In Tempered Steel Clad

I crossed my arms. “Really. A voodoo god from Louisiana has your name on its ass?”

“The river Tone and its surrounding rice-farming communities has always been under our jurisdiction,” she said. “Which is why we were – and still are – the patrons of this very shrine, which the beast defiled.” The pause emphasizing ‘beast’ as she stared me down was artful; unnoticeable but subtle enough for plausible deniability. “The government respects our traditional responsibilities and expects us to uphold them.”

I quirked an eyebrow, but Ruriko nodded. “They have Diet connections, too,” she added. “They could make a stink-”

“Will make complaints,” Takamodo stressed. “It is the way we do things here; our honor is found in due service to the nation–” I noticed Ruriko suppressing an eye-roll at that one “–unlike your mage families who might take care of a monster if it’s in their territory and suits their selfish interest.”

“Well aren’t you just brimming with the milk of human kindness,” I said.

“Moreover, we’ve been worshiping and working with the kappa of the Tone since before your country existed. There’s not a river kami born that we don’t know how to handle.”

“What about the Kurogane?” Aiko asked, passing the sake bottle to Ruriko. “You said they were mixed up in this?”

“The shapeshifter summoner who’s corpse desecrated this shrine–” she flicked her eyes at me “–was one of their associates, yes.”

Aiko and Ruriko both blinked.

“Right, right, it was the other mages, the very bad naughty ones you definitely aren’t beefing with on the regular,” I said, letting a yawn escape for emphasis. All three women gave me a withering look.

“She wouldn’t levy an accusation like that if her family couldn’t back it up,” Ruriko said a bit sternly. “Though I don’t know how the hell she could–”

“Largely by the usual techniques,” Takamodo said, picking up her teacup and studying it with calculated indifference. “But since government suits trust easily-faked digital records over our honor as magi and holy divination that taps the essence of the universe itself – well. Suffice to say, even the oh-so-modern Kurogane aren’t as expert with technology as they think. Do you know how many computerized devices still use outdated encryption for their ‘wi-fi’ connections? Some ne’er-do-well breaking the digital records laws was struck with an attack of conscience upon discovering the terrible misdeeds contained on a Kurogane server, clearly linking their business accounts with the… deceased.”

“Last I checked the money-laundering shell game was a little more complicated than what would be recorded on a single server in a single building.”

“Indeed. One almost suspects divine revelation was given to that young soul to utilize their talents for the greater good.” She closed her eyes and sipped her tea.

“Parallel construction,” I said. “Well, I guess our peoples aren’t so different after all.”

Takamodo finished her sip with a gulp.

“So, you want in,” Ruriko said.

“Obviously,” the swordswoman replied.

Ruriko closed her eyes and for a second; the crisp little professional let the early hour catch up with her; hands worrying the cork in the sake bottle. “Why do I always have to run this interference?”

“Because you’re the back-channel,” Aiko said gently. “And you’re pretty good at it… though this yankee here might take your job, if he sticks around.” Takamodo suppressed a smirk.

“Eh?” I asked.

“Well, with that sorted out, I must be going. Much to be done.” Takamodo said, standing. “I disturbed you.” She bowed to Aiko and got a wan little wave in return, then strode out like she was wearing her scabbard up her kiester rather than in a sash.

“Would you like the guest room?” Aiko asked Ruriko.

“I should drive him back to the hotel first,” Ruriko said, fingers spinning the cork ‘round and ‘round.

“I can call a cab,” I said. “It’s how I got out here to start with.”

“Might be hard this time of night, out in the countryside–”

“I’m a big boy, I’ll be fine. I think I’ve caused you enough trouble tonight, anyway.” I rose and retrieved my rifle. Ruriko did as well.

“It’ll just take a few m- miiuuuntes,” she protested through a yawn.

“Push comes to shove I’ll call Yokota and have them send Uncle Sam’s youngest airman to pick me up in a GOV. Er, Government Owned Vehicle.”

Ruriko was swigging from the sake before the pop! of the cork finished echoing. She flopped backwards onto the tatami mats and closed her eyes. “I appreciate it,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll have to call someone to bring my business clothes…” her voice trailed off.

“She’s been pulling too many long nights,” Aiko said, rising from the table to retrieve a blanket from a closet and drape over the now soundly sleeping Ruriko. “I keep telling her it’s gonna catch up; she’s not as young as she used to be.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Sounds familiar.”

“You can have the guest room, if you want. It’ll just take a second to–”

“How did Sassy McSwordsalot put it? I’ve disturbed you. Really am sorry about the, well, everything, but I didn’t get to pick my landing spot. I’ll get out of your hair.”

She simply nodded and gave me a slight bow, which I matched, then turned and walked towards the breezeway leading to the temple–”

“Nice sword, by the way.”

Her tone froze me in my tracks.

“Well, it works,” I allowed.

“You can bullshit an Onmyōdō like Ruriko but I’m a full-fledged priestess, top to bottom, and you’re standing in my inner sanctum. So why don’t you cut the crap, kid?”

I sighed. “God damn it.” Unclipping my rifle again and propping it against the wall, I turned to face Aiko. She was standing tall, arms crossed, dark eyes pinning me to the floor like an insect to a corkboard. “Does this really matter?”

“He asks the shrine maiden after chasing after an evil kami for half the night. Yes. It most certainly does. Morever, Ruriko isn’t stupid, you know. She just assumes you’re omitting things. Like exactly how you were able to go muscle-to-muscle with a shapeshifter earlier this afternoon. But if you actually want to stay in Japan and shove your nose into our business – and I think you will – the first thing she’s going to demand is a full rundown of your capabilities.”

I glanced at Ruriko nervously, but she just snored a little bit, dead to the world.

“And then there’s Tsuki – Mizuki, I mean. Her sword’s an ancestral blade of her clan; there might be ten blades in Japan and thirty, all-told, in the entire world that are in its class. It could cut that battle tank you drove through my koi pond today in half, if she puts enough mana into it. You really think she’s not going to wonder how she couldn’t cut through unenchanted steel?”

“I, uh, well, um.”

“And that’s assuming I don’t say something,” she said, seeming to loom over me despite being a few inches shorter. “Ruriko’s been my best friend since childhood and I taught Tsuki every spiritual technique she knows; so you had better have a good explanation for what that thing is and where it came from!”

I inhaled, biting my lip almost till it bled – and exhaled slowly, seeing no other way out. Slowly, I undid the leather straps holding the scabbard’s suspension rings to my belt and held out the sheathed blade in both hands. She reached out and took it gingerly – eyes widening as she made contact. For a moment she stood stock-still – then drew it, slowly, wire-wrapped hilt looking massive in her small hand. Gingerly she laid the far end of the blade over her sleeved forearm.

Aiko wasn’t wearing her shrine maiden getup; just slacks and a light blouse with a cat-face traced on it in sequins and glitter. With her lovely brown eyes and dark hair pulled over one shoulder in a ponytail she was the picture of the happy young mother; she must be ten years my senior to have a teenage daughter but she certainly didn’t look it. But with the Saber in her hands, still as a statue with dark eyes riveted on the gray steel, I could see the priestess plain.

She sheathed the blade and propped it against the wall carefully, then exhaled a breath like she hadn’t realized she was holding it. “I’ve… never heard of this before.” Eyes still fixed on the sword, she shook her head, denying the anomaly that sat before her. “It’s not a possessing spirit, not a kami imbued at creation; it’s… but they’re never like this. They’re, they’re common. And weak. Just residual energies collected over a hundred years…”

“Well, this one’s old enough,” I said quietly. “Then again, there’s some that ain’t.” I untucked the bayonet and sheath from its spot thrust under my belt at the small of my back, and handed it over. She took it cautiously, but peered closer after nothing happened on contact.

“… it’s definitely there. Now that I’m looking for it, and holding it, but, it’s quiet.”

“Yeah. The saber’s an exception. We’re not really sure why.”

“We?”

“NAIC. Uh, here..” I produced my wallet and managed to peel one of my business cards out, a bit easier this time as they’d had some time to dry off. Aiko patted it on her shirtsleeve and read it:

Department of Energy; National Anomalous Investigation Cell – Field Investigator Peter Lanz.

“… energy!?”

“They deal with nuclear everything; from power plants to bombs, so it’s the perfect combination of boring niche bureaucratic stuff and top-secret cloistered secret squirrel bullshit. Flash DOE credentials and people assume you’re chasing after whoever was responsible for UFO sightings by the nearest nuclear power plant.

“So this NAIC – what do you know?

“Well.” I sighed. “We’ve found a handful of these weapons – as you’ve noticed, they’re completely unremarkable even to mages, so they’re not easy to pick out. And of those, we’ve only been able to trace the history of a few.”

“Such as?”

“Colt Revolver, Single Action Army, serial number 5773. One of only three recovered from the battlefield of Little Bighorn, from the site of General Armstrong Custer’s last stand. Recorded in Colt company records as having been sent in for repair by the government; so between that and the pitting from blood corrosion on it, we assume it was used as a club by the end.”

Aiko covered her mouth, brown eyes somber.

“We’re still looking for the other two, but serial number 4552 turned up at auction just a few years ago; the Lakota that picked it up traded it for blue jeans and a blanket and it’d been passed down the storekeeper’s family that whole time. And it’s also…”

“Any others?”

I drew the M1911A1 from its leather holster. As always, it felt heavy in the hand. “This one might’ve belonged to Thomas Alexander Baker. Killed in action on 7th July, 1944, Saipan.” I swallowed and holstered it. “Emphasis on ‘might.’ Weapon records were kept at the unit level. It could’ve been anyone. Saipan was rough.”

“… are they all like that, then?” Her voice was quiet.

“Well, it’s not like we’ve got a big sample size, but…”

She processed that a moment. “Any exceptions?”

“Well, maybe. That one.” I nodded at the saber. “Revolutionary war; made by a well-known Philadelphia cutlery shop, to-order. Commissioner’s initials on the handle made it easier to track. If the owner died while holding it, he didn’t do it during the war.”

Aiko studied me a moment. “You don’t like it.”

“It’s…” I bit my lip, searching for words to box in the vague unease roiling in my gut. “The bayonet, the pistol, I understand those. Cheap lowest-bidder pot metal. General Issue. Simple tools, straightforward purpose.”

“… and the sword?” she asked, voice gentle.

“It has a purpose, all right. But for some reason it, it chose me. It comes when I call, sometimes even when I don’t. I don’t… it’s…” I shook my head. “Yeah. I don’t… it… listen, at the end of the day I’m just a rifle custodian that managed to trip and land face-first in a deep pool of Weird Shit. Even the mages that signed on aren’t sure what to make of it.”

A smile stole across Aiko’s face – small and sad. “That, I don’t doubt.” She handed me back the bayonet, then walked over to retrieve one of the translation talisman’s from Ruriko’s robe, who just murmured in her sleep, stretched like a cat, and snoozed on. “Ruriko hardly needs this, the show-off, so you may as well keep it. It should last a few days at least.” I tucked it into a pocket.

“Wait a moment, I’ll get the spare room ready.” She strode away down the back hall before I could object.

I stepped into the small kitchen and splashed cold water on my face at the sink, then again, and let it drip into the basin with a quiet doonk doonk doonk, my reflection in the spotlessly clean stainless steel almost clear enough to be bothersome.

Aiko wouldn’t say anything to the others. I wasn’t much surprised.

Even if you believed it, it’s not something you wanted to dwell on – the implications of a sword with a soul.