Daughter of the Sword by Steve Bein Page B

blade as well. Since his passions betrayed her, she would make them become his downfall as well. The sword performed better than ever after her death, a fact only to be explained by her spirit’s strength guiding it. It is said to be lighter and faster than any other blade, and truly, madam, it is so. My own hands have held it. But her will exerts itself from within the sword. She drove Motoyori mad with rage and jealousy until finally he could no longer control himself. The urges within him took over, and he died senselessly in a duel. He drunkenly accused another man of sleeping with one of his favorite prostitutes and was cut down in the street, too blind with jealousy for his sword to find its mark.”
    Hisami let out a long breath. It was evident in the priest’s manner that he earnestly believed every word of his tale to be true. Indeed, he was so serious that Hisami was almost inclined to believe him.
    She shook her head, and better sense took over. “What does this have to do with my husband? He never knew this woman; she would have died hundreds of years ago.”
    “The sword remains possessed to this day, madam. All who have owned it have died. Some men fall quickly to its spell, others last longer, but every man succumbs. If I may ask, my lady, is your husband a passionate man or a temperate one?”
    “How dare you even ask? Every samurai controls his emotions when needed.” She surprised herself with her harsh tone, and immediately she wondered why she’d snapped at him like she did. After a pensive moment she understood. “My husband is…well, in certain company he can be quick to laugh. And quick to anger.”
    “Then I fear the Beautiful Singer will make short work of him. You must get the sword from him and have her spirit exorcised.”
    “How am I supposed to do that? The sword’s scarcely left his side since he brought it home.”
    “All the more evidence that it is still possessed, my lady.”
    The priest had a point, she thought. Why else would a man leave his bed, his wife, in the middle of the night for the sake of a sword? “Why didn’t you exorcise it when you had it here?”
    “We had no time,” the smith-priest pleaded earnestly. “It was all we could do just to complete the work he’d commissioned in the time he allowed. We only knew the name of the sword after we removed the handle, and by that time he was already on his way here to retrieve it.”
    “And you told him what you told me?”
    “Only that it was cursed, madam. He refused to listen to anything else.”
    Hisami considered the priest’s tale. Possession? She thought only farmers scared each other with legends like that. Still, the story went a long way to explain her husband’s behavior. He had always been “passionate,” to use the priest’s term, but never impulsive. Rashness was not a good quality in a samurai. The past five days were different,though. Riding off like that, then returning in a huff, leaving again the next morning: it wasn’t normal.
    Her mind turned to the late Lord Kanayama. That one was like a stone. Emotionally stoic, unflappable even in the midst of combat. Hisami never met him more than briefly, but in all her contacts with him she had never seen him laugh, never a frown or a grin. Yet he was as wild as a tiger when he died. Could the sword have turned him? And if so, how much more quickly would it bewitch her husband?
    She thanked the priest and took her leave. She would have to hurry now. Nothing about her husband was predictable anymore, and the consequences would be deadly if she was not home when he returned.

18
    Saito’s mare galloped through the gate, dust billowing in her wake. She was breathing heavily, lungs pumping like bellows, and Saito was panting too. He’d ridden her hard, and the wind from the ride was a cool relief on his sweaty brow. It was good to ride a horse like that from time to time. It spoke to the condition of the animal, and also made it clear who the master