Free Year of the Demon by Steve Bein

sword aside like an old chicken bone. His scabbard was a good ten paces away. “Mother!” he shouted, his sword standing uselessly in his high guard.
    “Not my baby,” she wailed. “Not my baby mybabymybaby—”
    At last Katsushima took a hold of her, prying her hands off Samanosuke one by one. Moments later Tomo was on her too, and together they wrestled her back into the house.
    “What is the meaning of this?” Lord Sora bellowed. Daigoro and Samanosuke still had their swords in hand. Formally speaking, their duel was still in progress, but any other semblance of formality had scattered to the winds. Now Lord Sora was shuffling into the fray, blustering as only he could. “Is this how you come to be undefeated? Do you Okumas allow your women to do your fighting?”
    Daigoro lowered his weapon, taking care to point it away from everyone else so that no one could mistake it for an attack. “My lords,” he said, “you must accept our most abject apologies. Within the past year my mother lost her husband and her firstborn. No doubt you’ve heard how my brother Ichiro died, neh ?”
    Still visibly shaken, Samanosuke gave a nervous nod. “In a duel.”
    “A duel just like this one.”
    The truth was worse, though Daigoro had no mind to share family secrets. Ichiro’s name meant “firstborn son.” Daigoro’s meant “fifth son.” Their mother had miscarried two boys in between, but of course no woman could have named her next child “fourth son.” Four was the number of death. Daigoro’s mother had wanted to give her fourth son a girl’s name instead, for clearly some curse hung like a pall over the boys of House Okuma. Perhaps a girl’s name might deceive the evil gods and spirits. But her husband would not allow it, and so she’d named her next child Daigoro, despite the fact that he was not the fifth. The curse had already disfigured his leg; she would not hang the number of death on her newborn as well.
    The thought of losing him shook her like an earthquake. Three of her four boys had already been taken before their time, and now the sight of her last living son facing live steel had shattered her completely.
    “My lords,” Daigoro said, “I beg your understanding. She is beside herself with grief. Sometimes she does not know what she does.”
    Samanosuke nodded, more sure of himself this time, but his grandfather was incensed. “I should think not,” he boomed. “I’ve never seen anything so disgraceful.”
    “I give you my word, she will not interfere again. My men will see to it.”
    “They should have seen to it the first time!”
    “Quite right, Lord Sora. They should have. Rest assured that the responsible parties will be punished most harshly. In the meantime, please, if the Buddha’s compassion means anything to you, have pity on a poor woman who has lost more than she can bear.”
    The breath coming from Lord Sora’s nose was as loud as a bellows. His huge red fists reminded Daigoro of the demonic Fudo statues standing guard over so many temples, the ones that had scared Daigoro so deeply as a little boy. He was a storm front in human form, and he even brought the rain with him: those dark clouds on the horizon had already reached the compound, blotting out the sun. “This is an outrage, Okuma. Most of the daimyo in Izu are younger than me, and you’re younger than the lot, but I’ve never, ever heard a daimyo called ‘my baby’ before. If you think we’re going to stand for an embarrassment like this—think what the other clans will say, a Sora beaten in a duel by a, by a—this, this won’t stand at all—”
    It was all blustering from there. Daigoro offered apologies on behalf of his entire family. He offered to make good on his invitation to duel, the next time at the Sora compound. He offered a roof over the Soras’ heads. But though Samanosuke seemed amenable, his grandfather opted for a long ride home in the rain.

7
    T hat night Daigoro sat in the teahouse, which