A Sword's Poem

by Leah Cutter

  But the wood was no longer a dark brown, almost black. Instead, it was tinted with gray, as if the box had aged centuries overnight.

  When Masato reached out to touch it, the box dissolved with a puff of ash. All that remained was a dark, greasy spot on the floor.

  That wasn’t Junichi’s work. Some other force was at hand.

  Masato tried again to marshal his thoughts as he stumbled back to his sleeping mats. A spot of blood on the tatamis caught his eye. He calculated. If he’d been lying on his back, it would have come from his thigh.

  Gingerly, Masato reached back to the spot that he only now realized was still sore.

  Something was embedded in his skin there.

  Cursing, Masato pinched the end of it, scraping his own sensitive skin, and pulled it out.

  It faded away to nothing quickly, but not before he saw that it had been a thorn.

  Masato clenched his fists together so he wouldn’t shout out loud. He was going to have to cancel going to the estate today. Let them speculate why.

  Junichi hadn’t stolen his powers.

  That woman had.

  Ξ

  By the time Junichi arrived at the camp, Masato had managed to hold down some tea and compose himself. He didn’t bother trying to clean up the evidence of the events from the previous evening. He needed Junichi to see it, read it, and maybe help him figure out what exactly had happened.

  Distaste flashed across Junichi’s face as he walked into the tent before he controlled himself, his expression becoming wooden.

  Masato impatiently endured the politeness required of a host, greeting his guest and serving him tea before they could talk about what Masato needed.

  As Junichi put aside his cup, he sighed and said, “You seem to be in a state, old friend.”

  Masato chuckled bitterly. “That I am.”

  “What happened?” Junichi asked, solicitous as always.

  However, Masato knew that Junichi was already counting up the piles of gold that he’d receive for his help.

  Masato explained the night before, showing Junichi the wound on his thigh, as well as the stained spot on the ground where the box had been.

  “You said she was like a wildcat?” Junichi asked after Masato had finished. His face was expressionless, as if it were carved out of stone.

  “She was,” Masato said. He should have tied her arms together before he took her. He’d done that before, with a whore who hadn’t wanted to accept the payment he offered, her helpless writhing exciting him more.

  Junichi looked again at the sleeping mats, holding up one of the blankets to his nose before turning to Masato. “I think,” he said, hesitatingly, “that it wasn’t the wife who visited you last night, but the fox fairy whose powers you’d taken.”

  Masato rocked back on his heels. How? Then he realized his mistake. He barely knew Iwao’s wife. He wasn’t sure if he’d recognize her again. It would have been easy for another woman to come and take her place.

  “I’m going to kill her,” Masato ground out. “I’m going to kill them all.” He finally understood Junichi’s hatred of the fox fairies. They all deserved to die.

  Junichi gave Masato a cold smile, one that would chill a glacier.

  “I have a plan.”

  Ξ

  Sweat streamed down Masato’s torso, dripping down his arms, slicking his thighs and calves. The fire from the forge belched, the flames licking into the air, but he didn’t flinch. The noise from the fire and the bellows was incredible, like standing inside of a storm.

  But Masato held the metal blade as steady as Junichi had directed him to. The orange edge of the sword sparked as Junichi hammered it, a continual ring of blows, flattening the blade until it could be bent and doubled. Masato’s arms ached with the effort.

  Then back in the fire, softening it again. Masato had already lost track of the number of times the metal had been folded back onto itself. Junichi had assured him that while he was still perfecting the technique, what he’d done already far surpassed the finest blades made in the last decade.

  It would be another taichi blade, curved like a woman’s thigh.

  When Junichi lifted his hammer, Masato turned the blade again. At Junichi’s curt nod, Masato contained his grimace. Instead, he squeezed his right hand tightly and held his arm out over the blade.

  With a flick of his razor–sharp nails, Junichi broke the skin again just over Masato’s wrist. Masato shook his arm, scattering the drops of blood over the blade. Then he returned to his former position, holding the end of the metal tightly as Junichi folded the metal again, humming a magical stanza.

  Masato knew this sword wouldn’t be as powerful as Seiji: He merely gave his own blood to it, not the life of another. But it would be bound to him, and him alone. No one else would be able to wield it as well.

  If Masato lost the blade, he’d be in desperate trouble. A proper enemy could use it to drain Masato of his power and will.

  Of course, the only proper enemy Masato would ever know would be Junichi. No other had his skill in these sorts of spells.

  Junichi hummed and sang as he pounded the metal with his hammer, pouring his fury, their fury into the blade as well.

  Once it was complete, no fox fairy would be able to withstand their wrath. The sword would seek out any who had even the slightest fox fairy blood. It was attracted to them.

  As well as deadly to them. Junichi had added old spells, ancient curses against the fairies.

  Masato would be unstoppable using it. They would all fall before him. And as their magic left, the people would have more need than ever for new prayers, new religion.

  Buddhism would triumph.

  And Masato’s name would be remembered forever, for being the bearer of their new savior.

  Ten

  Gliding Through The Night

  Hikaru

  Gliding through the night filled me with glee. It had never been so easy to slip through the shadows, to avoid Masato’s human and not–so–human guards. The breezes spoke to me, whispering secrets hidden by the darkness.

  Etsu had warned me that it would take time for my powers to return. I hadn’t anticipated this heady rush of ability, certainly not immediately after leaving Masato.

  I paused at the far side of Masato’s camp, looking back. I could still see the ghostly image of his large tent, squatting like a fat slug, surrounded by the other tents. Anger blasted through me.

  How dare he. How dare he? Everything was his fault, from Norihiko’s death to Iwao’s. He’d touched me and I’d let him. He’d driven Kayoku to the brink of death. He’d caused this war. He was probably responsible for the recent crop failures as well.

  I blamed Masato for everything.

  Looking back, I know I wasn’t quite rational.

  That didn’t stop me from gathering my power together as I stood, just outside his camp, the night winds blowing stronger and swirling my robes, winds from my own magic matching them.

  Could I gather all that magic together into a single flaming ball, fueled by my desire for revenge and my hatred of Masato, and fling it at him? Hurl it across the dark sky, a blinding point of light, that would never stop burning? Would the flames consume everything in their path—men, tent, horses, Masato?

  I could see it burning brightly behind my eyes. A fire that I would laugh and cackle at as I danced around it.

  I don’t know what pulled me back from the brink. Maybe it was a change in the winds, signaling that the darkest part of the night was now over. Maybe it was my own power refilling me, reminding me of sunny hillsides covered with flowers and the deeper mysteries of the woods.

  Or maybe it was my own nature, still. I hadn’t been able to kill Junichi. I wasn’t sure that I could kill Masato, even after what he’d done to me. What I’d let him do to me.

  I let the winds die, my power drop. I swirled away, just another piece of the night.

  What would Masato do when he discovered he’d lost my powers? Part of me
wanted him to suffer.

  But I’d lived among the humans for too long. I cared, now, more than I had.

  The estate had to be warned that Masato was likely to be angry. Maybe Kayoku could encourage the generals to lock the gates to Masato and his men.

  Losing my powers would weaken Masato. There would be a good chance that he’d cancel his visit to the estate the next day.

  Maybe the generals would take that as a sign and be able to withstand the next onslaught of Masato’s army.

  I didn’t know what they would do. I didn’t know how the estate would survive Masato and his wrath.

  Now that I had my magic again, I could help the people flee. I resolved to talk with Kayoku about that.

  After I released Norihiko from his steel form.

  Ξ

  It was even easier to slip through the guards around the estate, to have one turn to look left while the other looked right and I slipped in between them. Then again, they were barely guarding anymore—they thought their situation was hopeless.

  And maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t. I wasn’t certain what I could do to help them, except to help them run away.

  The only thing I wanted to do was to finally break Norihiko’s curse.

  The strength of my magic surprised me. It felt different, too. I didn’t want to take the time to explore the differences, however. I was finally going to break Norihiko free from his curse. Bring him back to the flesh. Nothing could stop me.

  The door to the women’s quarters was locked and guarded. They didn’t understand that would never stop me, or one of my kind. I ran up the wall, giggling, vaulting over the balcony on the second story, easily entering a window from there. The guards saw nothing, though they might have reported a haunted wind that made the hairs on the backs of their necks stand up.

  I’d forgotten how crowded the estate felt. I kept myself pressed into shadows in the dim hallways, though no one but the occasional guard walked there. However, humans were everywhere. I could feel their heartbeats, hear them breathe, smell their sweat.

  Once I freed Norihiko, I vowed that we were going to disappear into the wild for a week, with nothing but trees, mountains, and waterfalls.

  I hesitated at the doorway to my rooms. Someone waited for me inside. It took me a moment to tease apart the scents. Because Etsu had disguised me as Kayoku, I still carried her scent too closely for me to separate it out, between the cloak I wore and the woman waiting for me.

  I longed to play, to slip into the room unnoticed and tease her, to send tickling breezes to tug at her hair and stir her robes, make her whirl around asking who was there.

  But I didn’t want to waste my powers that way. I needed all this incredible strength I had to free Norihiko.

  Though Etsu had cautioned me about the spell and what it would take from me, I knew I had to perform it that night. I couldn’t wait, not even until dawn. I was certain I could handle it.

  I slid the shoji to the side and slipped into the room.

  Kayoku had kept all the lamps lit. Was she expecting me to play some trick on her? She examined me in silence. I’m not sure what she saw. Did she merely see that my magical beauty had returned? Or did she see the bruises Masato had put on my body and my soul?

  “You have your powers back,” Kayoku said after a few long moments.

  “I do. Thank you,” I told her, giving her a low bow. I wouldn’t have them without her, and her help.

  “And Masato?” Kayoku asked.

  “Hurt. Weak,” I assured her.

  “Good,” Kayoku said. After another moment of intense study, she continued. “I suppose you’re going to leave now.”

  “I don’t know,” I told her honestly. I felt responsible, but I wasn’t sure what I could do. “I can help those leave who want to go,” I told her. “I can hide them, disguise them, until they get safely away.”

  Kayoku nodded. “There are some who will thank you for that.”

  “And you?” I asked, curious.

  Kayoku merely smiled. “I will stay. This is my place. Until the bitter end.”

  I wasn’t sure why she felt that way. I would try to get her to change her mind later, I decided.

  “Now, I must free my beloved Norihiko,” I told Kayoku.

  The sword Seiji hissed at me when I touched it. As a human, I hadn’t heard his voice, and I was only vaguely aware of his displeasure.

  Now, the full brunt of his anger washed over me. I wasn’t sure why Seiji was so angry. Maybe it was because I was about to break him, to free the soul inside.

  In essence, I was killing the sword Seiji to free my love Norihiko.

  However, it wasn’t the same as killing a man. I was changing his form, freeing his soul, not sending it to the eternal lands.

  “What do you need?” Kayoku asked.

  I started. I’d forgotten she was still in the room. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t need her, that she should go back to her bed, her dreams, her human life. But one look at her face told me that she needed to stay, needed to be involved.

  This sword, indirectly, had been the death of her husband. She, too, wanted to see it transformed.

  Maybe she just wanted a little bit more magic in her life.

  “I need you to guard the door,” I told her seriously. “This is a dangerous spell. Difficult to contain. No one should enter while I’m still singing.”

  Kayoku nodded seriously. “I will do that for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I…I couldn’t have done this, without you.”

  “I know,” Kayoku said. “I’ll be just outside, if you need anything.”

  Kayoku turned and left me alone, surrounded by all things human and the sword that contained my love. The night beyond the walls of the estate felt full of promise, the winds carrying the news of the mountain to those who could hear.

  I placed the sword in the center of the room, though it fought me, dragging itself to the earth, carrying the weight of all the mountain along its blade.

  I was determined, however. The sword would yield to me. I would transform it.

  I would succeed and bring my love back to me.

  Ξ

  I took some time to strip off the robes I’d been wearing, the things Masato had touched, and sluiced water over my bare body, trying to wash away the earlier part of the evening. I found I kept turning my head to look at the sword. Maybe it was to reassure myself that my sacrifice had been worth it.

  Or maybe because Seiji still hissed his displeasure at me.

  Then I dressed in fresh, clean robes, the color of spring grass, with beautiful silver waves woven through the cloth. It felt good to be in my own clothes, in my own body.

  I still didn’t feel quite like my old self. I assumed I would, in time.

  Etsu had given me all the ingredients that I needed for the spell: an enchanted sprig of bamboo with the most tender shoots, a silver cup filled with the freshest spring water, and a specially scented nioi–bukuro sachet, that smelled both sweet and bitter as I placed it around my neck.

  I cleared all the pillows and everything extraneous from the room, shoving items against the walls and into the corners. Not that there was very much: I hadn’t accumulated that many things as a human. Then I dragged Seiji out into the center.

  For the first time, I separated the blade from his scabbard. I was prepared for how the steel shivered in my hand. He sought my skin, sought to take my blood.

  I admit, I laughed at his efforts. He was just a sword, whereas I was kitsune, full of my powers.

  And my pride.

  I pushed the scabbard out of the way, shoving it into the corner, beside the kneeling pillows. Then I carefully placed the water on the far side of the sword, while I picked up the bamboo.

  The spell had several parts. Etsu had whispered them to me. I hadn’t remembered them, as a human. Couldn’t have gotten the order correctly.

  But now that my powers had returned, the words leapt to my mouth. I dipped the lea
ves of the bamboo into the water, then sprinkled them onto the naked blade as I started my song.

  The gusty wind

  Blows apart the veils

  Between this plane and the High Heavenly Lands

  So that my plea can be heard

  My spell have the blessings

  Of all the kami and urkami

  The song went on for stanza after stanza, pleading my case with the upper gods, proclaiming the injustice done to my love, how we both deserved another chance.

  I danced around the sword, swinging my sprig of bamboo like a general’s baton. Power emanated from me, sweeping into the room like a fresh spring breeze.

  Maybe it was the sachet I wore—it wasn’t until I was midway through that I smelled the sourness that had filled the room. Instead of the fresh mulch of fall that I was invoking came the scent of fruit rotting in the fields.

  I carried on without stopping, however. I was too close to my prize to consider what such a sour scent meant.

  Finally, after several hours, I reached the end verse. I stroked Seiji with the bamboo sprig, so that he might be reborn, as the bamboo was continual and constantly renewing.

  The bamboo shivered in my hand, warning me.

  I didn’t stop.

  After the seventh stroke, it took all my strength to bring the bamboo back for the final, last stroke. The lucky eighth stroke that was to finally dissolve the spell.

  The bamboo submitted to being used, then it leapt up in my hand, as if trying to get away. I held onto it, horrified as it changed, transforming into a long bone, like a leg bone from a horse. It was bleached white with age and scarred with limestone.

  I shrieked, but didn’t let go. I didn’t understand what magic it was that transformed the bamboo that way, but I couldn’t release it. I felt it might turn on me if I did.

  Before me, the sword glowed with a brilliant purple light, as if it had been dipped in a sunset.

  Without warning, it exploded.

  I put my hands up over my face instinctively. Had I spoken the spell wrong? The sword was supposed to dissolved gently, fade away, and leave just Norihiko behind.

  Beads of hot steel scored my skin. I cried out. Without thinking, I turned the bone in my hand and used it as a great wand to fend off the sparks.