Steel

 

by Nancy Sauer
Editing by Fred Wan

 

 

Doji Nagori examined the room one last time, seeking anything that would mar the impression he wished to give his visitor. The furnishings had all been cleaned and the tatami mats had been replaced with new ones. In the room’s alcove hung a scroll painting of a sparrow sitting on a newly-leafing branch. It had been done by the twenty-third Hantei and given by him to his Empress; she had later presented it to her brother, the Crane Champion. In the middle of the room two cushions and a low table had been arranged so that the view was out towards the garden and the devastated city skyline beyond. On the table was a simple white bowl, and in it floated a single deep-rose lotus blossom. Off to the side was a daisho rack crafted of cherry wood, and on it rested a katana in a simple, sky-blue saya trimmed with silver. Perfect, he thought.

There was a soft scratching noise at the door and a servant announced the presence of Lady Hoketuhime, Daimyo of the Otomo. Nagori moved swiftly to the door and slid it open himself. “Hoketuhime-sama, welcome,” he said, bowing deeply.

The Otomo woman bowed back and entered the room. “I thank you for your welcome,” she said, “and even more for the honor you have granted me this day.”

“For a lady of such distinguished and ancient lineage it is an honor richly deserved,” Nagori said. He ushered her to one of the cushions and after she was settled, knelt down on the other. A servant appeared and quietly served them tea, leaving the pot on the table near Nagori.

“A lovely painting,” Hoketuhime said, indicating the scroll with a nod of her head. “The Twenty-Third, yes?”

Nagori smiled. “Your knowledge of art is, as ever, unparalleled,” he said.

“The trees on the grounds of the Imperial palace was one of his favorite themes,” Hoketuhime said. “I once owned a set of ink paintings he had done; a study of a particular cherry tree in every month of the year.” She paused, then went on in a softer tone. “It was lost in the destruction of Otosan Uchi.”

“It is clear to me that we owe the Phoenix Clan a great debt,” Nagori said, watching her carefully. “Without their intervention many of this city’s treasures would have been destroyed.”

“It is true,” Hoketuhime said. “And yet no small thanks are also due to your clan. Many works of art that survived Otosan Uchi are here, rescued by the Crane before that city was set ablaze and defended from the Unicorn by Domotai and her guard.”

Nagori’s face didn’t change, but his heart surged with elation. The deaths of Naseru’s widow and his two brothers had left the Imperial Families in a delicate position. At the moment they still held appreciable power in the Empire, but as time went on, they risked having that power frittered away by those who would question what authority the next Emperor, whoever that proved to be, would grant them. Hoketuhime had to move quickly to establish an alliance that would validate her family’s power. Nagori had moved quickly to make sure that this alliance was with the Crane Clan. Kyuden Otomo’s presence in the Crane lands made it a danger if any other clan was to gain the Otomo’s favor, and politically the two were better off as allies than enemies. They had maneuvered around the issue for several weeks, but now it seemed that Hoketuhime was finally willing to commit herself.

“Since we now speak of rescued treasures,” Nagori said, and let the sentence trail off. He rose from his place and went to the daisho rack. Moving with grace and deliberation he picked the katana up and walked back over towards Hoketuhime. Kneeling down next to her he raised it shoulder-high and slid the first foot of the blade out of the saya. “My lady, Kakita’s first sword.”

Hoketuhime leaned forward to look. “The blade he carried when he won the Emerald Championship,” she said, her voice hushed with reverence. “When the Hantei invited him to become his kin by marriage.” She continued to gaze on it for a moment, and then shook her head sadly. “I would that I knew more of sword-crafting. I look at this blade and I can see only ordinary steel.”

“It is ordinary steel, or so Seishiro told me. Quite ordinary, in fact.” Nagori slid the blade back into the saya with a click, rose up and walked back to the daisho rack. “It was Kakita’s spirit that made it a sword no man could stand against.” He gently laid the katana back in place and stood looking down at it, thinking of Seishiro and Seishiro’s death. “It is the touch of his spirit that it brings to us. A hopeful thought in a time of dismay.”

“The Crane have brought that hope to Toshi Ranbo,” Hoketuhime said. “The carpentry crews that you have hired flood the city, restoring it block by block. The rice Lady Domotai has given to the Seppun has been used to relieve the misery of the heimen who live here. Truly the Empire owes the Crane a debt of gratitude.” She picked up her tea and sipped it, watching Nagori over the rim of her cup.

“Lady Otomo, you are too kind,” Nagori said. “Lady Domotai declared that the Crane would stand as guardians of this city. We are only obeying her command.”

“And yet it is never useless to recognize an honorable act,” Hoketuhime said. “If nothing else, it serves as a guide to the confused. I have spoken with Miya Shoin, and he agrees with me on this point. We wish to have the Emperor’s Blessing used to repair the Crane estates here in this city, as a token of our esteem of your clan’s actions.”

“I am overwhelmed, my lady,” Nagori said smoothly. “Our losses were minimal, scarcely worth your attention.”

“In most of your estates, yes. But the Daidoji daimyo’s mansion was destroyed, and nothing more has been done for it but to clear away the rubble.”

Nagori allowed a look of sadness to cross his face, hoping that it would cover the alarm he felt. If the Otomo daimyo had found out what destroyed the mansion this meeting would end very, very badly. “Yes, Kikaze’s mansion was lost after” he paused deliberately, “after the fires in the merchant quarter went out of control.” Hoketuhime waved a hand impatiently, as if to wave away the topic, and Nagori relaxed slightly. No one wanted to discuss Sezaru’s final madness, and the Otomo princess especially disliked talk of insane imperials. She clearly had not probed deeper into any damage attributed to Sezaru. “Kikaze is rarely in residence there, and its administrative functions were easily transferred to other estates.”

“And so the Crane has left one of their own houses in ruins while they tend to the needs of the Empire,” Hoketuhime said. “What greater proof of your clan’s honor could there be? There can be no doubt that you merit the Emperor’s Blessing.”

Nagori bowed his head slightly. “My lady, the Crane are ever at the service of the Imperial families. If you wish to use us as an example for the betterment of the Empire we have no choice but to comply. But if I may, I would offer a small suggestion. Instead of rebuilding the mansion on that site, let there be a dojo. Such would be a memorial for the Daidoji who fell defending the Imperial Palace, and a symbol of our determination to always stand as protectors of Toshi Ranbo.”

“An excellent notion,” Hoketuhime said. She smiled and looked Nagori directly in the eyes. “And it will stand also as a token of my family’s high regard for the Crane Clan and the honorable warriors of the Daidoji family.”

“That regard is mutual,” Nagori said. He smiled back in return.

 

           

The temple had a neglected, run-down look and there was nothing to indicate that anyone had visited it for a long time. Daidoji Kikaze had ignored appearances and settled down in a convenient patch of cover to watch and wait. He sat patiently until the animals around him forgot that he hadn’t always been there and resumed their lives, until the sun had sunk down to his rest, until the line of clouds he had spotted on the rim of the northern horizon at mid-afternoon had come up and covered the moon in her walk through heaven.

When the moment was right Kikaze rose to his feet in a motion so graceful and sure that the night around him remained undisturbed. It was the one principle of dueling that he had grasped immediately, much to Kakita Matabei’s amazement: when the moment came you acted, and fitted yourself to it, and all the world dropped into place around you. Harrier or duelist, it was all the same. He drifted across the clearing to the temple, senses straining the night for signs. Search as he might the only thing Kikaze found strange was with himself: for this mission he had a daisho’s weight on his hip. You are a lord of the Crane and from this day on you will act like one, Domotai had said.

The door of the temple stood invitingly half-open. Normally he would have disregarded such an obvious entrance, but tonight he walked sock-footed up the building’s steps, automatically stepping where the boards were fastened down, and slipped into the deep darkness inside. Kikaze walked to the center of the room and stopped, listening. “I know you are here,” he said finally.

There was the small sound of flint kissing steel and a lamp wick flared into fire. Kikaze’s eyes darted around the room, using the light to get his bearings. On the opposite wall was an image of the First Daidoji. There had to be a hole in the roof above it, because water damage had worn away the paint and warped the wood almost to the point of unrecognizability. On the floor in front of it was an unlit stick of incense and a rice ball. Towards the left, almost lost in the shadows, was a small travel pack with an unfamiliar daisho neatly stacked on top of it. The lamp was on the floor between Kikaze and the altar and kneeling next to it was the man he had come to find. His friend. His hatamoto. “Shihei.”

Daidoji Shihei smiled and bowed slightly. “Kikaze, you are still amazing. If I hadn’t been looking at the door every second I would have missed your entrance.”

Kikaze looked at him coldly, fighting the anger that Shihei’s familiarity inspired. “You betrayed me,” he said.

“Betrayed?” Shihei climbed to his feet, looking surprised. “How have I betrayed you?”

“The gaijin pepper at Toshi Ranbo? The orders to Hakumei to restart her lab?”

“It is a hatamoto’s duty to see to his lord’s household, Kikaze-sama” Shihei said, dropping into formality. “I gave the orders you wanted to give, that is all.”

“What I wanted was irrelevant,” Kikaze said, wishing it were otherwise. “My orders came from Domotai. You knew that.”

“Domotai is wrong,” Shihei said. “We both know that.”

“She is the Crane Champion.”

“And we are the defenders of the Crane, by Doji-kami’s own decree.” Shihei held up his hands in supplication. “Please, Kikaze-sama, let me finish. If Domotai were a Crane, and not just the Crane Champion, I would never gainsay her. But Kurohito erred when he sent his daughter to the Lion for training–they destroyed the girl they were given and sent back a Matsu in her place. She prizes honor and bushido, but we know what is really important–land, food, money. Where are our brothers who survived Fumisato’s raid?”

Surprised by the sudden question Kikaze answered. “They are still at Shiro Daidoji. I’ve written reports clearing them of all wrong-doing, and will be scattering them among the regulars.”

“Do that,” Shihei said, “and in a year we can quietly pull them back out, along with any likely candidates they’ve spotted. They can be assigned to someplace quiet and train. Domotai won’t live forever, and when the next Champion comes we can bring them back into service.”

It was a plan that Kikaze had spent many long nights wrestling with. “No,” he said.

“No? In Hayaku’s name, why not?”

“Because I can’t do it!” Kikaze snarled. He caught himself and rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. “Matsu or no, Crane or no, she is Kurohito’s daughter and I am her vassal. I am going to destroy the Harriers, because I am the Daidoji daimyo and that is my duty.”

Shihei was silent for a moment, and then he turned his head to look at the daisho in the corner. “Everything I have ever done I have done for the Crane,” he said. “You called me a traitor–you are going to have me executed.”

“No,” Kikaze said. “I couldn’t save Hakumei and the others, but you, my brother, you will have the three cuts.”

Shihei looked back at him and smiled. “A samurai’s death,” he said. “Thank you, my lord.” He bowed deeply, and when he rose up there was a dagger in his hand and he was swinging back to make the throw.

Kikaze reacted before he completely understood the motion, spinning out of the dagger’s path and fetching up against one of the side pillars as the lamp went out and the darkness sprang back into life. As his eyes tried to readjust he reflexively pulled out a knife and steadied his breathing so he could listen. Shihei was still in the temple, he was sure of it, so this would be a game of finding his enemy before he himself was found. Kikaze put his left hand on the pillar on the remote chance of picking up vibrations of the other man’s steps and encountered a curious flaw in the pillar’s lacquer. It was a thin, horizontal ridge and his fingers followed it around they encountered something sticking out of the pillar itself.

A split-second of thought and Kikaze knew what it was: a thin wire strung taut across the gap between two pillars. Had he headed for the other side of the pillar he would have decapitated himself. Kikaze leaned against the pillar, weak with rage. You bastard, he thought, were you planning to kill me all along? And then a memory rose up and choked the anger out of him. ‘Domotai won’t live forever’, Shihei had said.

Kikaze took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then expelled it, willing his fear out at the same time. The Doji daimyo was not in danger, he told himself. Uji was watching over her. Kimpira and the other men in her personal guard were watching over her. Domotai herself was neither stupid nor helpless. And he was going to kill Shihei.

Carefully he cut the wire and then he padded out towards the center of the room. His instincts cried out for the cover of the pillars and walls, but he had worked with Shihei on many missions and he had a good idea of how many death-traps his hatamoto would have set up in those areas.

Shihei stood with his back to the altar, watching. The darkness in the temple was deep, but not absolute, and he had invested a great deal of time learning the shades of black that made up the room. Kikaze’s silence was phenomenal, but he could not change the fact that he could be seen. An indistinct shape of absolute black moved slowly out towards the center of the room and Shihei tracked it for a few heartbeats, estimating its speed, and then he was gliding out to meet it. He struck quickly, and was rewarded with the feel of a knife meeting flesh. There was a gasp from the other man and Shihei felt an arm grab his shoulder as Kikaze tried to line up his own counter-strike. The hatamoto stepped back and to the left rapidly, and first the grip tightened as Kikaze tried to follow him, then there was a confused blend of sounds as the hand released him in a flailing motion. There was a series of graceless thumps, and then Kikaze’s voice. “You trapped the floor, too.”

There was no pain in his friend’s voice, but the smell of his blood hung thick in the darkness of the temple. “You are a very dangerous man, my lord,” Shihei said. “I can’t take any chances.” He thought of the sword in the corner, and dismissed the idea. He hadn’t needed it yet, and he didn’t need it now. He started towards Kikaze, memory guiding him away from the concealed holes in the wooden floor.

Kikaze climbed to his feet. The cut was over his right ribs, and though it wasn’t fatal of itself the blood loss from it was going to weaken him. His wild stagger away from the hole he had almost put his foot through had left him with no idea where he was, and he feared the pillars and their promise of more wires. The best thing about his situation was that he knew that Shihei would come for him now. Long fights were for amateurs: professionals knew that you never allowed a desperate opponent time to think.

Shihei covered the last few steps rapidly, needing to get within range before his target was aware of him. His right hand held the knife ready for an underhand strike to Kikaze’s side: if he struck deep enough shock and blood loss would give him the victory. Kikaze couldn’t hear his hatamoto over his own rapid breathing, but his instincts shrieked out an alarm. He swung his knife out with all of his strength.

Shihei’s blade crashed into the daisho wedged into Kikaze’s obi and skittered sideways, leaving a shallow cut. Kikaze sent his knife hilt-deep into Shihei’s stomach, then pulled sideways. The hatamoto staggered away, screaming. Kikaze threw himself after and tackled him, pinning Shihei to the floor. He slashed his blade across his friend’s throat, cutting to the bone, and the screaming stopped.

Kikaze moved to sit beside the corpse and automatically tried to clean the blood off the blade so he could put it away. He became aware of what he was doing and angrily dropped it on the floor. ‘Everything I have ever done I have done for the Crane’, he thought. He understood exactly how Shihei could plot against his lord and still say that, and it frightened him to consider how close he himself had come to it. Gently he touched the saya of his katana, then the wakizashi, feeling the scratches in the lacquered steel.

Slowly Kikaze crawled over to Shihei’s pack, feeling carefully for loose floor as he did. He dislodged the swords on the pack and then went through it by touch. A swift search produced what was needed–a bottle of lamp oil and a handful of used paper. Kikaze stood up and walked back, sure of the route now, and after pouring the lamp oil over and around the body he used his own fire tools to set fire to the papers and touched them to the oil.

He watched Shihei’s corpse burn for a moment and then went back and picked up the daisho. It was more consideration than the man deserved, Kikaze thought, but they had been brothers. He tucked the swords under his arm and left the fire to burn.