Death's Sword Book 1: Finding and Seeking

Chapter 9, part 2: Day 13

The ex-ninja rolled the pebble around his mouth before returning it to rest under his tongue. Even with this old trick, and the bitter dribble of moisture he had licked off a rough stone wall earlier, his mouth was parched and his tongue swollen. He did not know if he could continue much longer. The half-calcified spear-shaft he was using to feel his way told him that the wall fell away to left and right. The passage opened into a chamber. He put the stick down, resting across his feet, then fumbled at the right-hand wall in the darkness. He could find none of his markings where the passage left the chamber. The boy swung the sword in an arc, striking the wall. The blade rang in protest at this treatment and a shower of chippings sprayed from the rock.

At first, Kleymin had been more cautious, carefully rubbing the sword against the rock to mark his route. Gradually, though, he had lost patience and begun aiming blows at the walls. The sword remained undamaged and Kleymin's confidence in the blade grew.

The nukenin picked up his stick and started moving to his left along the wall. A peculiar dry rustling sound made him stop. He strained his eyes to see in the darkness. Nothing. He concentrated on his hearing. Certain slight sounds came to his ears. Almost instinctively, he brought the sword up even as he heard the twang! of the crossbow string. A jar along the blade and he felt a broken quarrel tumble into the wall beside him. He sniffed. No taint of poison reached his nostrils. He waited, poised for further action. "Well," chirruped a voice in the darkness, "it seems that Death can see in the dark. I've often thought that this must be so."

"That was an unfriendly greeting, Vrakschtek-tengu," croaked Kleymin in reply, recognising the voice, "I thought that you were willing to aid the Clan of the Night, not try to kill them." This brought a twitter of laughter from off to his right. Kleymin moved left, noiselessly, warily. It felt as though all his weariness had slipped off him suddenly, leaving him alert once more. "You are no longer of that clan, Kleymin. You have turned against them and they against you. You are declared nukenin, to be killed on sight," answered the tengu. A light suddenly burst into being. Kleymin gasped and threw his right arm before his eyes. "However," continued the tengu, unperturbed, "I am willing to aid him that bears the star and the crescent. Further, old and foolish that I am, I am not so foolish as to seriously try and kill the one who bears the sword currently in your grip." His eyesight gradually returning to normal, Kleymin peered about to try and locate the little bird-man. The tengu was standing on a broad shelf, half-way up one grey-brown wall. A small crossbow lay at its feet and a kodachi gleamed in its right fist. Vrakschtek tipped his head to one side. "You look in need of a drink, little man. Follow me; Uncle Vrakschtek will take you out of these nasty caves. Away from nasty cave-wolves, too," he added, bright eyes resting on the dried blood encrusting the boy.

Later, sitting cross-legged in the tengu's cave, Kleymin examined his new sword carefully in the better light of Vrakschtek's latterns. It was a two-edged blade, tapering to a point, unlike the single-bladed katana he was more accustomed to, yet strangely blunt rather than razor-sharp. The guard was a plain cross-piece, not a rounded tsuba. The hilt was of some black material, wound about with a black wire to give a better grip. The whole weapon was very plain and business-like, in perfect condition despite both its long stay in the caves and his treatment of it. Flawless, unmarked – and without a trace of blood on it, in spite of the cave-wolves it had slain and the blood, both blue and red, spattered liberally onto the boys' face, body, hands and clothes.

Vrakschtek hopped into the room, half walking, half flying, carrying two bowls and a steaming bottle of sake. He filled the bowls, gave one to Kleymin, bowed to his guest, then sipped the hot fluid. "Interesting weapon, isn't it?" piped the bird-man, "Good condition, too, considering it's been missing for about three hundred years." Some of the sake slopped out of Kleymin's bowl. "Three hundred years!" he exclaimed, eyes round with surprise. The tengu bobbed his head, "Quite so, quite so. If you will allow me one moment to cast a simple spell ... so," continued Vrakschtek, left hand gesturing rapidly, "all is revealed, to a simple student of these matters such as your humble host." The bird-man sketched a bow. A deep, purring note emanated from the sword and runes in icy colours could be seen swimming and flickering along the blade. For some reason he could not name, the sight brought a chill to Kleymin's blood. The hilt was warm now to the boy's touch. "Is the blade sharp, Kleymin?" asked the tengu.