by Leah Cutter
What terrible things had gone wrong?
When I finally opened my eyes, there stood my love. My Norihiko. I gasped. It had been so long since I’d seen his beautiful face.
He almost looked as I remembered him, with soft brown eyes, a wide, intelligent brow, and sensual lips. His jaw, though, had hardened, and his cheekbones were much more prominent. He looked more stern than I remembered. Also more broad—his shoulders seemed twice as wide, and his torso had many more muscles than I remembered from our short time together.
I heard a noise from behind me. I turned. Without thinking about it, I raised the bone in my hand, like an ax.
The bone transformed again, flowing smoothly. It didn’t become what I wanted, because I hadn’t wished for a new form for it.
Maybe it became what it thought was needed, though, as it changed into a scythe, long, black, and deadly.
Kayoku stood on this side of the door, not outside, in the hallway, where it was safe.
I lowered my weapon. But it had a mind of its own. It pushed itself forward as it went down to my side, slicing along Kayoku’s side. She screamed and dropped instantly to the ground in a faint, her side bleeding.
I cried out loud, dropping the foul thing I held. I could hear its whispers, licking at the blood, longing for more.
This wasn’t me. This wasn’t my magic.
But it was.
Somehow, while Masato had my powers, he’d corrupted them. No wonder I’d felt so strong! I should have realized it when the night had called so loudly to me: Before, it had always been the sunlight and trees that sang to me.
Before I could go to Kayoku, Norihiko rushed past me. He gathered the wife in his arms, disregarding his own nakedness. He crooned over her, then glared at me.
If his eyes could have spat poison at me, they would have. His stare was so hateful, it was like a physical blow.
“Who are you? What have you done to her?” Norihiko asked, distraught.
If I had the power to cause the earth to swallow me whole at that moment, I would have.
Norihiko—my one true love—didn’t remember me.
Ξ
Priestess Ayumi came to Kayoku’s rooms to care for her and her wounds. The first wife still hadn’t regained consciousness. The wound hadn’t been deep, so I didn’t understand why she wasn’t waking up.
It didn’t occur to me until much, much later that the wound might be magical.
My own selfishness also caused my distraction. Norihiko was free from the sword. I’d broken the curse. Transformed him back into flesh.
But I hadn’t undone the reforging.
Being made into a sword had changed Norihiko forever. He was no longer my soft love.
He was also no longer a kitsune. He was human, as I had been. I knew it wasn’t the curse so many of my kind would call it.
It still wasn’t right.
How could I help him regain his fox fairy powers? When would he remember me?
Then there were my own fox fairy powers. They were corrupt, tainted with the stench of the graveyard. How could I cleanse them?
However, the worst part of this whole conundrum was the doubt I felt. I should have been happy that Norihiko was back. I told myself that it didn’t matter that he didn’t remember me. I’d done the right thing. I’d broken the curse. I’d freed my love. He lived again.
But the cost had been so high.
Was it all worth it?
The Reforging
A Sword’s Poem
Volume III
One
Floating in Dreams
Kayoku
Floating in dreams, Kayoku didn’t want to wake up. In her dreams, her husband Iwao was still alive. Sometimes his father, the great Lord Taiko, was still alive as well. The estate wasn’t under siege from the warlord Masato. The summer was still full and warm, and the weather wasn’t turning to fall, full of cold rains and bare trees.
And Hikaru hadn’t betrayed her. The inhumanly beautiful second wife hadn’t disturbed the order of the household.
Thoughts of Hikaru finally dragged Kayoku out of her dreams. How dare she? Just because she believed Iwao had killed her own mate didn’t justify her actions. Not killing Iwao, not causing such disturbance in the estate. And certainly not injuring Kayoku.
Pain spread from Kayoku’s side, sending tendrils of fire along her ribs, across her front, and reaching toward her spine. The wound inflicted by Hikaru sucked all the life from her, all her will—a great black hole that would take her life.
Kayoku woke, gasping for breath. The blackness from the wound on her side was drowning her. Was the day dim, or was it still night?
“Shhh,” said an unfamiliar voice.
A cool cloth was draped over Kayoku’s eyes, soothing her with the scent of fresh rosemary. She tried to take a deep breath and ended up coughing, her lungs full.
The pain was overwhelming. A strong arm helped her sit up while still holding the cloth over her weeping eyes. After a few deep breaths, Kayoku finally felt her lungs open and clear.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she was lowered back to her sleeping mats.
The cloth over her eyes was lifted up. She heard it being dipped in water, then wrung out and place over her eyes again.
When Kayoku reached for the hand doing the work, she gasped again.
This wasn’t Priestess Ayumi. The wrist she felt was too broad. Wide.
Masculine.
“Who are you?” Kayoku asked, struggling to move away and open her eyes. It couldn’t have been her father, and she had no brothers. It wouldn’t have been proper for any other male on the estate to be this close to her, to see her in this state.
Had Masato made good his promise to take over the estate? And do away with all the priests and priestesses of the Mori temple?
“Shh, shhh,” the strange man said.
Kayoku didn’t recognize the man kneeling beside her. He had a wide, intelligent brow, an upturned nose, and a strong chin. He wore one of her husband’s outer robes—one she’d liked, actually, brown with the symbol of Shirayama mountain embroidered in gold down the front.
“I am…” the young man hesitated. “My name is Norihiko. I am Seiji, the sword, made flesh. Made human.”
Norihiko held up his hand at her incredulous look. “Hikaru was successful in her spell. You remember that, right?”
Kayoku wanted to deny his assertion automatically. But the dreams…the vision of Hikaru wielding a great, black scythe, like a farmer in a field, cutting down everything before her.
Slowly, Kayoku nodded. She’d been standing guard, outside of Hikaru’s rooms, while the fox fairy performed the ceremony to break the soul of her mate free of the sword Seiji.
But Hikaru had cried out—a terrible, frightened scream. Kayoku had had to go see what was the matter.
“I remember,” Kayoku said slowly. “The spell went wrong though.” Wasn’t Norihiko supposed to be a fox fairy? Not a human?
Norihiko made a sour face. “That’s what she claims. That I’m not human. But a kitsune. However, she did free me. Broke our—my—soul free of the sword.”
“Our?” Kayoku questions. Just because this man had once been a sword didn’t make him an ally. If anything, it made him an enemy. The great Lord Taiga hadn’t been able to lift Seiji. Only Iwao had.
And Iwao was dead. The generals claimed because of this sword.
Norihiko grimaced as if he were in pain. “When our Maker, Junichi, reforged us into a sword, he beat us. Thinned us. Then folded us over. Again and again. Splintering us. Making us many, not one.” He shivered. “Hikaru brought us out of the sword, but we still remember being a sword. Being many. I have the main voice, but sometimes, sometimes there are many.”
Kayoku had never heard of such a thing. Then again, before she’d met Hikaru, she’d never really believed in magic.
Luck, she believed in, of course. Both good and bad luck.
Her luck, for most of her life, had been bad.
“So what will you do now?” Kayoku asked. Norihiko was Hikaru’s mate. They would probably leave, now. Leave the estate unattended. Leave the humans to their fate while the two fox fairies went on to their magical lives.
“I am here to defend you. Protect the mountain,” Norihiko said fervently.
“But Hikaru—”
“I don’t remember her!” Norihiko said, obviously frustrated. “She killed my true wielder. Iwao. I made myself heavy so she couldn’t lift me. I hated her. But she freed me. Made me so much more.”
“She was your mate,” Kayoku said gently. “She sacrificed much to get you back.”
“I know!” Norihiko said. “But I don’t remember.”
Kayoku nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. And she was. Hikaru had taken her place with the warlord Masato. Endured what would have killed Kayoku.
“It doesn’t matter,” Norihiko said. “She injured you. Endangered the estate. The soul of the mountain.”
Kayoku contained her shiver, though his words were spoken with such finality. “You don’t have to stay,” she said.
“I do,” Norihiko replied. “When Junichi reforged us, he, we, dedicated ourselves to the mountain. This is our home. We must defend it. Protect it. Masato would desecrate it. Burn the temples down and cover them with the ashes of the graveyard. Soak the ground with blood that will never wash clean.”
Kayoku believed him. Masato was corrupt. It wasn’t just his Buddhism that drove him.
“Then what will you do?” Kayoku asked again.
“I will stay. And fight,” Norihiko announced with finality.
And die, Kayoku didn’t add out loud.
She still heard the words echoing loudly through the room.
Ξ
Priestess Ayumi came back in the room after Norihiko left. She brought sweet candles to help burn off the smell of Kayoku’s illness, as well as scented sachets to place around the room. None of the windows faced outside, of course, but Kayoku wished that she could smell the pines of the forest.
The priestess was in her usual brown robes again, her hair tightly pulled back. Her face had paled—she hadn’t been spending very much time in the sun. Plus, dark lines marred the skin under her eyes.
“How are you, mistress?” Priestess Ayumi asked as she helped Kayoku sit up to sip the broth she’d brought. Kayoku’s own robes were the inner type, made from the softest cotton, a pale pink, supposed to cheer her up, she supposed.
“I’m fine,” Kayoku lied. The pain in her side took her breath away when she moved.
“You’re not,” the priestess replied. “You’ve been poisoned. And it may be beyond my prayers to heal you.”
“Poisoned?” Kayoku asked, shocked. “But it was just a knife wound—”
Priestess Ayumi nodded. “A knife that was dipped in the foulest dirt and ash imaginable. I’ve never seen a wound like it before.”
Kayoku nodded. The black scythe that Hikaru had wielded hadn’t been normal, or natural. It had been magic.
If only the second wife hadn’t come into their lives!
With a sigh, Kayoku put aside such wishes. Dreams like that had never been useful. Or practical.
There still had to be something Kayoku could do to help heal herself. “Should we clean the wound again?” she asked.
“We can try,” Priestess Ayumi said. “I’ve been hesitant, though. Even when you were unconscious, even touching the edges of the wound caused you great pain.”
“I can bear it,” Kayoku said through gritted teeth. She’d gone through childbirth. It couldn’t be much worse than that, could it?
Ξ
The pain was much, much worse than anything Kayoku had ever experienced. It didn’t just touch her body, though it took away her breath as even the slightest touch by Priestess Ayumi cut into her side. It also wrapped her soul in misery, as if gray clouds and dark nights poured into her very being, denying any sunshine or light—as if she’d never see another spring day, or enjoy another blooming cherry tree.
Kayoku cried out when Priestess Ayumi touched her side again, despite her attempts to stay quiet. She didn’t want to disturb the household.
“It’s much worse, my lady,” Priestess Ayumi said quietly. “It’s spreading.”
Kayoku remembered her dreams of blackness spreading out from her side. When she looked down, she saw her nightmares made real: a web of black spidery veins extended from the gaping wound along her side. They followed along the lines of her ribs, growing like poisoned ivy. She couldn’t see them trailing across her back, but she had no doubt they were there.
“The wound doesn’t bleed much, which is fortunate,” Priestess Ayumi said. She held up the cloth in her hand mutely.
Kayoku nodded, then bit her lips together, hard, to prevent herself from crying out again as the Priestess wiped at the blood trickling down her skin.
The stench from her wound didn’t surprise Kayoku. She knew it was foul and infected. It reminded her of the stories she’d heard from the generals, about the bloated, non–dead men they’d fought in Masato’s army.
Without warning, Kayoku’s stomach heaved. Fortunately, the priestess was prepared and had a bowl ready for her.
“You need to keep something down,” Priestess Ayumi said after Kayoku finished. “You’ve barely been able to keep down water.”
Kayoku blinked, puzzled, a thought pushing itself past her illness and pain. “How long…how long have I been unconscious?” she managed to ask.
“Three days,” Priestess Ayumi replied. “You won’t last another three.”
Kayoku nodded. “I see.” She’d been planning on taking her own life, rather than be part of Masato’s household.
Now, she wouldn’t have to rely on the yama no gekkeiju to go walk in the lands of the eternal cherry blossoms.
Kayoku would have laughed at the irony of it. That she’d finally found a will to be back in the world, only to have the possibility taken away from her.
Then the priestess pressed hard against her wound. Kayoku gasped and shuddered again, surrendering as darkness overtook her, and she floated in dreams again.
Ξ
When Kayoku woke the next time, Norihiko was there again. He appeared to be meditating, his eyes unfocused, looking out into the distance, not seeing the room, the plain wooden walls, the simple altar in the corner dedicated to the kami of the mountain, the carved, wooden cabinet that contained her robes, the finely lacquered boxes that held her jewelry and hair pins.
He had such a strong profile. As if it was made from stone. He sat inhumanly still. He might no longer be a sword, and maybe he wasn’t a fox fairy, but he was more than just a man. He wore another of Iwao’s robes. It wasn’t stretched out across the shoulders, but Kayoku was still aware that Norihiko filled Iwao’s robes nicely.
“You’re awake,” Norihiko said, his voice gravelly, as if he hadn’t spoken in some time. He still didn’t move or look toward her, just sat incredibly motionless.
“I am,” Kayoku said. She found she could take a deeper breath than the last time she’d woken.
She didn’t believe for a moment that she was better. Rather that the wound had seeped deeper, was no longer crawling across her skin but had gone into her bones. She’d start creaking, soon, when she walked.
“I would like to protect you,” Norihiko said without warning.
“Really?” Kayoku asked. Though he’d said that before, she hadn’t believed him.
Norihiko nodded. “You. The estate. The mountain. But how?”
Kayoku gave a bitter laugh. “Defeat Masato. And all those who come after him.”
“I will try,” Norihiko said. “He considers the estate his. But the gates are locked to him. He hasn’t been seen, though his army is still gathered in the next valley.”
“He’ll attack again. He already believes this property is his own, that he’s won,” Kayoku warned. And legally, perhaps, he was correct. Iwao had lost.
“I’ll fight him. Defeat
him,” Norihiko said.
“How?” Kayoku asked. “His armies outnumber ours. His men aren’t human. He has magic and luck on his side.”
“But I have the strength of the mountain,” Norihiko declared.
“Talk with Hikaru,” Kayoku advised. “See if you can get her to help.”
Norihiko shook his head. “Never. She’s an evil influence. She needs to go.”
Kayoku hesitated. On the one hand, she’d wished Hikaru gone so many times, away from the estate, off the mountain and out of their lives.
On the other hand, Hikaru did have magic. And Kayoku was starting to believe that only magic could fight magic.
“You should still talk with her,” Kayoku said gently.
Norihiko finally turned his head to look at her. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“I am,” Kayoku lied. She tried to sit up on her own, but accepted Norihiko’s help.
She did feel better, sitting. The pain wasn’t as devastating. Weariness attacked her, though, hollowing her out more than grief.
“I’ll go fetch the priestess,” Norihiko said, grimacing.
“What’s the matter?” Kayoku said, ever the peacemaker.
“It was difficult to convince her that I needed to see you alone,” Norihiko admitted. “I lied to her. Said I was a cousin. Your uncle’s son.”
Kayoku had to admit that was an elegant solution. It would explain Norihiko’s attachment to her, as well as allow him to see her without another woman present. “We’ll stick with that story,” Kayoku said.
Norihiko started to rise, then turned back to her, caught her hand. “You must get well,” he said fervently. “You must help me defend the mountain.”
Kayoku surprised herself. She was able to give him a cheery laugh. “Of course I will,” she told him, though she didn’t believe it herself. “I won’t leave you alone.”
“Thank you,” Norihiko said. “You’re my only connection to him.”
After Norihiko left, Kayoku pondered his attachment to her, to Iwao, to the mountain. It was deeper than the springtime vows spoken before the Emperor, more serious and heartfelt. With roots as deep as the mountain itself.