, they learned they were being called to the conference in the Hokage Shrine. There, a problem was presented. Recca, Second Wife's male child, was also a Keeper of the Flame! Which means he, too, has equal rights to be the Heir of Hokage Clan.

Master, Man's father, pointed out that it may happen, but only if the first Keeper is not worthy. Kurei could not understand. Was he not worthy enough to be his people's leader? Perhaps not now, but in the future, he will be! But Master was adamant. He tried to convince First Wife to let Kurei drink a poisoned potion.

But First Wife would not hear of it. She threw the bowl across the room and it smashed against the wall into a thousand pieces. "Fools!" she screamed. "I will not let you kill my child! He is my son! My son! My only son!"

And she began to sob and wail. Second Wife, too, protested and pleaded that their lives be spared. Man, too, said he will not immediately make a decision as that to kill his son. Master took pity of them and, instead of death, exiled them into the farthest recesses of their territory.

And there First Wife lived. And there First Wife shall die. Perhaps, it was also fated that Kurei would die there as well.

~ * ~

He meets Second Wife down the road. She looks alarmed, flustered...confused? Perhaps she has found something on the way that she did not like. Kurei finds many things on the way he doesn't like. But Second Wife meets his eyes before looking away. He does not like that look.

When he arrives at home, he sees his mother, sitting by the porch, clutching the sliding doors. So, she and Second Wife have seen each other. The food Second Wife continued to bring are scattered across the porch, some of them on the earth.

His mother looks up and gasps, momentarily forgetting her grief only to be replaced by a new one. "Oh, my son!" she gasps. "What happened?"

Then, she begins to sob once more, pressing her silk yet faded kimono into her mouth to muffle the sounds of her sobs. "Oh, gods, why?" she moans. "Why us?" She reaches out and pulls her into his arms. "You didn't have to fight..."

But I needed to, he wants to tell her desperately, continuing to stand motionless. It was for you. I'd do anything for you...!

She cries, trying to contain her tears. "Oh, my poor child," she murmurs, stroking his hair. "If it wasn't for your brother..."

Finally, she withdraws and smiles through her tears. He looks at her curiously with his practiced expressionless face. His mother is probably used to it, but the village children are afraid of this side. It seems as if mischief and evil combines in his face to form a wicked expression. "Mother..."

She looks at him. "Hm?"

"Mother...if Recca was to die..." He stops, trying to find the words. "...if Recca, my half-brother, was to die, would everything return to normal?" His voice drops a notch. "Is it...all his fault?"

His mother's eyes widen and she turns away, quickly gathering the broken porcelains and brick clay on the floor with the food. She does not answer. But Kurei would not have heard her anyway. His mind is already somewhere else.

~ * ~

Quiet. The night.

In the distance, a lone wolf howls at the moon. The others are already asleep, including his mother. It takes him a quarter of the night to get ready.

When he arrives, he sees his room quickly. Foolish people, he thinks, staring down at the forlorn figure lying on the futon on the floor. Leaving the Heir of the Flames alone like the rest of the children.

He touches the cheek of the baby. Smooth.

Recca opened one eye and gurgled at him, blowing small bubbles.

Recca opened one eye...

Recca gurgled at him...

Recca blew bubbles...

Recca smiled.

He raised his arms. The moonlight glinted at the blade of his knife.

~ * ~

I couldn't kill him, Mother.

I tried. I couldn't, but I tried. For you. I couldn't. Maybe you were wrong, Mother. Maybe I'm not worthy of becoming the next Flame Keeper. I couldn't kill him successfully.

But I gave him a permanent scar on the face. A wound as big as his cheek. Will it do now, Father? Master, will you now accept me as the real Flame Keeper of the Hokage Clan? Second Wife, look at me and hate me, for I will take my rightful place as the heir.

What do I do now?

Recca...

~ * ~

"She's getting worse, but nothing's really changed. They sent a servant girl for her but she refused. She doesn't want anything but you." Silence. "What a stupid thing to say."

Kurei curls into his corner, staring at the earthen brown floor that was his room. His own room with metal bars behind him so he would not burn it and escape. Not that he would try. But they cannot risk any chances; it is the Master's orders.

"You heard what I said, kid?" the guard asks him.

Kurei glances at his fingers. His fingernails are getting long in the one month he has stayed there. He just turned five a few months ago? Or was that weeks or days? He couldn't remember.

He wondered about his mother, but he wondered about Recca. Was he still alive? Perhaps he wasn't able to kill but there might be others who will testify.

"Hey, kid."

Kurei huddles closer to himself. "She's getting worse," he murmurs. "Yes, thank you very much."

Satisfied with his report, the soldier bowed and strode away.

~ * ~

He drove the knife into his brother's cheek. Die, you Demon-spawn! DIE! He wants to scream but Recca has already opened his mouth and shrieked in anger and pain. Kurei pushed the knife harder.

Are you proud of me, Mother?

Will you love me again?

Will everything return to normal?

Not anymore.

"Kurei!" a voice from the doorway screamed. "KUREI, NO!"

Kurei ignored her and concentrated on the feeble screams of his half-brother who was ready to die.