“Ah! The top finally …”
Hatake Kakashi sighed, sick of the whole endeavor after crawling up to the peak of a mountain face that was basically a sheer cliff.
It had been twenty days since he’d left the Land of Fire. He’d been on the move day and night, and now the landscape and climate were entirely different from the country he’d left behind.
There was nothing but rough wasteland as far as the eye could see, as though the landscape had been cracked in half with a palm strike. Beyond the bleak mountains, he could see what looked like an actual town, so small it nearly vanished in the distance.
It was a long journey, but he was almost there. A couple more mountain crossings and he would at last arrive at his destination.
I wonder if they have onsens …
Judging from the harsh terrain, Kakashi knew his hope for an onsen was a futile one, but he held on to this bit of optimism as he slid down the cliff, heels digging into the face of the mountain and sending stones clattering. The cloak he had wrapped around him flapped as he marked out a dark green trail on the deep grey slope.
He was on his way to the Land of Redaku, a city-state nestled quietly in a valley plain, hidden behind the peaks that rose up all around it. Almost completely cut off from the outside world, this country was half legend, and the countless songs sung about it stirred the imaginations of the people of the Five Great Nations.
The town was a sudden and bountiful oasis in what was otherwise the rock and sand of the mountains. Water and greenery were abundant and rich in this region throughout the four seasons, and the people lived out their days in peace and beauty, producing everything they needed as they had for centuries. In ancient times, the Sage of the Six Paths himself had favored the place and convalesced there with the beasts that were his companions. This was the version of the Land of Redaku sung about in songs.
However, the real Land of Redaku was far removed from the beatific world the poets sang of.
Was this really … that Land of Redaku?
Kakashi furrowed his brow as he entered the capital and looked around.
The town was still, as though possessed by demons. Each time the dry sandy wind kicked up, he caught the stench of dried corpses.
The area was impossibly quiet. He didn’t hear even a bird chirping, much less people talking. The bodies of skinny goats were piled up haphazardly on a cart abandoned by the side of the road, but they were not the only source of the foul smell.
Long houses stood on both sides of the street, made of sun-dried bricks held together with mud, a technique characteristic of the region. From the size of the buildings, he guessed they were private homes, but the people who should have been living in them were nowhere to be found.
Is there a famine?
He had a bad feeling as he walked toward the center of town.
This country was at an elevation of about four thousand meters, and the air was thin. His lungs hitched and his breathing grew more shallow.
He heard fabric rustling and the whistle of the wind, and his feet stopped. He turned his eyes in the direction of the sound and found a child lying on the ground beneath a now-brown aspen tree.
He raced over and picked the child up. He was first surprised by how light they were, and then by how skinny—it was like holding nothing but bones. He was further surprised at the sunken, mummy-like cheeks. The skin was oddly wrinkled, having lost its elasticity, and the burnished flesh of the cheeks looked stretched over the cheekbones, just barely sticking to the face.
Malnutrition and dehydration.
“Can you drink some water?” he asked softly, so as not to scare them.
The child raised their heavy lids from their sunken eyes. Black pupils turned slowly toward Kakashi. But even this small movement was too painful, and they soon closed their eyes again.
Kakashi took off his cloak and hung it on a branch to create some shade before kneading his chakra in the palm of his hands. With the water he created with Water Style, he moistened the child’s mouth. A tongue white from malnutrition poked out from between lips to lap up the water, nearly lifeless. He had made barely enough water to fill the palm of his hand, but the child still took quite a long time to drink down even this small amount.
He sat the small body up and leaned the child against the wall of one of the houses. The child thanked him in a tiny voice and then held up the lump of cloth against their chest.
“Water for … her too … please.”
Wrapped in the rough hemp cloth was the face of a baby. He gently touched the small ashen cheeks and found they were already cold.
He kneaded his chakra once more and pretended to pour the round drop of water on his fingertips into the baby’s slightly parted mouth. Most of the water was absorbed by the fabric instead, but perhaps mistaking this for the baby’s drinking, the child closed their eyes again, reassured.
Where were this child’s parents?
He opened the door of a nearby house. The inside was neat and tidied up, no sign of any violence. He grabbed several bowls in a corner of the room, created more water to fill them, and set the full bowls next to the child.
“Sorry.” His voice was thick with the word. He didn’t really know himself what he was apologizing for.
The child was starving and the baby was dead.
What on earth happened in this land?
The state of the town center was even worse. Scattered corpses, nothing more than skin and bone, were covered with sand. Some were hastily wrapped in matting, others essentially exposed to the elements. The older bodies had turned black, their bellies stretched and distended, swollen with gas. The ones that were still fresh had skin dotted with blisters that seemed to have sprung up from the inside.
The only saving grace was that he saw no murdered corpses and that the dead were unlooted—their possessions remained on them. At the very least, he knew that there had been no violence or slaughter.
He slipped past a row of long houses and had come out onto an open road when he finally found a living adult. An old woman with a bent back, carrying hay.
“Haven’t seen you before,” she said, before Kakashi could call out to her. “You don’t live around here. Where on earth did you come from?”
“Er …” He’d come to the Land of Redaku at the request of the Seventh Hokage. The details were top secret of course, and he couldn’t very well reveal his true identity to a random resident of the town. “Where do you think I came from?”
“You do ask strange questions, hm?” The old woman frowned. “Well, let’s see. Your clothes are real dusty, so I’d say you came from over the mountain. You from Nagare?”
“You guessed it.” Kakashi nodded, going along with the woman.
“Look at that! Got it on the first try!” She bared yellowed teeth as she laughed out loud. “No wonder you look so well. They say Nagare’s got plenty of water still. Can’t tell you how jealous I am.”
“Where is everyone else?”
“The adults went to draw water, far off. I’m holding down the fort here since I’d only be in the way. Just to go and come back takes half a day, after all.” The old woman shrugged to adjust the bale of hay on her back and then sighed heavily. “Honestly. The flooding finally ends, and now we don’t have any water. A string of bad luck since the old king died.”
Kakashi was stunned. “The king died?”
“You didn’t know?” The old woman looked at him curiously. “Right around this time last year. Suddenly. Lots of rumors about how he caught sick or it was something he ate, but who knows what the truth of it is.”
“So who’s ruling the land now?”
“His oldest daughter, Lady Manari, inherited his throne.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Now I know you’re from Nagare, but how could you not know that?”
“I’ve been ill for a long time,” he said simply.
“Aah, that’s terrible.” The old woman smiled sympathetically.
“When did the drought start?” Kakashi asked.
The crease between the old woman’s brows deepened. “I’d rather not say so, but as it happens, after Manari became queen. The rain just stopped.”
The people who had gone to fetch water returned in the afternoon, bearing buckets hanging from poles stretched across their shoulders. Youths barely out of childhood carried jugs and pots in both hands.
“When was the last time it rained …” a man muttered, shrugging.
They all seemed utterly exhausted after the very long return trip.