He sighed, wincing as his stomach protested. Had he not had Naginata’s assistance in the encounter, Kain knew that despite his considerable ability as a warrior, he would now be rotting in the forest clearing. As that ronin should have been. Yet another question which confounded Kain was the whereabouts of the ronin’s remains. His corpse had disappeared without a trace, and though he tried to survey his surroundings, Kain had found no tracks, no remnants of the carcass’ location, and that worried him deeply. Is he truly dead? He wondered, fearing the answer to the question.
Kain shook his head, trying to force his woes away. He had currently no way of knowing what happened to the ronin, or whether he was a ronin at all; what he knew was that he would have to inform his father. My father, Kain thought, remembering that his opponent had known his birth-given name. How had he managed to uncover that information? Munesuke was the only person who referred to Kain by his name, and despite the man’s plain, unassuming appearance, Kain was certain he would have noticed him entering in the forge courtyard at a wrong time.
But he hadn’t. Had the man somehow managed to spy on him and his father without them noticing? That, too, is a possibility, Kain admitted reluctantly as the implications of such a scenario bloomed in his mind. If that were true, then the man must have been sent by someone powerful, someone who wanted to harm his father for whatever reason, and that worried him even more. His father had no enemies that he knew of, but due to the confrontation at the clearing, and the missing corpse of the ronin, Kain feared Munesuke would become a target for whatever power sent the ronin.
“Worrying will get you nowhere,” Naginata pointed out.
“I know, Naginata. Problem is, no matter how much I think about it, the ronin’s appearance, his combat style, and the lacking evidence of his demise have me... Ill at ease.” As Kain replied, he felt nauseous and light-headed, staggering slightly on the dusty courtyard of the Kajiya forge. He scoffed, “And it seems I am exhausted.”
“And with good reason. Not only you fought for your life, you channeled too much energy into yourself and into me. You require rest.”
Reluctantly, Kain admitted, “Yes, I do.” The sky above was still dotted with stars, and the moon remained visible; Kain judged he had at least four hours before the break of dawn. “Perhaps rest will clear my mind somewhat,” he said to Naginata before making his way into the Kajiya household.
As he walked in, he was washed over by an unexpected wave of nostalgia. The house was the polar opposite of how it had been on the day he returned after ten years. No longer derelict and in a dreadful state of disrepair, no longer covered in years-old cobwebs and layers of undisturbed dust; though certain areas still needed to be repaired, the house was now clean, better maintained, and it remembered Kain of how it had been during his childhood.
A smile made it to his face as he removed his leather boots and walked into the house, recalling the sound of his sisters running through the hallways, their grinning faces as they played with one another. His smile became a frown as he realized something: He didn’t remember their faces, and though he tried, their names didn’t come to his mind. Odd, thought he, trying to recall his mother, and finding the same difficulty. He ascribed his obliviousness to the exhaustion he felt, and resolved to slumber through the four remaining hours of nighttime.
Kain made his way towards the rear of the house, where the living quarters were. He could hear Ryusei’s snores coming from his quarter, unimpeded by the paper and reed walls; Kain chuckled, How can someone so small snore so loudly? He wondered as he slowly and silently crept towards his own space. Inside, he found his room exactly as he had left it—neat, clean, and with his personal implements bundled by the foot of the bed. The military precision his sojourn had instilled in him remained a constant in his life. A reminder of his days as a conscripted soldier, and a slave forgemaster.
He sighed, refusing to revisit the struggles he had gone through. Instead, he removed Naginata’s sheath from his back and neatly tucked it beneath his futon. He lay on his back on the acceptably comfortable floor bed and closed his eyes, willing himself into a deep, dreamless slumber.
A question popped into his mind. “Naginata?”
“Yes?”
“Do you sleep?”
“That’s an odd question to ask of a weapon, Kain.”
Kain laughed. “Indeed it is, I was just curious.”
He felt what he interpreted as glee coming from Naginata, and it said, “I sleep.”
“Then, good night, Naginata.”
“Good night, Kain.”
***
He’s back in the house, thought Munesuke as he saw Senshi walking into the edifice. He had been unable to sleep—old age made him need less sleep every night—and he had chosen to walk around the estate’s courtyard. It was not the first time he saw his son leaving the household at night, heading towards an unknown endeavor, but it was the first time he had returned with bloody gashes in his clothes, and the strange weapon he had forged for himself slung across his back.
Munesuke sighed. He was glad to have Senshi back with him. Despite the Imperial propaganda, and the disdain for returned ones it spread, he had sorely missed his son, and deeply regretted his departure to fight against the Goguryese. Despite his name and aspirations, Senshi had been no warrior; he had been an adroit apprentice, and an eager learner, but not a warrior. Never a warrior, the old man thought sadly, shaking his head as he pondered the horrors his son must have witnessed.
This man, Senshi, Kain, was indeed his son, but from the moment he had seen him returned, Munesuke couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about him. At first he had found it reasonable to ascribe his misgivings to the years between his departure and his arrival; after all, ten years could definitely change a person. His doubts were reinforced, however, when Senshi mentioned his mother and sisters. Munesuke’s daughters, Karin and Ari, had died before Senshi was born, and Munesuke’s wife, Iruna, passed when giving birth to Senshi. Yet he spoke fondly of them, as if he had met them and sorely regretted their loss. Of course he had known since childhood that he could have had sisters and a mother, but when he asked to see them as if they had been still alive, Munesuke couldn’t help but feel his suspicions grow.
Was the man who had lived over a month in his household truly been his Senshi? Munesuke sighed. He had ascertained him to not be a bad man, but a honorable one. One who would fight to protect what mattered to him, and would offer kindness to one in need, as Ryusei was testament to. Still, he was a heretic, with absolutely no respect for form, tradition, or norm as it had been observed through the centuries. A smile split Munesuke’s face. And I like him because of that.
Nippon had historically been too self-absorbed, too mired in its traditions to truly progress. If he had a chance to ask any of his ancestors what their life was like decades before his time, they would have replied: The same as it has always been. A life of poverty purportedly assigned to them by the gods on account of being blacksmiths, while rulers were quite simply superior in every manner, regardless of their shortcomings or the rot within their souls. Munesuke shook his head, and started along the path towards the derelict pond within the estate.
Iruna loved this place, he thought as he gazed at the abandoned, weed-ridden pond which had once been his wife’s most valued spot. He smiled as he recalled her spending hours tending to the lilies and lotuses growing in the waters, as well as watching the fish playing merrily without a woe in the world. It was the only true gift Munesuke could give her: A place where she could feel happy.
When Karin fell sick, the gift lost its luster, and Iruna only spent her times trying to nurse her eldest daughter back to health, but poverty is a cruel mistress, and no matter how many ancestral teas, ointments, and rituals they performed, they couldn’t give the girl what she truly needed: Nourishment.
As Karin passed, she took her mother’s smile with her. When the same fate befell Ari, mere months after
Karin’s departure, Iruna’s spirit crumbled, and Munesuke understood that the greatest gift he had given Iruna wasn’t a home, or a pond, but the joy of having given life. And the gift was now lost.
Munesuke had been foolish in thinking that siring another child would be the cure for Iruna’s grief. When she became heavy with child again, Munesuke thought she would recover her luster, her impetus to enjoy life for life’s sake, but he had been wrong. She never expressed anything but love for the babe she carried within herself, but Munesuke could tell that despite the life she now harbored, she felt empty inside. When Senshi was born, he received the only gift his mother would ever give him—her loving embrace, moments before she succumbed to her own grief.
And part of Munesuke left with her. The part which believed blindly in the gods and traditions, the part which had thought that by doing what priests said, by praying and asking for divine intervention, his wife and daughters would survive.
He snarled, remembering the despair and impotence he had felt back then, and the rage that followed. But, perhaps, the gods replied in a way, he thought, calming himself. Senshi had become his life’s pride, and though he could never fill the gap left by Iruna, Karin and Ari, Senshi was everything Munesuke could want in a son. Perhaps that’s why I was always so strict with him, so unyielding with tradition and propriety. I wanted to protect him from the world. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Or perhaps I wanted to protect myself.
He left the pond and walked towards the gravestones marking the resting sites of his wife and daughters. It had been years since he had last visited them; the sole thought filled him with anguish. But now, he felt a need to prostrate himself before the woman he had loved and the daughters he had lost. Munesuke’s knees protested as he bent down to kneel before the stones, and once he was on his knees, he stared at the aged, moss-covered tombstones. Years of neglect and carelessness, born out of fear of what I would feel, he thought, before muttering, “I’m sorry.”
Despite the strangeness about him, Senshi was a good man, and he was his son. Even when he had espoused the views of westerners, he remained a much kinder, much nobler individual when compared to the noblemen in the Empire. Senshi made no distinction between the nobleborn and the commoners. He expressed himself equally about anyone, and his respect blossomed only for those who had earned it. Have I done anything to earn Senshi’s respect? Munesuke wondered.
Perhaps, thought Munesuke, I already have Senshi’s respect, on account of being his father. Perhaps what I must earn is not that, but a son’s love towards his father. He had failed Senshi on the day he had allowed him to be conscripted into the military. There was objectively nothing he could have done then, but he could have at least said something. Munesuke closed his eyes, deciding that he would never fail his son again.
“Iruna,” he whispered, “Our son is back.” He forgot the cold of the night as he knelt before the resting place of his wife and daughters.
***
Morning found Kain feeling refreshed. He had not expected to feel as fit as he did; at the best, he thought his wounds would ache fiercely, especially the one in his abdomen, as he hadn’t dressed it properly. When he took a deep breath, he realized neither his midriff nor his arm ached. He removed his bloodstained shirt and flexed the taut ropes of muscle it concealed, feeling his own physical strength. Kain was surprised to find that his wounds had healed overnight; on his arm, he bore a dark patch of skin where he had cauterized his wound, while his abdomen showed only a paler line along it. Despite the marks, he was healed.
“Naginata,” he said to his weapon, “Did you have something to do with this?”
“What, not even a ‘good morning’?” Naginata asked in vexation before adding, “Yes. Your wounds troubled you during the night, and I channeled into you to speed their healing, diminishing myself.”
Naginata channeled into me of its own will? Kain wondered as his mind raced to understand the implications of the event. His weapon was capable of making its own decisions, and acting upon them regardless of Kain’s will. The more time he spent with the ravenous weapon, the more he thought of it as a being, rather than an implement for war. “Thank you,” he said to Naginata.
“You’re welcome, but I’d appreciate it if you gave me some metal, healing you was tiresome.”
So, thought Kain, in a way, Naginata ‘fixed’ me. The intricacies of the complex relationship he shared with the weapon still eluded Kain, but the more he learned of Naginata’s nature, as well as its abilities, the more his knowledge grew. “Very well,” said he, removing the scabbard from under his futon. “We’ll get you some metal as soon as—”
He was interrupted by the paper door of his room sliding open. At the threshold stood his father, watching him inexpressively; Kain saw his eyes dart to the weapon he held in his hands, then back at him and thought, Damn. “Good morning, father, how fare—”
“That is an unfinished weapon, Senshi,” Munesuke declared.
Kain was taken aback. “Why, er... why do you say that?”
“Unsheathe it.”
“Father?”
“Please,” Munesuke said with uncharacteristic kindness. Kain nodded and did as requested, removing Naginata from its scabbard and holding it with a single hand. “The blade is shaped as that of a yari, and I see you’ve wrapped fabric around its nakago to use as a grip. A sloppy work at best, Senshi. The wrapping can come loose, and the weapon lacks defensive capabilities on account of not having a tsuba.” Munesuke clicked his tongue, scoffed and extended his hands, “May I?”
“I, er... sure,” Kain replied, dropping the scabbard on the futon and handing Naginata over to his father.
Munesuke took the weapon, closed his eyes and immediately opened them wide. Kain winced as he realized his father’s expression was one of horror. Moments passed, and Munesuke kept studying the blade, turning it in his hands, feeling its grain and build and, from time to time, Kain saw that his expression changed, from fear to confusion, to surprise, to amazement. Is he talking to Naginata? He wondered.
The old man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Does she have a name?”
“She?” Kain asked.
“This blade is feminine, Kain, the kotodama it contains is...” he stopped, shaking his head as words left him. “Does she have a name?” he asked again.
“Naginata,” Kain replied.
Munesuke handed the weapon back to Kain, took a deep breath and said, “What you have created defies my understanding of blacksmithing, Senshi. It defies even my knowledge on ikiteiruken. If I am to be honest with you, this is the first truly living weapon I have ever laid my hands on. She has a consciousness, a personality. Treat her well, and she will take care of you through any battle you may face.” Kain stared perplexed at his father, trying to find any sign of disapproval in the old man’s expression, but finding none.
That’s perhaps more worrying, Kain thought as he said, “Are you... not going to denounce me as a heretic, father?”
“No, Senshi, I’m not. You have accomplished what no other forger of ikiteiruken has, and that is creating a truly living sword.” Munesuke sighed. “Naginata informed me of what you are capable of doing together, Senshi. Mutually amplifying, so the bond you share isn’t merely unilateral. Please,” he said calmly, “Answer me truthfully: Does this have to do with your western forging methods?”
Kain closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and replied, “It does, father.”
“And could any Nipponese who traveled to the west learn these techniques?”
Kain shrugged. “Of course. They are an ability which, just like any other skill, can be taught.”
“Hmm,” Munesuke took a hand to his chin, holding it pensively before asking, “Can you teach it?” The question caught Kain off guard. He blinked rapidly, trying to process his father’s words, prompting the old man to ask, “Can you teach it, or not?”
“I can, father. But why are you asking me this?”
“Because,” Munesuke said before surprising Kain by bowing in front of him. “I want you to teach me.”
“What!?”
Munesuke scoffed. “Please Senshi, must I debase myself to get a favor from you?”
“No, no father, it’s not that. I mean,” Kain whistled and took a hand to his hair. “This is quite unexpected, unheard of even. I never thought you’d want to learn my techniques, considering they are profane and whatnot.”
“Listen, Senshi. I am a man of few regrets in life, there aren’t many things I can’t say I’m proud of, but here are some off the top of my head. One,” said Munesuke lifting a finger, “Was getting too caught up in ‘tradition’ and ‘propriety’ that I failed to realize your sisters’ ailment when it happened.”
“Ailment?” Kain asked, taken aback. “Did that happen during my sojourn?”
“Wait, let me finish. The second one was being unable to restore Iruna’s joy after Karin and Ari passed.”
“Father, what are you talking about?” Kain asked, growing restless.
“Kain, are you well?” Naginata asked, and Kain didn’t reply.
“Don’t interrupt, Senshi. Third, was never letting you know the pride I felt for you, my son. And fourth was doing nothing when you were drafted to fight against the Goguryese. I have failed you many times before, and I’ve bowed not to fail you ever again.”
“Father,” Kain said, “Though I highly appreciate this, I’m afraid I’m confused. Iruna, Karin, Ari... Who are these people?”
Munesuke sighed. “Senshi, listen. How much do you remember of your mother and sisters?”
“I...” Kain paused, racking his mind. “I remember their laughter, the sound of my sisters’ steps as they ran within the house, the warmth mother gave me. But when I try to think of their faces, I can’t recall what they looked like.”
Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1) Page 16