A Sword's Poem

by Leah Cutter

  The solid weight of my new amulet spread through my body, solidifying my bones. My love had been captured in steel. I would become just as hard and would fall upon those who had harmed him with a great, swirling anger.

  At the same time, I still worried about Mother. This vision was much worse than any she’d ever shared. It had soaked into her blood, blinded and overwhelmed her, unlike any other.

  I shuddered to think what it must have been like for Norihiko.

  Finally, Etsu spoke. “You will not go to court alone.”

  How had Etsu known what Mother had told me? Had she shared in some of the vision? Or did she already know, given her words from the night before?

  “But Mother will need—” I started to say.

  “One of her sisters will take care of her,” Etsu said firmly.

  I nearly snorted. Mother’s sisters were often just as hysterical over the least little thing.

  Etsu continued. “You need your sisters with you.”

  I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell Etsu to stay here, look after the household, nurse Mother back to health. Her servants needed someone to take them to task.

  However, I’d always had a greedy soul. I wanted my sisters with me. I did at least manage to ask, “Are you certain?”

  At that, Etsu laughed, a mean, bitter sound that shot frozen arrows down my spine, filling me with dread.

  “Surely you don’t think just breaking the sword is going to free him? It isn’t going to be that easy.”

  Etsu took my hand in her ice–cold one. “We will stay with you as long as we can.”

  I shuddered at her repeated words, clutching her hand and willing my warmth into her, willing our flesh to stay as one.

  I knew better than to ask what Etsu had seen. She wouldn’t tell me, being more tight–lipped about these things than Mother.

  However, I now feared my mother’s warning of sundering even more.

  There was nothing more to say after that. We spent the rest of the afternoon in silence, drifting in our thoughts like motes in a sunbeam.

  Five

  Through the Lattice

  Kayoku

  Through the lattice set up at the back of the seishikina hall, Kayoku could watch the ceremony of succession. Of course, women weren’t allowed at such important ceremonies. However, Lord Taiga had ordered delicately–carved wooden lattice screens to be set up all around the edges of the hall, with enough space behind them that a quiet soul could sit and watch.

  The ceremony was very beautiful. Melodious hymns, chanted by the priests of the Mori temple, filled the room and blessed the space at the beginning. Two dozen courtiers filled the hall, row upon row, like colorful flowers. Pungent incense crept through the lattice to include those hidden there. The men of the Kitayama clan filed in like an endless line of soldiers, each brave and dedicated to the mountain.

  Kayoku couldn’t help but compare her husband, Iwao, with the others, in particular, his older brothers.

  She had to admit that Iwao wasn’t the most graceful of men.

  Instead of bending like spring bamboo during the ritual dance performed by all the men of the Kitayama clan, Iwao plodded along, peering from time to time at the cheat sheet he’d attached to the back of his flat wooden baton.

  Iwao’s outer robe was just as fine as all the others, made from dark auburn silk with the family crest of a stylized mountain, sewn with delicate golden stitches, covering the back. Yet it stretched across his shoulders in a way that made it seem ill–fitting.

  Like the others, Iwao kept his face serious and as emotionless as possible.

  However, his eyes burned with a fierceness that Kayoku had never seen before.

  Kayoku tried to pay attention to every detail. This was, after all, the most important ceremony of her life. With Iwao’s ascension came her own. She’d always been a lesser, minor wife. Now, she’d be one of the most important, with as much power as Chieko, the wife of Iwao's eldest brother, as Lord Taiga had outlived all his wives.

  Questions plagued Kayoku. Everyone knew that Lord Taiga was concerned about the warlord Masato and his attacks. It had only been a series of skirmishes so far, with each side testing the strength of the other. No formal declaration of war had been made.

  Akimoto no Tayo, the other primary lord of the mountain, had supposedly already negotiated with Masato, surrendering his lands and transferring his allegiance.

  Was that why Lord Taiga had suddenly announced Iwao as his heir? Did he need a more traditional approach to battle?

  Though Kayoku respected her husband, she also knew he wasn’t the most creative of men. His performance at the ceremony was true to form. He followed litanies well, and memorized words flowed smoothly from him. If he’d had to make up his own response, he wouldn’t have done as well.

  Did Lord Taiga’s decision have something to do with the sword, Seiji? Lord Taiga had disappeared from the compound for a night and a day. When he’d returned, he’d been dragging what some of the generals had described as the most elegant weapon they’d ever beheld.

  Kayoku dismissed the rumors that the sword was magical, that none appeared to be able to lift it. Men would always blame magic, curses, or their own bad luck rather than acknowledge their true lack of ability.

  She was curious, though, and looked forward to being able to view the sword herself. Maybe she’d write a letter that evening, asking permission to visit Iwao in his rooms, to celebrate his success with him. If he was in a good mood, he might even show her the blade of the sword.

  And if he was in a very good mood, maybe they could try getting Kayoku pregnant again. Little Kenta had just not been meant for this earth. He hadn’t even survived to his name day.

  Kayoku focused her attention back on the ceremony, concentrating on the reactions of the others as Lord Taiga passed everything he owned, all the land and temples he was responsible for, to his youngest son.

  Lord Taiga’s generals were all in shock. So were Iwao’s brothers.

  None of them understood why Lord Taiga had chosen to turn everything over to Iwao.

  Was it a trick, a way of forcing Iwao to fail, so that he’d be disgraced? Surely Iwao wasn’t so important that Lord Taiga needed to resort to such an elaborate ruse.

  Or was it Kayoku’s bad luck finally turned good?

  Ξ

  After the ceremony of succession, Kayoku gathered with all of the wives to have wine and gossip. Of course, they all pretended they hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen each other through the lattice screens.

  They met in Chieko’s rooms, as she was the oldest woman of importance on the estate. The windows had all been opened to let in the beautiful spring breezes. Festive strips of red, gold, and green paper, delicately folded together in a zigzag pattern like the gohei, hung from the corners. A ceremonial pine—only as high Kayoku’s waist and meticulously trimmed—had been brought in from the gardens, blessing the air with its sweet scent.

  “Please, sit,” Chieko directed Kayoku, indicating the seat of honor at the head of the room. Chieko’s robes were dyed the most delicate shade of green, like tea leaves just budding. Kayoku felt like a dark storm next to her, her own robes dyed musty brown.

  “Oh, no, that is your seat,” Kayoku insisted.

  Officially, now that the succession ceremony was complete, Kayoku was the head woman of the Kitayama clan estate. However, she was also one of the youngest women there. She’d lived on the estate for less than two years. She wasn’t about to overstep herself. She needed to maintain the allies she had, while pursuing new ones.

  “Please, I insist,” Kayoku said, giving Chieko a generous smile while declining to sit at the head of the room. It was good that she’d always gotten along with Chieko. It wasn’t difficult to give her the seat of honor.

  Though the estate wasn’t that large, and their “court” was only a fraction of the size of the Emperor’s, the relationships were complex, and alliances were always shifting. For the sake of her husband and their
combined line, Kayoku knew she must gather and keep the support of as many of these women as she could.

  “I heard that Iwao did well,” Chieko said after all the women had settled into their places and the servants had poured the wine.

  “Oh, did you hear that?” Kayoku replied politely. She suppressed the smile she felt rising inside of her. She was so full of pride she was afraid it would start to drip from her. Her husband really had done well, as far as she could tell.

  Emiko, Iwao’s youngest sister, laughed and clapped her hands. “I heard that he spoke every word without tripping once!”

  “I’m so very happy for him if that’s true,” Kayoku replied, pleased with this. Iwao’s tongue hadn’t stumbled over a single response in the litany. And though she loved and respected her husband, she was too well aware that words had never been his friends.

  The other wives joined in praising Iwao. Kayoku listened greedily to their words and would have blushed if that had been her nature. She politely turned the conversation away from the ceremony as soon as she could, asking instead about the shower of stars that had fallen toward the mountain, debating if it was a good omen or a bad one, as well as marveling over the beauty of it.

  When Emiko thoughtlessly added, “I was sure the stars were part of the latest battle,” the whole room grew quiet.

  “You’re wrong, child, the skirmishes haven’t come that close,” Chieko finally responded, her tone chiding.

  Kayoku was glad she hadn’t had to deliver such a reprimand. She still was aware that in the near future, it would be her place.

  “But what if they do?” Emiko asked, the words all rushing out. “What if they attack the Mori shrine? What if they remove the shintai? The kami will no longer visit! The mountain will have lost her soul!”

  “Child, child,” Chieko said, shaking her head. “You must believe in your brother, your father and his sons, and all their generals. They will protect us and defend the mountain. All you can do is your duty. And pray.”

  Emiko was obviously frustrated with such a response. Kayoku sympathized. She’d also felt a need for more action.

  Though none of the other women looked directly at her, Kayoku felt their intense curiosity. How would she handle such a breach of conduct? Propriety demanded that they never talk about the war, or who had lost sons, or why it was so difficult to get the newest silks or the freshest fish.

  In the growing silence, Kayoku finally spoke. “Emiko, why don’t we take Priestess Ayumi with us the next time we go to clean the Mori temple? That way, the water will not only be pure, but blessed. It will be something useful we can do together, and it will help protect the shrine, ensure that those not worthy can’t enter.”

  Emiko gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Kayoku. That is a good and practical suggestion. I think we should all think of such things, do what we can.”

  Kayoku felt the alliances shifting around her. Who would heed such a suggestion? Who would accuse her of overstepping her bounds? She’d been the victim of such fluid connections before, accused of bad luck and shunned, regardless of her position.

  When Kayoku’s father had remarried, the new wife hadn’t liked Kayoku. She’d gone so far as to accuse Kayoku of interfering with the household, though Kayoku had been running it for years, since the death of her own mother. At the same time, Kayoku hadn’t cared for the extravagant way her new stepmother had spent money.

  Kayoku had been pledged as Iwao’s wife when she’d been born. With the arrival of her new step–mother, there was no question about Kayoku leaving her childhood home when she got married.

  However, her stepmother’s accusations of bad luck had followed Kayoku. She’d gotten pregnant almost immediately, however, Little Kenta hadn’t lived beyond his first year.

  It was too early for Kayoku to know if the other wives considered her new position lucky or not. Not just them, though. While Kayoku hoped that her new position would be lucky, it was far too early to tell.

  Kayoku always tried to work hard instead, to do her duty, to be faithful to what she believed in, and to let her actions speak for themselves. That way, she didn’t have to believe in just luck when something good came her way.

  She certainly didn’t believe in magic.

  Ξ

  Two days later, Kayoku received a written summons from Chieko, asking her to come visit later that morning.

  Kayoku had been expecting such a note. It was only proper for Chieko to start handing off running the Kitayama estate to Kayoku. Not everything, not all at once. But maybe a smaller piece, like overseeing the kitchens, cooks, and supplies. Kayoku was determined to do a good job. To be perfect in every detail. So that none would find fault with her.

  Kayoku instructed her servants to bring her semi–formal robes. They weren’t as good as what she’d worn to the succession ceremony, however, they weren’t her everyday robes either. She couldn’t decide on an appropriate color, though. The brown, while it looked stately, appeared so dowdy next to Chieko. She didn’t have anything that was white or green, the traditional colors of spring. Instead, she went with a reddish peach, reminding herself that running the estate didn’t require that she dress as fancifully as an advisor to the Emperor.

  When Chieko’s servants directed Kayoku to the formal sitting rooms instead of Chieko’s personal greeting hall, Kayoku was doubly glad she’d taken more time with her robe and makeup that morning.

  But why the formal rooms? Was Chieko going to have scribes there to record their conversations? Was there some sort of contract that needed to be signed between the pair of them?

  Chieko looked lovely, of course, sitting in the far corner of the formal hall, wearing the most beautiful sky–blue robes, her hair held back with enameled hairpins. She was all alone, no scribes knelt beside her. Her servants stood several tatami lengths away. She almost looked like a blue cloud, so small against the dark walls, sitting in the corner opposite the door.

  New banners had been hung on the plain wooden walls of the hall, possibly that morning, filled with elegant calligraphy and poems about the summer sure to follow the current spring. Fresh pine boughs had been tacked to the wooden beams running the length of the ceiling. Delicate paperwhite flowers stood in an elegant bronze vase in the center of the room, blessing the space with their sweet perfume.

  No tea service was laid out between the pillows where Chieko sat and where Kayoku was expected to kneel. No writing desk, either.

  What did Chieko intend to say? Kayoku found her back stiffening and becoming rigid. She held herself taut.

  Surely Chieko didn’t believe in Kayoku’s bad luck? She couldn’t ask Kayoku to leave the estate, could she?

  “Good morning,” Chieko said, not bothering to rise. “Please, join me in this brief respite.”

  Puzzled, Kayoku sank down as gracefully as she could onto the bright pink and yellow pillows opposite Chieko. At least she was able to kneel without putting one of her hands out to catch herself like an old woman.

  After the last of the servants had withdrawn from the room and they were all alone, Chieko turned her gaze directly at Kayoku. “Lord Taiga is very ill,” she stated plainly.

  Kayoku didn’t know that her spine could stiffen any further, but it did. “Oko!” she exclaimed.

  “Shhh,” Chieko warned. “Only a few people know.”

  Meeting in the formal room, particularly in this corner, suddenly made more sense. No other rooms adjoined this corner—the windows looked directly out onto the gardens at the back of the estate. No one would be able to “accidentally” overhear them.

  “What is it?” Kayoku asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “No one knows. It’s a wasting disease, though. Unnatural.” Chieko continued to stare at Kayoku. “No one knows how to cure him.”

  Kayoku tried not to squirm under the direct gaze. It was very unlike Chieko to be so rude.

  “Some have questioned the convenience of this illness. Particularly since he’d just declared Iwao his he
ir,” Chieko added.

  “Iwao?” Kayoku asked, incredulous. She couldn’t help herself. She giggled. “Surely, no one is accusing him—”

  “They aren’t, not really,” Chieko said with a slight smile. “Your husband is very honorable. It would be beneath him to stoop to such a thing.”

  “Thank you,” Kayoku said. “You are very kind to say such a thing.” Even though it was completely true. It would never even occur to Iwao to do such a thing.

  Plus, Iwao wasn’t that creative. Kayoku couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to find a disease to give to an old man that no one had been able to recognize. Her husband had many faults. Being overly imaginative was not one of them.

  “Others have said that you are the one with ambition, however,” Chieko said.

  Kayoku blinked, surprised. “Really? Why would anyone accuse me? I’d never do anything to hurt Lord Taiga.” Though the words were said automatically, Kayoku found them to be true. She didn’t know Lord Taiga well—she’d always been a minor wife, and had never interacted with him much. However, he’d still always treated her kindly.

  “I know,” Chieko said. “But I have to be able to tell them that I saw your face when I asked. That you were surprised by his illness, and shocked at being accused.”

  “I see,” Kayoku said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  And she did understand. Her husband was not the only one who had difficulty lying. It still stung that anyone would think her capable of such an act.

  “Now,” Chieko said briskly. “I am sorry to do this to you. But I will have to place much of the burden of running the estate on your capable shoulders while I attend Lord Taiga.” She gave a wistful smile. “I’d been looking forward to working with you, gradually bringing you in. It would have given us an excuse to chat, often.”

  “I will do my best, so that my work only reflects the best of you,” Kayoku said fervently. This was all she’d ever wanted—a chance to prove herself. To be of use to the household and to the estate.

  To be someone of consequence, not because of rank or birth, but because of duty and honor.