The Sword of Kaigen, page 18
“Kaa-chan,” Mamoru grumbled, his eyes blinking open. “I’m being attacked by a demon.”
“No!” Nagasa laughed in delight. “No demon! It’s me!”
“Hmm.” Mamoru sat up, pitching his giggling brother into his lap. “That’s just what a demon would say.”
“No!” Still laughing like a maniac, Nagasa squirmed out from under Mamoru’s arm and made a break for the kitchen.
“Not so fast, abomination!” Rolling onto his feet, Mamoru caught up to the toddler in two quick strides and scooped him up. “I bet you haven’t brushed your teeth yet—or I’m sorry—your fangs.” He prodded his brother’s cheek and Nagasa snapped playfully at his finger. “Yeah, let’s brush those little demon fangs, shall we?”
As Mamoru slung Nagasa over his shoulder and carried him toward the washroom, Misaki was overtaken by a memory more distant than Daybreak—giggling through wood-paneled halls with her own brothers. Takashi said that he and Takeru had never really played as children—or rather that Takeru had never wanted to play with him.
For fifteen years Misaki had lamented being fated to raise her husband’s sons. All that time, she hadn’t considered that these boys might have something of her in them too.
She wondered, what else could I wish for?
Chapter 8: The Letter
Frost crept up the tree branches as the month of Koronkalo froze into a sparklingly cold Sibikalo. The sun set early, the numu village burned bright in the frozen evenings, and Misaki was thankful that this new baby wasn’t quite as cold as the others. Mamoru, Hiroshi, and Nagasa had all gotten progressively icier as they grew stronger, but Izumo’s little body stayed warm, even as his muscles came in, and Misaki found herself genuinely enjoying holding him close through that first month of the cold season.
According to the news, some other villages and cities along Kaigen’s western coast had been ravaged by storms. But Takayubi remained a picture of a small-town peace as Nagi cast his first snow on the mountain. Izumo’s eyes came into focus on a world cloaked in white.
Where previous winters there had been a solitary set of footprints through the first snow, now there were two. Kwang Chul-hee showed up at the doors of the Matsuda compound each morning to meet Mamoru, and the two made their way down the mountain together, talking. When it came time for Geomijul to begin construction on its info-com towers, Mamoru begged his father to let him join Chul-hee and Kotetsu Atsushi on the construction team during his winter break. Misaki hadn’t expected Takeru to agree, but he allowed it, on the condition that Mamoru keep up with his training and schoolwork. So, under mounting snow-cover, Mamoru, Chul-hee, and little Atsushi began work on the towers that would change communication in Takayubi forever.
If Misaki had been a better mother, maybe she would have discouraged her son’s friendship with the opinionated northerner. But Mamoru was a young man now, she told herself in justification. He could befriend whoever he wanted.
She didn’t know what he talked about with Kwang Chul-hee. True to his promise, he never brought any of those conversations home with him, but the change in her son was visible. It was the marked difference between a carefree man and a thinking one. A swordsman was supposed to be wary of his surroundings. But it was one thing to be attuned to wind and water droplets; another to analyze and understand human actions. As Izumo’s new eyes started to bring the physical world into focus, Mamoru’s eyes were changing too. There was a sharpness to the way he looked at everything around him—a hunger—as he scrutinized the rough edges and shifting layers of his world, trying to make the pieces fit together.
Misaki should have realized that it was only a matter of time before he did something stupid. He wasn’t a jaseli, trained to retain and process the truths of the world, nor was he a peaceful craftsman. He was a fighter, with a fighter’s ferocity. And there was a reason the jaseliwu, finawu, and numuwu of the world kept certain things from their koronu. Jaseliwu had the power to wrangle ideas without spilling blood. When koronu clashed, the results were always ugly.
MAMORU
“You seriously forged all of these yourself?” Chul-hee said, raising his eyebrows at Atsushi. “Without any help?”
“I’m in training to make the greatest swords in the world,” the blacksmith’s son said indignantly. “I don’t need help to forge a few nuts and bolts—especially since your company provided the steel and molds.”
“Whose idea was it to have the local numuwu work from Geomijul molds?”
“My father’s,” Mamoru said. “He said it was the only way to cut costs enough to make the towers affordable.”
“Well, they look great.” Chul-hee examined one of the screws with an appreciative smile. “I know numuwu in Yamma who would kill to be able to do this.”
The three boys had already aided in the construction of two info-com towers further down the mountain, near the village hall. This was the first time Atsushi had forged components without his father’s help as well as the first time the youngsters were being allowed to work construction without supervision.
The foundation had been set—cement solution poured into deep holes—earlier that week. All the boys had to do now was assemble a three-bound-tall tower on top of it, working from the Kwangs’ blueprints.
“Do you know if they got the first two towers working?” Atsushi asked as they moved the first beam into place.
“My father told me they already have all the utilities set up,” Mamoru said. “They were hoping to get it working today.”
Since Mamoru was a little boy, his father had worked an administrative job at the village hall. In the old days, Matsudas hadn’t needed regular jobs; the surrounding koro houses had provided them with everything they needed in return for the privilege of sending their sons to train in their dojo. But as the population of Takayubi dwindled, the Matsuda family had had to turn to other means of making a living.
After the Keleba, Matsuda Mizudori had become a sword instructor and then the headmaster of Kumono Academy. His son, Matsuda Susumu, followed in his footsteps, and his son, Matsuda Takashi, followed in his. As Takashi’s younger brother, Takeru had spent a few years serving as the head sword instructor at Kumono, but after his father passed away, he had ceded the position to Yukino Dai to take a government job at the village hall.
Mamoru wasn’t entirely sure what his father did at work—just that it involved lots of paperwork and numbers, and kept him extremely busy. And whenever the government or a business introduced something new to the village—like new roads, or trash disposal systems, or info-com towers—Tou-sama was there to facilitate the process.
“So, once it’s working, the computer at the village hall will be able to send and receive messages from anywhere?” Atsushi asked.
“Not anywhere,” Chul-hee clarified. “To start with, probably just other places nearby with working towers.”
Atsushi looked excitedly down the mountain toward the village hall. “Do you think it’s working yet?”
Chul-hee pulled his info-com device out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Not yet.”
“How do you know?”
Chul-hee held up the device to show Atsushi the screen. “No signal.”
“So, that thing… that info-com device will just connect automatically if there’s a working tower around?”
“That’s the idea.”
“So, for an info-com device to work all the time, there would have to be towers all over the world?”
“Not necessarily,” Chul-hee said. “The Yammankalu have satellites that send and receive info-com signals from space.”
“What?!” Atsushi dropped the end of the beam he was carrying and Mamoru just barely managed to catch it in a pillar of ice before it crushed the blacksmith boy’s toes.
“Careful!”
“Sorry, Matsuda-dono!” Atsushi bowed to him. “Sorry, I just… you’re joking, right?” he turned to Chul-hee. “Right, Kwang-san? You can’t send communication signals that far!”
Chul-hee smiled at the boy’s disbelieving face. “It’s not a joke, numuden.”
As Chul-hee explained Yamma’s satellites to Atsushi, the boys maneuvered the first beam into place.
“Is everything lined up?” Mamoru asked from where he stood, supporting the heaviest part of the beam while the other two tugged it into alignment with the base.
“Perfect,” Kwang said. “Go ahead, Mamoru.”
Nodding, Mamoru let his jiya surge into action. The snow around them rose to encase the base of the beam in ice and form pillars to hold the top of it in place. This was a system the three of them had worked out over a week of working together: Mamoru maneuvered the pieces of the tower into place and held them there with the huge ice formations that only he could make, Chul-hee and Atsushi inserted the screws, and then Atsushi welded the pieces together with his blowtorch. As they worked their way upward, Mamoru started forming steps of ice for the other two to climb to reach the tower’s joints.
“So, no matter where you go in Yamma, there’s always a signal?” Atsushi asked as he and Chul-hee sat atop one of Mamoru’s ice platforms a bound and a half from the ground, screwing a beam in place.
“Almost,” Chul-hee said, “not underground.”
“Wait.” Atsushi paused. “Does that mean these towers will be obsolete in a few years?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
“Well, if Yamma has already had info-com satellites in space for years, Kaigen can’t be far behind, right?”
Chul-hee pressed his lips together and focused on tightening the screw before him. So far, he had avoided sharing any of his anti-government thoughts with Atsushi. Maybe because the numu was younger than Mamoru—and he seemed so bright-eyed and innocent. “Satellites are expensive,” he said finally.
“But Kaigen has more money than Yamma,” Atsushi said. “The economy’s the best it’s ever been.”
“Well…” Chul-hee started. “The thing about that is—”
Mamoru coughed. The ice under his control cracked violently, nearly pitching Chul-hee and Atsushi from their perch—nearly; he wasn’t irresponsible. Atsushi screamed and grabbed onto Chul-hee, who grabbed onto the nearest beam.
“Sorry!” Mamoru cleared his throat and righted the ice platform beneath them. “I just—inhaled some snow.”
While Atsushi reoriented himself, Chul-hee stared over the edge of the platform down at Mamoru. Meeting his eyes, Mamoru shook his head. Atsushi wasn’t soft-minded, but he was only ten; he wasn’t ready to have his world ripped apart and turned upside down.
Mamoru knew by now that he couldn’t stop Chul-hee’s dangerous mouth by yelling at him, or punching him, or pleading with him to be more careful. He suspected as he held Chul-hee’s gaze that it was only a matter of time before little Atsushi was treated to the same horrible revelations he had experienced the day he met the northern boy. But for the moment, Chul-hee relented with a roll of his eyes and changed the subject.
The three were just discussing heading back to the village hall for lunch when Mamoru caught sight of a pair of figures coming up the mountain toward them. Even at a distance, Mamoru recognized his father’s even, deliberate gait—eerily smooth over uneven ground. The other figure, trudging and stumbling along behind him could only be Chul-hee’s father, Kwang Tae-min. Despite his breadth of knowledge and worldly air, the traveling Geomijul representative was not a sure-footed creature. It was easy to tell that he was a stranger to snow and mountains.
“Oh—Matsuda-dono,” Atsushi said as he too caught sight of the men. “What is he doing up here?”
“I don’t know.” Mamoru’s brow furrowed. Tou-sama wasn’t known for leaving his desk during work hours. After Chul-hee and Atsushi finished securing the beam they were working on, Mamoru used his ice to lower them to the ground.
Atsushi scrambled down, as the adults approached, and bowed deeply.
“Appa, Matsuda-sama, good to see you,” Chul-hee said with a more casual nod. “What are you doing up here?”
“Unfortunately, I need to collect my son and head home,” Tou-sama said. “Something has come up.”
“Oh—it’s going to be difficult to keep working without him,” Chul-hee said. “He’s been doing most of the heavy lifting.”
“It’s fine,” Kwang Tae-min said. “I was going to call you boys down to the village hall anyway. I need your help with a few things.”
“Are the towers working?” Atsushi asked excitedly.
“That’s where I need your help, kid,” Kwang said with a smile. “We have some frozen components—mostly wires. I was hoping you could help me find some better insulation.”
“Oh. Of course, sir.”
After Chul-hee and Atsushi packed up their tools, the group made their way back down the footpath toward the village.
“I’ve never personally overseen construction in a place this cold,” Kwang Tae-min said, carefully picking his way through the snow. “As a jijaka, I suppose I should be embarrassed; after years of setting up Geomijul infrastructure in Yamma and Sizwe, I’ve completely underestimated the destructive power of ice.”
The Kwangs and Atsushi went on discussing wiring, insulation, and a lot of technical things Mamoru only half understood until they reached the break in the path. One fork led toward the snow-covered village hall and the much bigger info-com tower looming beside it. The other led back down to the village itself.
“Goodbye, Matsuda-dono,” Atsushi said, bowing to Mamoru and his father.
Kwang just punched Mamoru in the arm. “See you tomorrow, Mamoru-kun.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Mamoru was so sure-footed that he was used to being the fastest up and down the rocky mountain paths, but Tou-sama didn’t bother with the rocks at all. Ice changed shape to form level steps beneath his feet with each stride. Deep snow parted before him like it couldn’t wait to clear his way.
Like most jijakalu, Mamoru needed to put in visible effort to manipulate water. Tou-sama’s power was on a level where water scrambled to obey him, and Mamoru found himself struggling to keep pace.
“That boy is very familiar with you,” Tou-sama said without looking back at him.
“We’re classmates.”
“Yukino Yuuta and Mizumaki Itsuki are your classmates too. You haven’t been spending much time with them this winter.”
“We still train together sometimes,” Mamoru said. “I just wanted to work on the info-com towers with Chul-hee and Atsushi.” He paused, glancing nervously up at his father’s face. “If you want me to stop, I will, Tou-sama. I only joined the construction team because you said it was alright—”
“It’s fine with me. Just as long as you stay focused on your true purpose.”
His tone made Mamoru’s gut clench in guilt. He still hadn’t gotten any closer to mastering the Whispering Blade.
“Yes, Tou-sama,” he said. “So… can I ask why we’re heading home so early?” he ventured, eager to change the subject.
“I was going to leave early anyway. I have a meeting with my brother at the eleventh waati at his office, but a letter just arrived for your mother, from Ishihama.”
“Oh.” Mamoru still didn’t understand why that was cause for them to head back to the compound. It wasn’t unusual for Kaa-chan to receive letters from her family in Ishihama. The post workers at the village hall sometimes gave Tou-sama the family’s mail to take home with him rather than delivering it to the door, but Mamoru had never known his father to rush them straight home.
“This letter was marked as urgent,” Tou-sama explained at Mamoru’s look of confusion. “It was sent through the one-day express post with Lord Tsusano’s personal seal, which means it must contain news he needs delivered right away.”
And Mamoru found himself picking up his stride, wondering what news from his mother’s home was so urgent it couldn’t wait a day.
MISAKI
“You’re home early,” Misaki said in surprise. “I’m sorry—I just put Izumo down for his nap, so I haven’t prepared any lunch yet.”
“Where are the other two?” Takeru asked. He tended to do that—talk about the boys like they were items on an inventory.
“Hiroshi is at the elementary school for extra training, and Nagasa is napping.” After an uproarious three waatinu chasing Ryota around in the snow, she was hoping he would stay down for a while. “Give me a siira. I’ll make you tea and put some lunch together.”
“Before that,” Takeru said, “there’s something you need to see.” He pulled a scroll out of his sleeve and held it out to her. “This is why we came back early. It’s from your brother.”
“Oh.” Misaki took the kayiri scroll from her husband. While Ishihama had working telephone lines, Takayubi did not, so on the rare occasions that Kazu contacted her, it was always through letters. But this was the first time one of them had ever been marked as express mail. She tore through the Tsusano seal and unrolled the scroll.
Dear Misaki,
I hope this message reaches you in time that you don’t have to worry. Yesterday, our hometown and the neighboring area was hit by a coastal storm. Many homes were devastated, including our own Arashiki, and over 100 people have turned up dead so far. I just want to let you know before you hear about it on the news, that our family and friends are all alive and safe.
Kaito and I sustained some minor injuries, but Kaa-san, Tou-sama, Raiki, my wife, and all the little ones are unhurt. After all, we would hardly be Tsusanos if we couldn’t weather a bit of wind and rain.
All jokes aside, it seems like these storms have been especially bad recently. See if you can talk your husband into a vacation further inland. I hear the capital is lovely this time of year.
Nyama to you,
Your brother, Tsusano Kazu, Lord of the Arashiki
“What does Lord Tsusano say?” Takeru asked.
