A Sword's Poem

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A Sword's Poem Page 29

by Leah Cutter


  I felt the familiar ache, that hollowness inside me, that longing to turn to a sister or a mother for advice. I had no one to ask, though, except the wind and the moon and the wilds.

  As I turned away, it occurred to me that I had finally done it. I had killed a man. He wouldn’t have died without my misdirection, or my pulling on his soul. It was my deeds that directly caused his death, not just indirectly. Just because it had been a gentle death didn’t mean it wasn’t a death.

  And that, too, was a burden for me to carry to the end of my days.

  Eleven

  As Much As

  Norihiko

  As much as Norihiko wanted to celebrate Masato’s death, he knew he had another responsibility first.

  Fuko, the sword, lay quivering on the ground beside its wielder, malicious and angry.

  Norihiko remembered being in that position, as Seiji, after Iwao had been killed. How he had raged against Masato and Hikaru. How he’d vowed vengeance.

  The men closest to Norihiko gave a ragged cheer when they saw him standing alone, victorious. The sun stayed hidden behind gray clouds that bunched across the sky, but the air still felt lighter, suddenly. Messengers who had been waiting nearby sprang up, eagerly running to Norihiko for instructions to carry to his generals.

  All the while, Fuko seethed.

  A guard formed around Norihiko, to discourage any of Masato’s men from deciding suddenly to be a hero and attack anyway. Only then did Norihiko approach Fuko.

  Masato lay on his side, his head already gathered up to be shown to his generals. His body stank, already putrefying, probably due to some foul spell that Junichi had placed on him.

  Norihiko ignored it, concentrating fully on Fuko. The sword had lost a lot of its strength and will with the death of its wielder. They were connected, forged together with blood.

  It still had enough of its own mind to make itself heavy when Norihiko tried to lift it, to bind itself to the earth.

  Norihiko would not insult Fuko by laughing, though its efforts were puny compared to his own. He did, however, prove to the sword that he knew more. He found the perfect balance point and lifted the sword from there, breaking its grip on the earth.

  “What am I to do with you?” Norihiko asked both the sword and those others inside of him, the ones who remembered being Seiji the most.

  The answer came quickly. There was no way to reforge the sword, or to free it. It was bound to, and powered by, its original wielder, not a separate soul. It had no purpose beyond the destruction of the kitsune, of Hikaru and her sisters. It would never accept a second wielder.

  The most merciful thing Norihiko could do would be to kill the sword immediately.

  Norihiko hesitated. Fuko was a thing of beauty. Junichi had learned crafting Seiji, learned more with Fuko. The blade was elegant and sleek, still clean despite having rested in the dirt. The edge was sharp enough to cut a silk sleeve while floating in the air. Golden snakeskin covered the haft. A diamond pattern of hair wrapped around it—Masato’s hair.

  It would be a shame to destroy such an incredible artifact. A few of the voices inside Norihiko wondered if they could work with Fuko, tame him, train him to work differently.

  But Fuko had aligned itself with a single purpose: to kill all the kitsune. To get it to give up that cause would leave it brittle, likely to break with its first blow.

  Norihiko took a risk and ran his fingers along the smooth side of the blade, tracing the channel in the back.

  Fuko shivered and complained, trying to twitch hard enough to at least nick Norihiko.

  Norihiko sighed. As shameful as it was to destroy such a beautiful sword, the real shame was in how it had been made, full of vengeance and hate.

  With great care, Norihiko stroked the blade again, seeking its weak spots.

  Fuko understood what Norihiko was doing, and tried to hide the places where the metal hadn’t flowed together evenly when it had been doubled and doubled again.

  There weren’t any soft spots on the blade. Just a few places where it wasn’t as strong. Norihiko chased those until he found the perfect spot to apply pressure.

  With a great cry, Norihiko raised Fuko over his head, then brought it down on his knee, snapping the blade in two.

  A loud cheer went up, startling Norihiko. Why would his men celebrate the destruction of such beauty? Then he realized it wasn’t the death of Fuko that caused them to rejoice, but the final destruction of Masato, the last symbol of Masato’s power.

  Only Norihiko would mourn Fuko. No one would understand why he regretted having to do it. Possibly not even Hikaru.

  Would he see the fox fairy again? He’d gone to battle to make the mountain safe for Kayoku, but he’d destroyed Fuko for Hikaru and her sisters.

  Hopefully, his efforts weren’t wasted.

  Ξ

  Norihiko couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Kayoku standing just inside the gateway of the estate, smiling and healthy.

  It was the day after the final battle, the sun finally clearing away all the clouds and promising a very warm afternoon. Clearing up the remains of Masato’s army had taken longer than Norihiko would have liked, particularly after runners came to tell him that Kayoku had been cured.

  Many of the animated creatures had dropped where they’d been standing, mysteriously dying in mid–fight. It wasn’t until Norihiko got to Masato’s camp and found the body of Junichi that he understood.

  But who had killed Junichi? He held the knife that had punctured his middle. Had some other sorcerer caused him to fall on his own blade? But who?

  It had been easy to divide Masato’s generals into who would live and who would be invited to end their own lives—by their own magical abilities. The pure humans were allowed to live, if they would pledge their allegiance to Norihiko and defend the mountain.

  The sorcerers, of which there were only two, passed on.

  Norihiko slid from his horse and went over to greet Kayoku.

  “Welcome home, my lord,” Kayoku said with a graceful bow.

  “Thank you,” Norihiko replied, just as formally. “Tell me, what happened?”

  “Hikaru returned,” Kayoku told him. “She cured me. If the battle had gone differently, she’d also offered to help people escape the mountain, get away from Masato.”

  “Is she here now?” Norihiko asked eagerly. Though she confused him, he still wanted to see her.

  “She isn’t. She went to find the army,” Kayoku said. “I’d thought she’d be with you.”

  “She isn’t,” Norihiko said, restraining his sadness. It was better that Hikaru rejoined her own people, left the humans to their own lives.

  He stubbornly put aside the strange ache in his heart at the thought of never seeing her again. What did it matter? He wasn’t her mate, now. And never would be again.

  The celebrations went on for the next two days. Everyone at the estate joined in. The cooks in the kitchen outdid themselves preparing delicacies such as wild pheasant cooked with its own eggs, grilled octopus, and kubotsuki. Norihiko wasn’t certain where all the pots of wine came from—he suspected some had been liberated from Masato’s army—but he didn’t begrudge anyone their reveling.

  Only Priestess Ayumi noticed that Norihiko sometimes looked off, not seeing anything in front of him.

  “She’ll return,” Priestess Ayumi assured Norihiko as he left the festivities early the second night, going back to his rooms.

  “Why should she?” Norihiko asked bluntly. “There’s nothing for her here.” He didn’t add no one, though he was certain the priestess heard his words anyway.

  “That isn’t the way of the heart,” the priestess assured him.

  “I don’t want her to return,” Norihiko said. Because while he did want to see her, she also still confused him so much.

  Priestess Ayumi fixed him with a hard stare. “She’s done more for you than she’ll ever tell you about,” she said. “You should at least give her a chance.”

 
“I didn’t ask her to,” Norihiko replied. He knew he was sounding petulant, but he didn’t know how to fully express what she did to him.

  “Would you have wanted to stay a sword for the rest of your days? Drown in the sea?” the priestess asked in return.

  Norihiko didn’t have an answer.

  He still didn’t know what to say the next evening, when he heard the sound of soft yipping at his window, and he knew that Hikaru had returned.

  Ξ

  Norihiko left the estate halls and went out back, to Lord Taiga’s garden, certain that Hikaru would track him there. The night was cooler than he’d expected, the wind blowing cold fingers along the back of his neck, raising the chicken flesh there.

  Or at least that was what he told himself.

  Norihiko carried a lamp with him, easily following the trail through the tumbled rocks, finding a patch of solid ground to sit on. The smell of rich earth rose up, along with traces of sweet pine. An owl hooted in the distance, and a clump of gnats quietly buzzed together just to his left.

  Hikaru appeared before him, as if she’d gathered her form out of the mist and darkness. She shone with her own light, her sweet perfume soothing him even as her smile caused his stomach to turn uneasily. She wore pale yellow robes that seemed as though they’d been spun out of sunlight. At her side hung a large, red canvas bag.

  Norihiko bowed his head to Hikaru, hoping to hide his anxiety. “Good evening,” he said formally.

  At least Hikaru smiled at him and didn’t laugh.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she said, her voice sounding like soft bells in the night. “Congratulations on your victory over Masato.”

  “Thank you,” Norihiko said. They sat in the quiet of the night for a moment until Norihiko couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “Why did you come to see me?” he asked, cringing. She was going to tease him about being too straightforward again, wasn’t she?

  But again, Hikaru just smiled. “I bring you a choice. I do not expect your answer now. I wouldn’t take it even if you gave it to me. You need to think and decide in the fullness of being.”

  Norihiko nodded gravely. He couldn’t imagine what she was about to propose. “I will be patient,” he promised, though he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t be. He would decide immediately, as he always did.

  Hikaru pulled a large wooden box out of the bag and placed it between them. Though it was made out of wood, Norihiko had the impression that if he placed his hand on the thorn bush carved on the top of it, it would feel cold.

  “I fought the sorcerer Junichi on the morning of the great battle,” Hikaru told Norihiko. “I caused him to slip, for his knife to injure him, then I helped his soul escape.” She cleared her throat and looked beyond Norihiko, out into the night. “I killed him.”

  Norihiko nodded, finding that he was neither shocked or surprised.

  “My kind don’t kill,” Hikaru finally added, looking back at Norihiko, her eyes seeming to plead with him to understand.

  “Not ever?” Norihiko asked, puzzled.

  Hikaru sighed. “Sometimes. At great extremity.”

  “Junichi wasn’t a good man,” Norihiko told Hikaru gently. “Killing him wasn’t a bad thing.”

  “When we were first married, there was a fortune teller who warned me how our marriage would change things,” Hikaru declared.

  Norihiko didn’t remember, of course, but he believed Hikaru. “More than a few things have changed,” he said wryly.

  Hikaru looked down at her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  Was she crying? He hadn’t meant to make her cry.

  When Hikaru looked up, she did have tears in her eyes, bright dew points on her cheeks, but she was also laughing.

  “You’re right. A few things have changed.” Then she grew sober again. “As I said, I have brought you a choice. This box contains Junichi’s soul.”

  Norihiko couldn’t help the hiss he gave or how he started back.

  “It’s safe,” Hikaru assured him. “At least, for now.” She took a deep breath. “His soul is very powerful. And it was freely given. Well, mostly freely. It can be used to power great magic.”

  “What magic would you use it for?” Norihiko asked, his heart leaping up. Was she about to propose becoming human for him? Could she be his mate again?

  “I can use it to transform you back into a fox fairy,” Hikaru said instead.

  Norihiko almost told her that he would never do that, but then he remembered her request to think about it. “Why would I do that?” he asked. “I enjoy being human.” He liked the duties of the estate, the way the generals, and now the farmers, would ask him for help. He was looking forward to spending the rest of his days here, on the mountain, learning her moods and needs.

  “I was human for a while,” Hikaru admitted.

  “You were?” Norihiko asked. When had that happened? Was this what Priestess Ayumi had hinted about?

  “While it has its charm, I won’t ever give up my magic again,” Hikaru said seriously. She looked hard at Norihiko. “Not for you. Not for anybody.”

  This gave Norihiko pause. Had she given up her magic for him? Someday, he’d like to hear the full story.

  “I see,” Norihiko said. “What will you do with it if I refuse?”

  “Go talk with Priestess Ayumi. See if there’s something she needs,” Hikaru said.

  That made sense. It might actually be wiser for Hikaru to just go and talk with the priestess now.

  If he became a fox fairy, what would he do? Would he remember his former life? His friends and family? He was building a life here. Did he really want to start over again, from scratch?

  “I will consider your proposal, as you asked,” Norihiko said when Hikaru didn’t add anything more. Though he already knew his reply.

  Hikaru seemed to know it as well. Norihiko couldn’t point to exactly what the change was in her, but her internal light seemed to dim. She put the box carefully back into the bag and rose. “You know, if you become a fox fairy again, you’ll be practically immortal.”

  Norihiko nodded. He hadn’t considered that, but knew that he should.

  “You’d be much better able to take care of the mountain if you lived forever,” Hikaru said before she bowed one last time and disappeared into the night.

  Norihiko stayed where he was sitting, considering her words. More than one lifetime protecting the mountain. It was a dream he’d never even realized he had.

  Suddenly, his answer was no longer clear.

  He couldn’t help but grin.

  Hikaru continued to confuse him. And probably always would.

  Ξ

  Norihiko didn’t bother to go and consult with Priestess Ayumi. He knew what she would already say, that he should go and be with his former mate.

  Instead, he went to see Kayoku. She looked well, still, as if she’d never been sick. She met with him in the formal greeting hall. All the old poems about the Kitayama family and the mountain had been returned. Sweet pine incense burned on the altar in the corner, dedicated to the kami of the Mori shrine.

  Kayoku wore a pale pink robe, the color of cherry blossoms, with bright green bamboo leaves embroidered on it. She’d been wearing her hair down, ever since her illness. Norihiko thought it suited her.

  After greeting him and serving him tea, Kayoku finally asked, “How may I be of assistance?”

  “Hikaru…” Norihiko started, then paused.

  “Hikaru?” Kayoku prompted. Though she only gave him a soft smile, her eyes laughed at him.

  Was he destined to go through the rest of his life with women laughing at him? Was that a human thing? Or a man thing?

  “Hikaru gave me a tough choice,” Norihiko said. “She has offered to make me a fox fairy again.” He didn’t want to give the details of the magic—those felt too intimate. Particularly that it would involve using Junichi’s soul.

  “That’s fantastic!” Kayoku exclaimed. Then she paused. “You don’t want to take i
t?”

  Norihiko sighed. “I’ve been human for such a short time,” he admitted. “I’m just settling in. I don’t know what it will be like to change forms again.” To lose all the knowledge he’d gained about being human.

  “Change is hard,” Kayoku said. “But you know that whatever form you take, you’ll be welcome here.”

  Norihiko felt tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying release. “Thank you,” he said. He had known that, but it was also good to have it spoken aloud.

  “So what will you do?” Kayoku asked after the stillness had grown into a long silence.

  “I don’t know,” Norihiko lied.

  He knew. He just didn’t know how to tell Kayoku and the others that he’d be leaving soon.

  Ξ

  Hikaru had Norihiko lie down on a tatami mat in his front rooms. Priestess Ayumi had blessed the space earlier, weaving together incense and prayers, leaving sweet smelling sachets of herbs in the corners. Now, candles and lamps burned along every wall, making the room daylight bright.

  Norihiko was determined not to shudder or shake as he lay, vulnerable, in nothing but lounging robes in the middle of the room. Hikaru wouldn’t hurt him, not knowingly.

  And while he enjoyed being human, if he was honest, there was something missing, and not just his sword form. An ache that only came up in the dark of the night, when the winds blew playfully, stirring the trees and his soul.

  Kayoku had agreed to help with the spell, Hikaru assuring her again and again that there was no possible way harm would come to her this time. But she needed a second set of hands with the weaving—she couldn’t do it alone.

  Hikaru had gathered many, many bright strips of cloth, some cast off from old robes, others from uncut bolts of cloth. None was wider than a fist across, while some were just a finger’s width. All were long, at least the height of a tall man.

  Kayoku started placing them one by one across Norihiko’s body, from right to left, then left to right, laying the warps of their weaving.

  Then Hikaru came through, laying the weft, weaving her strips in between Kayoku’s, softly humming and singing.

 

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