Prayer and Sin

Sunagakure's history was a rich tapestry of customs and clans; it was home to the oldest known civilisation and religion. Thousands of years of tradition was rumoured to be engraved on the hands of every descendant; each life line, each crease in your palm is said to hold your past and your future. It was often remarked that the Creator himself looked unto the world and smiled down at Sungakure with such affection that he allowed demigods to live there; the people of the village of Sand were rumoured to be the children of those gods.

Few know now, of the history, the legend of the Sand, few can read the ancient scripts or speak the forgotten languages. Only a handful in their nation could recite the prayers properly and sing out the names of the gods with perfect eloquence. If you asked in the village, who to go to for guidance on these lost traditions, you would be pointed in one of three directions:

Some may tell you to visit scholars, who were ageing and bias to more politically-centred teachings, others would tell you to see the Royal families of the land for it was their duty to uphold traditions out of respect for their lineage. But if you really wanted to hear the ancient poetry and recount tales of Sunagakure's great history, you go to the oldest establishments in the village: the Five Houses.

Home to the courtesans of the village, it was these women who were schooled in the most ancient of languages and taught even the most obscure of traditions. For they were the backbone of the community before shinobi entered the world; they were the ones who shaped the future of their Kingdoms and were naturally entrusted with the village's history. Over time, of course, people believed courtesans were becoming outdated and expensive; reserved for royals and Kage. But royals marry early nowadays to establish trade relations and Kage, it seemed, were getting younger and harder to influence.

But the threat of extinction did not stop her from adhering to tradition.

Ai was sat in a Summer breeze, kneeling before a low table on which small statues of the gods were placed. A pastel yellow veil on her head, her eyes closed, hands clasped, she knelt in prayer.

Prayers at dawn were her favourite; the smell of incense early in the morning, the songlike prayer waking up the house along with sunshine, the smell of the freshly cut flowers- it was soothing and captivating. Prayers cleansed your mind of thoughts of the world around you so you could find peace.

She had woken before the sunrise and asked servants at the palace to bring her everything she needed to perform morning prayers, to bless the Kazekage's room and the man himself. The servants, the young ones never even having heard of some of the things she asked for, obliged and looked on in curiosity as they helped her to set up the small shrine in the Kazekage's quarters.

With her head bowed, that dancing girl, that thief of songbirds, that catcher of falling hearts, was sat, silent, in prayer.

From the table, behind stone eyes, the god Rajin caught sight of Love, on her knees before him, in worship. The statue, carved of red stone found in the caverns on the outskirts of the village, watched as that moonlike girl gave a small smile. Who was it that Love could pray for? Who was it that could make her smile in that mischievous, innocent manner? Almost as though his thoughts had manifested themselves as a breeze, a quiet wind issued forth and teased the girl's veil as though trying to make it slip from her head.

Upon feeling the god's will, electric blue eyes flickered open and glanced at the figure of Rajin. The god of yore gasped from his stony cage; what eyes! The girl smiled up at him for she had always found it odd as a child, that people in the desert should worship a god of rain. Regardless, Rajin watched as that moonlike girl struck and match and lit the incense beside him, showered him and smaller statues in a flurry of rose petals and bowed to him. In return, he blessed the mugs of milk she had offered him. One, presumably was an offering to him but the other mug?

As Ai finished her prayer, that teasing breeze fluttered past her to the open balcony doors and the girl followed it with her gaze to where it made the drapes billow and sway to reveal the silhouette of someone stood on the balcony, looking out into the world. At the sight of his figure, she smiled.

"Ah!" Ai put a hand on her hip and winced as she stood a little too quickly; she was still a little stiff and in pain after her first night with the Kazekage. After rubbing her side to rid her of the ache, the courtesan leant down to the table and picked up one of the mugs of milk.

Gaara was stood on his balcony, his hands against the stone banister, leaning forwards a little, watching, appreciating the quietness of his village in the morning. Even at this time of day, Suna was so hot that he decided to remove his shirt so he stood, silent and observant as always, in his white cotton trousers, looking around his village with an almost new found fascination.

The world was seeming different to him; no longer did Suna feel like a burden, no longer did the pressures of being a Kage haunt him. The world seemed lighter, he felt stronger, as though his chakra were weightless- before it would take him some effort to manipulate sand but now it was a nonexistent hardship. The sunshine that used to mark the beginning of a new day of torment, of strange looks and taunting from villagers, was now golden and shimmering. The world was new. It was easier to breathe. What was this feeling?

Gaara bowed his head, his crimson hair falling in lustrous waves, as he heard her approach. That young Kazekage, that demon boy, that heartless, rugged, handsome man, was tragically too hurt, too overshadowed by a past of death and anguish to see that his answer came in the form of Love.

He turned back to his room to see Ai enter the balcony, looking out at the ever-distant horizon as she approached him, holding the edge of her veil in her left hand, a mug of milk in the other.

What Gaara could not realise, what he could not understand, was that Ai heralded the end of his loneliness. The darkness inside the boy, that anger that used to consume him, was fading in wake of the moonlight. But Gaara could not see it; like someone kept in darkness for so long, a glimpse of moonlight was near-blinding.

Ai had her eyes on the village, adoring the silence of the morning but her gaze could not stay away from Gaara for very long. Her big blue eyes turned to him now as he leant lazily against the balcony railing, arms folded, shirtless and every inch a warrior, Gaara's cool and nonchalant demeanour made her smile coyly.

She approached him with her head bowed and held up the mug.

"What is it?" He asked as he unfolded his arms and looked down to her face, silently begging for her to look up.

"Boshū (an offering)." She said sweetly and looked up to him.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Gaara asked and looked down skeptically at the mug in her hand. She huffed and inwardly rolled her eyes; after all the years of training to do things properly and traditionally, this fool had no appreciation of her customs.

"Raijin himself blessed it so you may be safe." Gaara tried to prevent his brow from furrowing in frustration; that courtesan tone. That sickly sweet, seductive way of talking where Ai blew words like a delicate, exotic breeze up to him. In a way, he liked it; it showed that she wanted to please him. In a way, he hated it; he wanted to see the real her, the one who acted a little spoilt, a little arrogant because he loved to see that look of confidence turn to one of innocence when he leant in towards her. There was one way to achieve this with Ai: challenge her, outsmart her, tease her, twist her arm behind her back and that girl with the face of a goddess, would surrender to his every whim.

He sniffed at the mug in her hand and pulled a face. "I dislike milk and saffron smells strange." Ai raised an eyebrow; this spoilt prince- the most expensive spice in the world was not to his liking! More than that, he was too good for her offering, and after all the hard work she had put into the prayers!

"Fine." She spoke bluntly and as she walked away Gaara watched her put the mug over her shoulder and let go of it.

"Ai" Gaara whispered quietly and winced as the clay mug smashed onto the floor. Love had a temper not unlike his own. The shinobi did feel bad, given that she had prepared the boshū just for him. He had only been teasing her and shook his head at Ai as her figure disappeared behind his drapes. Gaara leant down to pick up what was left of the cup.

"Who exactly do you think is here to clean up after you, Ai?" She had already walked back into the room but upon hearing him speak, she pushed back the drapes that separated the bedroom and the balcony and looked to him with a smile, those blue eyes catching the sunlight.

"Looks like you are." Ai looked down at him and tilted her head as he picked up the clay; how unlike Gaara to honour her silly tantrum. She had expected him to twist her arm and pull her back to him but for some reason, today, he was different.

Upon realising his mistake of giving in to her, Gaara let go of the clay and stood. "Vanity will get you no where." The Kazekage remarked cooly. Ai let the drape fall between them.

"It got me to you, did it not?" He followed her voice into the room and watched that dark hair sway and her smile begin to fade as he started to walk towards her. Those blue eyes, full of mischief, become round and fearful as he approached her so confidently. Gaara was unashamedly reckless in his lust for her and it made the dancer weak at the knees when he advanced on her like this. She walked backward and jumped when the back of her knee hit the shrine she had made in the room. Her hand, which dangled precariously above the other boshū on the table, accidentally brushed the milk that she had offered to Raijin and she gasped as her ring finger dipped into the cool liquid.

"Ah," she brought her left hand up to her face to see her wet finger but the Kazekage took her hand before she had time to look at it. Ai watched in curiosity as Gaara took her hand, leant in close to her and placed her ring finger on his lips. The blessed milk ran along her finger onto his lips and into his mouth. The girl kept her eyes on his lips; the way they were so smooth against her finger and how wet and warm and inviting his mouth was when he took the tip of her finger and kissed it. He flicked his eyes up to her and smirked as the sight of his dark-rimmed, opal eyes, full of affection, made her jump a little. He leant in.

"Come to my office after lunch," he whispered, "there is something I wish to discuss with you." And with that Ai nodded and Gaara walked away, put on his shirt, and left the room to begin work for the day.

Mornings for dancing girls followed a very strict routine; up at dawn, then prayers followed by breakfast, then classes began. Every dancer was taught the same basic curriculum, but some specialised in a field to make them more desirable for a particular clientele. For instance, Miko and Ai were both trained to dance, to sing, to write poetry and music, but Miko enjoyed playing games and so trained in old card games and even learnt how to cheat efficiently on behalf of her customer. This meant that Miko was often found in the company of gamblers and thieves.

Ai, on the other hand, was regarded as a bookworm; constantly reading, thirsting after legends and history. She had studied most things shinobi study and had a theoretical understanding of everything ninja-related. Megumi was glad when Ai had demonstrated an interest in the world of shinobi for the elder had picked Ai from a handful of girls to be raised specifically for Kage or royalty.

Therefore Ai specialised in war and politics so it was not unusual to find her amidst the fray of a great debate or sat in places unknown with a book that that spoke of poetry and romance and science and war. However, Megumi had noticed that over the past few weeks, the books Ai was sneaking from her teacher's private library were all running along a dangerous theme.

As the wise, elder courtesan entered the courtyard for lunch, she spied the moon perched on a swing, hidden by the low branches of a cherry tree. Ai was sat as innocent as ever; reading and twirling her hair between her fingers.

"Very ambitious of you; to attempt to read a whole novel in jōdai nihongo (old Japanese)," Ai jumped as someone spoke to her, their voice cutting through the peace of the morning like a knife through ripened fruit.

"Megumi-sama!" Ai gave a pathetic attempt to hide the book behind her back but her teacher simply held out her aged hand, adorned with a hand harness made up of glittering gemstones, all shimmering in anticipation to see what scolding Ai would receive.

"Did you think I would not notice all these books missing from my person?" Ai avoided her glare and handed over the book. "There are a handful of people alive today who can read the dead language and only two of them reside in this village. I am one of them. You are the other." Ai smiled apologetically as Megumi took a seat beside her swing. The book had golden, delicate pages that seemed to wither in the sunlight. The book was little over a hundred years old and shivered with age, as though fearful it would fall to pieces, as the woman inspected the cover. Ai watched Megumi's face, trying to read it, to see what a smile or a frown might give away. Megumi showed no trace of emotion as she turned to Ai.

"My dear," Megumi began, looking out into the courtyard, wondering how to go on, "this book ," she indicated with a nod to the book in her hands, "is about bijū (tailed beasts). What interest do you have in them?"

"I am supposed to be in the court of a jinchūriki," Ai responded. "Surely it would be unwise to advance in ignorance?" Teacher and student looked at one another.

"I should have raised you for a feudal lord; you speak so diplomatically. Shinobi are men of action, they have no time for eloquence." Megumi nodded her appreciation at Ai's words but she knew the truth. She knew Ai; Megumi raised the girl and could see straight through her. Ai was stubborn and intelligent; once she had put her mind on something it was difficult to convince her otherwise. Ai had set her sights on Gaara and rumour in the Bath House was that she was seen leaving his quarters early this morning. "I trust you know what you are doing, my dear?" Ai smiled.

"Of course."

"Then I leave it in your hands." Megumi reached over and placed the book in Ai's lap. She beat down, kissed the girl on the forehead and smiled at her. "I am proud of you."

As Megumi walked away, she thought of what Ai was reading. That book had been handed down through great shinobi families and finally Megumi stumbled upon it in her heydays. It was not a simple book recounting the history of the tailed beasts, but it spoke of their incarceration in human sacrifices. It was a near-outlawed book, reserved only for those who wished to tamper in forbidden justu. If it were any other girl, Megumi would see no harm in a dancer reading about bijū. But the truth was that Ai was not ordinary. Her relationship with the Kazekage was not ordinary.

The pages of this legend were turning quicker than Megumi believed possible. She wondered what Ai would do at the very end of it all, what choice Gaara would make when faced with it? Death followed the Kazekage like a shadow; what could he possibly do to save Ai from himself?

The Kazekage had not been very busy that morning, which he was grateful for; Shukaku was still acting restless and nagging at Gaara's subconscious in the manner he did when Gaara was a small child. Before the shinobi consented to Shukaku's murderous rampages, the bijū would whine and wait until Gaara was of an age where he could influence him. It would drive Gaara to insanity; to have this constant whinging accompanied with an instinct for violence. He shook his head as though to shut the monster up; the incessant nagging was so irritating, especially since Gaara had learnt to quieten the bloodlust.

It was difficult to forget the night before; that feeling of having Ai close to him, of seeing her eyes fill up with longing for him, was something he never thought he, Gaara the demon child, would ever get to experience. She was exactly what he would call beautiful and simple and loving; everything he longed for.

After he had asked her to stay with him, the Kazekage had rested his head on her stomach and clutched onto her clothing every time Shukaku trembled and caused him pain. The damned one-tails caused the Kazekage such grievance, he could not keep his guard up in front of her. As the pain subsided in the early hours of the morning, Gaara revealed to her some of his heartache. He shouldn't have done that, it was foolish and naive to entrust Ai with information about himself. She was a courtesan; the girl could sell him out in an instant if someone offered her more than he could.

Deep down, he knew it wasn't true. He knew that Love was becoming something he could not bear the thought of losing. Nonetheless, he had to lose her. He had to shake her, to wake her up, to show her that their relationship was entirely professional-

"Kazekage?" And yet, he sighed, she spoke his name as though she were the one breathing life into him. He looked up from his desk to see Ai stood in his doorway, as usual, but for once, she looked glad to see him.

"Come in." He called to her and sat back in his chair. Ai entered with the smell of roses; she was painted in a pastel yellow today and smiled at him before brushing a curl behind her ear in shyness. "Sit, Ai." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk and Ai did as told. The Kazekage leant forwards and addressed her.

"I trust you have told no one about last night?" As he spoke, he caught the smile that faded from her face, she seemed surprised by the question.

"No."

"I think it is something we should keep to ourselves." Gaara folded his arms as Ai looked away, clearly irritated; this boy changed his mind as quickly as a shadow escaped sunlight. Her shoulders slumped a little.

"Are you going to tell me it was a mistake?"

"No." Gaara spoke quickly, determined, in that Kazekage voice he hated. Ai looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Then?" She implored him; why was he pushing her away. It was his turn to avert his eyes, he found it so hard to distance himself. "Do not punish me with silence, Gaara." Ai continued; "do not treat me as one of the Kazekage's council members." Her voice turned to a whisper as she spoke to the floor; "don't put me back there, Gaara." He said nothing. Both were beginning to hurt from his noncommittal attitude. "Last night-"

"You did your job." Ai closed her eyes as though his words had cut straight through her.

"And you? She asked, not wanting to her an answer. "What was it to you?" Gaara said nothing. "It is clear from your demeanour that something has changed in only a few hours since dawn."

"Nothing has changed, Ai." The Kazekage spoke confidently, his arms still folded, an unmoving mountain, unaffected by her words. "I have simply confirmed my plans for you and I." Their eyes met.

"Plans?"

"Yes. " Gaara replied, "you are going to help me." The girl's eyes seemed to dance as she looked across his face, "will you?" Her brow furrowed; where was he? Where was the boy she met yesterday? Ai caught sight of his Kazekage hat hanging on the back of his chair and sighed; what made her think she could ever mean more to him? She had been a foo.

"Of course." Ai finally spoke.

"Good." A moment of silence. The dancing girl fiddled with her bracelet so the stones caught some of the light in the office. She looked up to him and spoke without a hint of emotion:

"What is it you will have me do for you, Kazekage?"

"Seduce Nobutara." Silence.

"The prince?" Her voice lacked its usual sing-song-like quality for she spoke so bluntly.

"Yes." He hardly let her finish. "You are to tell no one of our meeting and become close to him instead." Ai nodded. "Arrange a performance, go to him afterwards, seduce him-."

"Might I ask why I need to do this? It will be easier to interrogate if I know my goals." Ai spoke over him, she didn't want to hear it, she didn't want to hear about her work just now. Not from him.

"The Akatsuki is moving, I trust you know who they are?" The woman in lemon yellow nodded, her earrings tinkling as she did. "We believe the royals have some connection to them." Ai smiled a little; soboku-sa (such naivety), she thought.

"You would be wrong." Ai advised him and the two looked at each other. Studying each other, wondering why they were here, in this moment, back to petty bickering when all they wanted was to go back to the night before.

Ai had been raised to think about politics since childhood, Kage were merely men of war, put into a political position when deemed physically capable, what being strong had to do with politics she had no idea. Gaara was naive and easily influenced. He would be making a mistake by infiltrating Nobutara's council.

"Regardless of your opinion on the matter, we need to gather intel." Done. Finished. That was it. The Kazekage had spoken. Picked her up from one place and put her in another Fine. Finished. Done. "Will you help me?" Ai stood and smiled the smile she was taught years ago.

"Of course." She bowed to him.

"Then go. " He said finally. "We will meet in secret to discuss what you have found." Ai, in her frustration, had already begun to walk away from him. As she opened the door she glanced back to Gaara.

"Goodbye, Kazekage." He said nothing as she walked out and shut the door.

Gaara put his head in his hands and pulled at his hair out of frustration; why did things have to be this way? Why could he not be honest with her? Why could he not ask her if she too wanted him and only him? Was he being naive, foolish, gullible? Was he falling for a courtesan's trick? The young Kazekage was once more unsure of himself, distrusting of his own judgements.

Unbeknownst to Gaara, Ai remained stood, leaning against the wood of his office door, half-begging for him to call her back. But he did not. Against all odds, against everyone's judgements Ai had gone to him last night in a hope to see he felt the same as her but it was clearly a ruse to permit himself to sleep with her. She almost laughed; how could she have been so gullible? She walked away from him.