Steel Rain (15 page)
Precisely who she is, or from whence she comes, is as much a mystery as her relationship to Honjowara
-sama
. A mystery of considerable duration. She is called the Lady of the Tir simply because she is obviously an elf and so much about her is hidden. Machiko herself knows only the most superficial of details. The Chairman calls her "Sashi." She is always elegant in appearance, her hair coiled into elaborate coiffures, her slender figure sheathed in sumptuous robes. She looks to be of Japanese lineage, despite her lustrous golden hair. She arrives in executive limos, accompanied by bodyguards, but the guards always remain with the car. She always comes and goes via back entrances and restricted corridors. She speaks to no one but the Chairman, and has no need to, for the Guard is always notified moments before she arrives and is expected to provide an escort.
Some say she is Honjowara
-sama
's mistress. If so, she is a type which Machiko has never encountered. She is as likely to appear in the middle of the night as in the middle of the day, and is as likely to stay through the night and the day that follows as for only an hour, or the span of a mere few minutes. She has appeared as frequently at the Chairman's estate as here at Nagato Tower, and various of the other locations where Honjowara
-sama
spends his time. Machiko has seen her gaze upon the Chairman with pleasure and even affection, but never in a manner that might be deemed indiscreet, even by a jealous wife.
To Machiko, she seems more a special friend or confidante, an associate of many years.
Honjowara
-sama
gestures casually toward the cushion at the right end of the table. Machiko moves there and descends to one knee and bows. Honjowara
-sama
gives brief acknowledgment. Sashi then politely offers a bow of her own. Machiko answers this very briefly, with just a faint movement of her head. She would give no response at all but for the informal circumstances and the stature of the Lady
kneeling opposite her.
"You seem well, Machiko," says Honjowara
-sama
. "You are fully recovered?"
Machiko bows. "Yes, Chairman
-sama
. Thank you for your concern. I am healed."
Honjowara
-sama
nods approvingly. "In these times every member of Nagato Combine must keep fit and strong. This is doubly true for those of executive levels, Machiko. Those of us who are viewed as leaders. The rank and file of Nagato Combine look to the example set by their leaders. If we are filled with a spirit of bold self-confidence, our people will be inspired."
"I understand, Chairman
-sama
."
Honjowara
-sama
briefly looks to her with a stern eye. "Twice now you have thwarted the attacks of assassins. In this latest incident, you were seen in the best possible light, full of compassion for an old man's bruises, then, alone, acting boldly, selflessly in the face of destruction. This has not passed unnoticed, Machiko. Word has traveled throughout Nagato Combine. This morning, there are many who take a new pride in belonging to an organization defended by the bold warriors of the Guard."
Machiko bows. "I seek only to serve, Chairman
-sama
."
Then, it is Sashi-san who speaks. Her voice is like sunlight dipped in liquid gold, resonant and soft, very soft. "You are perceived as large and bold of spirit, Machiko-san." She pauses to smile, then adds, "Your honor is great."
Machiko bows politely in acknowledgment. Yet the Lady's comments puzzle her. Why would the Lady of the Tir say such things? Obviously, she would know anything the Chairman might have chosen to tell her, but why does she now speak of such things to Machiko? What is her role in this informal meeting?
Perhaps the Chairman merely wishes to echo and enhance his own remarks, and thus emphasize what he has said.
But why should emphasis be considered necessary?
"Arinori," says Honjowara
-sama
.
A paneled door along the wall to Machiko's rear slides open. The Chairman's personal aide enters. He moves to Honjowara
-sama
's side, bows and kneels; then, at a brief gesture from the Chairman, turns toward Machiko.
"I found this artifact on a visit to Kyoto, some years ago," says Honjowara
-sama
. "Give me the benefit of your opinion."
The hands of the Chairman's aide are draped with fine linen, upon which lies a wakizashi. Machiko examines the short sword, its intricate grip, its scabbard, with her eyes. The sword itself appears to be of a customary length, about 46 centimeters. Its grip, wrapped in
same
, shark skin, appears carved out of ivory. The
tsuba
, or guard, appears fashioned out of steel, ornamented in gold, and formed into a design like billowing clouds. The lacquered green scabbard is decorated with an inlaid pattern like a forest of reeds, chaped or capped at the end by a golden
kojiri
in the form of a coiling dragon. The scabbard is also fitted with both
kozuka
and
kogai
, the customary small knife and "headpin," their handles inscribed with the images of a tiger and a waterfall.
"Give me your warrior's keen view," says Honjowara
-sama
.
This can only have one meaning.
The warrior's view regards only the quality of the weapon as a weapon. Machiko bows. Reverently, she draws the short sword from its scabbard. She rises and draws back, away from Honjowara
-sama
and his Lady; then, with katana in one hand, wakizashi in the other, she begins the
kata
of Two Waves Crashing.
The short sword's quality immediately becomes apparent. Its grip seems almost to meld with her fingers and hand. It moves like an extension of her spirit and will. It is of a quality like that of her katana, produced by a master. She returns it reverently to its scabbard. She bows and kneels.
"A most excellent weapon, Chairman
-sama
."
Honjowara
-sama
nods. "Its
tang
is not signed."
This remark, so casually offered, only heightens her opinion of the sword. Some of the greatest masters of Japanese sword history left their blades unsigned. They believed that anyone worthy of their work should be able to identify the maker without reference to a signature, and that persons incapable of doing so were not worthy of knowing how truly valuable a sword they held.
Machiko runs her eyes once more over the weapon, lying over the linen-draped hands of the Chairman's aide. With the Chairman's permission, she bares the blade and examines it closely. The thought that springs abruptly to mind is irresistible.
Honjowara
-sama
nods. "Sukayo-san has expressed this same opinion."
Machiko cannot resist a faint smile.
Perhaps the most famous blades were made by the ancient master Masamune in the fourteenth century, followed by those of his son and grandson. These blades, some reputed to thirst for blood, represent the best of the Koto period, produced prior to 1600. Later masters of the Shinto, or "new," period are generally considered to be not as good. However, the best of the Shinto period masters produced blades better than many of the Koto period. The masters of the city of Osafune in Japan are considered to rank among the best. They produced many blades of the finest quality.
Machiko can well imagine the pleasure with which her "older brother" Sukayo would regard such a blade. "It is an honor to meet such ancient steel."
"It is yours," says Honjowara
-sama
.
The suggestion alone would be unsettling.
Machiko struggles to breathe, to remain calm. She bows, bows deeply. "Chairman
-sama
," she says. "Please forgive me, I am not worthy of such a gift. I am a crude barbarian kneeling before an instrument of god-inspired perfection. This sword deserves to be held by one who has sought the Buddha nature, who draws near enlightenment. I could never be worthy of such an honor."
Honjowara
-sama
's expression turns fierce. In a voice that is quiet yet filled with determined power, he says, "The warrior serves without thought of reward. Duty is duty. In former times, it was said that the foremost retainer thinks exclusively of the welfare of the lord, seeking neither honor nor wealth. Yet, all of man's work is a bloody business, and people are weak, and the loyal retainer must be encouraged. It is the obligation of a Chairman, from time to time, to express his satisfaction with those who loyally serve Nagato Combine. And it is my decision now to give this incontrovertible sign that I choose to accept your advice, Machiko-san, and draw the companion sword of the GSG."
And here Honjowara
-sama
takes the short sword from the hands of his aide and offers it resolutely to Machiko.
"I have drawn the companion sword. Now you, Machiko-san, must wield it."
She has no alternative. The Chairman's will is clear. Machiko bows. She accepts the sword and bows again. "How may I best serve Nagato Combine, Chairman
-sama
? Command me."
Honjowara
-sama
replies, "The deployment of the Guard, including that of the senior members, is for the acting senior to determine. Let duty be your guide."
Machiko breathes, breathes deeply, and bows.
The room is just one of many in the Critical Care Unit of the Kissena Park Hospital complex in Flushing, Queens. The ceiling is white, the walls beige, the floor a darker brown. There are no chairs or other conveniences such as might be provided for visitors. The shutters over the windows are shut, the lighting is subdued. Beside the only bed stands a sophisticated medical monitoring station, linked directly to the central station outside. The only patient seems lost among pillows, bed sheets, polished chrome side rails, and the array of wires and tubes coiling between bed and monitoring station.
There is much, however, that distinguishes Room 5 from the other rooms of the Critical Care Unit.
Two Nagato Security officers in civilian attire stand outside the door. Two members of the GSG stand watch just inside. A Buddhist priest chants a few prayers. Private duty medtechs give the patient a complete sponge bath, and when they are done a cosmetician attends the patient's hair and fingernails and all the other minor details essential to maintaining a meticulous appearance. And when all of that is done with, and the room is quiet and still, Machiko gently strokes the patient's cheek with the fragrant petals of a black rose, then takes the patient's left hand and encloses it in her own.
"Older Brother," she says softly. "The doctors say you are much improved. You must hasten your recovery. Your wisdom and strength are sorely needed."
The brain activity display on the med console shows subtle variations at nearly every word she speaks. Machiko wonders if that is good or bad. Is she helping in some small way? What else might she say or do to contribute to Sukayo's recovery?
Her eyes turn inevitably to the small black-draped table beside the bed, to the lacquered stand bearing katana and wakizashi. Reverently, she lifts the katana and lowers it to the cranny between Sukayo's arm and chest. Gently, she curls his hand around the katana's grip. Is it her imagination or do the fingers of his powerful left hand briefly flicker with tension?
"Older Brother," she says at near a whisper, leaning down to his ear. "You killed that dog of an assassin. Your honor is unblemished. Now you must grow strong. Nagato Combine needs its warriors. The Chairman needs his foremost weapon. You must be focused on recovering. You must be resolved." More words come to mind, learned long ago in her youth. "You must chase down your enemy, Older Brother. Discern the enemy's rhythm and destroy it. Plunge recklessly into battle and defeat the thousand-handed threat."
The supine form in the bed does not answer, of course. Sukayo-san is unconscious, in stable but critical condition. The question now is not whether he will survive. The resources of Nagato Combine will ensure that he survives. Doctors and mage-physicians and a universe of advanced medical technology will ensure that Sukayo survives. The issue is whether he will survive as a warrior, one of the foremost warriors of the Guard, or face the rest of his life condemned as a crippled reflection of himself.
Sukayo must hold on. He must maintain vital signs above a certain threshold, avoid every touch of the surgeon's knife that can be avoided. He must hold his ground for the three to five weeks needed to prepare one hundred-percent compatible clonal duplicates for those of his organs damaged beyond hope of repair. Every surgical procedure and anything less than one hundred-percent compatible clonal transplants threaten to impair his ability to use mana, and therefore his mastery as a warrior.
The doctors have done the absolute minimum required to stabilize his condition. Now only waiting remains.
Machiko gazes briefly onto the astral, the plane of power, where all life reveals its truths, and mana ebbs and flows like the waters of a vast primordial sea. How easy it is to forget the mana, until now, a moment like this, when mana becomes all-important. That is because, like Sukayo, like all the elves of the Guard, she uses mana as she would use a sword, without thought, without design. They are all mages in this sense, wielding a brand of magic with unique application to the world of the physical. This is how she was able to thrust an old man toward the ground before a bomb could be detonated. How she could heal herself in one small part of a morning. How she could deflect the assault of a killer using only a slim strip of pliable steel.
