The scared girl said, “Thank you for—”
“Hush! Stay utterly still!” Kain muttered as he pinned the girl beneath him.
The samurai took a step towards Kain. “Insolence begets insolence, and it seems propriety is forgotten. It is unwise to defy a samurai’s will, and more so to defy his weapon. My sword, Shinokage speaks only truth: This mongrel is not yet dead!”
Damn it, this is bad! Kain’s thoughts raced as he gauged his options: He could unsheathe his Zweihänder and try to hamstring the samurai, or he could roll away from the attack and face him in singular combat. Either way, the forces of the entire domain would be upon him in no time, and his return home would be ridiculously short-lived.
“Please! My lord samurai-sama, have mercy!” A woman’s voice cried.
“A plead for mercy does not go unheard,” the samurai uttered, lowering his weapon. “Yet a crime cannot go unpunished. The one who stood before my blade still draws breath. This must be corrected.”
“Please my lord! Are your eyes not yet aware of the crimson staining his clothes as we speak? The man has tasted your steel, and through sheer luck, still draws breath, but for how long?” The samurai said nothing, and the woman continued. “He is most assuredly dead by your blade, my lord. Please, do not misuse your skill in ending an unworthy one’s life just as said life escapes his body!”
The samurai wiped his katana. “True words deserve recognition, just as a fallen opponent deserves a last breath,” he scoffed derisively and added, “If this could be named an opponent. Let it be known that Ryokawa Hanataro-bushi is not without compassion and regard for propriety.” He swung his katana forward and slowly returned it to its saya. Once the blade was locked in its scabbard, Hanataro yelled, “FORWARD!” And the procession resumed.
When the palanquin was gone, Kain rolled away from the girl and struggled to sit up. His chest burned from the wound he had sustained, but he wasn’t grievously hurt. The woman quickly knelt beside him and exclaimed, “Yuki-chan, Yuki-chan, answer me!”
“I am fine, mother, thanks to bushi-sama!” The girl answered eagerly before her mother pulled her into a tight embrace.
The woman let out a shuddering sob as she made sure her daughter was healthy, and then lifted a hand to slap her across her face. “Don’t ever dare cross a samurai’s path ever again, foolish girl, am I understood?”
“Please okaasan,” Kain said, “Don’t reprimand your daughter over an innocent mistake. The one at fault is not her, but that stuck-up prick.” The woman’s face paled as Kain uttered his expletive. Shit, I forgot they live in fear of nobility. “Apologies, okaasan, I meant no—”
“Stay away from us, itansha!” She spat angrily as she quickly stood up and pulled her daughter away from her.
Kain sighed dejectedly, Heretic... A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed. He turned away to leave, but stopped when in the distance he heard a cheerful, “Thank you bushi-sama!” followed by a yelp of pain. A smile drew on his face as he heard the girl’s voice. Well, that does it, he thought, feeling eager to reach his family’s old forge.
***
Kain’s breathing had become labored and his head felt woolen as he reached the ancestral house of the Kajiya family. Something’s wrong, he thought after every throb of pain from his chest. The wound he had sustained was by no means lethal, not even large enough to become septic, yet he felt his muscles burning and his breathing become more ragged after every passing second.
Must... go on. His single-minded purpose had carried him as he coursed the upwards-going path towards his old home. He lacked the mental acuity to appreciate the state of the abode, and he felt himself close to blacking out. A familiar din caught his ear, and he unconsciously shambled his way towards it. Slowly, the din became louder and he recognized it for what it was: The sound of a hammer against steel.
He came into a courtyard where a straight-backed old man carefully and purposefully went through the motions to bend a block of unrefined iron ore into usable hagane. Despite his woolen-headedness, a fond smile formed on his lips. He tried to take a step towards the man, but fell face-first onto the dusty floor.
“Hey, sir? Sir! Are you okay?”
Kain heard the clattering sound of wooden sandals running his way before his head was lifted by a pair of strong, calloused hands. He stared into two awe-stricken, dark-brown pits glowing as embers as they regarded him intently. “Father,” he wheezed before darkness took him away.
***
“You must be mistaken, you must be!”
“I am not, Munesuke-san. Your son has been drafted to fight against the disreputable Goguryese – would you deny him such an honor?”
“He’s but a boy...”
“He is, by the grace of the gods, one of the Emperor’s men. Now, step aside!”
“Father, don’t let them take me away!”
“I’m sorry, Senshi.”
“Father, please, tell them I’m not a warrior, tell them I’m a blacksmith!
Father! FATHER!”
Kain opened his eyes, breathing quickly as his sight darted to and fro. Old instincts kicked in and he tried to unsheathe the blade hidden in his shirt. He grimaced when he found himself naked from the waist up, save for a tightly tied bandage across his chest, and bereft of his weapons.
“Your things are stashed away,” said an old, raspy voice. “They are far from you now, assuming that’s what you reached for.”
Kain trained his eyes upon the old man leaning by the doorframe, and his altered nerves began calming down as he recognized his father, Kajiya Munesuke. “Father,” he wheezed.
“So you claim. Yet I have no son. Especially not one who carries accursed western metal, and whose speech slurs in their barbarous manner. So tell me truly, stranger, who are you?”
You don’t recognize your own son? Kain thought dismayed, glancing around him.
His eyes happened upon a mirror, and for the first time in months, he saw his reflection, and he understood his father’s misgivings, as he found it difficult to recognize himself. His long hair fell to his shoulders, framing his angular, strong-jawed face; the scar running from his right temple to his cheekbone made his expression threatening, and the taut ropes of muscle in his body belonged not to a blacksmith’s son, but to a well-trained warrior.
Kain sighed, cleared his throat and in the best Nipponese he could muster, he said, “Kajiya Senshi.”
Munesuke’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion as he asked, “What did you say?”
“Kajiya Senshi is the name you have given me, father, and by my honor, I have fulfilled my promise,” he declared, smiling as he saw recognition in his father’s eyes. “I have become a warrior-blacksmith.”
Munesuke’s eyes filled with tears as he fell to his knees. “Impossible, my Senshi was lost to the sea, the ship he was on capsized!”
“True and true,” Kain declared, slowly standing up. “But I have returned from afar.”
The old man’s expression steeled as he heard him speak. “Liar!” he spat.
“I can prove it!” Kain declared before his father became aggressive. “Let me show you what I can do. Let me prove to you that I am your son Kajiya Senshi!”
Munesuke’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
“At the forge.”
“Hmm. Follow me.” He led Kain outside through the familiar hallways of the Kajiya household. Kain was sad to see that his ancient home had fallen into dire disrepair. The tiles of the roof were leaky, the supporting beams sported cobwebs, and the paint in the murals decorating the solid walls were flaking off. Father, have you fallen into difficult times? They stepped into the courtyard housing the family’s forge, its furnace still ablaze with smoldering pieces of wood. Munesuke sat on a stool, pointed at the forge and said, “Show me. I shall not intervene.”
Kain nodded, and set himself to work. I haven’t worked hagane in years, yet my abilities will suffice, he t
hought confidently as he donned a thick leather apron and a pair of supple gloves. He bent down to grab a fistful of the unrefined iron sand by the forge. This won’t do. I can’t produce tamahagane right now, it would take days, and I don’t have as much time. I don’t think I have much choice. “I need my sword.” His father tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “Please.”
Munesuke shrugged. “Behind the smelter.”
“Thank you.” Kain found his Zweihänder still in its scabbard resting by the smelter. He brought it to the forge and unsheathed it. He saw his father’s frightened expression as the greatsword was set loose, but he quickly uttered, “At ease. Please, just watch.”
Kain closed his eyes and focused his mind’s eye into the length of his weapon; he sensed the latticework of crystalline structures interlocked to form the blade, and tapped into what his father once called kotodama, the Soul of Things. Except his weapon had no soul. Instead, it was empty, and ready to accept his will. He extended his hand and created a powerful magnetic field, pulling the raw iron from the sand and fusing it together into a lump.
With every passing moment, the blade of his Zweihänder deteriorated gradually. Pieces of its steel cracked and flaked off, its length became pitted and brittle-looking, but the sacrifice was worth it: Kain had enough iron to easily work with.
He let go of the spell, feeling as physically drained as his sword was damaged. He held the weapon at arm’s length, sighed, and threw it into the furnace for smelting. “That weapon served me well, but it’s useless now,” he said to himself, and to his father he uttered, “That’s a trick I learned from the Israelites. Spellcasting, ah, mahoosuru, through pure steel.” His father’s expression was inscrutable, and Kain added, “I shall continue.”
He took the lump of clean iron and heated it up until it radiated an intense red glow. When he judged the color—and thus temperature—to be adequate, he took a shovelful of carbon dust and dropped it on the metal before turning it around and repeating the procedure.
Now let the carbon be infused into the iron. He made use of another trick he learned not from the Israelites, but from a Bharatian smith he worked with. Unlike his former vessel sword, the iron ore and coal in the furnace possessed an underlying essence which could be manipulated to a degree. Kain focused his intent through the metal tongs he held and tapped into the essence of the red-hot iron, beseeching it to allow itself to be infused with the coal dust. The crimson metal, already primed for the fundamental changes in its structure, greedily admitted the coal dust, forming a solid, high-carbon steel lump.
Kain wiped at his brow, feeling the exhaustion of his spellcasting. Minor though it was, it demanded as much concentration and discipline as a sorcerer’s far more powerful magic. Regardless, Kain felt himself restored the moment he examined the newly-formed piece of steel. It was far purer and far stronger than any hagane ever produced in Nippon, and through the proper ministering, it would produce an excellent weapon.
He returned the metal to the furnace, letting it grow white hot and ready to be hammered into shape. As he placed the steel on the anvil, Kain focused his intent once more into the white-hot metal: I beseech you to maintain your temperature until quenched! The warrior-smith felt the pang of exhaustion signifying that his request had been accepted by the metal. His mouth split into a grin, and he started hammering.
First, he used an iron wedge to sever a lump off of the main mass—he would work on it later to forge the crossguard and pommel of the weapon—then focused on the main body of the future sword. Every mighty strike of his hammer made sparks fly to and fro as he elongated the preternaturally white-hot steel, shaping it into what would become a new Zweihänder.
Kain turned the metal and repeated the procedure, carefully maintaining the blade’s palm-width. When he judged the blade to be of sufficient length, he used the same iron wedge to chip away two pieces to form its tip, and two longer ones at its opposite end to shape what would become the tang for the grip and pommel.
Before he started working on the blade’s fuller, the sound of incoming horses distracted him. Feeling a pang of fear, he dispelled the incantation in the steel, moments before a samurai rode into the courtyard. Oh, no! Kain’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the scowling expression of Ryokawa Hanataro.
If Munesuke noticed Kain’s frightened expression, he made no comment on it. Instead, he bowed deeply and said, “Greetings, Ryokawa Hanataro-sama. You honor my humble abode with my presence.”
Hanataro merely nodded in recognition before uttering, “Is the tamahagane ready to be worked?”
“Most assuredly, Hanataro-sama. The jewel-steel has been successfully produced, and I shall begin working on lord Yorunokenshi Ishida-sama’s ikiteiruken.”
Hanataro nodded once more, before finally acknowledging Kain’s presence. “Who is this man, blacksmith? That is a strange weapon he is forging, I have never seen the likes of it.”
“He...” Munesuke locked eyes with his son. Kain stared pleadingly into his father’s eyes, and Munesuke sighed. “He is my new apprentice, Hanataro-sama, and if you apologize the expletive, he is fucking stupid and doesn’t yet know how to properly shape a tachi.”
“Hmm.” He stared at the bandages on Kain’s chest, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Has your assistant been to town recently?”
“Not that I know of, Hanataro-sama.”
“Indeed?” He stepped off his horse, and the thick plates of his domaru clattered as he fell to his feet. He made his way towards Kain, his hand resting over the grip of his katana. “What is your name, apprentice?” Kain said nothing. If Hanataro heard his affected speech, his life would be forfeit. The samurai released his sword and imperatively said, “I asked, what is your name?”
“Please, Hanataro-sama, he is both a deaf and a mute. He intends no disrespect to your person, he merely can’t hear, nor respond.”
“A deaf and a mute?” The samurai asked, locking his sword again. “I find it curious, blacksmith, how does he follow your commands?”
“I prod and kick at him, Hanataro-sama, though at times I exceed my strength, as evidenced by the bandages wrapped around his chest.”
“Indeed,” Hanataro said. “Yet I don’t yet know his name, Munesuke-san. This troubles me.”
“Truly, Hanataro-sama, a thousand times a thousand apologies. My apprentice’s name is...” He paused, thinking of a suitable name. “Hangyaku Gizoosha. Gizoo, for short.”
Hanataro burst out laughing. “Gizoo, forgery, truly?”
Munesuke nodded. “Truly, Hanataro-sama. It is but a cruel jest of his parents, that he has been given such a name. Yet who am I but a humble artisan incapable of deriding his given name?”
“Wisely spoken, blacksmith,” the samurai said, climbing back onto his horse. “I expect the weapon to be ready within a fortnight. I do not desire to be disappointed.”
Mukesuke bowed deeply, and Kain did the same. “You shan’t be, Hanataro-sama,” the blacksmith assured the samurai.
“I feel at ease knowing that. Farewell, Munesuke-san,” then he scoffed and mockingly said, “Forgery-sama,” and rode away.
When the samurai was safely away from earshot, Kain let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His heart threatened to burst through his chest, his mouth felt parched, and his throat raw. Wow... that was close! Had it not been for his father’s intervention, he would have been found. Father! He thought, quickly saying, “Thank you, father, for coming to my aid.”
“Be thankful,” Munesuke said flatly, “That I yet hold paternalistic feelings towards you, Senshi, foolish though they may be. Even now, I question the far-reaching consequences of my actions.”
Respectfully, Kain asked, “What do you mean, father?”
Munesuke sighed and sadly shook his head. “How can you wound a man who has lost everything?”
“I don’t know,” his son replied truthfully.
“You return something damaged to him,”
he stared forlornly at Kain’s eyes, his expression pained as he admitted, “I see you, and I see my son, yet I don’t recognize him. I see a returned one, tainted by the despicable, twisted ideas of outlanders. I see in your eyes the Senshi I saw last as he was taken to fight for the Emperor, yet in your actions I see someone I don’t recognize. I accept that you are my son, but you are a stranger to me. If you wish me to remain foolish and not fulfill my duty, you will let me know: Who are you?”
My father speaks truly. He knows who I was, but not who I am, not any more. Quickly, he fell to his knees, prostrate before the old blacksmith. “Father, Munesuke-sama, I am born your son Kajiya Senshi, yet I am returned to you as a stranger. Though I remain blood of your blood, I accept your quandaries and plead to you: Know the man I am now, before you judge me a traitor, a miserable, or a despicable one.” Munesuke grunted his acceptance, and Kain climbed to his feet. “I have become known as Kain Smith—the name cruelly given to me by westerners unable to pronounce my given name, yet it has become a badge of honor, for through that name I have fulfilled my dream. I have become an adept in the arts of western blacksmithing and combat; I have learned of their magic and incantations, and through slavery, war and fear, I have returned to you with a singular purpose.”
“What is your purpose, Kain Smith?”
“My purpose is to resume my gods-given path in life. To become a blacksmith as you my father are, as was my grandfather, and my grandfather’s grandfather. I wish to bring honor to Kajiya, my family name, and to that end I beseech you to teach me as you once did. Show me the ways of our family, father, so that I may bestow honor upon your legacy.” The slight softening in Munesuke’s expression told Kain that he had said the right things, even if he didn’t truly believe them.
The older blacksmith groaned. “Your blacksmithing insults me, Senshi… for I refuse to utter that disturbingly guttural moniker of yours. Your technique is disgusting, disreputable! You forge the way westerners do, through black, empty arts and unnatural means. This,” he said, folding his arms, “Is unacceptable. If you intend to become my apprentice once more, it shall be under my strict, absolute rules. Am I understood?”
Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1) Page 3
