Katana
A Saiyuki Gaiden fic
by Veszelyite
A/N: Contains spoilers for the latest chapters of Saiyuki Gaiden. Apologies in advance for any unintended timeline errors, breaches of etiquette, or historical inaccuracies. Any comments or corrections would be welcomed.
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DISCLAIMER: The Saiyuki guys don't belong to me, in any of their incarnations or by any of their other names. Artistic license has been taken with respect to a historical figure or two, and no disrespect is intended.
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Tenpou padded down the halls of the imperial archives, the soles of his shiny black military boots scuffing almost soundlessly against the dusty floor. It was unlikely that he'd run into anyone in these long corridors piled floor to ceiling with ancient books. Most kami avoided this place if they could. Even the clerks, whose job it was to track down important documents and historical records, tended not to linger in this maze. All the same, it never hurt to be cautious. Tenpou didn't exactly have permission to be down here, and he didn't think it wise to test his luck.
He was wearing his full dress uniform as a Captain of the Western army, despite the fact that he had been officially dismissed from duty earlier in the day. The black greatcoat and trousers of the uniform were surprisingly well suited to moving around undetected in the shadowy, mostly forgotten corridors beneath the imperial grounds. He hadn't chosen to wear the uniform by intent. It had simply been too much trouble to detour back to his room and change into more casual clothes.
The imperial archives were a pathway rather than a destination, at the moment. Although Tenpou would happily have spent an afternoon of well-earned leave time among the dusty stacks, today he was feeling restless, wanting something different, something that was a change from the tedium and stagnation of Heaven. His destination lay past the rows and rows of volumes, down several more flights of stairs to the Izora gate, and beyond it to the world Down Below.
He'd asked Konzen, earlier, if he'd wanted to go, as a break from the monotony of paperwork. Konzen had only given him a look of disgust across the piles of documents on his desk, and said that they weren't kids anymore, to go sneaking off whenever they felt like it. They both had responsibilities now, and Tenpou had better look to his duties as Captain rather than wasting his time with foolish hobbies that he was old enough to have outgrown decades ago.
The rejection had stung just a bit, and made Tenpou realize how much Konzen had changed in recent years. The blond haired kami had become distant, disinterested in the world around him since taking up his position in the bureaucracy of Heaven. He no longer seemed the least bit tempted to take Tenpou's invitation, when once he would have given it serious consideration at the least--if for no other reason than to challenge authority and shake off the attentions of that overbearing and nosy aunt for a while.
That was the problem, however. While Konzen seemed quite content to ignore the complex and fascinating world that existed underneath Heaven, Tenpou somehow couldn't put it out of his mind. There was an excitement, a vibrancy to the lives of mortals that didn't exist in the perfection of the world above. It was truly unfortunate that it was so very difficult to get down there. There were countless locked gates and guard posts along the route, and Tenpou's newly acquired military rank opened only so many imperial doors.
He'd heard a rumor once, that there was an underground passage that connected the buildings of the Western army with the palace. In all of his explorations however, he hadn't found the passageway yet. He promised himself that once he had the proper military rank, he'd make sure someone told him where it was. ...Or he'd have one built for himself, if it didn't already exist.
It would be quite convenient indeed, to be able to come and go as he pleased.
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Tenpou had first met the swordsmith of Ogigayatsu thirty-five years earlier.
It had been on the road from Kamakura to Kyoto. While traveling in the countryside, Tenpou had happened upon a caravan being ambushed by ragged group of bandits. The caravan guards were well armed, but outnumbered, and stood fair odds of being overwhelmed. Kami rarely involved themselves in the affairs of mortals, and Tenpou would not have intervened--save that the bandit leader caught sight of him observing the battle, coveted the military sword that he wore, and sent five of his men to take it.
Tenpou could have informed the bandit leader that it was a grave tactical error to divide his forces in that way. Especially when the men he commanded were unskilled and so poorly equipped as these. As the five men approached, the Japanese-style katana that had attracted their leader's attention rasped clear of its sheath. If the bandits had possessed any shred of self-preservation, the lot of them would have broken and fled at the first sight of Tenpou's welcoming smile.
The bandits weren't even a challenge. They hadn't the least idea of how to fight, much less how to work as a unit against a single opponent. The fight, if it could even be called that, lasted less than half a minute. The men fell to the ground within heartbeats of each other with broken weapons and bruised skulls. This seemed to hearten the beleaguered caravan defenders, who rallied to drive the rest of the bandits away.
Gods did not kill. Not even in their own self-defense, since the laws of Heaven forbade it. The fact that the blade of Tenpou's sword had no blood on it was not lost on the sharp eyes of the middle-aged man who quickly came forward from the wagons to meet him.
After graciously thanking the kami in the full polite form, the man had inquired respectfully if he might have a look at Tenpou's katana. Curiousity piqued by the request, Tenpou handed the sword over to watch the result. That was how he had given away his identity as an immortal--for the swordsmith recognized immediately that the blade was not something that had been forged anywhere on Earth.
Thirty-five years later, Tenpou's foray through the Izora gate brought him here, to the back of a small shop in the township of Ogigayatsu. The swordsmith, still hale but now browned and bent over with advanced age, was describing in detail the battle of Kamakura. He used the tea utensils to re-enact Nitta Yoshisada's daring march from the Inamuragasaki across the head of the bay at low tide. The tactical stroke allowed the military commander to surprise his enemies and take the city of Kamakura from the south.
That momentous battle had been a huge victory for the forces of the Emperor. Unfortunately it had failed to bring an end to civil war. The tea utensils were rearranged again and again, marking battles at Tegoshi-gawara, Sanoyama, and the confrontation on the shores of Suruga Bay.
"And still the fighting continues, three years after the fall of Kamakura," the elderly man observed. "Nitta has fallen back to defend Kyoto, and the rebel armies are rallying for pursuit. Nitta is a skilled commander, and his loyalty to the Emperor does him credit, but he is facing a difficult situation, one he may not be able to salvage in the end."
Tenpou studied the last bit of his tea, mulling over the words. "If I understand the politics of the situation correctly, the Emperor bears his own share of the blame for the rebellion. One could argue that loyalty is only a credit when it's deserved."
"Ah." the elderly man nodded sagely. "There are those who share those very sentiments. Ashikaga Takauji, leader of the rebels, used to be one of the Emperor's men, after all." The swordsmith set his empty cup down on the table with deliberate care. "I will not speak ill of the throne--this Emperor's predecessors are responsible for my comfortable life and for ensuring the good fortune of my heirs. However," he leaned back, folding his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe. "The advisors to the emperor are another matter entirely. Many individuals, both inside and outside the court, would agree that things would be very different if those men did not hold the Emperor's ear."
Tenpou couldn't resist the urge to play devil's advocate. "It may be that certain courtiers are at fault. ...However, someone allowed those advisors to move into positions of power. Someone listens to their words even now." Who carries the blame? The person who gives bad advice, or the person who acts on it?
"Perhaps," the swordsmith acknowledged in an even tone, too canny to be drawn into debate. "We shall see. This moment is the calm before the storm. One can only wait to see which way the wind is blowing, once the dust from the fighting clears."
As Tenpou finished his tea, the elderly man glanced over at the weapon that accompanied the kami's uniform. "You've brought your katana today," the swordsmith observed. "After all this time, would you mind if I examined it again?"
A small smile hovered at the corner of Tenpou's mouth. He unfastened the sword and offered it with the blade laid horizontally across both hands. Reverently, the old man took it, eyes glittering as he traced the weapon's perfect lines. He unsheathed the katana, tilting it to catch the light and test its balance, drinking in the artistry and feel of the blade.
"Ah," he sighed, after several long moments. It was a small, pleased sound. "It was just as I had remembered." He slid the blade back into its protective leather scabbard and proffered it to its owner. "Thank you for your indulgence."
The old man gave no visible signal as Tenpou reclaimed the katana, but suddenly two of the swordsmith's attendants entered the room. One cleared away the remains of the tea, the other set a long lacquer box down on the low table. The attendants bowed and left.
Then the elderly man was moving, slowly lowering his forehead to the floor in profound veneration in front of Tenpou. "You have done honor to me and to this household with your visits. It would please me if you would accept this humble gift, unworthy as it is, as a token of my esteem."
The gesture took the kami by surprise. The swordsmith's words were sincere, and Tenpou knew it would be unwise to refuse--to reject such a gift would be a mortal insult. The swordsmith waited expectantly, unmoving despite the discomfort his position must have caused him, as Tenpou reached out to lift the lid of the box. A katana of exquisite craftsmanship lay inside, nested in a bed of crimson silk.
"I had intended to give this to you since shortly after we first met," the old swordsmith murmured. "However, I was never able to gather the courage. Now my time in this life grows short. I know my remaining days are few. The next time you visit this household, I may no longer be here."
Tenpou lifted the katana and slipped it free of its scabbard. The bright afternoon sunlight glittered on the metallic matrix of dark, pearlescent metal that made up the back side of the blade. The smooth, undulating wave that marked the temper line formed a clear pattern along the length of the leading edge. The hand guard was simple yet elegant, and traditional tsuka-ito knotwork formed the handgrip. The blade was worth a fortune by any standard.
Taking Tenpou's silence as a form of assent, the swordsmith slowly inched up from his bow. "Originally it was meant to be more similar to yours," he said, his mouth crooked up in an apologetic smile. "Unfortunately, as with many mortals, vanity is a persistent flaw. A craftsman cannot make a piece without taking liberties with the details. I hope that doesn't cause any difficulties."
"Not at all," Tenpou breathed, staring at the sword in unfeigned admiration.
"The katana pleases you," the old man observed. His voice betrayed his own emotions of satisfaction and pride. "I'm glad." His lips curved up in a secretive smile. "…Although you must understand that that I also have an ulterior motive. For who among mortals can claim the privilege of knowing that one of their works resides among the gods?"
The words were rewarded with a laugh. "Very few, I can assure you." Tenpou reluctantly re-sheathed the sword and returned it to its case. "Thank you. This is a fine gift. I gratefully accept it."
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It was quiet in Marshal Tenpou's library. Goujun was still as a marble statue, sitting back against the bookshelves with a pride that belied his status as highest-ranking hostage. Konzen and Goku were conversing in low voices in the room that adjoined the library. Tenpou and Kenren were both smoking cigarettes by an open window, staring out into the night where a multitude of lights from campfires and torches were gathering beneath the ever-blooming sakura trees. Litouten was out there with the army of Heaven, waiting. Soon he would make his move against the four rebels. The deadline of dawn was little over an hour away.
Tenpou stirred from the window. They'd made their plans as best they could. Laid their traps and had only to wait for them to be sprung. It was a gamble, all of it. But Tenpou Gensui had long ago made an art form of playing the odds.
The gun that Tenpou taken during the fight in the Emperor's throne room was lying on his desk beside a pile of extra ammunition. The weapon would serve for a little while in the coming battle against Litouten's men, but Tenpou knew that eventually they were going to run out of bullets. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, ignoring Kenren's inquiring look as he walked deliberately to the set of bookshelves nearest to his desk. There the Marshal knelt on the floor. He removed the row of books and scrolls from the lowermost layer, stacking them haphazardly on the tile. The space behind the books held a long, thin lacquer box. Tenpou slid it out from the shelf, set it on the floor, and carefully removed the lid.
The Masamune katana that had been given to him nearly two centuries earlier lay cradled in its bed of crimson silk. He had opened the box only rarely, and actually touched the sword even less. Gods did not kill. Swords were meaningless, purely aesthetic, in a world where only the Toushin Taishi was allowed to shed blood, and only at the Emperor's command.
But there had been a few times, as now, when Tenpou reverently lifted the sword from its box. A few times, to admire the katana's flawless edge and superb balance. A few times, for the joy of wielding a masterwork. Heaven's craftsmanship, for all its perfection, fell short. One had to truly know and understand death, and what it meant to be mortal, in order to create a weapon like this.
Tenpou understood it well. The next few hours would most likely spell the end of his own immortal life, and that of his companions. Tenpou and Kenren had both shed the blood of gods in the Emperor's throne room in defense of Konzen's golden-eyed ward. They were outlaws in Heaven now. There would be no forgiveness for what they had done.
Tenpou wanted none. Forgiveness was meaningless if it came from an Emperor who allowed corruption to flourish in his court, who surrounded himself with advisors who were motivated only by personal gain, and who used children to become killing machines. This Emperor was no longer worthy of Tenpou Gensui's loyalty. The Marshal had made his choice with a clear heart and clear mind, long before the battle in the throne room.
"You gonna take that with you?" Kenren asked, looking over his shoulder.
"Yes. There are others I could take, but this one has a bit of sentimental value." He reached up to lay the katana on the desk beside the gun. The box went back into the shelf, hidden once more by the books and scrolls. He slowly rose to his feet, absently dusting off the knees of his khakis.
Goujun, who had been watching them both, finally spoke. His words were flat, without emotion. "A single sword is of little use against the entire army of Heaven."
Tenpou smiled faintly. "Maybe. Nonetheless, it is said that a blade of high quality is capable of killing 1,000 men. Perhaps we'll find out if it's true." He turned to Kenren. "I have a bottle of fine sake hidden on one of the other shelves. I think now would be an appropriate time to sample it. It would be a shame for it to go to waste."
The General replied with a grin. "I agree."
So Tenpou filled two dishes with alcohol and set them on the windowsill. The bottle containing the rest of the sake was carefully placed behind one of the statues by his desk as a present for Litouten's men. The last of the preparations complete, Tenpou resumed his post by the window. In the darkness of the pre-dawn hour, the Marshal and the General drank together, savoring the calm before the storm.
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