The Way of the Sword Page 3

  He had been late for breakfast that morning, following his nightmare-filled sleep, and had already had to apologize to two of the sensei. It looked like Sensei Hosokawa would be the third.

  Jack knew his sensei was a fair but firm teacher who demanded high standards. He expected his students to turn up on time, be dressed smartly and be committed to training hard. Sensei Hosokawa made no allowance for mistakes.

  He stood at the centre of the dojo’s training area, a broad honey-coloured rectangle of varnished woodblock, glaring at Jack. ‘So what makes you think you should bear a katana while the others don’t?’

  Jack knew whatever answer he gave Sensei Hosokawa would be the wrong one. There was a Japanese saying that went ‘The stake that sticks out gets hammered down’, and Jack was starting to appreciate that living in Japan was a matter of conforming to the rules. No one else in the class carried a sword. Jack, therefore, stuck out and was about to be hammered down.

  Yamato, who stood close by, looked as if he was going to speak on his behalf, but Sensei Hosokawa gave him a cautionary glance and he immediately thought better of it.

  The silence that had descended upon the dojo was almost deafening. Jack could hear the blood rushing through his ears, his mind turning itself over and over for an appropriate response.

  The only answer Jack could think of was the truth. Masamoto himself had presented his own daishō, the two swords that symbolized the power of the samurai, to Jack in recognition of the school’s victory at the Taryu-Jiai contest and for his courage in preventing Dragon Eye from assassinating the daimyo Takatomi.

  ‘Having won the Taryu-Jiai,’ ventured Jack, ‘I thought I’d earned the right to use them.’

  ‘The right? Kenjutsu is not a game, Jack-kun. Winning one little competition doesn’t make you a competent kendoka.’

  Jack fell silent under Sensei Hosokawa’s glare.

  ‘I will tell you when you can bring your katana to class. Until then, you will only use bokken. Understand, Jack-kun?’

  ‘Hai, Sensei,’ submitted Jack. ‘I just hoped I could use a real sword for once.’

  ‘A real one?’ snorted the sensei. ‘Do you really think you’re ready?’

  Jack shrugged uncertainly. ‘I suppose so. Masamotosama gave me his swords, so he must think I am.’

  ‘You’re not in Masamoto-sama’s class yet,’ said Sensei Hosokawa, tightening his grip on the hilt of his own sword so that his knuckles turned white. ‘Jack-kun, you hold the power of life and death in your hands. Can you handle the consequences of your actions?’

  Before Jack could answer, the sensei beckoned him over.

  ‘Come here! You too, Yamato-kun.’

  Jack and a startled Yamato stepped out of line and approached Sensei Hosokawa.

  ‘Seiza,’ he ordered and the two of them knelt down. ‘Not you, Jack-kun. I need you to understand what it means to carry a katana. Withdraw your sword.’

  Jack unsheathed his katana. The blade gleamed, its edge so sharp that it appeared to cut the very air itself.

  Uncertain as to what Sensei Hosokawa expected of him, he fell into stance. His sword was stretched out in front of him and he gripped the hilt with both hands. His feet were set wide apart, the kissaki level with the throat of his imaginary enemy.

  Masamoto’s sword felt unusually heavy in his hands. Over the course of a year of kenjutsu training, his own bokken had become an extension of his arm. He knew its weight, its feel and how it cut through the air.

  But this sword was different. Weightier and more visceral. It had killed people. Sliced them in half. And Jack suddenly sensed its bloody history in his hands.

  He was starting to regret his rashness in bringing the sword.

  The sensei, noting the visible trembling of Jack’s katana with grim satisfaction, proceeded to remove a single grain of rice from his inro, the small wooden carrying case attached to his obi. He then placed the grain on top of Yamato’s head.

  ‘Cut it in half,’ he ordered Jack.

  ‘What?’ blurted Yamato, his eyes wide with shock.

  ‘But it’s on his head –’ protested Jack.

  ‘Do it!’ commanded Hosokawa, pointing at the tiny grain of rice.

  ‘But… but… I can’t…’

  ‘If you think you’re ready for such responsibility, now is your chance to prove it.’

  ‘But I could kill Yamato!’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘This is what it means to carry a sword. People get killed. Now cut the grain.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Jack, lowering his katana.

  ‘Can’t?’ exclaimed Hosokawa. ‘I command you, as your sensei, to strike at his head and slice that grain in half.’

  Sensei Hosokawa grabbed Jack’s hands and brought the sword into direct line with Yamato’s exposed head. The miniscule grain of rice perched there, a white speck among the mass of black hair.

  Jack knew that the blade would slice through Yamato’s head as if it were little more than a watermelon. Jack’s arms quivered uncontrollably and Yamato gave him a despairing look, his face completely drained of blood.

  ‘DO IT NOW!’ commanded Hosokawa, lifting Jack’s arms to force him to strike.

  The rest of the students watched with dread fascination.

  Akiko looked on fearfully. Beside her, her best friend Kiku, a petite girl with dark shoulder-length hair and hazelnut-coloured eyes, was almost on the point of tears. Kazuki, though, was apparently relishing the moment. He nudged his ally Nobu, a large boy with the build of a mini-Sumo wrestler, and whispered in his ear, loud enough for Jack to hear.

  ‘I bet you the gaijin chops off Yamato’s ear!’

  ‘Or maybe his nose!’ chortled Nobu, a fat grin spreading across his podgy face.

  The sword wavered in the air. Jack felt all control over the weapon drain from his body.

  ‘I… I… can’t,’ Jack stammered. ‘I’ll kill him.’

  Defeated, he lowered the katana to the floor.

  ‘Then I’ll do it for you,’ said Sensei Hosokawa.

  Yamato, who had let out a sigh of relief, instantly froze.

  In the blink of an eye, the sensei withdrew his own sword and cut down on to Yamato’s head. Kiku screamed as the blade buried itself in his hair. Her cry reverberated throughout the Butokuden.

  Yamato fell forward, his head dropping to the ground.

  Jack saw the tiny grain of rice peel apart and fall in two separate pieces on to the dojo floor.

  Yamato remained bowed, trembling like a leaf, trying to regain control of his breathing. Otherwise, he was completely unscathed. The blade had not even grazed his scalp.

  Jack stood motionless, overwhelmed at Sensei Hosokawa’s skill. What a fool he had been to question his sensei’s judgement. Now he understood the responsibility that came with a sword. The choice of life over death was truly in his hands. This was no game.

  ‘Until you have complete control,’ said Sensei Hosokawa, fixing Jack with a stern look as he resheathed his katana, ‘you don’t have the skill to warrant carrying a real blade. You’re not ready for the Way of the Sword.’

  5

  CIRCLE OF THREE

  ‘YOUNG SAMURAI!’ thundered Masamoto down the length of the Chō-no-ma, the ceremonial dining hall that earned its name from the lavishly decorated panelled walls of painted butterflies.

  The students, who were kneeling in regimented rows, stiffened and prepared for Masamoto’s opening address. Jack, his legs already becoming numb from being in the seiza posture, shifted himself in order to get a better view of the proceedings. Masamoto sat in his usual place, raised upon a dais behind a low table of black-lacquered cedar. The table was laid with cups of steaming sencha, the bitter green tea the samurai enjoyed.

  Masamoto took a measured sip from his cup, letting the silence sink in.

  Dressed in a flame-red kimono emblazoned with his golden phoenix kamon, Masamoto was a man who commanded total authority and deep respect from both his students and fellow samurai. His
strength of presence was such that Jack no longer registered the crimson scarring that disfigured the entire left-hand side of the man’s face like a mask of melted candlewax. All Jack saw was an invincible warrior.

  Flanking him on either side were the sensei of the Niten Ichi Ryū and two other samurai Jack didn’t recognize.

  ‘This dinner is in honour of our daimyo, Lord of Kyoto Province, Takatomi Hideaki,’ announced Masamoto, bowing humbly to the man on his immediate left.

  Every student and sensei did likewise.

  This was the first time Jack had laid eyes upon the daimyo whose life he’d saved. A genial man with large dewy eyes, a brushstroke of a moustache and a generous rounded belly, he wore a flamboyant ceremonial kimono decorated with five kamon of a white crane, two on the sleeves, two on the chest and one on the back. He gave a short respectful nod of his head in acknowledgement of Masamoto’s respect.

  Masamoto sat back up. Then the sensei and students straightened in rank order, the new students being the last to raise their heads.

  ‘Takatomi-sama has graced us with his presence in recognition of our victory at the Taryu-Jiai against the Yagyu Ryū.’

  The school let loose a great cheer.

  ‘And following our prevention of the attempt on his life he has generously extended his sponsorship of the Niten Ichi Ryū, securing the future of this school indefinitely.’

  The students chanted and clapped in unison three times.

  ‘TAKATOMI!’ CLAP! ‘TAKATOMI!’ CLAP! ‘TAKATOMI!’ CLAP!

  The daimyo gave a cordial smile and the briefest of bows in response.

  ‘Furthermore, he has bestowed upon the school a new training hall: the Taka-no-ma, the Hall of The Hawk!’

  The students erupted into applause and fevered discussion broke out. A new hall meant the possibility of another martial art being taught. Masamoto held his hand up for silence. Immediately, the students checked their enthusiasm and he continued his address.

  ‘Before we commence the meal, allow me to introduce our second guest.’

  Masamoto directed his attention to a large barrel of a man whose round head was covered in a fuzz of short black hair and a similarly fuzzy beard.

  ‘Sensei Kano is a bōjutsu master visiting us from the Mugan Ryū, our sister school in Osaka. Under his tutelage, you will learn how to defend and attack with the bō staff. Sensei Kano is a man of great heart and greater skill. You could not ask for a better teacher in the Art of the Bō.’

  Despite the new teacher’s presence dominating the dais, the immense samurai appeared to shrink under Masamoto’s praise. He gave a humble bow to the room, his smoky-grey eyes staring blankly down the hall as if he was trying to avoid everyone’s gaze.

  The students bowed respectfully in return.

  ‘Finally, as some of you are aware, it has been three years since the last Circle of Three…’

  The atmosphere in the Chō-no-ma instantly became tense with excitement, every student kneeling ramrod straight in anticipation. Jack, though, was at a complete loss, having no idea what Masamoto was talking about. He looked over to Akiko for an explanation, but like the rest of the school her eyes remained fixed upon Masamoto.

  ‘For those students who have the courage and the ability, the time has come to prove you are worthy to be called samurai of the Niten Ichi Ryū. And those who do will progress on to the Two Heavens without the need for further training.’

  Jack had an inkling of what the Two Heavens was. He’d heard it was Masamoto’s secret martial art technique and that only the very best students were given the privilege of learning from the great man himself. But beyond that the Two Heavens remained a mystery.

  ‘The Circle of Three, as tradition dictates, will commence when the winds blow the cherry blossom from the branches,’ continued Masamoto. ‘Those of you who believe you are ready to meet the Circle’s three challenges of Mind, Body and Spirit should log their names with Sensei Kyuzo at the end of this evening. A series of four selection trials will then be held at first snowfall to test your strength, skill, intellect and courage. The five students deemed the best in these trials will go through to the Circle.’

  Masamoto spread his arms wide so that the sleeves of his flame-red kimono appeared to transform him into the fiery phoenix of his kamon.

  ‘Be warned! The Circle of Three is not to be entered into lightly. It demands you understand the seven virtues of bushido if you are to have any hope of surviving.’ The great warrior paused, his gaze taking in all his students. ‘So tell me what is bushido?’

  ‘Rectitude! Courage! Benevolence! Respect! Honesty! Honour! Loyalty!’ boomed the students down the Chō-no-ma.

  Masamoto nodded with satisfaction. ‘And it is the virtue of courage that you will need most,’ he cautioned. ‘So during these coming months of training, remember this: learn today so that you may live tomorrow!’

  With the declaration of the school’s maxim, Masamoto brought the address to an end and the students thundered their response.

  ‘MASAMOTO! MASAMOTO! MASAMOTO!’

  The refrain died away and servants entered, carrying several long lacquered tables. These were laid in two rows that stretched the entire length of the Chō-no-ma. Jack seated himself between Akiko and Yamato, feeling a small thrill that they weren’t positioned right next to the entrance. They were no longer the new students and this meant that they had moved several symbolic places nearer the head table.

  Jack always enjoyed ceremonial dinners. The formality of such events demanded that a vast array of dishes be provided in honour of the guest. On this occasion, sushi was high on the menu, alongside tofu, noodles, tempura, bowls of miso soup, pickled yellow daikon and purple eggplant. Steaming pots of sencha were accompanied by vast quantities of rice piled high in bowls across their table. The centrepiece was an overflowing plate of sliced eel, grilled and smothered in a sticky red sauce.

  ‘Itadakimasu!’ proclaimed Masamoto.

  ‘Itadakimasu!’ responded the students, picking up their hashi and tucking into the banquet.

  Despite the delicious spread, Jack was distracted from the meal by his desperate desire to know more about the Circle of Three. Everybody else, though, was focused upon devouring the feast before them.

  ‘Jack, you should try the unagi,’ suggested Saburo, a slightly rotund, plain-looking boy with a chubby face made even chubbier by a mouthful of food.

  Jack looked doubtfully across the table at his friend, whose thick black eyebrows bounced up and down in unison with his enthusiastic chewing of a grey stringy lump of eel’s liver. It didn’t look particularly appetizing, thought Jack, but he could remember the first time he’d been faced with sushi. The thought of uncooked fish had almost turned his stomach over, whereas now he relished the soft, succulent flesh of tuna, mackerel and salmon. Eel’s liver, though, was another matter.

  ‘It’s good for your health,’ Akiko reassured him, spooning some rice into her bowl, but avoiding the eel herself.

  Jack tentatively picked up a grey lump and lowered it into his mouth. When he bit into the liver, he almost gagged at the intensity of the flavour. It was as if a thousand wriggling eels had exploded on his tongue.

  He forced a grimace of a smile for Akiko’s benefit and kept chewing. The eel’s liver had better be good for his health, he thought.

  ‘So who’s going to enter for the Circle of Three?’ Saburo blurted between mouthfuls, expressing what was clearly on everyone’s minds.

  ‘Not me!’ replied Kiku. ‘I heard a student died last time.’

  Beside her, Yori, a small mouse-like boy, gave a wide-eyed look of dread and shook his head vigorously in response to Saburo’s question.

  ‘That’s just a rumour spread by the sensei to scare us,’ reassured Akiko, giving Yori an encouraging smile.

  ‘No, it’s not. My father’s expressly forbidden me from entering,’ said Kiku. ‘He told me it’s needlessly dangerous.’

  ‘But what exactly is the Circle?’ asked J
ack.

  ‘The Circle of Three,’ explained Akiko, putting down her hashi, ‘are the three highest peaks in the Iga mountain range where trainee samurai face the three challenges of Mind, Body and Spirit.’

  ‘So what are the challenges?’

  Akiko shook her head apologetically. ‘I don’t know. They’re kept a secret.’

  ‘Whatever they are,’ said Yamato, ‘my father will be expecting me to enter, so I guess I’ll find out first hand. What about you, Saburo? Are you going to enter?’

  ‘I’m considering it,’ replied Saburo, swallowing down another piece of unagi.

  ‘That means no. Obviously, you’re too scared! How about you, Jack?’

  Jack thought for a moment as Saburo sat open-mouthed, uncertain whether to protest or not. ‘I don’t know. Is it worth the risk? I know it leads to the Two Heavens, but I’m still not sure what the Two Heavens actually is.’

  ‘Jack, you’ve seen the Two Heavens,’ stated Akiko.

  Jack gave her a perplexed look. ‘When?’

  ‘On the beach in Toba. Remember how Masamoto-sama fought against the samurai Godai? He used both the katana and the wakizashi, rather than just his katana sword. That is the Two Heavens. The technique is extremely difficult to master, but when you do, you are virtually invincible.’

  ‘My father fought over sixty duels while on his warrior pilgrimage,’ announced Yamato proudly. ‘Not once was he defeated.’

  Jack’s mind began to race.

  He’d been made aware that he needed to become a better swordsman. By succeeding in the Circle of Three, he would be given the opportunity to be taught by both Sensei Hosokawa and Masamoto. Not only that, he would learn how to use two swords. The idea filled him with hope. For if he could master the Two Heavens, then he would be invincible like Masamoto. No longer would he need to fear the return of Dragon Eye.

  ‘Are all students who conquer the Circle taught the technique of Two Heavens?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Akiko.

  Jack smiled. Surely the Circle of Three was the solution to his predicament.