A Sword's Poem

by Leah Cutter

  And in the end, as fleeting as a summer storm.

  They would all pass. Just the mountain would remain.

  Ξ

  “You’re dying,” Priestess Ayumi said as she helped Kayoku sit down on the bench in Lord Taiga’s garden.

  “I know,” Kayoku said, trying to catch her breath. But she had to go outside. She wore three robes—two inner robes and one dull gray outer robe—and she still shivered in the sunshine.

  Normally, Kayoku spent all of her time inside, like a good wife. However, she’d felt such a longing to be in the garden, at least one last time.

  She hadn’t understood why Lord Taiga had spent his last few days sitting in his garden. It wasn’t even a tame place. The flowers overgrew each other, fighting for the sunlight. Large rocks tumbled together, looking as though they’d been spilled over the small hill instead of carefully placed. Dwarf pines grew along the walkway, their stunted branches forcing people to walk a path that twisted.

  Now, with the pain so deep inside her bones, Kayoku understood the comfort of such an alien place. It was timeless in a way that even the mountain wasn’t. Nature would always be there, a reminder of where they had come from.

  Where she was going.

  Kayoku sat and meditated among the tumbled rocks. Her servants rested just a little ways off, ready to leap to her aid if she needed anything.

  She’d been surprised at how they’d tried to comfort her. Maybe they were just afraid of who would be their new mistress. Or perhaps they’d really miss her.

  It didn’t matter. Kayoku pulled the clean air deep into her lungs. If she knew how to fight the spreading poison, she would. Priestess Ayumi had tried every herb she’d ever heard about to try to cure Kayoku, potions and tinctures and ointments, too.

  It had only been a day. But nothing had worked. The poison continued to spread.

  Kayoku still hid how badly injured she was from Norihiko. He didn’t need to know. He wasn’t really family. Only Priestess Ayumi knew.

  When Chieko wandered down the path, Kayoku wondered who had betrayed her. Had one of her servants mentioned casually to another that she would be outside? She’d managed to successfully avoid all the other wives for the last three days.

  However, Chieko certainly acted surprised when she saw Kayoku. “I’m so sorry,” were the first words that rushed out of her mouth as she approached. “No one comes here. Not since Lord Taiga passed.”

  “I am the one who is sorry,” Kayoku said. “I didn’t mean to disturb your peace.”

  Chieko gave her a rueful smile. “So, we can both be miserable and sorry, or we can sit and enjoy the afternoon and the last blessing of the sunlight. What do you say?”

  Kayoku didn’t want anyone near her. But it would be rude to turn Chieko, who had been the eldest wife and the most respected, the one in charge of the entire household, until Iwao had been declared Taiko’s official heir, catapulting Kayoku into the position.

  “I would love for you to join me,” Kayoku said graciously. She merely had to look up before her servants were scurrying away to bring more pillows, blankets, and tea for the lady.

  “You look lovely today,” Kayoku told Chieko. And she did. Her white hair gleamed silver in the outdoor light. Red touched her cheeks, and the smile she wore made her face blossom. She wore a lovely sky–blue robe, embroidered with silver peaches.

  “If I may be blunt, you don’t,” Chieko said, looking critically at Kayoku.

  Kayoku opened her mouth in shock, then closed it again. What could she say?

  “You’ve been ill ever since you had to spend time with Masato,” Chieko said. “Is there anything I, or any of the other women, can do to help?”

  Kayoku wondered again who had told Chieko that she would be in Lord Taiga’s old garden. She also realized that was the only explanation the other wives would have for her behavior: She’d gone to see Masato as he had demanded, then had fallen ill.

  They didn’t know about Hikaru being a fox fairy. Or Norihiko. Or anything.

  “There’s nothing you can do to help,” Kayoku said truthfully. “Except to pray.”

  She wasn’t about to try to explain it all to Chieko. How would the other woman believe her? It was too fantastic a story: That a female fox fairy’s mate had been killed, his soul stolen, and reforged into a sword. That Lord Taiga had bought the sword, probably with his own soul. That the sword had caused Iwao’s death, and now that Hikaru had freed her mate’s soul, she was going to leave?

  It was too fantastic a tale. Kayoku only half believed it herself.

  No, it was better for the other wives to believe that Masato had cast such illness upon her. That when Kayoku died, the fault would be laid at his feet.

  They wouldn’t be made to serve him, not as she had been ordered to.

  And like her, they also had access to the herb lore of the priestess, and could choose to walk the eternal lands instead of serving Masato, as she once had.

  But Kayoku didn’t want to die. Not anymore.

  However, there was nothing for her but prayers. Nothing she could do to heal herself. She’d fight, every day. To make every day count. Regardless of how useless it was.

  Including her last.

  Two

  What Did One Do

  Norihiko

  What did one do with arms?

  Norihiko contemplated the issue while he sat in the early morning light in Iwao’s rooms, waiting for Priestess Ayumi. The estate had woken up around him, servants shuffling off to do their duties, generals still debating their latest strategies, the very few children remaining giggling at nothing, everything.

  But still. What did one do with arms?

  Norihiko liked his legs. He liked being able to propel himself forward, not to have to rely on a wielder to direct his path. Feeling the earth beneath his toes gave him a sense of power.

  He was still learning different odors—the sourness of Kayoku’s wound, the saltiness of his own sweat, the sweetness of the flowers Priestess Ayumi always handled. The mustiness of the wood in Iwao’s rooms, that he’d claimed for his own. The fading masculine scent of Iwao.

  As a sword, Norihiko had always been able to hear. Now, it wasn’t as though he heard more, but rather, that he could listen and remember more of what he heard.

  However, he’d quickly discovered that people talked incessantly. Usually about things of little consequence. As a sword, he’d been better at ignoring them. Now, he paid attention, or at least couldn’t block them out.

  But arms…He was never certain what to do with them. Particularly when he was walking. They would fall and swing by his side, but then they’d swing too much. When he sat, where should he put them? They got uncomfortable just hanging there. He liked being able to pick things up, to grasp and carry. His fingers were wonderfully articulated. His arms, though, still sometimes confused him.

  As did the only part of his human body that was sword–like. It seemed to have a mind of its own, growing soft and hard without his will. He was aware of what to do with it. That seemed to come naturally to him.

  But that one little piece of flesh had also betrayed Iwao. Other men seemed to be led by it as well. He vowed to never be driven by such needs.

  Despite being human.

  Norihiko stayed sitting, quiet, at rest, when Priestess Ayumi entered the room. He was aware of her, though he didn’t turn his head to look at her. His ears told him that she still shuffled slightly, that her right hip continued to bother her. His nose told him that she’d recently seen Kayoku, and carried the scent of the younger woman’s illness with her. It also told him that the priestess had tea, the sweet kind that he favored, that lingered in the back of his throat and warmed his blood.

  He didn’t have to touch her to know where she would most easily break. How vulnerable her knees and elbows were, how soft her side would be if he cut into her.

  That was secret sword knowledge.

  Norihiko knew the vulnerabilities of every person he met. It wa
sn’t a human ability at all, but power that his hidden selves retained.

  After the priestess had knelt down and let the quiet return to the morning, Norihiko turned to look at her. She looked tired. Between Masato’s perplexing disappearance and Kayoku’s illness, Priestess Ayumi didn’t have as much time to tend to herself. He knew that while the household treated her like a young woman, maybe in her thirties, she was much, much older, probably twice that age. But she kept her hair carefully dyed, used special herbs for her skin. She didn’t want the veneration of the youngsters. She wanted to work, and keep working. To continue to be of service. Not put to the side.

  Norihiko would happily keep her secrets. She kept his.

  “How is Kayoku this morning?” Norihiko asked after Priestess Ayumi poured the tea and served him.

  “She says she’s better,” Priestess Ayumi told him truthfully.

  Norihiko felt as though he was still learning the subtleties of human speech, but he thought he grasped this one. “Says is not the same as is, correct?” he asked bluntly.

  Priestess Ayumi sighed. “Possibly. Probably.”

  “How do we make her better?” Norihiko asked. “How do we heal her wound?” That was the one thing Norihiko felt he owed Iwao, personally. His Maker had aligned him with protecting the mountain. But Iwao had cherished Kayoku. He’d also dedicated himself to the mountain, but in part so that he could make it safe for her.

  “I’m trying everything I know,” Priestess Ayumi assured him. “But…”

  “But?” Norihiko prompted her when she didn’t continue.

  “This illness may be beyond my skill. Any human skill.”

  Norihiko paused to consider the implications of that.

  Hikaru. She’d been the one who injured Kayoku. He didn’t like Hikaru. She confused him. She also claimed they’d once been mated, married. She’d freed him. But he still didn’t like her.

  Hikaru had magic. Skill that went beyond human.

  “Has Hikaru tried to cure Kayoku yet?” Norihiko asked.

  “She says she can’t,” Priestess Ayumi said with a sigh.

  “Hikaru was the one who caused Kayoku’s wound. She should be the one to fix it,” Norihiko said firmly. Or at least try.

  “It may not be as easy as that,” Priestess Ayumi warned.

  “I will make her,” Norihiko promised. If they truly had once been mated, then she should do this for him.

  Priestess Ayumi shook her head but smiled. “You can try. I’m not sure that anyone can get her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

  “She will cure Kayoku. For me,” Norihiko assured the priestess.

  Because despite her magic, Hikaru had weak points too. Soft places that a sword could bite into. Places she wasn’t aware of, but Norihiko and the others still knew.

  Ξ

  Norihiko didn’t bother to request an audience with Hikaru, though some sense of propriety told him he should. Instead, he walked directly to her rooms. The hallways in this part of the woman’s quarters were wider, more open. He smelled fresh air and summer winds floating in. Like every other hall on the estate, the hallways were immaculately clean, with no spiderwebs hanging in the corners, no dust along the inner walls, no dirt on the polished wooden floors.

  It could have been attributed to magic, but Norihiko had seen how hard the servants worked. It wasn’t something he was supposed to notice. The humans complained about how lazy the servants were, all the time. And certainly some were.

  But they lived here, at the estate, too. This was their home. Most took great pride in it.

  Finally, an older woman came out into the hallway where Norihiko stood, his arms at his side, listening to his heartbeat in his fingertips. She looked at him strangely. She was human—mostly. She had some slight magics, things she’d picked up over her long life. She had a long face, almost horselike, with hair streaked with gray.

  “My mistress will see you now,” she told him. She looked at him curiously.

  Had he known her, before? He must have, if she’d been a servant of Hikaru’s. But he didn’t know her now.

  “Thank you,” he told her kindly. She was one of the good ones, the servants who worked more than any realized.

  Hikaru sat in her front rooms. Norihiko couldn’t help but be captivated by her. She was loveliness personified, with a perfectly round face, an upturned nose that looked perfect for kisses, tender lips and glossy black hair. Her robes were golden that morning, embroidered with rust–colored maple leaves.

  That part of himself that Norihiko couldn’t quite control stirred. But he would not give in, would not be attracted to her.

  She’d hurt Kayoku. She must be made to fix her mistake.

  And she must go. Far away. So that she wouldn’t confuse Norihiko any longer.

  “Should I refer to you as Raijim the thunder god this morning, my lord?” Hikaru asked, mischief all through her tone.

  Norihiko shrugged, uncomfortable. He knew she was teasing. He wasn’t certain why. He didn’t look like the old thunderer, did he? He didn’t have a long white beard or an angry god face.

  Possibly his expression did convey his anger, though. How uncomfortable she made him feel.

  Maybe that was another part of his frail human body that he couldn’t control.

  “You must cure Kayoku,” Norihiko told Hikaru bluntly. He didn’t sit down on the pillows she’d arranged for him, but remained standing, his head far above hers.

  “I can’t,” Hikaru told him softly.

  “She was injured by magic. Your magic,” Norihiko pointed out. Why couldn’t she see that? Why did she refuse?

  “I know,” Hikaru said. “And I’m sorry. So very, very sorry. But if I tried to cure her right now—I’d end up making her more sick.”

  “Why?” Norihiko asked. That didn’t make any sense to him. “Your kind can heal, can’t they?”

  Norihiko tried to keep his face still and not smile at the pain that chased across Hikaru’s face at the mention of her kind, how he wasn’t like her. He was human, and proud of it.

  There was still a part of him, one of his many selves that he still carried inside, that didn’t like causing her pain. But that singular, small voice was easily drowned out by the others.

  She’d caused so much suffering in others. All the people of the estate by killing Iwao. She’d endangered the mountain, Norihiko’s main charge. And now she’d injured the one who had done the most to hold the people together, now that their leader was gone.

  She had to go. Despite the confusing images of a pine branch with tiny pinecones clinging to it, how the scent of pine made him long for her.

  “My magic has been corrupted,” Hikaru admitted to him. “When Masato…never mind. It’s no longer reliable.”

  “Then clean it,” Norihiko snapped. He remembered Masato. He despised the man, as much as Hikaru.

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Hikaru snapped at him. Her eyes flashed with anger. Her beauty remained, despite her mounting fury.

  Or perhaps because of it.

  “I’ve tried everything I know. I’ve reached out to my family. No one knows how to purify my magic again. No one has ever had their magic corrupted like this before,” Hikaru told him. Her hands moved restlessly at her side, as if she wanted to sketch something in the air, but wouldn’t allow herself to.

  “So your magic is dangerous,” Norihiko said.

  Hikaru slowly nodded. “I can control it,” she told him.

  Was she lying?

  Did it matter?

  “You need to leave,” Norihiko told her. “You’re a threat to the estate and this household.”

  Hikaru erupted in a bitter laugh. “You can’t make me, you know.”

  “But you’ll go anyway,” Norihiko assured her. “You must. You need to find a cure for Kayoku.”

  “She’s all that matters to you, isn’t she?” Hikaru asked.

  The bitterness in her voice was almost sweet to Norihiko.

  “
She isn’t, actually,” Norihiko answered honestly. “The mountain…the mountain still needs to be defended.” While Kayoku mattered, she didn’t confuse him or attract him, not like Hikaru.

  Norihiko wanted to blame all of his attraction to Hikaru on her magic, but he wouldn’t lie to himself. Not about that. The woman inside her pride and beauty drew him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  “I can’t compete with a mountain,” Hikaru said.

  Was she teasing him again? It sounded as if she was. He couldn’t allow himself to care.

  “Can you control your magic?” Norihiko asked directly.

  Hikaru sighed. “It isn’t as simple as that,” she replied.

  At least she hadn’t lied to him. “Why not?”

  “Magic is who I am!” Hikaru complained. Again her hands raised and she abruptly lowered them, clenching her hand into fists on her thighs. “I live and breathe magic. It’s as much a part of me as my skin or my hair. It flows in my blood. It isn’t a matter of controlling it, as much as making sure that it’s directed correctly.”

  Norihiko almost understood. He felt as though he stood on the cusp of knowledge, as if he, too, once had magic. As if directing that flow was like channeling a wind through a funnel, or directing a spring brook through a garden….

  It was possible to do. But very, very difficult.

  “Are you a danger to this estate?” Norihiko asked, though he already knew the answer. She was a danger. She’d already proven that.

  Now, with her corrupted magic, she was even more so.

  “No more and no less than before,” Hikaru declared.

  She had to be lying.

  “I still want you gone,” Norihiko said. “Away from here.”

  Hikaru took a deep breath as if to argue with him, then let it out with a hiss. “I need to find a way to purify my magic,” she said softly. Then she glared up at him. “I will return when I have.”

  “Good,” Norihiko said, though it wasn’t good at all. “Then you must cure Kayoku. And help me defend the estate. Keep the mountain out of Masato’s hands.”

  Hikaru blinked but she didn’t agree. “I will cure Kayoku. When I can. But I don’t know about anything else.”