Ryojin- the Bonded Blade

by Noah Ward

  And a woman.

  Before the door shut, Gin slunk inside and positioned himself closest in the corner of the door, away from the prying spheres of light cast by the table’s lamp. The thin man’s eyes were watering at the huge meal being ferried to them, but he well could have been salivating at the prospect of devouring the woman.

  She seemed to sense his ulterior motives and was quick to deposit the bounty before scurrying away.

  Gin tried to place the woman, but her crimson robes and face veil impeded his efforts. He’d never met any of Saito’s people in person, and the thought sent a shiver of rage up his ethereal spine. While there were life-like sketches and various first-hand accounts, Gin’s eyes couldn’t pierce fabric...despite how convenient that may have been both professionally and recreationally.

  Instead, he could only wait and listen.

  20

  A Show of Steel

  Kaz trudged down the desolate and worn path towards the village of Kirral. The sun had all but set and the chill had picked up. The coin she had left in her purse would just about be enough to cover the supplies she needed and the blade for the girl. While she hoped the journey to Akimaru would remain as uneventful as it had been after leaving the Sea of Spears, she was not foolish enough to bet on it. Better that Shay have a blade and no reason to use it. Plus, it may garner some extra aians from whomever Kaz was forking her over to. While she didn’t put too much stock in the girl’s tale, that necklace was worth a small fortune. The poor don’t just happen upon artifacts like that and she meant to divine its origin.

  It was not long before the figures atop the wooden fortifications of Kirral shifted to observe the stranger wandering towards them. Soon, their bows were knocked with arrows and trained on Kaz as she closed the gap to Kirral’s large entrance.

  “A bit late to be wanderin’ about,” said a voice from the wooden parapet. Kaz craned her neck up to look at the speaker. He was an older man, the only one of several who did not have a bow drawn. The various men and women did not have traditional armour by any means, just poorly crafted leather chest pieces that wouldn’t hold up in real combat. Out here, their biggest trouble was probably a wayward goat or the odd drunk.

  Kaz bowed slightly to the older man. “Tessho Sonchō,” she said, affecting a deeper voice. “My name is Jiro. I’ve visited Kirral several times over the winters. I was last here--”

  “Before the thaw the previous winter,” Tessho cut in. He tapped his finger against his silver moustache that curled out at the end of his lips. His face was thin, not from underfeeding but a natural athleticism. In her previous visits, Kaz had come to the conclusion he had held some status in one of Zenitia’s dead armies. “You purchased...clothing and dried meats.”

  “Correct,” said Kaz. “I’m here to trade again, though I know the hour is late.”

  Tessho surveyed the horizon and then the village at that comment. He nodded slightly. “You did not tarry last time, that I remember too.” He allowed the words to hang in the freezing air for several seconds. “I trust if we let you in, you will do the same?”

  Kaz bowed again. “I’ll be gone before night fully arrives.”

  Tessho offered no reply and instead disappeared from the parapet. Moments later, the large wooden doors creaked open, sending clumps of snow tumbling to the earth. Kaz approached the opening but knew better than to step foot into Kirral just yet.

  Tessho appeared from behind the gate with a couple of guards in tow. They wielded spears. He had a blade sheathed at his hip. The man held out his open hand. Wordlessly, Kaz unaffixed her katana and wakizashi from her waist. She wrapped both sheaths tightly in the larger blade’s string before placing them in Tessho’s hand. The unspoken understanding was that she would receive her weapons upon exiting the village peacefully or not at all.

  Feeling naked, Kaz wandered further into Kirral. Tessho would keep his post for a little longer--more than enough time. The streets were busy emptying at this time, and the total population of the village probably numbered just over one hundred. From what Kaz had gathered, most villagers worked the land, hunted in the surrounding forests, bred kevals, or whatever else they busied themselves with. She recalled overhearing a few of them talking about a run to Akimaru and Hakkanose to hawk their wares.

  The street ahead of her had a row of squat, one-storey buildings or houses. A few appeared to be sundry vendors judging from the produce the younger employees were hefting back into the shops. A few villagers gawked at her, and she knew it was because they rarely received any visitors.

  Kaz kept to herself as she passed a few more people. Most were congregated at the pub about halfway down the road, but she made sure to avoid it. Places like that bred gossip, and she didn’t fancy providing the rumour mill with any grain.

  The first part of her business did not eat up too much of her fleeting time. She procured some decent, thicker bedrolls that she could sell on again in Akimaru, as well as some supplies for the road, including more tobacco, water and foodstuffs. With that done, Kaz listened out for the sound of clinking metal, signalling the small street that housed the blacksmith.

  The blacksmith was around the same age as Tessho. He was almost completely hairless--shaved head and face, eyebrows like silver whiskers. The smith was not thin, however. Far from it. He had arms thicker than Kaz’s thighs from striking an anvil all day long. She bet one hammer blow from him was enough to crush her skull. Though she could never confirm it, nor wish to, really, she banked that he had some connection to Tessho. The two served together, she reckoned.

  The smith, Saburo, was at the end of the street. Black smoke belched into the air from his hot forge. The front of the shop was open-faced, fearing no thieves in Kirral. On display was mostly gardening equipment--hoes, scythes, sickles and the like. There were a few trinkets, too, on rickety shelves that had collected dust. It appeared since coming to the village, he had little reason to forge weapons any longer, but Kaz knew he produced quality work from the small armoury the guards sported. Plus, she had bought a few whetstones and oils from him previously, to maintain her blade. However, she had not been foolish enough to ever show it to him.

  Saburo turned his hulking mass away from the anvil and stared at her. Soot marked his exposed chest and large yet firm stomach. Kaz walked closer, if only to be closer to the warm forge.

  “More whetstones?” Saburo asked, pointing his hammer at her.

  “And what you use them on,” Kaz replied.

  Saburo frowned, then seemed to catch on. He placed the hammer by the anvil and then dunked his hands and face into a large bucket of water. When his egg-like head emerged, steam curled towards the roof like he’d just momentarily been boiling himself.

  “For you?” said Saburo, hands on his hips.

  Kaz looked around the store and then shook her head. “A gift.”

  The large man stroked his chin and smiled. “People don’t come here for gifts. You want a blade then I suggest buying one from one o’ the big cities you hail from.”

  “I’m here because of the quality of blade,” she said and folded her arms.

  “And you’d know all about quality, judgin’ from the weapons Tessho said you’d carried. Never could get a look at them, though.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Steel seems to stick in the sheath.”

  “That’s why I come to you for oil.”

  Saburo scoffed and then turned for the back of his shop. “Kind of blade you want?”

  “Smaller than my katana; the wielder is a boy several winters shy of a full-size blade.”

  “Child of yours?” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “Can’t tell. Never seen your face properly.” He grunted a laugh and then slid open a grimy door at the back of his shop. Metal clanged and it sounded like a dozen small parts fell to the floor. Saburo cursed but returned moments later with a few small blades in sheathes.

  After clearing some space on the dirt fl
oor, he laid down a rug and methodically placed the swords on the fabric. He held out his hand for her appraisal.

  Kaz knelt to inspect them. Their sheaths were plain, lacquered wood, various shades of brown and black. She picked one at random and drew it to test the weighting. Her hand wrapped around the grip before she flicked it onto two fingers and held it still.

  “You forged them,” she stated.

  “Aye. Some time ago.” He pretended to consider the encroaching night. “Commissions, for young’uns.”

  She left it at that and inspected the rest of the blades. They were all of similar, high quality. Kaz did not really know how well the girl could fight. By her own claims she was no novice but throw someone in front of an opponent willing to gut them and many would change their tune. Still, Shay needed protection and it meant, at the very least, a momentary distraction if some foe were to engage her.

  “This one,” Kaz said after her silent evaluation. It was the third blade of five. There was a slight, flowery pattern barely legible running along its sheath where the others were plain.

  Saburo nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

  “One gold aian,” said Saburo.

  Kaz delved into her pocket and withdrew two. She dropped them into the man’s bear-like palm. He frowned, but said nothing more as he pocketed the coin. Before she left, he provided her with some materials for the blade’s upkeep in a small leather sack.

  “I’ll have it sent on to collect when you leave,” said Saburo. Then, before she left, he spoke again. “Why did you choose that one, ey?”

  Kaz paused at the entrance. “Because it appeared to be the one forged with a purpose beyond coin.”

  Saburo grunted, then went back to hammering.

  Just one more task left, then you’ll be free of this place, Kaz.

  She set off at a clip to her final destination: the stables. Thank the shogens it was close to Kirral’s entrance, set back on the left side of the road, a handful of buildings before the exit. As she approached the small paddock at the stable’s front, most of the kevals had already been brought in for the night, their handlers busy brushing them down.

  An old woman with a hunched back was overseeing the younger staff, barking off a few orders. From the looks of it, she and the others may well live in the two-storey house next to the long stables. Inside, the lights were on and the smell of spices and cooking meat (hopefully not from kevals) wafted along the air.

  “I’m Jiro,” said Kaz. “I’m here for a keval.”

  The old woman cocked her head to the side. “Why else would you be here?”

  “Sightseeing,” she replied.

  The woman barked a laugh. “Can pay me some copper onos and you can stare up a keval’s arse for an hour.”

  Kaz pretended to consider it. “Yet if I buy a keval, I can do that whenever I wish at no extra cost.”

  “Seems we’re dealin’ with a true trader, then,” she cackled. Her face turned serious. “The hour is getting late, so if you intend to make a purchase, best no joke around any longer.”

  “Agreed.” Kaz looked towards the stables. “I’m buying a gift for a boy nearing adulthood. Small for his age. He requires a keval somewhat more...accommodating to his stature.”

  “Short-arse, huh?” She stroked her chin. “Think I can do that.” The old woman barked at one of the young workers flitting about and instructed them to bring a keval to the paddock. They complained that they had just brushed it down for the night, but a stern glare shut them up. The worker returned a few minutes later with a keval that was a bit better fit for Shay and meant Kaz didn’t have to share the damn saddle any longer and have the girl chewing her ear off.

  “Lucky we still have him left,” said the old woman. “Men just took a pack of ‘em down to Akimaru to sell. This one didn’t make the cut.” She looked the beast in its black, glassy eyes. “Could well a’ turned into jerky!”

  The keval expressed its opinion on the matter by shitting in the snow.

  Kaz was warming to it.

  “I’ll take it,” she said. “Saddle and all.”

  A short while later, Kaz was leading the keval out of the paddock and towards Kirral’s entrance, which was now open. She had prepared a roll up and was relishing its flavour while she wandered down the main thoroughfare. Tessho and his guards stood waiting there, and she spied her and Shay’s blades in his hands. What struck her as strange, however, was that they were not staring at the stranger about to leave town, but the group rushing towards it.

  Kaz sighed.

  21

  Shinobi

  Gin watched the thin man devour the heap of food in front of him with fascination. A whole damn duck was chomped down--bones and all. His stomach must be a portal to another dimension, some human-snake hybrid that could detach its jaw. Even in his immaterial state, Gin shuddered.

  Thankfully, this binge was quick, lasting only a few minutes. All the while, the woman in the red robes sitting opposite had only moved to sip the cup of tea in front of her, keeping a silent vigil.

  “Incidents, Kuma?” she asked over the brim of her clay cup.

  “A man,” he said, before belching. “I dealt with him.”

  She leant forward ever so slightly. “Where?”

  Right here, lady.

  Kuma drew his finger around the grease in the plate in front of him. “At the encampment. Face was covered.” He sucked his finger and looked up at her. “Kamen.”

  The woman leant back and folded her arms. “No insignia?”

  He cocked his head like a dog.

  “Which daimyo does he work for?”

  Kuma shrugged.

  “Is he dead?”

  “I threw him over the walls.”

  “Did you check?”

  “The ravine is too deep…”

  “Idiot…” She exhaled and then took a sip of her tea. “It could be any one of them.” Then she waved it off. “Saito’s problem.”

  Saito. Saito Kitagami. Gin grinned. Or, he mentally attempted to. Here was his lead. Trudging through the snow, pissing in the wind, and watching that freak eat human remains had been worth it.

  “We can go now?” Kuma asked.

  She shook her head. “I will be going soon. You will--”

  “But you said Hanza--”

  “Hanza is dead. His sacrifice bore some fruitful information, which propagated a change of plans. Word travels fast, even from small places...”

  Hanza...the blind swordsman. One of Saito’s old comrades. Hadn’t most of them left his side after the war? What did his death have to do with anything?

  “You will have to deal with it, now. It’s better this way.”

  Kuma nodded meekly before licking his plate.

  “Good,” she said. “Give me your hand.”

  Continuing his best impression of a gluttonous house cat, Kuma held out his bandaged hand. The woman inspected the krystallis set there, appeared to make some assumption, then wrapped it back up again.

  Just who was she? This answer was there, lingering at the back of his mind.

  “You will stay here and do as you were instructed, Kuma,” she continued. “Is that understood? Wait for her arrival and then take her here.” The woman retrieved a sheet of parchment from her pocket. She placed it in front of him.

  Kuma whined. Licked his lips. Gin snuck closer and examined the drawing: It was a house in the city, not far from here. If he could get a closer--

  Kuma scooped up the parchment and the devoured it.

  “You contact me when you have succeeded, yes?” she said.

  He nodded, still inspecting his plates.

  Seemingly tired of his display, the woman’s arm lanced out. She clasped her fingers around his cheeks and dragged him closer.

  “Say. It,” she said.

  “Kuma will contact you.”

  “Excellent.”

  Kuma gleefully clapped his hands together.

  This was getting a little too weird for Gin’s l
iking.

  The woman rose from her seat. “Treat yourself, Kuma.” He nodded, a smile plastered on his idiotic face. Gin could slaughter him…

  Or he could stay on-mission and follow this woman, which was slightly less cathartic.

  Responsibilities… Bigger picture, Gin.

  She exited the private room. Gin followed.

  He was only able to sustain his immaterial state until they reached the end of the restaurant's street. After the draining past few days and constant use of his ability, he had to do things the old fashioned way. Reappearing in an alley, dripping with sweat and wanting nothing more than a hot bath and cool cup of wine, he slapped his face a couple of times for good measure.

  Draped in his street clothes, he emerged in the main street which was, thankfully, still quite busy. The press of bodies and clamour made for adequate cover while he pursued the woman. He brushed shoulders with the unwashed masses and had to dodge the odd patch of vomit but the whole process was rote to him. Though he kept a respectful distance, he still had eyes on the woman--the robe made her rather conspicuous. A strange choice.

  Even stranger, now that he had been following her towards one of Akimaru’s docks, was that she kept a very direct path. Gin was constantly slipping in and out of people’s way. But not her. As imperceptible as it was, denizens seemed to just drift in her wake like she was a skiff gently cruising the ocean.

  It’s in there somewhere, Gin…

  The number of bars, flophouses, and brothels increased in number but decreased in quality the further he followed her towards the docks. A few people had tried to accost him on the way, but he’d shrugged them off. It was in between one male prostitute whispering in Gin’s ear that he saw his target veer off to the left. Over the roofs of a couple of inns, he caught larger storehouses.