31. Tree

Character(s): Iruka, Teuchi (briefly)

Summary: Iruka's family has traveled hundreds of miles, but it isn't until an unusual encounter that Konoha begins to feel like it could be home.

It had been hours since Iruka left the apartment with his father, following as he'd been taught. He kept the distance between them tight, turned his eyes down, and didn't speak when his father stopped to talk with other adults. At the same time, he kept a wary eye on their surroundings. He had a sharp knife in his pocket, taken from the kitchen drawer, and he kept his fist securely around its hilt, so tight it made his palm sweat.

A stranger tried to speak to him, a man with an apron and a white hat and a good smell. "Quite a face for such a young man," he said kindly.

Iruka didn't know what he meant, unless he was talking about the scar. It was still red and raised, and sometimes it hurt. Iruka didn't like to talk about it, and he definitely didn't want to tell anything to this unknown man. His father, who was speaking to someone nearby, caught his eye. That meant, 'This is a threat you can handle without intervention,' so Iruka frowned at the man in the apron, narrowed his eyes forbiddingly, and put some distance between them.

The shinobi speaking to his father saw this exchange and commented, "Wary little tyke."

Father looked up sharply. "He's had to be."

Iruka was uncomfortable with the attention. He knew Konoha shinobi were supposed to be allies now, but having the man's eyes on him brought back bad memories. Beseechingly, Iruka searched his father's face and there: a blink – permission to disappear for awhile. Iruka snatched the opportunity, slipping away from the busy street.

It grew quieter as he entered the space behind the houses and shops. Here, overlapping shade created blue and navy shadows that dripped off curling rooftops with clay tiles. Iruka followed the tangled eclectic wires, the haphazard clothes lines. He smelt the pungent odors of so many people pressed close together: gardens and garbage, the underlying aroma of rice, eggs, and soup. However, in this in-between place, he saw no one. Even the voices from the road seemed muffled and far away. Iruka finally let loose of the knife in his pocket.

Enjoying the unexpected stillness even in the middle of the crowded village, Iruka wandered. Never in his life had he known a city, but Konoha wasn't only concrete, wood, and stone. Even this far in the interior, there were strange niches were the forest intervened, which was why Iruka wasn't surprised to find an overgrown park wedged into an empty space.

He touched the crumbling stone of the little wall and walked beneath a wooden torii gate. The red paint was spider-webbed with age but had a welcoming feeling, like someone holding open a door. Inside, there were rocky places and shrubs and the ground was covered with thick, spongy moss. Iruka had been given new sandals when they arrived in Konoha, but now he slipped them off. The bottoms of his feet were cracked and thick-soled, and the moss felt wonderful – cool and soft.

Iruka stepped further into the strange wood, eyeing a tumbled over stone house, the weedy flowers. However, it was the tree that held his attention. It stood at the very center, so big that Iruka could press himself close but his fingers would never touch. The trunk wore a rope affixed with paper streamers, and it felt old, very old. Iruka stepped up to it curiously.

There was light dancing on the ground as the sun streamed through the leaves, and it forced a small smile onto Iruka's face. He toed one of the bright, flickering spots, and that was when he heard the laughter. Instantly, the hairs on Iruka's neck stood up. His head swung around, but something in the pit of his stomach told him he wouldn't find anything. The sound wasn't like human voice. It was more like a throat breathing, a drawing in of air and water.

Slowly, Iruka stared up at the tree.

Laughter again, and this time there was no mistaking it. Iruka hesitated, then said, "Hello?"

Drawn by instinct, he reached out a faltering hand and he placed it against the rough bark. Immediately, he felt warm. It was like looking into a nut-brown face lined with a thousand wrinkles, so many wrinkles that Iruka couldn't even see its eyes. The leaves rustled again and this time it was like a song being sung right into Iruka's ears. He soaked it up, leaning so close that his whole body rested against the trunk.

'Little leaf, that falls beneath

The colored sun where river runs

Whirl and sing, bright and green

Little leaf that must roam

Remember the forest – and come home.'

When it was finished, Iruka felt calm and safe. It had been a long, long time since that was true. Every night, he had dreams about bad things that had happened in the refugee camp; frightening memories that tore him from his sleep. Once, he might have gone to his parents, but no longer. They cared about him, but it was too dangerous to show attachment. He didn't dare crawl into their bed or huddle behind their knees. He had to take care of himself.

The tree murmured, soothing and deep, and Iruka felt the meaning in the hollow of his chest, even though it didn't have words. He turned around, scooted down the tree, and let his head fall back so that he could look up through the branches. He sat there a long time, just listening, sometimes answering, until finally he heard his father's voice calling his name.

"Iruka!"

The name was barely dead on his lips when Iruka appeared from between two buildings, as silent as a cat. He padded to his father, face upturned as he awaited instruction. Yet there was something in his careworn little face that was different. Suihou, an adept at reading subtle currents, noticed it immediately.

"Where have you been?"

"There's a shrine over there," Iruka answered, pointing toward an alley. "Behind the buildings. I was talking to someone."

It was unusually loquacious for Iruka, who had been affected deeply by their recent hardship. He was so different now from the impulsive toddler who had wadded into tide pools and got his fingers pinched repeatedly by the craps he couldn't help harassing – the baby with the bright eyes full of waves and mischief. No, he had not seen that side of his boy in too long.

Whatever had happened, Iruka was unharmed, so Suihou chose to let go of the tension he felt. That morning had gone unexpectedly well, and a tendril of hope was trying to germinate and push a tender shoot up through his heart. Konoha was a place unlike any he'd ever known. He was starting to believe that they might really be safe here.

On a whim, Suihou extended his hand, palm open, and Iruka slid his own inside it. The tender, vulnerable look on the boy's face made Suihou's heart flutter against his ribs. He knew he'd grown hard toward the boy during their time at the refugee camp. A little gesture like offering to hold his hand wasn't much, but he hoped it would remind Iruka that despite the harsh way Suihou sometimes spoke, his father still loved him.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked as they began to walk home. There was a very narrow vein of warning below the surface. The boy knew not to talk to strangers.

Iruka cocked his head, his brow furrowed. "I was talking to a tree. Papa, did you know trees can talk?"

Suihou's dark eyes ticked toward his son, but Iruka wasn't one to play pretend. His life had been too grounded in reality for that. He decided to take the question seriously, looking up at the green canopy overhead with a thoughtful expression. Talking trees? Well, they were in the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

"They've never spoken to me," he said, "but the tide did, once. Raspy, silvery voices, like water sliding over pebbles as it returns to the sea."

Iruka nodded. "The tree I spoke to had an old, old voice, and it laughed at me. Not in a mean way, though."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it didn't exactly use words, but it felt nice, and when I put my hand on it, I could feel our heart beating."

"You mean your heart beating," corrected Suihou.

"No," said Iruka. He had his eyes on the dappled shadows shimmering in the forest floor. "I don't think so."

Suihou stiffened. When they'd arrived, he'd felt ashamed presenting Iruka to the Sandaime, like he was an animal to be bought, bridled, and broken. Far too many had already had their chance to break his boy. However, if the trees of Konhoa, those entities of power and subtly, were speaking to Iruka... If he could actually sense them, connect with them...

Suihou looked at his boy, who was wearing all new gear. He already looked like a Konoha shinobi, but for the first time, it didn't make his skin crawl. He strengthened his grip on his son's hand. 'Will you be able to make a life here, Iruka?' he wondered. 'Will you finally find a place beyond the breakers to put your feet?"

He didn't know if he could expect so much for himself or for his wife, but perhaps Iruka had a chance. His son started to hum, and it was the first happy sound he'd heard from the boy in months. It lifted his worn heart, so much so that he reached down and swung Iruka into his arms. Slowly, the stiff little body relaxed, and he put his arms around his father's shoulders.

Suihou requested, "Tell me more about the tree." Then, for the long walk home, he listened while his son told him about how trees spoke with voices like taiko drums. And while he did, he closed his eyes and prayed, 'Spirits of Konoha, let this be. Oh, take him in, my son.'

Author's Note: Continuing some speculation about Iruka's family history from a pervious short in this collection, Defying Worth. At the moment, I'm very lonely for my home in Kaiyo-cho, where there are many wooded places. Japanese forests are amazing, especially the little shrines and sacred areas which inspired this story. The Japanese like to build around nature rather than over it, so you can always find unexpected pockets of earth and sky, even in the city. I'm certain Konoha would be just like that.