Daughter of the Sword by Steve Bein Page A

find a sword smith.
    “I am Saito Hisami,” she told the black-robed youth who answered the door at the foundry. “I wish to speak to the man who met my husband.”
    The acolyte ran off and soon returned, accompanied by a surprisingly young man wearing white robes and a black hat. “Saito-sama,” the priest said nervously. “Please, come in.”
    “Don’t be afraid,” she said, following him to a sitting room. “I do not come to express dissatisfaction with your work.”
    “Understood, madam, but I fear what you have come to talk about is far worse.”
    “Oh?” The two of them sat, and the boy disappeared. The air was thick with the smell of steel and smoke, and noticeably hotter than it should have been. The priest was sweating, though Hisami could not tell whether it was from nervousness or the heat from the forges.
    “You are the wife of the Saito who came to have his hand guard and scabbard replaced?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then you know your husband carries an Inazuma blade.”
    “Hardly! He could never afford—”
    She stopped herself in midthought. Inazuma’s works were priceless; not even by selling the entire Saito fief could she acquire one. Indeed, she’d only ever seen one in her life, and that one belonged to…Kanayama Osamu. The memory instantly resurfaced in her mind. The twin foxes! That was House Kanayama’s symbol, and now it was on her husband’s weapon. That was why he had come here so quickly: to have the late lord’s crest removed before she could remember where she’d seen it. The shame of it was unbearable; her husband was a thief. There could be no other explanation. Kanayama could have bequeathed the blade to Saito before his death, but that would have been a thing of honor, not something to ride off in the dead of night to conceal.
    “Thank you,” she told the priest uneasily. “I believe I understand the situation now.”
    “I’m afraid you do not,” he cautioned. “Whether or not the sword is your husband’s, you must know the truth of it. It is cursed.”
    “Cursed? Rubbish!”
    “It is true, my lady. Master Inazuma crafted that sword especially for Motoyori Hidetada, the famous warlord of Echizen. Motoyori was renowned for his swordsmanship and also for his passions. He never married, but he was known to have regular beds in pleasure houses throughout the north. One of his consorts was a geisha whose beauty was said to be unmatched. Her voice was also without equal, and it is said she used to sing him to sleep.
    “The story goes that this geisha fell in love with Motoyori and wanted to marry him. Of course a high-ranking samurai like Motoyori could never marry a woman of her profession, so instead she begged him to give up all other women but her.”
    “And did he?”
    “A man cannot deny any request from such a beautiful woman. He said he would be hers alone, but as I said, he was a man of great passions. Inevitably he became unfaithful to her, and when she learned of it, she tried to kill him. No mere geisha could best a swordsman of his caliber, of course, but she caught him unawares. Ordinarily he wouldhave tried to restrain her, but he reacted unthinkingly to her surprise attack and killed her.
    “Motoyori was so distraught by her death that he brought the blade that killed her back to Master Inazuma. He composed a death poem for his lover such as befits the passing of a samurai, not a lowly prostitute. Inazuma inscribed the poem on the tang of the blade. I have seen it myself:
The glorious sun,
nigh on reaching its zenith,
shaded by my hand.
    “She was the sun, you see, glorious in her beauty and becoming ever more so until his hand put out her light. The sword became known as the Beautiful Singer thereafter.”
    Hisami’s forehead furrowed. “A sad story, to be sure, but hardly a curse.”
    “Motoyori only shaded the sun; he did not extinguish it forever. It is said her spirit followed the weapon, and when her death poem was inscribed, she entered the