“Father? FATHER, DON’T CLOSE YOUR EYES!”
You are a true warrior-smith, Senshi. You bring honor to your name.
“FATHER, NO!”
Iruna, Karin, Ari, I’m coming to you.
Munesuke managed to smile weakly before blackness embraced him.
***
“You bastard,” Kain said through gritted teeth.
“And so, the ruse is revealed!” Gloated Hanataro.
“You bastard!” Kain grunted, struggling to contain the seething anger rising within himself.
“Secure the house, arrest this man and that boy! They are to be brought in for interrogation!”
“YOU BASTARD!” Kain screamed as he took one of the unfinished weapons from the rack beside the forge: A sword shaped in the Nipponese style but as large as a Zweihänder—a nodachi.
The bare tang bit into Kain’s hands, but he didn’t care. Quickly, he removed the kotodama from the steel, turning the unfinished greatsword into a vessel blade and forcing his will into it. At his behest, the metal became nearly unbreakable, the edge tremendously keen, and the blade itself nearly weightless. Kain cared little over the horrible strain he was placing on the metal; it mattered little if the weapon was lost, as long as Ryokawa Hanataro was slain.
Kain surged forward, brandishing the nodashi and slashing at Hanataro, but the samurai leapt beyond Kain’s range despite the weight of his armor. Through a manic grin he commanded, “Seize him, I want him alive!”
“Take me if you can,” Kain retorted calmly as armored men stepped towards him. He swung his nodachi at the closest enemy—a man confident in his katana’s ability to parry the attack. He was taken aback as Kain’s weapon sliced cleanly through his steel before rending his armor and flesh as if they were but mere paper. Kain grimaced, his hands burning due to the bare tang, but he paid no mind to the pain.
More of Hanataro’s men stepped within Kain’s range, and propelled by rage, Kain slashed wildly, tearing through metal, flesh, and bone. The more he struck at the attackers, the greater the pain in his hands grew, and the more damaged his nodachi became. I must be quick, I don’t have much time!
All of a sudden, he felt an excruciating surge of pain coming from his palms as his perception was enhanced tremendously; he screamed in agony, refusing to let go of his weapon. Through the tears in his eyes he saw the two onmyooji holding a glowing ideogram before them:
苦しみ
Kurushimi, Kain interpreted. Pain. And the enchantment worked: It amplified Kain’s perception of pain, making it unbearable. But Hanataro is a scarce few meters ahead, I shall not fail!
He forced himself to step forward despite the inferno raging in his hands. He carved a path of death as he felled two more of Hanataro’s men, and watched with grim satisfaction as the line starting to recede. I’m close to Hanataro, only a few more steps, and I will end his miserable life!
“Let go of me!” cried Ren’s voice from the household. Kain’s concentration faltered as he turned to look at Ren being dragged out of the house.
The pain in Kain’s hands became too much to bear, and he could no longer hold onto the nearly dissolved nodachi. For the first time in his life, Kain felt ashamed that he hadn’t managed to kill a man. Worse, Hanataro laughed under his breath.
“Pathetic,” the samurai said. “Despite your impure magic, you succumbed before the might of propriety. I had thought of keeping you alive, Kajiya Senshi, but I find few reasons to do so now.”
Kain lifted his gaze and scoffed. “Do it, Hanataro—the brave warrior, the brave samurai who can only stand against the weak and the downtrodden!”
He watched in satisfaction as Hanataro’s expression distorted in anger. “Silence, human filth!”
“You can’t silence truth, Hanataro. Your men see it, your daimyo sees it, and you see it! I can tell by your expression that you know I speak true: You have only stood against my father, an old man way past his prime, and against a girl in Nagano. But besides that, you are no true warrior. The moment you saw me, I could see the fear in your eyes, coward!”
A mirthless grin creased Hanataro’s facial expression. “On that,” he said, lifting his katana, “You are mistaken!”
Kain watched as Hanataro readied his strike. He would stare at death in its face, and welcome it gladly. For I am a warrior.
***
Hanataro enjoyed the moment as he calculated the trajectory Shinokage would need to follow to behead the man. Kajiya Senshi and Munesuke had given him nothing but endless grievance, but it ends now! He thought as he readied himself to execute the heretic.
The samurai swung his sword violently, aiming for the man’s neck, eager to see the geyser of blood erupting from his neck.
“No!” Cried a child who jumped in front of Hanataro’s attack.
Shinokage barely stopped before cutting the child’s head in half. It was, Hanataro realized, the same girl who had been playing in front of princess Yumei-hime’s palanquin. But this time, and up close, staring at her brought a dreadful, painful realization to Hanataro. She has my eyes, he realized, feeling the weight of the implication heavy upon him. This was the offspring of the woman he had righteously taken.
This was his daughter.
His hands shook as he held Shinokage. The more he stared at the girl, the more evident it became that she had, indeed, been sired by him. This cannot be, he thought, feeling deeply ashamed at the atrocity he had nearly committed for the second time. He snarled and sheathed his weapon.
“Seize them,” he ordered. “I want them alive and brought to the Lord daimyo’s prison of interrogation.”
One of his men at arms stepped forward and asked, “All of them, Hanataro-sama?”
“All of them,” he growled before adding. “And raze this place to the ground. Every stone, every wooden plank must be erased from existence! Its heresy must be expunged from our lands!”
“As you command, Hanataro-sama,” said the man at arms. “But...”
“But?” Asked Hanataro dangerously.
“But, er... the boy, the other one, he escaped. He ran into the house before we could get to him, and must have used a hidden passage to elude us. Shall we give chase?”
“No,” said Hanataro, “Leave him. As for you,” he said to Kain, “I would have given you a clean death, but your fate shall be worse than that. Tell me,” he added with a grin, “How would you like being a slave?” He saw his captive’s eyes growing wide in panic, and laughed in satisfaction at the kneeling man’s distress. “Let us go, and burn this place to the ground.
I want no memory of the Kajiya family to remain.”
***
I have failed, Kain thought as he saw the tongues of flame licking his ancestral household. Father, I have failed you, he admitted as he saw the forge covered in sand and broken. Ren, Yuki, I have failed you two, he conceded as he saw the two women being tied as wild hogs. Ryusei, I failed you too, he added to his litany as he realized the boy was nowhere to be seen.
And I have failed myself, he thought, feeling defeated and powerless to prevent his destiny. He had led Hanataro to his father’s household, causing his death. ‘T is true what they say about returned ones, they bring nothing but calamity.
As he was tied to the back of Hanataro’s horse and forced to walk forward, Kain couldn’t help but reel in shame as he digested the distress he had caused to the most important people in his life: His family. I became a warrior to protect what mattered most to me, but in the end, father was right. He gritted his teeth, steeling himself for a dreadful admission:
I am no warrior.
Chapter XV: Wrath and Sorrow
“What defines a warrior? Is it the strength with which he strikes at his enemies? The agility behind the swing of his sword? The years of training he has had? All of them possible answers, and each as valid as the previous, but I would offer you something different. Were you to ask me, I would tell you that a true warrior is d
efined not by his strength or his skill, but by his willingness to go to any lengths to protect what matters to him.”
-Osafune Yamamoto, in “Thirty Years in a Warrior’s Mind.”
The lash sent hot pain through his back as it ruptured his skin, and though he forced himself not to scream, he couldn’t help but let out a pained whimper. “FASTER, DOG!” The slavemaster ordered as he readied another strike.
He worked as quickly as he could—famine, sleep deprivation, and the horrid pain searing his skin made him slower, but those were no excuses to the Albionese overseers. They wanted their weapons finished, one way or the other, and if a few slaves dropped dead due to exhaustion, well, they were easy enough to replace.
The whip struck again, and he was unable to contain his pain. His scream was barely audible as it escaped his raw, parched throat. Though he tried to speed up his movements to prevent any more abuse, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. It could never be enough.
“I will return, scum, and when I do, I want to see that fucking blade finished!” The slavemaster yelled, landing an unnecessary kick on his ribs. The pain he felt distracted him momentarily from the burning on his back. A welcome, if ephemeral relief.
“Hey, child,” the slave beside him said. He turned to watch him through tear-filled eyes, and saw his skin was the color of bronze, and his angular, emaciated features may have once been considered handsome. The slave smiled kindly and said, “You have guts. I’ve never seen anyone keep working as intently after tasting that asshole’s whip. What’s your name?”
He swallowed what little saliva was left in his mouth, trying and failing to moisten his throat. “Kajiya Senshi,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse rasp.
“Ka-jee-ya?” The slave scoffed. “Apologies, child, I can’t pronounce your name. Hmm, I know, may I call you Kain?” Seeing no other choice, he nodded. “Well met, Kain. I am Arjun Lohaar, once a master smith in my land, now,” He shrugged, “A slave just as you are. Where are you from? Goguryeo? Zhongguo?” Arjun smiled kindly and added, “I’m from Bharat myself.”
“Sir,” he rasped, “I am pleased to meet you, but I must work to avoid the lash.”
“Ah, yes, yes, work. But child, you can work harder, or you can work smarter,” his smile widened into a grin and he said, “Say, would you like to learn a magic trick?” His face drained of blood. Magic was forbidden in Nippon, unless one was an onmyooji. But if it meant avoiding the lash... He nodded intently, and Arjun said, “Wise child. Come, let me teach you how to make it so metal never cools down.”
“HEY, YOU TWO! What are you doing?” The moment he saw the overseer walking his way, he knew another strike would come. He saw the whip lifting and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to come.
***
Kain drew in breath as the dream ended, taking in the damp, grimy stench of his cell. Every fiber in his body ached after the violent beating he had received. The physical pain was endurable though; he had gone through worse when he was a slave, and bruises and welts were barely comparable to having fingernails removed or lashes on the back. What pained Kain the most weren’t the wounds on his body, but the wounds in his soul.
My father is dead, he thought for perhaps the hundredth time since he had regained consciousness. He had lost track of time long before. He was uncertain whether he had been in that cell for one day or for one week, but every time he became aware of his situation, and remembered the circumstances which had placed him there, he wished to return to the embrace of oblivion.
My father is dead, he thought again, adding another, just as awful admission: And they took Ren and Yuki. They, at least, were alive, or so he thought. As a prisoner, he had heard no word of either the woman or the girl, and the guards assigned to beat and feed him would tell him nothing, other than the imprecations demanded by their duty.
There were few options left to Kain as he lay down in the moist, cold, and uncomfortable cell of the daimyo’s castle. All he could do was wait. Wait until he was brought before the ruler of Nagano to have his fate decided for him. Kain chuckled mirthlessly, In the end, I am a slave to destiny.
He rolled over his side and waited to be taken by blackness again.
My father is dead.
***
Yorunokenshi Ishida took another sip of sake as he read through the day’s reports. Over the past few days, his peacekeepers had brought in the same reports: Civil unrest, discontent, and increased taxes imposed by his twin brother, Ichiro. The shogun was choking the population of Nagano, but the dislike and general hatred fell on him. What the hell does the dimwit gain by levying more taxes anyways? The daimyo wondered as he had another sip from the sake.
“You know that’s no good when you’re working, father.”
Ishida sighed. “I know, Yumei, dear. But my dear twin’s dispositions are infuriating at the best of times,” he took another small sip. “And asinine at their worst. I fail to understand what exactly he is planning, but whatever it is, he’s earning me an inordinate amount of resentment from our populace.”
Yumei asked, “Do you fear rebellion, father?” Ishida said nothing, unwilling to release his woes unto his daughter. She noticed his silence, however, and added, “Father, you need to do something to help the people. Our people,” she finished intently.
Ishida sighed. “Would that I could, my dear, but Ichiro outranks me, and his word is law. If he wants me to exact more taxes to trade and production, I can’t simply refuse him. Doing so would brand me a traitor and would give him the right to execute me,” he scoffed. “An opportunity which I doubt he wouldn’t relish.”
“If he tries, you can defeat him in a duel with that sword of his,” Yumei said nonchalantly, eliciting a peal of laughter from her father.
“It’s not that easy. He’s been appointed by the Emperor himself; if that were to happen, I’d still be tried for having slain his shogun. If I were to openly challenge him for the title, that could work but,” he shrugged, “Nagano lacks the men and weapons for such an endeavor.” He smiled weakly, trying to conceal his apprehension at the precarious situation instigated by his sibling. “Don’t worry yourself about it, Yumei. I’m sure the shogun has his people’s best interests at heart.”
Yumei scoffed and rolled her eyes derisively. “If you say so, father.” Her expression was vexed for a moment, then it lit up and she said, “Oh father! You may like to know this. Remember the blacksmith who made your sword?”
Ishida’s eyebrows climbed to his forehead. “Oh yes, Kajiya Munesuke. I recommended his work to some of my associates. Have you news about him?”
“Indeed I do. It seems his forge saw a tremendous influx of orders and, of course, quite a boost in his income.”
The daimyo smiled, glad at having received a piece of good news. “A good thing, my daughter, after the execrable treatment he received at Ryokawa Hanataro’s hands.”
“’T is as you said, father. The best way to make reparations was by sending business his way.”
Ishida nodded and said, “Indeed. Which reminds me, have you given a thought to Hanataro’s advances?”
Yumei sighed, and calmly said, “Father, I would rather become a shrine maiden than his wife.”
“And I would be inclined to agree with you.”
“I insist father, I won’t… Wait, you agree with me?” Her father nodded, and she asked, “Why?”
“Because,” Ishida replied, “There are many aspects of Hanataro’s conduct that I don’t quite condone, chief of which is his marked contempt for those he deems to be below himself. He is a man of tradition, and too uptight for his own good, but you my dear,” he smiled, “Are anything but traditional.”
His daughter chuckled and asked, “Is that a compliment, or an insult, father?”
“A compliment in the greatest sense of the word. I’d be dishonest if I didn’t admit that your help at reviewing documents, edicts, and mandates hasn’t been a godssent, and believe me my dear, v
ery few women have the ingenuity you possess.”
“Perhaps they do,” Yumei said, “But perhaps they’re not as lucky as I am in having a father who actually appreciates it.”
Ishida smiled. His daughter was, indeed, anything but traditional; she was the future of Nippon, a woman who cared more about practicality and kindness than stiff tradition.
The moment was interrupted as a loud knock echoed in the daimyo’s studio. He sighed and said, “Come in.”
The doors slid open and the daimyo’s herald made a proclamation: “Lord Yorunokenshi Ishida, Ryokawa Hanataro-bushi requests an audience with you and Yumei-hime.”
Ishida and his daughter shared a glance. The man saw his daughter’s annoyed expression, but said, “We shall meet him in the audience hall.” The herald bowed and turned on his heel to leave. “Well daughter, time to see your prospective husband.”
“Father please, could you not? Even in jest, my stomach protests at the idea of being his wife!”
“I know, thus why your reaction is so entertaining.” Yumei made a rude gesture towards her father, and Ishida laughed. “Show that to him, it may dissuade him from his intentions! But enough jesting, we must meet Hanataro.” Ishida stood up and walked towards the display holding the weapon created by Kajiya Munesuke. He took it and slid it through his sash.
Yumei noticed the movement and said, “Have you learned anything else from your sword, father?”
“Many things, Yumei. She is a true living weapon; in truth we learn from each other constantly, as individuals—equals, even. Zwaihan is more like a friend than a weapon.”
“Fascinating. But I still wonder why can’t I hear its... her voice?”
“Because I’m the one who’s bound to it. I don’t fully understand how the bond operates, but only I can hear her voice. Hmm.”
Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1) Page 20
