Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1)

by Jared Mandani

  Hanataro’s head ached. Whether it ached with anger, concentration, vexation or raw boredom, he couldn’t tell. The past days he had been poring over the records he had requested, and he had encountered nothing he could use. He had traced the entirety of the Kajiya family tree, a legacy which extended back to the founding of the Empire, but that was all for nothing. Not a single person’s name started with the last syllable Kuroinu uttered.

  The samurai sighed before drinking deeply from the bottle of sake he kept nearby. The liquor washed warmly down his throat, making him feel pleasantly lightheaded and relieving some of the ache he had been feeling.

  The more Hanataro tarried, the worse the situation became. He had been informed that more people were commissioning smithing services from the Kajiya family. The aged blacksmith, helped by his apprentice and assistant had somehow become one of the cheapest and most efficient smiths in Nagano. A fact noticed not only by commoners, but by merchants and even noblemen.

  Hanataro scoffed. I am humiliated on account of Kajiya Munesuke, and instead of him being justly punished, he receives praise and accolades! Prosperity what the greatest honor an artisan could aspire to, and the Kajiya household had been receiving it as of late.

  Too much recognition for their own good, Hanataro reasoned, yet no one had levied any complaints against the household. A sad commentary on the value of tradition, Hanataro mused, as it showed that people would absolutely disregard tradition and propriety for the right prize—in this case, weapons.

  Of all things, weapons, Hanataro thought, shaking his head. Weapons purchased by merchants and noblemen, most of whom had no place on a battlefield, let alone knew the vagaries of true combat. The samurai found it disgusting that the noble art of kendo would be so shamed by dilettantes with no respect for the responsibility it entailed.

  In Hanataro’s mind, anyone who eschewed their responsibilities was but dirt beneath his sandals. And what does that say about you? Came the thought to his mind, eerily in the voice of Kuroinu. Hanataro snarled and shook his head to will the dreadful thought away, but the drink—or rather five cups—of sake he had had made it difficult to control his own mind. It says nothing! Hanataro thought angrily. I conduct myself with propriety and honor!

  As he finished the thought, his mind betrayed him once more, reminding him yet again of Kuroinu. The ninja had mentioned the gossip and rumors surrounding Hanataro after he acted in self-defense against a rowdy peasant, and exacted gratification from the commoner’s mate. What he had done was within his right, and nothing Kuroinu could have done, or said, would make it otherwise. And the child? She was watching, Kuroinu’s voice returned accusingly.

  Hanataro screamed and hurled the bottle of sake away. The glass shattered and it spilled its contents on the floor. The samurai breathed heavily as he tried to rein in his anger. Better focus on something useful, he thought before he returned to the documents in front of him. He reached the last names on the list, and he immediately recognized the name Kajiya Munesuke. Right below it, he saw that of a dead man, Kajiya Senshi, and then…

  “Wait a second,” Hanataro said, fixing his eyes on the last entry. He read through it again, closed his eyes and read it again. He needed to read it aloud a third time to convince himself of what he was seeing: “Kajiya Senshi, conscripted to the Emperor. Lost at sea.”

  His headache and the drowsiness caused by the sake vanished as he recalled the first time he had met Munesuke’s assistant, Gizoosha. The man had been wearing wrappings around his torso, likely from a wound. His thoughts jumped further backward as he recalled the human refuse who jumped before his Shinokage as he exacted punishment against one who dared step before princess Yorunokenshi Yumei’s palanquin.

  “What if they were one and the same?” Hanataro mused. “What if Munesuke’s assistant and that mongrel are the same person? That means he survived, but how?” He recalled Kuroinu’s last words to him, visualized the ninja’s foaming mouth as he said it wasn’t Gizoo, then added, “Returned.”

  Kuroinu had said, “Kajiya Sen… Returned.”

  The samurai froze. “No! It can’t be; it’s impossible!” Hanataro couldn’t believe the connection was there, yet he had no evidence to refute the veracity of his reasoning. The man, Gizoosha was neither a deaf, nor a mute, nor an imbecile. There had never been a Gizoosha, as Kuroinu reported. Munesuke’s assistant had always been his purportedly dead son, Kajiya Senshi. A returned one.

  “And the man who killed Kuroinu.”

  Cold emptiness spread through Hanataro, focusing his mind into a singular purpose: To bring the heretical Kajiya family before the daimyo so justice could be exacted. He stood up and left his room, encountering his bowing herald. “Call in a score of my men at arms, and two of the onmyooji under my command. Have them mounted in my manse’s courtyard.”

  “At once, Hanataro-bushi. What must I tell them when they inquire about the nature of your orders?”

  Hanataro took a deep breath. “We ride towards the Kajiya household, to exact justice against heretics and dissidents.” The herald left to follow Hanataro’s orders, leaving the samurai alone. Through this righteous deed, thought Hanataro, Lord Ishida will give me the recognition I am due, and Yumei-hime will realize my capacities as a warrior and a leader.

  The samurai unsheathed his ikiteiruken and held it at arm’s length. “Ready yourself, Shinokage, you are soon to taste blood!”

  Though the weapon’s cognition was limited, Hanataro could feel the stirring lust as the weapon, quite simply, replied: “Yes.”

  ***

  It had been generations since the Kajiya forge had entirely booked its production capabilities. Not even during his lifetime had Munesuke seen such an amount of orders pouring in, let alone their fulfillment in such a short amount of time. Though he still had his misgiving about Senshi’s methods, his son had demonstrated that there was a rhythm and reason behind them: As he had said, they were efficient, precise, and eschewing tradition had sped up the forging process beyond Munesuke’s dreams.

  The old man scoffed. And no one seems to mind we’re not asking the priests to bless every item we make, he reflected as he counted the mon in the sack beside him. The latest payment for one of the Kajiya weapons had been done in full, and though Munesuke found it strange to admit that the Kajiya household had found fortune, he sighed and smiled sadly as he glanced at Iruna’s gravestone. “If only we had those riches back then, eh Iruna?”

  He missed her and his daughters dearly. Munesuke had drowned his nostalgia in his work and his training of Senshi. When the latter was conscripted into the army, the only thing keeping grief away from Munesuke was constantly working at his forge, striving to slowly fulfill the few orders that came his way. Despite belonging to a renowned family of smiths, he was but one man, and he couldn’t do what a full team of artisans could achieve.

  But now we are three, he thought, closing his eyes to appreciate the din of the hammer in the courtyard. Senshi and Ryusei had taken over the production; the latter kept honing his skills in a manner Munesuke couldn’t help but respect, while the former oversaw the precise forging of weapons and implements, as well as the correct application of magic to speed up the process. Munesuke thought that retirement as a venerable elder would be boring beyond belief, but he was satisfied that it wasn’t so.

  His duties at the forge had been simplified to magical affairs. He had become an adept at using the tricks Senshi had taught him, and could easily reproduce them on busy days, but for the most part, Munesuke simply watched his son and apprentice working tirelessly. No, thought he, adoptive son. Ryusei had proven himself to be a worthy artisan, and who was Munesuke to deny him the recognition he deserved?

  Tradition would have disagreed, tradition would have branded him a heretic, an apostate even. But what had tradition brought him other than a dead family, a lost son, and years of grief and regret?

  Having finished counting the mon in the sack, Munesuke stood up slowly. He
turned away from the gravestones and started walking back towards the forge. He enjoyed the lighter task of working wood to create scabbards and grips, as it was less taxing for him.

  As Munesuke walked back to the courtyard, he was surprised to realize that for the first time in over a decade he felt whole. He felt happy.

  ***

  “Right, Ryusei,” Kain said, “Now remember. The full strength for the spell comes from the steel ingot, got it?”

  “Got it,” said the boy as he channeled through the metal and willed ironsands into a workable piece.

  Kain smiled with satisfaction and, he admitted to himself, pride. Each passing day, Ryusei’s abilities grew, and he became more independent at the forge, relying less and less on his or his father’s tutelage. A strange thought crossed his mind, Is this how my father felt when teaching Ryusei? When teaching me? He couldn’t know, but he realized that pride at an apprentice’s growth was one of the greatest boons an artisan could receive.

  As Kain watched Ryusei’s concentration, he reflected on the past fortnight. From the moment he had shown his methods to his father and to Ryusei, they had truly become family and, together, they had worked the forge tirelessly to satisfy a myriad orders. Together, they had created katanas, tantos, sais, yaris, naginatas, and masakaris; up to three weapons were forged a day, a speed no other blacksmith in Nagano could match. The unfinished weapons—those awaiting their guard and grip—were neatly arrayed on a rack beside the forge, waiting for Munesuke to build their missing components.

  “I got it!” exclaimed Ryusei.

  “So I can see, now let’s—” He was interrupted by a knock on the closed doors of the Kajiya household. The smiths had taken to closing the entrance in order to not reveal their methods to curious onlookers. Kain walked towards the doors, opened them slightly and exclaimed, “Ren!”

  “Hello Bushi-sama!” came Yuki’s voice.

  “And Yuki-chan too. Come in, come in!” He said, letting the two girls into the courtyard, and to Ren he said, “It’s been some time since we last met. Since you finished helping me furnish the forge, in fact.”

  “Indeed,” Ren replied sullenly. “Apologies, Kain, it’s been a few, er... difficult days.”

  “How so?” Kain inquired.

  “Well, it’s just,” she sighed. “Nagano, the town proper, is becoming desperate. Did you know more taxes were imposed on produce and food?”

  Kain blinked rapidly. “No, I did not. Since when? How much more?”

  She sighed again and said, “Figures you wouldn’t understand, since you never leave here.” Then softly she added, “I’m sorry Kain, I shouldn’t let out my frustration on you. Thing is, people are angry, against the daimyo, against his samurai, against his priests,” she chuckled sadly. “Seems religion and tradition are no longer the glue holding us together.”

  “No,” Kain agreed, “It’s not. And I assume no one is doing or saying anything?”

  “You’d assume correctly. People are angry, but they still fear retaliation.” She shook her head and said, “Ah well, that’s not why Yuki and I came. Truth is... er... the truth is rather embarrassing, Kain.”

  Softly, Kain said, “There’s nothing for you to feel embarrassed about, Ren. What can we help you with?”

  “OK then, here goes… I haven’t managed to gather enough mon to pay taxes, and things are getting rather... violent as of late. I know how to take care of myself, but I worry over Yuki.”

  “Why?”

  Ren scoffed. “Well, it’s either paying taxes, or feeding her.”

  Kain sighed. “I see. Why didn’t you come sooner if you needed aid?”

  “I told you, it’s embarrassing.”

  “Nonsense, Ren! My father is fond of you and Yuki-chan, and would gladly help you in any way we can. You need not worry about it.”

  “Thanks, Kain, I truly appreciate that.”

  “Come on, kiss already!” Ryusei yelled jokingly.

  “You go back to that damned forge, you hear me!” Kain yelled back.

  “Why won’t you, Bushi-sama?” Yuki asked.

  “I, uh, er...”

  “What, Kain, you ain’t gonna yell at her?” Ryusei pushed.

  “Keep talking back and I’ll make you smith traditionally! And with no gloves!” Ryusei lifted his hands in a yielding gesture and returned to the forge. Kain was surprised by Ren’s sincere, mirthful laughter. “What? What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing, it’s just unusual to find happy people in Nagano,” she smiled sadly. “It’s nice.”

  Kain returned the smile. “Well, you know you’re always welcome to—” Kain was interrupted by a loud banging coming from the doors. A loud, angry banging accompanied by the dull sound of armor being hammered against wood.

  “Kain, what’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Kain replied, “But I have a bad feeling about this. Take Yuki and run into the house, quickly!”

  Ren nodded and took Yuki’s hand. “Come on Yuki, let’s go inside for something to eat, shall we?” The girl nodded happily and let herself be led into the house. Ren lifted her gaze towards Kain, and he could see worry in her eyes.

  When they were away, Kain said, “Ryusei, open the door and remember: I am a deaf, a mute, and an imbecile.” Ryusei nodded and started making his way towards the large wooden doors of the Kajiya household. Kain felt a pit forming in his stomach as apprehension took him over. Something isn’t right, he thought, wishing he hadn’t left Naginata in his quarters.

  As Ryusei opened the doors, Kain discovered a score of armored men, and at their front he saw Hanataro. The samurai was dressed in full battle attire, his chest protected by a form-fitting cuirass, his shoulders clad in metal spaulders, and his extremities covered in steel. Why is he dressed so? Kain wondered, feeling his apprehension grow.

  Hanataro stepped into the courtyard, not bothering to so much as spare a glance at Ryusei. “I have come,” he said, “With the intent of enacting an arrest under my right as Lord Yorunokenshi Ishida-sama’s samurai. You are all to be taken alive. Cooperate and your sentence shall be lenient. Refuse, and I am authorized to use lethal force.” Kain said nothing as befit his guise as Gizoo. From the corner of his eye, however, he managed to see as a wicked grin exposed Hanataro’s teeth, making him look deranged. “Especially you, Kajiya Senshi.”

  Shit! Thought Kain feeling his muscles growing taut as panic took hold of him. His instincts told him to act immediately. To seize any advantage he could have and lunge himself at the most immediate source of danger, Hanataro himself. Reason stilled him, however, as he realized he was in the presence of a full detachment of armed and armored men, as well as two others dressed in flowing, ornate robes and wearing the rectangular hats of onmyooji. Worse, he thought, I would endanger father, Ryusei, Ren and Yuki. He remained silent, pretending to be deaf.

  Hanataro unsheathed his katana and took a step forward. “You no longer fool me, peasant!” He spat. “I know who you are, as it was revealed to me by one of my agents. A ninja you killed!”

  Does he mean the ronin? Kain wondered, realizing the terrible mistake he had committed. That’s why his body disappeared. He wasn’t truly dead! He tried to keep his breathing regular and his movements coordinated as he pretended to work at the forge, trying not to elicit any more suspicions from the samurai.

  He heard Hanataro growling before saying, “When I speak to you, scum, you respond!”

  “What is going on here, Hanataro-sama?” asked Munesuke’s voice as he returned from the pond and, for once, Kain felt glad over the interruption.

  “Munesuke,” said the samurai, omitting the formal term for the artisan. “I am here on account of the... heresy which has taken place in your household.”

  “Heresy, Hanataro-sama?”

  “Don’t play fool with me, old man. I know for a fact that the man you have named Gizoosha is neither such, nor your assistant, but your son returned from the west.”<
br />
  Flatly, Munesuke said, “My son died when the boat he was on capsized, Hanataro-sama. You may check the records held by the lord daimyo if you don’t believe my word.”

  “Oh, I have, old man, and I am fooled no longer;” he shrugged. “Not that it matters whether you admit it or not, Munesuke, for you, too, are under arrest.”

  “On a whim, Hanataro-sama?”

  “On account of the treacherous methods you have forged your weapons with, blacksmith!” the samurai yelled.

  “Hanataro-sama, I truly know not what you speak of.”

  Hanataro snarled, “Don’t play with me, filth! The day you turned in your weapon to Lord Yorunokenshi Ishida-sama, was the day I was tarnished by repudiation on account of having rightfully withheld payment from you. Yet the Lord daimyo placed unwarranted accolades upon you!”

  “I know not what you speak of, Hanataro-sama, but what I know is that I don’t appreciate you bringing a score of men to my household without a proper reason to. As such, I need to ask you to vacate the premises.”

  The samurai’s eyelid twitched spastically. “You are telling me to leave your household?”

  “I am respectfully beseeching you to do so.”

  The veins on Hanataro’s forehead pulsated as he dashed forward with blinding speed. In the blink of an eye, he ran his blade across the aged blacksmith’s throat, releasing a torrent of crimson. “You shall disrespect me no more, filth!”

  “FATHER!” Kain cried, disregarding his guise as Gizoo and kneeling beside the dying old man.

  ***

  “Father, I will heal you somehow!”

  No, Senshi, thought Munesuke as he felt drowsiness beginning to set in. I am a chipped sword. Broken beyond repair.

  “Father please, hang on, I only need Naginata and I’ll... I’ll use her to cure your wound!”

  Senshi, my voice is gone, he thought as he weakly lifted his hand towards his son’s cheek. I want you to know you are my greatest pride, son. You are a good, honorable man.