The Way of the Sword Page 9

  ‘Concentrate!’ commanded Sensei Hosokawa, rounding on Jack. ‘Don’t make me remind you again.’

  He grabbed Jack’s sword arm, sternly lifting the bokken to the appropriate height. Jack’s arms trembled with the effort.

  ‘These kata are the basics of kenjutsu,’ reinforced Sensei Hosokawa, addressing the entire class now. ‘You cannot run before you’ve learnt to walk. It is imperative you assimilate these moves so that they become instinctive, so that the bokken becomes part of you. When the sword becomes “no sword” in your hands, then you are ready. Only then will you truly comprehend the Way of the Sword!’

  ‘HAI, SENSEI!’ yelled the class.

  Sensei Hosokawa fixed Jack with a stern gaze, ‘Don’t forget your training, Jack-kun. You should have mastered the basics by now.’

  The arrow soared clear of the target, disappearing among the branches of the ancient pine tree. A pair of doves, nestling in the foliage, cooed indignantly and fluttered off towards the safety of the Butsuden’s temple roof.

  ‘This is impossible!’ complained Jack, his frustration getting the better of him.

  Unlike Akiko, who struck the furthest target with apparent ease, archery didn’t come so naturally to Jack. And now that Sensei Yosa had doubled the length of the range, setting the targets at the far end of the Nanzen-niwa, not one of Jack’s shots had even come close. If he couldn’t hit a target at this distance, how on earth was he supposed to snuff out a candle?

  To make matters worse, Kazuki and his friends had been trying to put him off, commenting loudly on each of his failed attempts.

  Noticing that Jack was struggling, his kyujutsu teacher approached, her hawk-like eyes studying his form and noting his problem.

  ‘Relax, Jack-kun,’ Sensei Yosa instructed as Jack returned his bow to the rack and knelt back into line. ‘Hitting the target is unimportant.’

  ‘But it is to me,’ Jack insisted. ‘I want to be able to pass your trial.’

  ‘You misunderstand,’ said Sensei Yosa, smiling warmly at his keenness. ‘You must abandon the idea of having to hit the target. When the archer does not think about the target, then they may unfold the Way of the Bow.’

  Jack’s brow creased in confusion. ‘But won’t I be more likely to miss if I don’t think about it?’ he asked.

  ‘There are no mysteries in kyujutsu, Jack-kun,’ continued Sensei Yosa, shaking her head in response. ‘Like any art, the secret is revealed through dedication, hard work and constant practice.’

  But I am practising hard, Jack wanted to say, and I don’t seem to be getting any better.

  Later that day, Jack’s fifth attempt at origami lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  The rest of the students were deep in studied concentration, cross-legged on their zabuton cushions within the Buddha Hall. Today their meditation model was a frog, and all that could be heard was the delicate crimping of countless pieces of paper.

  Sensei Yamada had once again set his class a zazen mediation on origami, repeating the koan, ‘What does origami teach us?’ No one as yet had provided him with a satisfactory answer.

  ‘Watch how I do it, Jack,’ Yori offered, turning so that Jack could see his moves.

  Jack tried again, but only succeeded in tearing a hole in the fragile paper. He cursed out loud in English and Yori gave him a puzzled look. Jack smiled apologetically.

  ‘How am I going to be able to answer Sensei Yamada’s Koan trial if I can’t even fold a paper frog?’ said Jack, taking another sheet from the pile.

  ‘I don’t think it matters if you can or can’t,’ replied Yori kindly. ‘The frog is not the focus. Remember what Sensei Yamada said? The answer is in the paper.’

  Yori admired his own perfect frog before setting it on the floor next to the perfect origami crane, butterfly and goldfish he had already made.

  ‘But surely the process must help,’ maintained Jack, waving his flat square of paper despondently in the air. ‘Otherwise why would he be getting us all to do origami? I seem to be making such slow progress.’

  Jack was now very concerned about his chances in the forthcoming trials. There were only five places and if he didn’t pass any of the trials, he wouldn’t earn his place in the Circle of Three, let alone be taught the Two Heavens technique.

  ‘Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap,’ said a calm voice in his ear.

  Sensei Yamada had appeared at Jack’s shoulder and leant over to take the paper from his hands. He scored, folded and bent the sheet in front of Jack’s eyes, transforming it into a beautiful flowering rose.

  ‘Judge it by the seeds you plant.’

  ‘You’re having a bad week, that’s all,’ said Akiko, trying to console Jack during dinner that evening.

  ‘But I haven’t hit the archery targets for nearly a month now,’ Jack replied, half-heartedly spearing a piece of sushi with his hashi before reminding himself that it was bad etiquette.

  ‘It’s just a matter of getting used to the distance,’ encouraged Yamato. ‘Don’t you remember how you scored in kyujutsu during the Taryu-Jiai? It’s not as if you can’t do it.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ conceded Jack, putting down his hashi. ‘But it feels like I’ve hit a brick wall with my training. Even in kenjutsu Sensei Hosokawa’s constantly on my back, correcting every little mistake. However hard I try, I don’t seem to be getting any better.’

  ‘But you heard what Sensei Yamada said,’ reminded Yori. ‘Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap…’

  ‘Yes, but what seeds am I actually planting?’ sighed Jack, burying his head in his hands. ‘Perhaps Kazuki’s right. I’m not meant to be samurai.’

  ‘You’re not listening to Kazuki again, are you?’ exclaimed Akiko in exasperation. ‘He’s poisoning your mind! Of course you’re worthy to be samurai. Masamoto-sama would not have adopted you, or invited you to his school if he thought you were anything less. Becoming a true samurai takes time.’

  Jack gazed despondently out of the tiny window of his room in the Shishi-no-ma. The night sky was a blanket of stars. A waning moon shone its ghostly light and washed out all colour from the buildings of the Niten Ichi Ryū.

  On the horizon, Jack could see storm clouds brewing. They were blotting out the stars one by one. The prayer flags at the entrance to the Butsuden started to flutter like a ship’s sails as a chill wind cut through the open courtyard.

  Jack began to imagine he was back on-board the Alexandria with his father, learning to navigate by the heavens. That was something he was good at. Being a pilot came naturally. He could name the stars and planets and use them to calculate the ship’s position and course, even in rough seas.

  He had been destined to be a ship’s pilot by blood and birth. Not a samurai.

  Suddenly Jack felt the pressure of life in Japan like a coiled spring in the pit of his stomach, getting wound tighter and tighter until he thought he was going to explode. The headache of speaking Japanese every day. The rigid etiquette of Japanese life as if he was walking on eggshells all the time. The painstaking progress he was making with his training. The constant threat of Dragon Eye and whether he would be ready to face him in time. The gaping absence of his parents. The thought of Jess alone, with the threat of a workhouse hanging over her…

  Lost in his despair, Jack almost missed the movement of several shrouded figures crossing the school’s courtyard. Hugging the shadows, they skirted under the lee of the Butokuden before disappearing inside.

  Determined to discover who the intruders were this time, Jack grabbed his katana and sprinted out of the room.

  18

  IREZUMI

  ‘Akiko? Are you there?’ whispered Jack through the paper-thin door of her room.

  There was no reply. He drew back the shoji and peeked inside. Akiko was nowhere to be seen. Her futon was untouched even though she should have been in bed by now.

  Perhaps she had gone to the bathhouse, thought Jack, or else…

  He sh
ut the door and hurried on. A lantern was still burning within Yori’s room.

  ‘Yori?’ he called.

  The little boy slid open his shoji.

  ‘Have you seen Akiko?’

  ‘Not since supper,’ replied Yori, shaking his head. ‘Isn’t she in her room?’

  ‘No, I think she’s…’ Jack trailed off, distracted by the sight of countless paper cranes littering Yori’s floor. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m folding cranes.’

  ‘I can see that, but origami in bed! You take Sensei Yamada’s lessons far too seriously,’ accused Jack. ‘Listen, if you hear Akiko come back, can you let her know that I’ve gone over to the Butokuden.’

  ‘The training hall? And you accuse me of studying too hard!’ Yori glanced dubiously at Jack’s katana. ‘Isn’t it rather late to be practising your sword kata?’

  ‘I don’t have time to explain. Just tell Akiko.’

  Jack sped off, not bothering to wait for Yori’s response.

  As he reached the main door, he briefly considered alerting Yamato and Saburo, but they would be asleep and he had wasted too much time already. The intruders might have gone by the time they all reached the Butokuden.

  Jack rushed across the courtyard. The storm was approaching fast and icy blasts of wind stabbed through his thin night kimono like a tantō blade. Pressing himself flat against the Butokuden’s wall, he edged towards its main entrance. Poking his head round the wooden door frame, he searched for the intruders.

  In the gloom of the great hall, he could distinguish a number of hunched figures sitting in a tight circle within the ceremonial alcove. But from this distance, he was unable to make out their faces or hear what they were saying.

  Jack hurried to the back of the Butokuden, where the slatted windows behind the dais were within easy reach. As quietly as he could, he eased open a wooden shutter. Peering through, he discovered he had a direct line of sight to the alcove.

  Jack counted four intruders in total. They each wore a heavy cowl so their faces remained cast in shadow. Pressing his ear close to the slatted opening, he listened.

  ‘…the daimyo Kamakura Katsura is going to wage war against the Christians,’ whispered a youthful yet commanding male voice in the darkness.

  A husky female voice took over. ‘The gaijin are a threat to our traditions and the orderly society of Japan.’

  ‘But there are so few. How can they be a threat?’ queried a third voice, high and thin like a bamboo flute.

  ‘Their priests are spreading an evil belief, converting honourable Japanese daimyo and their samurai with their lies,’ explained the male voice. ‘They’re trying to overthrow our society from within. They want to destroy our culture, control Japan and its people.’

  ‘They must be stopped!’ interjected the female voice.

  ‘The daimyo is drawing loyal samurai to his cause in preparation for an all-out assault on every Christian,’ explained the first voice. ‘My father, Oda Satoshi, has joined his ranks and sworn allegiance to this righteous cause.’

  ‘Gaijin are the germ of a great disaster and must be crushed,’ hissed the female voice with venom.

  ‘But what can we do about it?’ asked the fourth shadow.

  ‘We can prepare for war!’ stated the male and female voice in unison.

  Jack could hardly believe his ears. He had been right all along. Sensei Yamada was mistaken. The killing of the Christian priest was not an isolated case. It had been just the beginning. The daimyo Kamakura was intent on slaughtering every Christian in Japan.

  Yet what chilled Jack’s blood most was the fact that he knew who the ringleader of this mysterious group was. He recognized his voice. It was Kazuki, following in his father’s footsteps and calling for war.

  Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall. The shower quickly became a torrent and within moments Jack was soaked to the skin and numb with cold. But he was determined to stay and learn all he could. Ignoring his discomfort, he strained to hear the ongoing conversation above the rain, which was now beating an insistent rhythm upon the Butokuden’s roof.

  ‘…all Christians will be forced to leave on pain of death,’ continued Kazuki. ‘Some may try to hide, but it will be our duty to hunt them down.’

  ‘What about Jack?’ asked the thin reedy voice. ‘Surely he’s protected by Masamoto-sama.’

  ‘The great Masamoto-sama’s got more important things to worry about than some gaijin. I mean, have you seen Masamoto-sama at school recently? No. His duty is to daimyo Takatomi. He couldn’t care less about Jack.’

  ‘And without his samurai guardian around,’ mocked the female voice, ‘there’ll be no rock the gaijin can crawl under where we won’t find him!’

  All of sudden, Jack felt very vulnerable. He’d been so busy with training for the trials, he hadn’t noticed the continued absence of Masamoto. It only now occurred to him that his guardian’s seat at the head table during dinner had been empty for almost a month. The last time Jack had seen Masamoto was when the samurai had overseen the start of the construction of the Hall of the Hawk. Where had he gone? If the situation suddenly turned serious, Jack had no one in authority at the school with a personal interest in protecting him.

  ‘We must be ready for the call to arms from our daimyo,’ continued Kazuki. ‘That is the purpose of the Sasori Gang. We must now all swear our allegiance to this righteous cause.’

  ‘I’ll need some light for the initiation ritual,’ demanded the husky female voice.

  Jack heard the sound of a flint being struck and a couple of sparks flared in the gloom. A moment later, a small oil lamp burned like a solitary firefly in the cavernous hall.

  Jack gasped in astonishment. The flickering flame illuminated a girl’s bleached-white face. Her oval eyes were like coals in a fire and a pair of blood-red lips parted to reveal teeth painted black as tar. Jack instantly recognized her as Moriko, the female samurai who had competed against Akiko in the Taryu-Jiai. A cruel, vicious fighter, she trained at the rival Yagyu School in Kyoto. Jack couldn’t believe she was inside the walls of the Niten Ichi Ryū.

  ‘That’s better,’ she rasped, taking an inkpot and several bamboo needles from her inro and laying them beside the lamp. She then uncorked a small bottle of saké and poured a measure of the clear liquid into a cup. This was placed in the centre of the group. ‘So who will be first for irezumi?’

  ‘I will,’ said Kazuki, opening his overcoat and kimono to expose his chest.

  Moriko inspected one of the needles, turning it slowly over the flame. Satisfied, she then dipped its sharpened point into the pot of black ink. With her other hand, she held Kazuki’s skin taut above his heart.

  ‘This will hurt,’ she said, puncturing Kazuki’s skin with the tip and inserting a drop of ink beneath.

  Kazuki grimaced, but made no sound. Moriko recharged her needle before piercing his chest again. She continued slowly and methodically, adding more dots of ink to the design.

  Jack had seen such work performed before, on the sailors of the Alexandria when they had had their arms tattooed. To Jack it had always seemed like a great deal of pain for what amounted to a poor image of an anchor or the name of some sweetheart the sailor soon forgot once they docked at another port.

  ‘Done,’ said Moriko, a black slit of a smile spreading across her face.

  ‘This is your mark,’ announced Kazuki with pride, turning so that the others could see. ‘The sasori!’

  Jack was too stunned to breathe. Tattooed above Kazuki’s heart was a small black scorpion – the creature of Jack’s nightmares.

  However hard his Christian beliefs tried to deny it, the coincidence of this tattoo and his dream was too great to ignore.

  Kazuki raised the cup of saké.

  ‘Once you have your sasori and have shared saké from this cup, you’re forever a brother of the Scorpion Gang. Death to all gaijin!’ toasted Kazuki, drinking from the cup.

  ‘Death to all gaijin!’ echoed
the others, pledging their allegiance and eagerly opening up their kimonos for Moriko to begin the irezumi.

  Outside the Butokuden, the storm thundered its approval.

  Jack shook uncontrollably. He hugged himself for warmth, pressing his body against the wall in an attempt to shelter from the relentless downpour.

  His mind, like the elements, was a whirlwind of confusion. What should he do? He’d heard all the testimony he needed. Japan was being turned against foreigners. If someone didn’t stop Kamakura, Jack would become an outcast. The enemy. He needed to tell Masamoto, but how could his guardian protect him against such forces?

  Crack!

  A blast of wind caught the wooden shutter, slamming it against the window frame. Startled, Jack dropped his katana and it went clattering across the stone-clad courtyard, disappearing into the darkness.

  ‘Someone’s there!’ cried Moriko from within.

  Panic rose up in Jack’s chest. He quickly searched for his weapon, but he could hear the Scorpion Gang fast approaching.

  Leaving his katana behind, he ran for his life.

  19

  FIGHTING BLIND

  Jack sprinted round the corner of the Butokuden, but he knew he wouldn’t make it across the courtyard without being spotted by Kazuki and his Scorpion Gang.

  Glancing around, the only cover within reach was the building works of the Hall of the Hawk. Jack ran and dived into a waterlogged hole in the newly dug foundations just as several figures burst out of the Butokuden.

  Peering over the muddy lip, he watched as they hunted for him. The first two went round the far side of the training hall, while the other two headed in Jack’s direction. Jack slipped further into the murky depths of the hole. As they drew closer, he could hear the squelch of their feet in the mud. They stopped at the edge of the flooded foundations.

  ‘There’s no way I’m going in there,’ protested a voice.

  ‘Go on!’ ordered Kazuki. ‘You need an excuse for a bath.’