And I have no intention of losing you again.”
Chapter V: Lies and Secrecy
“Have I come into contact with one of the westerner’s so-called ‘vessel blades?’ Yes, I have, and the experience was nothing short of harrowing. Unlike our blessed living-swords, the malignant western weapons are diminished, empty, lacking any form or shape of kotodama. It is removed from them, cruelly extricated to make it ready to be raped by its wielders who inject their will into the metal, further degrading it.
I felt nothing but pity and disgust as I ordered it reduced to slag.
-Priest Wakanabe Kenzoo, in “Of Emptiness and Deceit: A Glimpse into the Distasteful and Harrowing Reality of the Barbarous Swordsmithing Procedures as Seen Through the Eyes of the Hallowed Emperor’s Saishi.”
Kain walked slowly beside his father. Even if he didn’t share the whole spectrum of the older man’s beliefs, he still felt a filial respect towards the man who had given him life. The slow pace imposed by Munesuke gave him time to reflect on his current situation, and what his following moves would be.
The first priority was to fulfill Hanataro’s request. He will have his sword, there’s no doubt about that, thought Kain. His major concern wasn’t forging the katana, but figuring a way of surrendering to the weapon. The previous evening he had told his father he would give unto the kotodama, but he hadn’t said what he would be giving. There must be another way of awakening the... thing, inside the blade.
He recalled the harrowing experience of having his essence pulled into the metal, feeling himself growing weaker as a part of him was stolen. Is this what blacksmiths feel whenever they create an ikiteiruken? He paused as another question reached his mind: Is this what I do to the metal whenever I build a vessel blade?
Kain had never taken the time to stop and think on the process to turn a common sword into a vessel blade. The emptiness he instilled upon the metal in order to prime it to accept its wielder’s will was meaningless to him. He knew he was drawing away from the metal’s essence, but he had never wondered at the ethics of doing so. Was he, essentially, killing a being? He wondered whether the same could be said of every object one used or discarded, and shuddered at the thought. If every single thing is alive, then we live in a world of constant horror and pain.
He banished the line of though by recalling the short moment of homeostasis he achieved when trying to not have his essence sucked into the blade. Kain chuckled, it was quite a struggle, indeed. But it was there – a moment where I was giving as much as I was taking away from the metal, and it was balanced. He tried to remember what he had felt at that moment and surprised himself by his realization: I felt complete.
Kain had used vessel blades before, and in a way it always felt like forcing his will into the metal before manifesting it into the world, and though he had never wielded an ikiteiruken he had heard enough stories (mostly from his father) that the living swords formed a bond with their users, somehow augmenting their physical capabilities.
His brow furrowed. Vessel blades allow the user to exert their will – to channel through them to become quicker, faster, tougher but at a cost. The metal becomes degraded with every use as it can’t withstand a warrior’s will, making the weapons disposable. On the other hand, living swords form a bond with the warrior, but they are capricious, possessing a true will of their own. I wonder if something between them can be created. A weapon balancing the art of giving and taking.
“You seem preoccupied, Gizoo. What swirls within your thoughts?”
“Well, I was just thinking that… OUCH, DAMN IT!”
“Then think but do not speak. You are a deaf and a mute, remember?”
“Yes fa—” He stopped himself before the stick landed on his rear again, limiting himself to a simple nod.
“Good. The moment we enter the town proper you are absolutely forbidden from speaking. I shall introduce you as my aide, which is not far from the truth. I will conduct the transactions, take the mon from you, and pay. You,” he chuckled, “You can carry the sacks of iron sand and pine coal.”
Why yes, father, thank you for ruining my back through using me as a pack mule! Kain thought as he nodded.
“See, Gizoo? Isn’t it lovely when we understand each other perfectly?”
It took the entirety of Kain’s willpower not to make a rude gesture aimed towards his father.
***
Nagano had grown as a township, but some areas of the town remained virtually unchanged. Through his time as a slave, then as an itinerant blacksmith, Kain had seen the marketplaces of cities such as Inverness and Aberdeen, Cairo, Baghdad and even Thanjavur. They all had something in common: They were all large, well-stocked, and impressive in their own way. The total opposite of the market in Nagano.
The marketplace, if it could be called such, was a ramshackle collection of crudely erected stalls and shabby-looking edifices haphazardly strewn about without any semblance of rhythm or reason other than “first come first serve.” There was no sectionalism to the type of wares sold among the stalls. A peddler selling foodstuffs could be sat next to one selling, of all things, manure, and a purveyor of smithing implements had his stall beside an old woman selling clothes.
To make matters worse, the flooring was even filthier than the entrance to Nagano had been. The sludge underfoot wasn’t comprised only of animal droppings, but of blood and viscera spilled from the animals slaughtered on-site, as well as malodorous ichor seeping from the rotting fruits and vegetables on some stalls. The stench was offensive to Kain’s nostrils, and he couldn’t help but choke.
Munesuke laughed under his breath. “What is it, Gizoo, have you grown in stature to be above the aromas of civilization?”
Civilization doesn’t reek of shit and rot, father. Kain shook his head.
“Then cease your sputtering, and follow me closely,” he said furtively, “The streets in the market aren’t safe for one not accustomed to them.”
You mean we’re at risk of being robbed? He nodded, and followed after his father. The old man led them towards the northern corner of the market where Kain saw large mountains of dark gray and near-black material. Iron sand, thought Kain as his father walked towards the bored-looking clerk.
“Greetings, Itachi-san,” said his father, “How is business today?”
Itachi shrugged. “As it ever is. Smiths are my only paying customers, unless they have a commission writ, in which case I’m screwed. So,” he grunted, climbing to his feet. “What is it, Munesuke-san? Am I returning home with a piece of paper with Ishida-sama’s seal, or with food for my family?”
So, thought Kain, people dislike the daimyo? Most Nipponese were too caught up in tradition to even dare think ill of their rulers, but merchants, Kain had learned, would always speak out—even if lightly—against anyone curbing their earnings.
“I have no writ, Itachi-san. What I do have is a request for fifteen sacks of masa ironsand, and twice as many of pine charcoal, please.”
Forty-five sacks! Father are you daft? That’s over four hundred and fifty kilograms? Kain shook his head vigorously, hoping his father understood his distress.
“Ah, yes, Itachi-san, I’d also like to rent a wheelbarrow for my... apprentice to cart it back to my home.”
“Apprentice, huh?” Itachi asked. “Is he an imbecile, or is there a reason he doesn’t speak?”
“Oh he is most certainly an imbecile, but that’s now what impairs his speech. He’s a deaf and a mute.”
“And an imbecile.”
Munesuke chuckled. “And an imbecile, indeed.”
“Well, Munesuke-san, jests aside I’m afraid I must ask you, without a writ, how do you intend to pay for these materials?”
The smith smiled and snapped his fingers; Kain rolled his eyes and produced the pouch carrying his coin. Munesuke took it, showed its contents to Itachi and said, “Would upfront be alright?”
The salesman’s eyes grew wide the moment
he saw the money. “I’ll be damned, Munesuke! Have you finally decided to sell your supple body at a whorehouse?”
Munesuke laughed loudly. A sound Kain had never heard before. “Not yet if I can help it! No, my friend, I’ve merely came upon some er... valuable business opportunities, aided by young Gizoo here.”
“Gizoo? Your apprentice’s name is forgery?”
“A cruel jest by the gods, yes. Now Itachi, will you sell me the materials or not?”
Itachi smiled and said, “Right on, Munesuke-san!” He took his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly, prompting the two even more boring-looking kids laying on the mountains of iron sand to spring to their feet. “Come on you lazy curs! There’s an order to serve!”
“Yes, Itachi-sama!” The children replied in unison, quickly filling the barrow rented by Munesuke by loading it with jute sacks. Kain watched the proceedings, noticing one of the children curiously glancing at the pouch his father held.
When the wheelbarrow was filled, Munesuke paid for the materials and instructed, “Go ahead, Gizoo, you can lift the wheelbarrow now.”
As you command, my master, he thought snidely as he lifted the wheelbarrow. Though his arms protested slightly, he admitted that using the barrow was preferable to carrying the sacks on his back.
The wooden wheel struggled to roll over the mucky paths of the market. Not surprising, thought Kain, this thing is even older than my father. As Kain rolled over a large rock covered by filth, the barrow’s axle cracked. “Shit!” he muttered under his breath as the sacks’ contents spilled on the ground.
“Gizoo, you unrepentant idiot, what the hell have you done? Gods damn it thousandfold, now Itachi’s going to charge me for his damn cart, unless...” Munesuke sighed. “You stay here and guard the materials. Let no one close to them! I’ll find a woodworker to purchase a new axle.”
Kain rolled his eyes and produced a mock salute, eliciting a rude gesture from his father. Well would you look at that, there’s no respect! He thought sardonically as he set himself upon the sacks. He glanced at the sky and silently uttered his thanks. The day was overcast, protecting him from the worst of the sun and, best of all, not ripening the already overwhelming stench of the market.
He watched the people in the market as they went from stall to stall, perusing the various wares on sale and, more often than not, leaving without purchasing anything. Most people had no mon at all to spend, and those who did tended to purchase the lowest quality items, for they were all they could afford.
Kain sighed, how is that fair in the eyes of the gods? Thousands of their children are starving, while but a fistful enjoys a life of plenty and luxuries, growing fat on what their so-called lessers produce. Kain scoffed, he had always found the marked division between rich and poor to be an abomination as contrasting as day and night, and though he’d love seeing it abolished, he knew his desire to be but a wish. Nipponese society was too deeply engrossed by their ancestral teachings and tradition, to the point where even thinking badly of the Emperor was punishable by death.
Kain sighed. That line of thought depressed him. He had found the same situation everywhere he had visited, and he had found every society—western or eastern, didn’t matter—to be mostly the same. Where rulers exploited their vassals, a strict religion reigned, and going through it was punishable by death or, at the very least, excommunication. Rebellion was always quelled before it started, especially when people found the thought of rebelling against the gods’ will to be abominable.
“Bushi-sama!”
The cry interrupted Kain’s musings and made his blood curdle. Surely he had imagined the shrill cry of a child?
“Bushi-sama!”
Oh, no.
“Bushi-sama, over here!”
Oh, shit! Kain turned away in an effort to avoid the attention of the girl hastily making her way towards him. Her bare legs sank almost knee-deep into the muck, but she seemed not to notice or care as she quickly ran towards him. Damn it, please girl, go away, get lost!
The girl planted herself firmly in front of Kain, eagerly yelling, “Bushi-sama! Don’t you remember me?” Kain shook his head vigorously, trying to project obliviousness, but the girl’s childishly inquisitive nature got the best of his attempts. “Don’t joke, bushi-sama! You saved me yesterday from that... what did you call him? Fu-fuck – fucking...”
Kain pointed at his mouth and shook his head once more.
“You can’t talk, bushi-sama?”
Kain nodded quickly.
The girl smiled. “That’s not true! You talked yesterday just fine, I heard you myself, right after you—”
“Yuki-chan, there you are!” came a woman’s voice. “Yuki-chan, I’ve told you not to bother your elders! I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to…” She lifted her gaze and recognition dawned on her. “You!” she exclaimed.
Unbelievable! Thought Kain as he took his eyes to the woman, ready to shake his head; he was taken aback by the woman’s appearance. It was the first time he had properly laid eyes on her, and despite the grime stuck to her face and her matted hair, Kain had to admit to himself: She was beautiful.
The woman smiled coyly. “Listen, I er... I understand if you don’t wish to speak to me, the way I treated you yesterday I...” she paused, swallowed, and dropped her forehead to the muck. “Please forgive me, bushi-sama. You saved my little sister, and I repaid you by calling you a heretic.”
Kain looked worriedly around him and saw that the woman’s display was drawing attention. “Please stand up, people are staring at us!”
“So you can speak after all!” Yuki declared triumphantly.
“Yuki-chan!” the woman admonished before saying, “Sir, please forgive me, yesterday I was scared, numb with fear and—”
“It’s fine. I helped your daughter gladly.”
The woman smiled. “She’s not my daughter. Yuki calls me mother in public, for I’m the closest she has to one, but in truth she’s my sister.”
Kain blinked. “Your sister? I see, and her mother...” the woman’s expression darkened, and Kain understood. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Please, don’t concern yourself with it. Such is our lot in the eyes of the gods.”
Kain scoffed, “Just as it is your lot to be killed by samurai?”
The woman averted her gaze. “My... sir, that’s no... that’s no way to speak of... venerable...”
“Lady,” Kain said, “Is what Hanataro tried to do yesterday venerable in any form? He nearly killed Yuki-chan, and she’s but a child!”
The woman swallowed loudly. “She stepped into the path of... Yorunokenshi-hime and...”
“And what?”
The woman’s abasement faltered, her face shortly displaying her dismay and disdain for the samurai. “I nearly lost her,” she sobbed. “But I didn’t, thanks to you,” she lifted her gaze to Kain’s sand said, “And I don’t even know your name.”
“Kain,” he blurted out quickly before thinking, damn it, you idiot! Well, the damage’s done. “Kain Smith.”
“Kein Sumitto?” she asked phonetically. “That’s an unusual name,” she paused, thinking, “An outlander’s name.”
“Well,” said Kain, “It is my name. And yours?”
The woman looked down, and Kain saw a slight reddening on her cheeks. “Ayaka Ren,” she said gingerly.
“Well Ren, there’s no need to thank me for saving Yuki. It was the right thing to do.”
“Not many think the way you do, Kain.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “More should. A person’s worth is measured in the way he treats his lessers.” He paused, quickly adding, “Not to say you are my lesser, I don’t mean that! I meant that... I meant that Hanataro, he, and the princess, they both...”
Ren laughed. “Be at ease, I understand, and...” she paused.
“And?” Kain prompted.
“Though I find it difficult, I... I agree with the way you called Han
ataro-sama.”
“Bushi-sama, I remembered what you called him: Fucking stuck-up prick!”
“Yuki-chan!” Ren exclaimed, and Kain laughed heartily. Shortly, Ren joined in the laughter and said, “Well, he did call Hanataro that!”
“I did, and well deserved!”
“Maybe,” said Ren, “but don’t let anyone hear you calling him that, unless you want him to pounce on you.”
“Well, I don’t mean to, I—”
“GIZOO!”
“Oh, shit,” Kain said as he saw his father heading his way. “Ren, Yuki,” he said earnestly, “If you feel any gratitude towards me, there’s something I would ask of you.”
“Gizoo?” Ren asked, “Really, is that your true name?”
“I... No, damn it! Listen Ren, there’s a long story behind my name which I can’t tell you, not now. Please, for you and Yuki’s sake, forget this encounter, and to anyone who asks, I am Hangyaku Gizoosha, a deaf, a mute and depending on who you ask, an imbecile.” The woman was taken aback by Kain’s request, but he took her hands, gazed into her eyes and pleadingly said, “Please.”
Ren sighed and said, “Very well, treacherous forgery, should anyone ask for you, you are a deaf, a mute, and,” she chuckled, “An imbecile. But I am intrigued to know Kain Smith more, if at all possible?”
Kain blinked rapidly and smiled, “Something may be arranged, but in the meantime…” He let go of his hands, pointed at his mouth and shook his finger. Yuki and Ren repeated the gesture, the latter winking knowingly as she did so.
“Ach, damn it Gizoo, I wonder what does one have to do to find a damn axle around here.” His father stopped as he saw the woman. “Ayaka Ren?” He asked, “Is that you? And Yuki-chan too!”
“Munesuke-san!” Ren exclaimed, bowing deeply in respect, a gesture mimicked by Yuki. “It’s so great to see you in the market, ojiisan! How have you been lately?”
Munesuke sighed. “I have been, Ren-chan. Things are rather... difficult, as you can see. The wheelbarrow broke its axle and I went and had it...” he saw her earnest expression, then gazed at Kain and asked, “Have you met my assitant, Gizoo? He’s quite a piece of work, let me tell you!”
Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1) Page 6