Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1)

by Jared Mandani

  “Hey, hey, easy there, Ryusei,” Kain said, “Take a breath. If you wanted money, and saw a blacksmith had some, could you think of no better way to get some than bringing a band of robbers to him?”

  “But... that’s how the world works.”

  “No, Ryusei, that’s not how the world works. Violence and strength don’t solve problems, hard work and effort do.”

  “But you killed them, that’s violence.”

  “And that only created another problem – the need to dispose of their bodies, but that’s not the point. I killed them because they threatened my father, someone important to me. Was it right or wrong? I am not the one to say. What I can say is that if I had been given the chance to spare them, I’d have taken it.” But would I really have? He wondered. When the boy said nothing, Kain asked, “Father?”

  “What is it?”

  “Would you take on a younger apprentice? The daimyo needs more artisans anyways.”

  Munesuke shrugged. “Considering the circumstances, I’m hard-pressed to find a reason to.” Kain glared at his father, and smirked in satisfaction as the old man acquiesced. Groaning, Munesuke added, “Fine! Perhaps if his parents extend a formal request, I could—”

  “Er... excuse me, uh... ojiisan?” said the boy.

  “Yes?”

  “I have no parents.”

  “Then I cannot take you in as an apprentice, tradition dictates that—”

  “Father,” Kain interrupted, “This child is a vagabond, an urchin who, without a trade, will become just as those three who now lay dead at your feet. Is tradition truly more important than giving him an opportunity at a decent trade?”

  “What are we without tradition, but animals?”

  “Tradition made animals of those men! Will you in good conscience, father, leave this child to become another part of what you called a canker, merely because your tradition tells you to?”

  Munesuke’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t use my words against me, boy!”

  “Why? Because you can’t counter your own argument without sounding like an utter hypocrite, or without accepting its own invalidity?”

  The two glared at each other for what seemed an eternity, neither father nor son willing to concede. Come on father, Kain thought pleadingly, you are a reasonable man, you have shown yourself above petty tradition!

  As if Munesuke had heard his son’s thoughts, his shoulders sagged, he let out the breath he was holding and said, “Perhaps there are certain circumstances when tradition is best set aside. Gods know we’ve done enough of that already, Senshi.” He sighed, and to Ryusei he added, “Alright boy, you will be my assistant. You’ll live and work at my workshop and shall learn a true, honorable trade, but let me be very clear,” Munesuke’s face darkened as he said, “Should I ever come to know that you associate yourself with brigands, robbers, or criminals ever again, I will not only oust you, I will report you to the authorities myself, am I clear?” Ryusei nodded shakily. “I’m glad we agree.”

  “Thank you, father,” Kain said.

  “Why?”

  “Just thank you,” he glanced towards one of the bodies, scoffed derisively and asked, “What do we do with them?”

  “That’s a good question, Senshi. Hmm, a couple kilometers out of town there’s a small clearing, hidden in the forest. No one goes there.”

  “How do you know of it, then?” Kain asked.

  A sad smile appeared on Munesuke’s lips. “Its seclusion made it the ideal place to have some privacy with your mother.”

  “I see.”

  Munesuke shrugged. “Alas. Well, I’ll draw you a map to find it. Hoist the... er, ‘refuse’ onto the barrow we used to bring the materials. And you,” he said, pointing at Ryusei, “You’ll help me clean the mess.”

  “M-m-me, s-s-sir?”

  An impish grin formed on the old blacksmith’s face. “Considering you caused this issue in the first place, boy, it’s only fitting that you are involved in its resolution.”

  Ryusei’s expression became dismayed as he glanced from Kain to Munesuke, and said, “You two really are father and son. One’s as scary as the other!”

  Kain and Munesuke shared a confused look and, to Kain’s surprise, his father laughed. Kain joined in the mirth and said, “Well, we have that much in common at least!”

  “Indeed we do. Also, Senshi?”

  “Father?”

  “It may be convenient that you stay two, three days at the clearing… Now don’t make that expression and let me finish. Hanataro-sama will come for the weapon tomorrow, and he has a means of... knowing, where, when, and who has performed violence. I’d rather he not signal you out as a problem.”

  Kain sighed. “I understand, father. But the weapon is not complete yet, it’s missing its guard, grip, and scabbard!”

  “Worry not, Senshi. I had those prepared beforehand and need only be affixed. An easy enough task for a budding apprentice to help with. You will have to learn the method for their elaboration later, however.”

  “I see.”

  Munesuke nodded and said, “I will pack some supplies for you, and in the meantime I’ll explain young Ryusei here our peculiar... situation.”

  “Very well,” Kain said flatly. “In that case, let’s get to it quickly, while there’s still light left in the day.”

  Kain set himself to hoisting the remains onto the barrow, while Munesuke, helped by Ryusei, prepared supplies and a map for his son. As Kain loaded the barrow he couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction that his father was seeing the uselessness of strict tradition.

  He stared at Munesuke and smiled. And he’s finally showing appreciation for his son.

  Chapter VII: Quality and Quantity

  “There is merit, we must concede, to the retrograde notion that things have souls. What the Nipponese call ‘kotodama,’ or the spirit of things, alludes to the intrinsically contained essence one may encounter in every object, metal and, indeed, thing. How they use this to deposit sentience into a weapon, however, I cannot explain.”

  -Deacon Orestes Militides, in “Metallurgia Arcanum – The Demon Blades of the East.”

  The more Kain looked at the yellow piece of paper where his father had drawn the map, the more marveled he became. He had never known his father to be an artist, yet every detail and landmark was masterfully rendered, making the guide easy to follow.

  It didn’t take him long to find the small path his father had represented on the map. The trek itself wasn’t difficult, the main problem however was to force the barrow to move. Its wheels hadn’t been made to traverse the escarped terrain around Nagano, after all. Regardless, he was glad to be away from the township and in the wild forests around it. As a child, he had been unable to appreciate the lingering sense of decay permeating every object and surface in Nagano. As a man, he was too keenly aware of it.

  He had been to various cities of the far and near west, and they all were, in essence, the same: The rich cities looked stunning from a distance, as they dominated the skylines with cupolas, domes, and spires reaching for the skies; the poor cities extended ominously towards the horizon, forming an indecipherable warren of paths, alleys and streets, and the smaller settlements, the ones which didn’t qualify as proper cities, usually consisted of a ramshackle collection of huts and hovels. A thing remained ubiquitous in every city Kain had set foot in, however. No matter if it was large or small, rich or poor, every settlement was dominated by misery, and the stench of it permeated every surface. It was a sad commentary in Kain’s mind that the one thing every nation, every person regardless of their origins had in common was in mistreating those they deemed as inferior.

  “Nothing can be done,” he said to drive the thoughts away. There was no point in souring the trek into the wild, especially as it let him see the vistas of his homeland.

  He easily understood why his parents had chosen to find their privacy in the forest. It was the same reason it had b
een deemed adequate for his current, grim endeavor. The forest’s density and distance from Nagano made it all but a certainty that no interloper would bother them. It was the perfect place, indeed, to dispose of the corpses.

  There was an eerie aura to the forest, an elder quality Kain couldn’t describe, even if he tried to. When he closed his eyes he felt as if he were being watched, despite knowing he was utterly alone. Almost like an ikiteiruken, he thought, realizing that the only way he could assimilate the way he felt in the forest was to compare it to one of the living swords: It was alive, sentient somehow. Kain wondered whether the forest and the trees were as conscious as an awakened sword, and whether it was aware of being cut down for wood and timber.

  After some time trudging through the forest, the pathways among the threes became too narrow to traverse with the barrow. “Well, I’m deep enough anyhow,” Kain said to himself as he unceremoniously dropped the bodies off. “They’re the problem of vermin and wild animals now.” Still, he hadn’t reached the clearing yet, and he was curious to see it. He took the provisions his father had prepared and left the barrow at a visible spot—after all, it had to be returned—then kept following the map his father had drawn.

  The forest became more oppressive and difficult to navigate the further he went in. The canopy of the trees blotted out nearly all sunlight, sinking the moss-covered floor into an eternal twilight. He could understand why legends and tales about spirits in the forest had come to be in Nippon, and nearly everywhere else he had been to. The world was alive in its own way, and one needed be blind, deaf, and stupid not to realize as much. To my luck I fear no spirit. I fear only the living. After all, only those alive were capable of unspeakable cruelty.

  The trees thinned, and Kain realized he had reached the clearing. He understood immediately the significance of the place; it was wide and welcoming, somehow free of the oppressive nature of the forest surrounding it. He realized it was strewn with pieces of ancient debris and wood. A household must have existed here once, he reasoned as he saw the various pieces of waist-high walls ringing the clearing.

  “Well, what is that?” he said in surprise as he spotted a familiar structure at the opposite end of the clearing. He walked towards it and whistled as soon as his suspicions were confirmed: It was an ancient, abandoned forge, covered with moss and growing vines, but seemingly intact in its structure. Amazing! He thought as he examined the nearly intact furnace, and the ancient, corroded but functional anvil.

  An idea came to his mind. “I can restore this forge,” he said to himself. “I can make it work once more, and use it to pursue my own endeavors without worrying about my father’s rules, and without fearing being observed.”

  The more he thought of it, the greater his enthusiasm became, as it would be his own forge, to conduct his own experiments away from prying eyes and rigid tradition. It would take time—weeks, even months—to bring the forge into working order, as he slowly procured tools and materials for it, but Kain was a patient man. He had waited ten years to return home, so what were a few more months if it meant he could set up his own forge?

  Whistling, he started setting up a small camp to spend the night.

  ***

  Muck and filth. He thought as he rode through the streets of Nagano. Muck and filth, and nothing else – a testament to the sorry state of the Empire. It was a topic seldom spoken of, and with just reason. It was offensive, no, it was contemptible that the beautiful cities of Nippon had fallen into such states of disrepair. Ryokawa Hanataro was not a delusional man and, as such, he was under no delusion of blaming any of the gods-appointed rulers of Nippon. He knew, as did anyone else with even an iota of honor, that it was the scum of society, the brigands, the peasants, the artisans, the whores and the beggars who had brought their society down.

  A perfect Empire, a truly flawless Empire, would be one without those... vermin. But Hanataro scoffed. He was not a delusional man and knew that even vermin constituted a pillar of the Empire, albeit a shaky one. Vermin, the lowest of the low needed to be controlled, to be constantly reminded of their status in the eyes of the gods; they were but the shit to fertilize the fields of the Lords, and nothing more. But at times, they forget their places.

  The encounter at the market three days prior still had him rattled. The audacity, the indecency to even think that a piece of living feces had dared soil the pathway of Yorunokenshi-sama’s daughter was inconceivable. He was only glad to have been present then, and there. A lesser man could have lacked the courage to strike at the perpetrators; a lesser man would have even spared them on account of being a child. Hanataro scoffed, and thus perpetuate the line of insolence against the lords. That, too, was another cause for the Empire’s decline—the inordinate amount of weak-minded individuals who refused to see reason and accept that the inferiors needed to be treated with an iron fist, not a velvet glove. It was a matter of quality versus quantity. There were few individuals of quality in the world, individuals such as himself or Lord Yorunokenshi-sama, but there were enormous quantities of refuse littering the streets.

  Just like the inferior he was soon to visit.

  Kajiya Munesuke, an artisan, a blacksmith. Hanataro categorically disliked dealing with the old man—he disliked any interaction with inferiors, for that matter—but it was a necessary evil, as he was one of Yorunokenshi-sama’s smiths, and one capable of forging an ikiteiruken. I wonder if that’s why the lord daimyo tolerates him? Munesuke was old, decrepit even, and though Hanataro reluctantly admitted that he had his uses, the man was still in his death throes, and his efficiency as a smith had dwindled terribly.

  It took him weeks what took some of the daimyo’s forgemasters days to accomplish. In fairness, Hanataro reasoned, he was but one old man. Perhaps his assistant, the imbecile, will make a difference.

  The imbecile... that was another matter of preoccupation for Hanataro. There was something about the so-called Gizoosha that made Hanataro feel uncomfortable, a sharpness to his expression which didn’t fit him as the purported idiot he was. The samurai decided to pay better attention to the deaf and mute assistant of Munesuke.

  The walls of the Kajiya estate neared Hanataro as he crested the hill it rested on. Well, let’s get this over with, he thought derisively as he urged his horse to a canter. Were he an inferior, he’d need to announce himself and be given permission to enter the Kajiya grounds, as was tradition. But he was Lord Yorunokenshi-sama’s direct officer, and he needed not debase himself.

  Hanataro strode nonchalantly into the forge courtyard and saw the old man, Munesuke, polishing the weapon’s scabbard, and beside him was... “Hmm. Greetings, Munesuke-san, is the weapon ready?”

  The old man lifted his eyes, bowed in respect and replied, “It is, Hanataro-sama. The ikiteiruken is ready for you.”

  Hanataro nodded and said, “Thank you. The weapon is not for me, but for my noble master.”

  The old man’s eyes widened slightly. Fear, surprise, or something else? The samurai wondered. “Well, Hanataro-sama, the weapon is ready for Lord Yorunokenshi-sama. As you can see,” he said, unsheathing blade, “The construction is flawless.”

  “So I can see. And this was thanks to your assistant, Gizoo?”

  “It was.”

  “Hm. And where is he, so I can thank him properly? All I see is that... child.”

  “Gizoosha was indisposed today, for he hurt his wrist. Young Ryusei has become my apprentice, however.”

  Hanataro folded his arms, “Two apprentices, Munesuke? I don’t recall you having asked permission for such a breach in protocol.”

  “There has been no breach, Ryokawa Hanataro-sama,” the old man said respectfully, “Gizoosha is my assistant. He helps with the labors of the forge, yes, but he won’t ever perform any smithing feats, for he is an—”

  “An imbecile, yes, I know,” said the samurai impatiently. “Yet as I understand it, a permit is necessary to have an apprentice, no?”

  Munesuk
e nodded. “It is.”

  “Do you own such a permit?”

  “I do, Hanataro-sama, if you’d only wait for me to fetch it?” Hanataro nodded, and Munesuke said to the boy, “Keep stoking the fire, Ryusei. It must maintain the same temperature throughout the day. If you fail, you will repeat the entire process again tomorrow.” The child said nothing and simply nodded, utterly fixated on his task.

  As Munesuke left to fetch the permit, Hanataro was left alone with the runt. Hanataro was keenly aware that his presence, even when not clad in full battle armor, could be intimidating, and he used it to his advantage. “What are you doing?” He asked gravely.

  “I am doing as my master ordered,” the boy replied.

  A sufficiently valid answer, but Hanataro was in a mood to raise some hell. “Are you not forgetting something when you address me, boy?”

  The kid kept stoking the flame and said, “Apologies, samurai-sama. I’m concentrated on this.”

  Hanataro snarled, stepped off his horse, and kicked the boy to the side; the runt yelped and he fell on his shoulder and skidded over the sand of the forge. “You are to look at me in the eyes when you speak to me, am I understood?” The boy glared at Hanataro with tearful, but determined—even insolent—eyes. The gall! “I said,” Hanataro released his weapon from its scabbard, “Am I understood?”

  “Is something amiss, Hanataro-sama?” came Munesuke’s calm voice.

  The samurai returned his sword to its place. “Your apprentice has slighted me, blacksmith.”

  “How has he slighted you, Hanataro-sama?”

  “He has refused to address me with the proper respect, and when I made it known to him, he didn’t look at me in the eyes!”

  “A most grievous slight, Hanataro-sama.”

  The samurai’s eyes narrowed, “Are you mocking me, smith?”