| [Oct. 18th, 2015|11:41 pm] |
The back room was paved with stone slabs — unusual for a Konoha building, which were almost always built with wood and paper harvested from the great forests, but necessary for someone whose living revolved around fire. An iron forge dominated the center, belching charcoal and hot metal fumes. Next to it was a blackened anvil and two large water barrels, one of which held half a dozen discarded blades. A multitude of tools hung from the walls. Kakashi could pick out the obvious hammers and pliers, but the rest were a daunting eye-puzzle of inexplicable functions.
The air shivered with heat. Megumi didn’t seem to notice, but Katsuko’s skin already had a sheen, and Kakashi’s mask was beginning to stick.
The rear wall was entirely taken up by shutters, which were flung open to let the breeze in. Beyond them was an ornamental courtyard with a quietly gurgling water feature and a raked sand garden. Megumi led Kakashi and Katsuko outside, where a low table stood in the shade of a flowering tree.
Megumi sat down and invited them to do the same, gesturing at comfortable pillows laid out for the purpose. She set Katsuko’s kodachi on the table and carefully unwound the wire that kept the hilt fixed into the scabbard. When she unsheathed the weapon, only a few inches of jagged steel remained attached to the hilt. Megumi upended the scabbard, extracting four long shards and the remainder of the blade.
“Oh dear,” she said.
“On the bright side,” Katsuko said, “I didn’t die.”
Holding the sword fragments like someone else would hold the broken body of something precious, Megumi said, “Are you sure?”
There was a samurai convention about a sword being the soul of a warrior, Kakashi recalled. Ninja tended to be more practical. Swords were just one sharp, lethal option among an arsenal of others.
Nevertheless, he found his fingertips resting on his tanto hilt when Katsuko said quietly, “Blades can be reforged. People can, too.”
Megumi glanced from Katsuko’s still face to Kakashi’s hidden one, and nodded once. “In most cases,” she agreed. “Though sometimes it takes a miracle worker.” She tapped the shattered blade and smiled, suddenly seeming younger — closer to their own age. “Fortunately, you’ve come to one. I can repair this.” |
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