The fifth year of Emperor Bidatsu's reign, Kisaragi. Ōmi, the northern shore of Lake Biwa.
The north wind sweeping across the lake blew through the forge at the foot of the mountain.
The wind never stopped. In this land, the wind never stopped. The fierce wind descending from the north lashed the surface of the lake, raising whitecaps before racing up the mountainside. This wind was why the Yama Clan had put down roots here.
Far to the west, at the edge of the world, lay the Kaspi Sea. The great lake their ancestors had looked back upon one last time and Lake Biwa resembled each other. In the breadth of their waters, the coldness of the north wind, and the mountains surrounding them. Feet that had walked thousands of miles came to a stop here. The first smith had said they should build a forge here.
The wind stoked the tatara. Not human strength but the breath of heaven fed the fire in the forge. That was Yama smithing.
Deep inside the forge, a young woman was hammering iron.
Rōhina. Princess of the Yama Clan, seventeen years old.
Her skin was translucent white, her eyes gray-blue. Her features, bearing the strong imprint of the northern mountain people's blood, differed from those of the people of Yamato and from those of the mainland. She had rolled up the sleeves of her woven hawk-feather garb and swung the hammer with slender arms.
Inside the furnace, the iron pulsed red. It was no ordinary iron. It was an alloy made by melting sand iron containing titanium according to a unique formula. It was a technique the Yama Clan had discovered and refined while crossing the continent along mountain-vein deposits. Light, supple, and unbreakable.
Rōhina brought the hammer down. A shrill clang rang through the forge.
Once more. The sound changed. It was slightly muffled.
Rōhina frowned and held the blade up to the furnace light. A line as fine as a strand of hair ran across the steel's surface. A faint irregularity, barely visible.
“...No good.”
Muttering, she returned the blade to the furnace.
It had been seven days since she started forging this blade. Gale Feather. Her sword. A light, supple blade that could be swung three times as fast as an ordinary iron sword. But speed alone was not what Rōhina sought.
Sound.
The sound it made when swung. The sound of it cleaving the air. If that sound was not beautiful, the sword would not be complete.
Rōhina closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
Two voices emerged from her throat at once.
A low growl and a high resonance. The two sounds overlapped and interfered with each other, making the air in the forge tremble. Resonant Chant. The Yama Clan's inherited art of producing two voices simultaneously.
The fire in the furnace wavered. In response to the Resonant Chant, the wind's passage changed. The flames grew stronger, and the iron's color drew closer to white.
Continuing the Resonant Chant, Rōhina drew out the blade and swung the hammer.
This time, the sound was different. Each time the hammer struck the blade, the harmonics of the Resonant Chant mingled with the ringing of the iron. The entire forge seemed to become a single instrument. The sound traveled along the walls, shook the ceiling, and rode the wind outside toward the lake.
Rōhina's ears searched for an answer within that sound. She was trying to hear, in the resonance between the hammer's strikes and the Resonant Chant, what sound this alloy, this thickness, this curved blade would make when it cleaved the air.
For the Yama Clan, smithing was music. Forging a sword was the same as making an instrument.
How much time had passed?
“Princess.”
She had not heard the voice.
“Princess.”
Only on the third call did Rōhina finally look up. A young Tengu man stood at the entrance to the forge. He was dressed for travel. Dust covered his hawk-feather garb, and he held a wooden tube in his hand.
“...What is it?”
“I have returned from Izumo. This is an official summons from Lord Imibe.”
Rōhina set down the hammer and wiped the sweat from her brow with her arm. She took the wooden tube and broke the seal.
Inside was a single slender wooden tablet.
“Bring the princesses of the Six Kowakuni Clans to Tachibana Palace of Asuka.”
That was all it said.
Rōhina read the tablet twice, then a third time.
“...The princesses of the six clans.”
Her murmured voice was so quiet that even she could barely hear it.
The six clans. Kaku-kari. Naja. Garan. Ame-taka. Fuchi-kami. And their own Yama. Six clans descended from the same Jūsara blood, each walking a different path and putting down roots in a different land.
Rōhina had never met the princesses of the other five clans. She did not even know their names. She only knew, from tidings occasionally brought by the crowfolk, that each clan still endured.
“Did you send an envoy to Kaku-kari Village as well?”
“Yes. We went to Kaku-kari Village first and delivered the summons. The Kaku-kari princess had—”
The envoy continued, his voice tinged with excitement.
“She had captured a dragon.”
“A dragon?”
“Yes. She trapped a scarlet dragon in a quartz vial using a technique called a lightning trap. I saw it with my own eyes, but that was—”
As she listened to the envoy, Rōhina stared into the fire in the furnace.
A princess who captured dragons. A clan that commanded lightning.
She forged iron. That princess captured dragons. Though they were both descendants of the Jūsara, they were so different.
Something stirred deep within her chest. Rōhina did not immediately understand what it was.
Night. Rōhina left the forge and stood beside the lake.
The north wind snatched at her hair. Lake Biwa was dark, and the shadows of the mountains on the far shore cut across the starry sky.
The Six Princesses would gather. It was a moment of great significance, the sort of great event she had heard of only in the old legends told by the elders.
But that was not what first came to Rōhina's mind.
—Would it go well?
Six clans. Six customs. Six languages. Six prides. Princesses meeting for the first time, gathered beneath one roof.
She was seventeen and probably the eldest. They might expect her to keep everyone together.
Rōhina gazed at the stars reflected on the lake and let out a small breath.
Could she do it? When she immersed herself in one thing, she lost sight of everything around her. If she shut herself away in the forge, she would not emerge for seven days. She was poor at reading people's expressions. The harder she tried to be considerate, the more awkwardly it backfired.
“...There's no point worrying about it.”
Muttering, she drew the half-forged blade from inside her robe. She held it up to the moonlight. Gale Feather was not yet complete.
She would take this sword and go to Asuka. She would go meet the princesses she had never seen.
Rōhina brought the blade close to her lips and began the Resonant Chant.
A low growl touched the blade. The iron trembled faintly, producing harmonics. The sound rode the north wind, skimmed across the lake, and stretched into the distance as if it might reach the mountains on the far shore.
It was not yet a beautiful sound. It was not yet complete.
But someday, this sound might reach someone's ears. The ears of princesses she had yet to meet, who shared the same blood.
Rōhina returned the blade to her robe and started walking toward the forge.
Tomorrow, she would reforge it once more. Then she would leave for Asuka.
The north wind pressed against her back. Beyond Lake Biwa, she thought she heard a faint rumble of thunder.