A Sword's Poem

by Leah Cutter

  I didn’t bother being on time. Why would I ever do something as foolish as that? But I didn’t make the man wait too long…maybe only a quarter of an hour. I sent in my servants first, having them set up the screen, then waiting a bit longer before I walked in, settling myself behind it.

  At least this Iwao controlled his curiosity, and didn’t gape at me like a vulgar foreigner. He wore nice enough robes, something brown and slightly dull, with some kind of gold stitching on it. He was a heavy–set man, with exaggerated features—an overset brow, deep brown eyes, a large nose, and flabby lips.

  For all his size, his hands were surprisingly delicate, like a scholar’s. Though he still had the hard calluses a man built up doing sword work.

  The most disappointing thing about him? I couldn’t smell any magic on him.

  The man was human. Mundane.

  Was this all a fool’s errand?

  I began fanning myself with the most beautiful white and gold paper fan, spreading my scent out to him, starting to entrap him.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Iwao stated plainly, as if this were some sort of common meeting.

  “It is I who is privileged by this encounter,” I replied. “You have become quite popular in court,” I added, flattering him.

  Most had never heard of him—that had been part of my delay in finding him and setting up some “chance” meetings with him.

  His laugh surprised me. It was more humble than I’d expected.

  Then again, he would have to play his part to perfection, wouldn’t he, to get this far?

  “You must have mistaken me for someone else,” Iwao said. “I’m an unimportant servant to the Emperor, that is all.”

  “You are the heir to Mount Shirayama!” I proclaimed.

  Really, it was a tiny holding, out in the provinces. But I had to puff him up. All men need such things.

  Iwao shrugged. “I’ve dedicated myself to protecting the mountain, being her true guardian. We’ve been successful, so far, fighting off those who would take her from us.”

  I’d heard about this battle as well, with some praising Iwao’s daring use of horses in an actual battle, while older, wiser heads had proclaimed it wild foolishness.

  “Just you?” I asked, flirtatiously.

  “And my marvelous generals. And the men who have fought so bravely,” Iwao said, giving credit where it was due.

  “And that sword of yours…” I added.

  “Ah. Seiji. Yes. He’s a marvel. I inherited him from my father,” Iwao said.

  I didn’t believe this lie. “What makes this Seiji so special?” I asked. I had to know if this was truly Norihiko or not.

  “He’s of the new style of sword. Supremely crafted. Elegant as a mountain sunrise. Harder than mountain stubbornness.” Iwao coughed into his hand, as if ashamed by how passionate he’d become.

  It intrigued me, this man who was so plain, yet could write such amazing poetry.

  “Seiji carries the soul of the mountain with him,” Iwao continued. “Guards and protects her, like I do.”

  He does not, I nearly snarled. That steel entraps the soul of my love. How could I have started to think kindly of this man? I shook myself, glad the lattice would hide the movement.

  I stared through the lattice, pushing my will out on Iwao. “I’d like to see this famous sword,” I said demurely.

  Iwao gave an uneasy laugh. “It isn’t really proper…” he said, hesitating.

  “Normally, what you say is true,” I replied. “But this Seiji isn’t really a normal sword, is he?”

  Iwao sighed and shook his head. His eyes looked haunted.

  He must have known what Seiji actually was.

  “Please. Let me see it,” I asked again.

  Iwao signaled for one of his servants. “Fetch Benkei. And have him bring Seiji to me.” Iwao turned back to me and gave me a half–smile. “Some of the servants are…superstitious about the sword. They don’t like handling him.”

  “Ah, I see,” I said. Good for them. That meant at least some of Iwao’s staff were sensitive.

  I could use them. Direct them more easily.

  An older gentleman came in the room shortly. He carried a scarlet pillow that bore a plain, black lacquered sheath.

  Even without seeing the blade I knew it was magical. Swirling ribbons of power danced around it.

  How did this mundane man tame such a wild power? Oh, he was clever, playing the dumb human. Very clever indeed.

  My servants were well enough behaved that none of them gasped, though I felt Yukiko, sitting beside me, stiffen.

  This was the sword. I had no doubt that this was the cruel form my Norihiko had been forced into.

  “It’s very beautiful,” I told Iwao after his servant had set the sword down between us.

  Iwao merely grunted and took another sip of his tea.

  What was the sword whispering to him? Was this Seiji telling Iwao that his days were now numbered?

  It was obvious to me that this Iwao hadn’t made Seiji himself. He’d hired the Taoist priest to do all his dirty work.

  I couldn’t just steal the sword. My revenge demanded more.

  I would have to work Iwao, slowly drain him, make sure that when he died, he would know that it was because of me.

  I would strip him of everything he loved, first. This mountain of his. His self–respect. His duty. His honor.

  Only then would I take the sword. And use it on that damned Taoist magician myself.

  Ξ

  It wasn’t that difficult to turn Iwao’s thoughts to his recent inheritance. He didn’t admit it publicly, but his father had been ill before he’d died, something horrible and wasting, as humans are wont to do.

  He also admitted that he didn’t have any direct heirs of his own.

  “Really?” I asked, pretending surprise, though I knew full well about this. “Surely one of your wives is bearing you a gift, even as we speak.”

  “That would be nice,” Iwao said stiffly. “But there is only the one wife.”

  I knew this. I also now saw my way in. “Only a single wife for such a strong man like yourself?” I murmured. “Surely you want more.” I pushed my will at him, staring at him over my fan from behind the lattice.

  All the pushing I’d done that day would leave me drained and unable to do much for the next day or so. But that didn’t matter. I had to have this man take me with him.

  Iwao gave an uneasy laugh. “What a man wants, and what a man needs, are not always the same thing,” he replied.

  “But more than one wife would guarantee you an heir,” I told him. It was a lie, of course. And while many men blamed the woman for their lack of progeny, it was generally the man’s fault.

  Iwao still hesitated. “It’s a lot to ask a woman. To come out to the provinces. We’re a small estate.”

  “You need an heir,” I told him, aware of the servants eagerly listening to every word. I couldn’t just order Iwao to take me as a wife. It had to at least sound as though it came from him.

  I was still pushing more than Etsu would like.

  I didn’t care. This was my only chance.

  “Someone who will take care of your mountain,” I added.

  That seemed to settle him. “I know it’s too much to ask of such a great lady as yourself,” Iwao said, stumbling over his words like a schoolboy. “But perhaps you’d considered such a position yourself.”

  I gave him a merry laugh. “Of course I have. Since my own dear husband has died, I’ve often thought about retiring to the countryside, to live among the peace of the rocks, for the streams to sing hymns with me.”

  I hated being in the court. Hated feeling so closed in and fettered. I needed those wild ways and hills. The bright bursts of color from growing things. To feel the full pattern of life all around me, living, dying, and re–birthing.

  Some of that longing, I’m sure, came through my voice.

  “Then would you consider becoming a wife to someone
such as I?” Iwao said, his words still plain and inelegant.

  “Perhaps,” I said coyly. “Would one such as you ask such an indulgence?”

  “I would,” Iwao said fervently. “It would be my deepest desire. For you to become a second wife for me.”

  “Second wife?” I asked archly. Did I really want such a lowly position?

  Then again, it isn’t as if I would be staying there for long.

  “Second,” Iwao said.

  I could tell he was fighting me on this suggestion. He did truly value his first wife.

  “Very well,” I said, acquiescing with what grace I could muster through my exhaustion. “I will be your second wife. Follow you back to your mountain. Give you the heirs you deserve.”

  I didn’t bother telling him that those heirs would all be heartache and suffering.

  Maybe he knew. The sigh he gave was heartfelt, from his soul, as if he’d just released a great prophecy.

  All I could see was that I was finally one step closer to enacting my revenge.

  Eight

  Surely There Was a Mistake

  Kayoku

  Surely there was a mistake. The outrider must have misunderstood.

  “Excuse me?” Kayoku asked, using her most formal tone. “Did you say Iwao was traveling with a second wife?”

  “I did, ma’am,” the man replied. He looked worried, as well as sweaty and tired. His legs, arms, and even his face were mud–stained from having ridden so hard and fast, trying to arrive before the rest of the party.

  “There’s a new wife,” the man repeated. “A second wife,” he clarified. “She’s beautiful. And rich.”

  This only confused Kayoku more. “Then what does she want with my husband?” she asked. She quickly put her hand over her mouth. She should never have said such a thing out loud.

  However, the outrider merely gave her a grin. “Aye, that’s the question, isn’t it?” He grew somber again quickly. “She isn’t a spy from Masato. Her family’s too well placed. They say she’s widowed, looking for a quiet place to live.”

  “It won’t be that quiet here,” Kayoku proclaimed. “Not for long.” Masato had started to mass his men together again. The first big victory hadn’t broken the enemy, merely delayed him. There had been more, stronger skirmishes lately.

  The man shrugged. “We’ll do what we can to keep the peace,” he promised.

  “Thank you,” Kayoku said sincerely. She gave the man a jutte coin in gratitude, then hurried off to direct the servants.

  Chieko still maintained control of the kitchens, which was a smaller part of the estate management. Kayoku was in charge of everything else, including keeping all the rooms clean, the tatamis fresh, making sure that the priests had what they needed for their various ceremonies, running all the servants and keeping the peace between the various factions.

  None of Iwao’s generals would be as efficient as Kayoku at running the estate, she was sure of it.

  Where to put the new wife? Of course she needed to be close to the other wives. But where?

  They wouldn’t arrive until the next day, which gave Kayoku at least a little bit of time to sort out rooms.

  First, Kayoku directed the servants to open up Iwao’s rooms, sending fresh candles, as well as adding a sweet hollyhock bush from the garden, carefully trimmed so that no leaves would fall.

  Then she tackled the problem of the new wife. Kayoku couldn’t put the woman in the servants’ quarters, no matter how much she might be tempted.

  She didn’t have to move herself, though, as this was merely a second wife. Perhaps it was time for Emiko, Iwao’s youngest sister, to give up her formal sitting rooms?

  Except that she was a young woman, just come of age, starting to entertain her own visitors, under proper supervision, of course.

  Still, Kayoku found herself outside of Emiko’s rooms without having first sent a note asking to be seen. Since she was the head of the household, it wasn’t inappropriate for her to do this.

  It still made her feel so awkward.

  “I’m so sorry!” Emiko said as she came out of her room. Behind her, in the room, there was a flurry of activity as servants were packing things.

  Relief washed over Kayoku. At least Emiko understood without being asked what would be expected of her.

  “Thank you,” Kayoku said, taking Emiko’s small hands in her own.

  “Chieko said it was the only proper solution,” Emiko said with a too–casual shrug.

  Kayoku swallowed her disappointment. Chieko had stepped in? Did she think that Kayoku wouldn’t do the right thing? Wouldn’t honor the new wife as was required?

  Fighting to keep her face and tone neutral, Kayoku said, “Having another set of hands to help run the estate would actually be a blessing,” she said.

  Except that Kayoku didn’t want to give up any of her power. Or control. She loved being as busy as she was, much more so than a normal wife.

  “I heard that she was beautiful,” Emiko said conspiratorially. “That would be just like my dumb brother. To let a pretty face go to his head.” Then she put her hands over her mouth and gasped. “Not to say that you aren’t beautiful, Kayoku!”

  Kayoku couldn’t help but giggle at the girl. “I know I’m not the most beautiful,” she admitted.

  “You are very beautiful,” Emiko said stubbornly.

  “I know I’m not,” Kayoku said. “I have a very plain face, with large teeth and regular hair. Not cascading like black silk, like yours.”

  “You aren’t telling the truth,” Emiko said. “Your eyes shine with such intelligence. You’re hands are very delicate and kind. And your skin is like moonbeams caught in a silver bowl.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kayoku said, laughing again. She knew she was plain. She’d accepted that as a young girl.

  However, she also knew that beauty wasn’t everything. She was also smart and practical. Those qualities would see her much further in her life.

  They talked quickly about where Emiko would go, how soon the rooms would be ready. Kayoku would oversee the refurbishment herself, making sure everything was of the highest quality. She needed to make sure that not only this new bride felt welcome, but that Chieko would think Kayoku had done everything in her power to make things right.

  A second wife didn’t necessarily spell disaster. She might even bring the household some luck.

  Ξ

  Kayoku stood outside in the cool night air with the rest of the household, waiting for Iwao’s return. She never spent much time outside. It made her uncomfortable not to have a ceiling above her head, so she’d ordered additional lamps to be lit. She knew it was impolite—guests should be allowed the grace of darkness to hide their travel stains. However, the night held too many strange winds that gave chilling moans and carried the rotting scent of graveyards.

  The lights didn’t show that much beyond the main door to the Formal Greeting hall, just inside the gate. Just to the right hulked the men’s quarters, a sturdy, three–story wooden structure with only a few windows lit. To the left sat the Ancestor’s Hall, its elaborate carvings hidden by the darkness. Kayoku felt supported by each, like the guards beside her.

  As the first wife of the estate, it was Kayoku’s duty to welcome the lord of the estate when he returned home from a trip.

  As his wife, she couldn’t help but be very curious about the new wife he’d brought back with him, and why. Did Iwao think Kayoku couldn’t produce an heir? That was the usual reason a husband gave for a second wife. The new wife was supposedly very beautiful. Was Iwao more shallow than Kayoku had thought?

  No, there must be another reason why Iwao was willing to disrupt his household like this and bring in another woman.

  Kayoku had tried to oversee even the smallest detail so that this new wife would have nothing to criticize. The flowers in her room were fresh from the garden that afternoon, with the petals all checked so that none would fall inappropriately, signaling bad luck. The tatamis were a
ll well aired. Sweet candles had been lit, and had been burning most of the afternoon. The rooms had been cleaned from rafters to floor, and not a speck of dust remained.

  Still, Kayoku knew from her experiences with her stepmother that complaints could always be invented.

  What type of woman would this new wife be? Would she be grateful for all the work that had been done on her behalf? Or petulant with nothing quite good enough?

  It didn’t matter. Kayoku was determined that this new wife would not bring discord to the estate. There was enough being sown outside the sturdy walls by Masato.

  While Iwao had been away, there had been more than a few small skirmishes. Though Kayoku wasn’t supposed to be involved in the war—none of the women were—she’d had to oversee the supplies sent to the soldiers, making sure enough food was being sent to them as well. She had a very good idea of how those battles had gone: well, at first, then increasingly badly.

  According to the gossip, Masato was testing both their strong and weak points before engaging in the next huge battle.

  Kayoku, like everyone else in the estate, prayed regularly that he didn’t find too many.

  The travelers arrived without fanfare. Iwao was surrounded by his servants and outriders, of course. He was too important to ride by himself. His travel robes were plain black, sturdy, and sensible.

  He looked well, Kayoku noted with approval. Though the time at the Emperor’s court had not erased the worry lines that marred his face, there was a twinkle around his eyes that she hadn’t seen for a long while.

  Seiji was tied to his back, and the first thing Iwao did after he dismounted was to take the sword, still in its sheath, and touch the ground with it. He closed his eyes in prayer for a moment before he turned to greet the household.

  Kayoku barely listened to his words, fascinated by Iwao’s movements.

  He didn’t realize how he caressed the sword as he talked. Kayoku found her thoughts leading down inappropriate paths as she remembered how he’d stroked her own thighs in a similar manner.

  At least the Emperor had approved of Iwao’s inheritance, as well as his continued role as guardian of Mount Shirayama. As opposed to that idiot Akimoto no Tayo, who had abdicated all his power to Masato, and now sat like a puppet in his own hall, unable to scratch his nose without the warlord’s approval.