A Sword's Poem

by Leah Cutter

  “Junichi said you might come pay a visit,” Masato told me. He looked at me critically, as one might examine a snake, trying to determine if it was deadly or not.

  I wasn’t held where I stood. I could move around freely. My attention kept being caught by Junichi’s charms, though. I would have to half blind myself in order to accomplish anything.

  “I suppose this is what you’re looking for,” Masato said, indicating the case that enclosed Seiji.

  I cursed myself. I’d gotten distracted again, while Masato was in the room.

  This tent wasn’t merely dangerous—it could be deadly. I might not notice Junichi or some other assassin creeping up on me.

  But the sword…I needed to rescue Seiji. Steal him away from Masato.

  I looked more carefully at the case. It gave me shivers. Magical characters had been carved into it, then painted over with unclean blood. Sickly green, barbed vines tied the box shut, twisted and growing into each other. Charms hung off the four corners of it, made from bones and feathers.

  The entire thing repelled me.

  I’d never get the box open on my own. I couldn’t even touch it, carry it away to where my sisters could help.

  “The sword was…not made to my taste,” Masato said, grimacing. “Despite how much it cost. It isn’t right.”

  “Then let me take it,” I urged him. I would come back and deal with the man later. “I will unmake it.” That much I could promise him.

  Masato snapped his eyes to me.

  Greed filled his soul. And envy. What did this man want?

  “I won’t give you the sword. I will sell it to you. For a price.”

  “And that is?” I asked, knowing already that I wouldn’t like it.

  “Your magic. All your fox fairy powers.”

  “What good would they do you?” I scoffed, though inside, I was chilled. It was a horrible price to have to pay.

  “You’ll see,” Masato said with that condescending smile of his. “Because if you don’t, I have already scheduled this box to be shipped out of Itzosaki harbor, then dropped into the deepest pit of the ocean they can find.”

  Norihiko wouldn’t drown. I knew that. But to never see the sunshine again, even as a sword….

  I would swear I heard Seiji hiss at the thought.

  “Why would I trust you to keep your word? That if I gave you my powers, you would give me the sword?” I asked. I wasn’t thinking of doing it. It was too much to ask. But I had to know.

  Masato held out a folded piece of paper, thick, like a scholarly thesis. It was a contract, signing his soul over to Junichi should he renege on his part of the deal.

  He wanted my powers that badly. Why would he do such a thing?

  “What would you use my powers for?” I asked, convinced of the sincerity of his offer. My powers for Seiji, no interference from him or his men, safe escort to Iwao’s estate.

  There were no loopholes that even my wily nature could find.

  Masato merely smiled and said nothing. “Will you sign?” he asked simply.

  I was trapped, as surely as I’d been caught earlier by Junichi’s web.

  My powers for Norihiko’s freedom.

  People went about being human all the time. It surely couldn’t be that bad. Could it?

  I signed.

  Ξ

  Junichi had obviously prepared everything for Masato ahead of time. The potion Masato pulled out from a cupboard in the corner stank of the sorcerer.

  But what did it matter? I wove some of my own magic into the contract as well. Masato would die if he double–crossed me. Not by my own hand, no, but my magic would drain him of his life. He agreed to the additional terms, without adding any of his own.

  He was that certain of the rightness of his cause.

  As for me—I didn’t really care what happened to me. I’d killed an innocent man—Iwao. Sentenced his estate to the management of the odious man before me. Tasted my own desire for revenge and found it lacking.

  All that mattered was that I get Norihiko. I had to bring the sword back to the estate. Let my sisters work to free him.

  He would leave this earth. I didn’t see why I couldn’t join him.

  The distracting, dazzling charms in the room all faded to nothing as soon as I signed my name in bold characters on the contract. Not my full, real name, of course, but one that was close enough, that would bind me.

  Masato signed his without flourish, both his regular name as well as his Buddhist name. This reassured me that he would go through with the spell, and not try to double–cross me.

  The spell was simple enough. We each had to drink part of a potion from a crudely carved wooden mug. The potion stank of rotten pines and sickly flesh. It tasted more bitter than all the tears I’d ever cried. The lines we both recited weren’t difficult.

  And the simple pinprick at the end, that released my powers from my skin, was nothing at all.

  I would have my revenge later, as a human. I just had to get the sword to safety.

  It would take the rest of the evening for Masato to fully inherit my powers. He looked more energetic, but his smile was still lazy and fat.

  He couldn’t lift the sword out of the case himself. Fortunately, it wasn’t that snake Junichi who handled it, but one of his odious minions.

  It took three men to lift the sword out. I don’t know why. Maybe he was encased in further spells that they had to strip away.

  Masato presented the sword to me with little ceremony. I could tell he was starting to get distracted by the powers he was absorbing. His face had swollen.

  I hoped the power would make him pop, like an overripe grape.

  I gave Seiji the bow that was due to him—low and long—before I tried to pick him up.

  I don’t know if it was because Norihiko was still under a spell. Or if the sword, itself, didn’t want to be carried away. But it was heavier than the mountain itself.

  I instinctively called on my magic to help me lift him.

  That empty, black hole in my very core echoed hollowly.

  I still managed to rise, without grace, without dignity. I didn’t care if Masato laughed at me.

  I had Norihiko. I stumbled toward the door of the tent, dragging the sword behind me. Two men escorted me through the camp. I ignored all the ignorant eyes turning my way, wishing beyond hope that a fraction of my power remained, and that I could turn away their attention.

  But my dreams were all false.

  Once we reached the edge of the camp, the rains that had been promised all day finally came. Not a soft, gentle patter of water, no, a deluge, echoing the sorrow I felt inside, the tears I wouldn’t allow myself to cry.

  Soaking wet, bedraggled, dragging a sword that I couldn’t lift, step by struggling step I made it back to Iwao’s estate. My former husband, whom I’d thoughtlessly killed with my selfishness and revenge.

  But that didn’t matter, now. I had the sword. My sisters would figure out how to remove the curse, free Norihiko’s soul.

  Then I would follow it, gladly, to Heaven and beyond.

  The Breaking

  A Sword’s Poem

  Volume II

  One

  With a Stiff Face

  Kayoku

  With a stiff face and a stiffer back, Kayoku greeted General Asheihi, Iwao’s second in command, in the seishikina hall. She’d never been in there before, not officially. The last time she’d been to the Ceremony hall, she’d been sitting behind one of the lattice walls, watching Iwao’s inheritance ceremony.

  Now, she sat in the center of the room, composed, waiting to hear the news of his death. Though the hall was large enough to hold two dozen courtiers, all of the estate’s generals, as well as most of the men of the Kitayama clan, it felt closed in. Folded paper charms hung from the rafters stretching across the tall ceiling, but they’d brought no luck to anyone at the estate.

  In fact, so much bad luck had visited them instead. Kayoku had lost her first child so soon after
she’d arrived. Though he didn’t really count as a person—little Kenta hadn’t lived long enough to receive his real name—she still grieved over his death, the only son her husband, Iwao, was likely to ever have had.

  Then the warlord Masato had attacked Mount Shirayama, trying to claim it for his foreign religion, this Buddhism.

  Lord Taiga’s death had been shocking, coming so quickly after he’d declared Iwao as his heir. It hadn’t been natural, either. Though Iwao had won the first big battle and some of the following skirmishes with Masato, now he was dead.

  Kayoku blamed the fancy second wife Iwao had brought back from the Emperor’s court for much of her husband’s recent bad luck. This Hikaru had never fit into the rest of the household, had never picked up any of the duties or chores a good second wife should.

  Anger flushed through Kayoku’s body. How dare Hikaru be missing now? Where had she gone? Why was she not there with the rest of the household to greet General Asheihi and receive the official news that her husband—her second husband—was now dead?

  Kayoku made herself take a deep breath. It wouldn’t do any good for her to appear hysterical or irrational. She needed a clear, calm head to make the decisions and run the estate until the warlord and victor Masato came to claim his prize.

  General Asheihi limped through the door of the hall. His hard face wore new lines, as if he’d aged ten years since the last time Kayoku had seen him. She didn’t know the extent of his injuries, but knew they had to be severe for him to show any signs of pain in public. He wore plain, brown, undecorated robes, barely better than a servant’s. His hands were clean, but the nails still had dirt under them, as if he’d dug his way through the mud.

  Or maybe it was a reminder that he’d soon be returning to the earth. Masato was sure to ask for the heads of all of Iwao’s generals as part of his takeover of the estate.

  The bow General Asheihi gave Kayoku was still graceful, and he folded himself onto the pillows on the floor with his usual grace.

  “Greetings, General Asheihi,” Kayoku said, beckoning her servants over. “Please, allow me to serve you some tea.”

  “Thank you,” the general said simply. “I appreciate your effort.”

  Kayoku waved away all the servants after they were both served. They didn’t leave the room, of course. Even widowed, it wouldn’t be appropriate for Kayoku to entertain a man alone.

  After the pair of them sat in silence, sipping their tea as the late afternoon sun slipped away, the general finally cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I have bad news,” he said formally.

  “I expected as such,” Kayoku confessed. She put her cup to one side and spread her hands out over her knees, waiting. “I’m ready.”

  “Iwao was killed this morning by Masato,” the general told her. “He was brilliant and brave. If his plan had worked…we’d be celebrating right now.”

  “But he’s dead,” Kayoku said, the words echoing harshly across the empty space between them. What was she going to do now?

  She took another deep breath. Calm. “Thank you for coming to tell me in person.” That sounded almost normal.

  “You are most welcome, my lady,” the general said, bowing in place. After another long moment of silence, he asked gently, “What will you do now?”

  Kayoku couldn’t contain the bitter laugh that erupted. “I was just asking myself that,” she confessed. She looked toward the door, where her servants stood guard, not allowing anyone to disturb their mistress in such a difficult time.

  However, Kayoku had lived through impossible times before. After the death of her mother. When her stepmother had accused her of bringing bad luck to the household. When Lord Taiga had died. She took another deep breath, her chest expanding and taking in the air more easily. With what she was certain was an enigmatic smile, she turned back to the general.

  “I’m going to clean.”

  Ξ

  It wasn’t difficult for Kayoku to get special dispensation from the priests of the Mori temple to clean her husband’s rooms. She was still considered the head wife, though she’d been in that position for such a short while, and Iwao was now dead.

  The succession wasn’t clear. Though Lord Taiga had other sons, the generals couldn’t agree on whom to follow: Yutaka, the eldest, or Tomi, the middle boy.

  Kayoku didn’t really care either way. They were both married. She’d gladly step aside for either of those wives to help run the estate.

  In the meantime, they bickered and drew their own battle lines.

  Kayoku needed to do something practical. Like take care of Iwao’s rooms. Though he’d been the head of the clan, he’d also been her husband. It was only appropriate for her to take care of his property and his room.

  Of course, that lazy Hikaru was still nowhere to be found. She wasn’t indisposed, no matter what her servants claimed. She’d left the estate somehow, without being seen.

  Kayoku couldn’t wait to confront her, to accuse her of being an immoral woman and throw her out. Let the armies use her, keep her or kill her at their will.

  Or maybe it would be better to let her live and have Masato decide what to do with her when he arrived to take over the estate.

  The latter wouldn’t give Kayoku as much satisfaction, but perhaps it would be better.

  Kayoku roused her own lazy servants and directed them to Iwao’s rooms within an hour of learning of his demise. She knew that the other wives would be shocked. Kayoku should keep strictly to herself and be wailing in grief, not stone–faced and doing practical things.

  She didn’t care if they accused her of being heartless. They didn’t understand that if she didn’t move, keep moving, she’d drown.

  Kayoku paused before she opened the shoji door leading to Iwao’s quarters. She’d never been there by herself. She’d never presumed she’d be welcome—she’d always waited until she’d received a proper, written invitation from her husband to come to his rooms. Just as he’d always waited to see her until she’d invited him.

  They’d been well suited.

  Now he was gone.

  Kayoku swallowed down her grief, stiffened her back, and slid open the door. The gray of the afternoon seemed to have filtered in though there were no windows looking outside from the inner rooms. Plain walls greeted her, with only a single piece of calligraphy hanging on them, done in Iwao’s flowing hand—his family pledge to Mount Shirayama as well as the Emperor.

  The black lacquered sword stand in the corner was empty. Kayoku had the sudden memory of the last time she’d been in those rooms, when Seiji had sat in the corner and seemed to watch over them, approving of their liaison.

  Iwao’s writing desk was tucked into the far corner. Kayoku knew that the family name chop would be with Iwao, in his battle tent, along with his special ink sticks. However, his favorite ink stone was still here. It was made of gray rock from the top of the mountain, only the well for holding water polished, the rest of it still rough stone. Iwao claimed it reminded him that he could always improve.

  Bundles of papers lay beside the desk. Kayoku picked them up, glancing at the top one.

  It was a love poem.

  Fine white skin….

  Kayoku couldn’t read the rest. As far as she knew, Iwao didn’t write poetry. He’d never composed any for her, not even in his awkward teenaged years.

  Maybe it was the other wife, Hikaru, that had inspired such feelings in Iwao. Hikaru had truly amazing white skin.

  Kayoku shuddered and resolutely rolled the papers back up together. She would go through them. Later. When she had a nice fire going outside in the garden.

  Kayoku turned to the half–dozen servants still standing in the doorway, waiting for their mistress, giving her the space and time she needed to face these rooms.

  “Come on, you lazy slugs,” Kayoku said, forcing herself to smile. “Time we got to cleaning.”

  Her servants good–naturedly groaned at that, but she knew they didn’t really begrudge her.

 
; Without thinking anything of it, Kayoku directed two to start removing the tatami mats directly in front of the door.

  Strange characters marred the wood. Kayoku caught her breath. They didn’t look as sinister as the ones that she’d found in Lord Taiga’s rooms. She recognized a few of the kana characters, like for peace and quiet. However, some of the harsher characters were Chinese, and others were characters she didn’t recognize at all.

  Maybe it wasn’t harmful. Maybe it was just to bring tranquility to all who entered.

  Still, she didn’t want to take a chance.

  “You. And you,” Kayoku said, pointing to her two most trustworthy servants. “Go get Priestess Ayumi from the Mori temple. And I will personally skin you alive if you tell anyone else about this.”

  She knew that her threats were good—no rumors had ever reached her ears about the characters they’d found painted on the floor of Lord Taiga’s rooms. “And be quick about it!” she snapped when the servants didn’t immediately hop to their feet.

  “Of course, mistress,” they said, bowing out of the room and hurrying away.

  With a sigh, Kayoku directed the other mats to be removed. The only other place that held characters was directly in front of the shoji leading to Iwao’s sleeping chamber.

  “Stay here,” she directed, not allowing anyone else into the sleeping chamber, closing the shoji door behind her.

  The room seemed dim and closed in, as if the darkness there fought the single lamp Kayoku held. She raised it high. There really wasn’t much there, just sleeping mats, a pillow block, and some blankets bunched up at one end. Iwao had kept his clothes in the outer rooms, as well as everything else. He’d merely used this room for sleeping.

  Kayoku took a deep breath. The scent of her husband still lingered, salt–tinged and masculine.

  However, it was overlaid with a sweet perfume that wasn’t hers.

  Hikaru.

  Gritting her teeth, Kayoku angrily threw the blankets and sleeping mats to the side, baring the floor.