The Return of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  ‘You’re right,’ said Sir Toby, a sneer on his lips. ‘She deserves a good whipping!’

  Jack watched, silent yet fuming, as the two men walked up to Sir Francis. The more Jack learnt about Sir Toby, the less he liked him. But he knew that now was not the time to settle old scores. Quietly slipping away, he and his friends headed for the rear doors. They had almost made their escape when a portly man clutching three brimming glasses of wine stepped into their path.

  ‘YOU!’ gasped Sir Edmund, his pudgy eyes widening in disbelief.

  Rose, quick off the mark, stepped in front of Sir Edmund, blocking his momentary glimpse of Jack and the others.

  ‘Is one of those for me?’ she asked, taking a glass, then promptly spilling it over his velvet doublet. ‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry!’

  She grabbed a napkin from a table and began mopping him down vigorously. As Sir Edmund flailed and flustered under the onslaught, Jack, Akiko and Yori dashed out of the banqueting hall.

  Rose joined them a few seconds later. ‘I couldn’t delay him any longer,’ she explained. ‘He’s getting Sir Toby and Sir Francis!’

  As they sprinted down the corridor and round a corner, they heard the doors behind them crash open and heavy footsteps coming after them.

  ‘In here!’ said Jack, opening a door to their left and diving through. They found themselves in a wood-panelled library room with an upholstered armchair beside a fireplace and two walls lined with books. Akiko closed the door behind them, barely a second before Sir Toby and his two companions rounded the corner.

  ‘Are you sure you saw them?’ demanded Sir Toby, his gruff voice echoing along the hallway.

  ‘I’m certain …’ replied Sir Edmund, ‘well, sort of …’

  ‘But we watched them … drown!’ hiccuped Sir Francis, the drunken slur already apparent in his voice. ‘Methinks, Sir Edmund, you’ve had too much wine this evening!’

  ‘I’ve not yet had my fifth glass!’ protested Sir Edmund.

  As their voices drew closer, Jack looked around desperately for another exit. However, aside from a closed leaded window, the library had no other way out except the doorway they’d come in by. He and his friends could only wait in anxious silence, listening to their enemies’ approach. As the creak of floorboards grew louder and ever nearer, Jack’s eyes were drawn to the book-lined walls. He crept over to the nearest bookcase.

  ‘What are you doing?’ whispered Akiko.

  Quickly and quietly, Jack pulled out the rutter from his shoulder bag. ‘Hiding this!’ he whispered.

  ‘Just another tree in the forest,’ Yori murmured under his breath, as Jack parted two leather-bound tomes to create space on the shelf. The rutter’s oilskin cover was similar enough to the bindings of Sir Henry’s books and would blend in easily.

  What better place to hide a book than in a library? thought Jack. He didn’t want to risk losing his father’s precious logbook to the authorities if he was caught again. As he slid the rutter into the gap he’d made, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled and he was seized by the unsettling sensation of being watched. He spun round. But there was no one there. His friends, still clustered by the door, were no longer even looking his way.

  Yet Jack couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling. His gaze swept the library … the empty fireplace … the vacant chair … the row upon row of books … until it finally settled on the window overlooking the street. The sun had long since set and the thoroughfare had become a murky underworld lit by the faintest of moonlight. Jack peered out into the night and what he saw made his heart stop and his blood run cold.

  A shadow stood in the darkness. Black against black. Unmoving. A silhouette of a man, sinister and spectral.

  Jack couldn’t speak … couldn’t scream … could barely even breathe. Against all reason, he saw Dokugan Ryu – Dragon Eye – the ninja who’d killed his father, who’d hunted him mercilessly, who’d dragged Yamato to his death.

  Yet that was impossible. The assassin was dead. So too was his kagemusha, his successor and doppelgänger. Then Jack recalled the final words of Dragon Eye’s shadow warrior: ‘I’ll haunt you to your grave, gaijin.’

  A shudder ran down Jack’s spine. For what he saw was more terrifying than any ghost.

  Jack flinched as the door to the library rattled and Akiko and the others threw their full weight against it.

  ‘Muss be locked,’ slurred Sir Francis on the other side.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this drunken nonsense!’ growled Sir Toby. ‘Back to the party.’

  The footsteps receded down the corridor and, when all was silent, Akiko peeked out. ‘They’re gone,’ she whispered.

  When Jack turned back to the window, the shadow was gone too.

  The sun had barely risen above the horizon when Jack and his friends left the city through Newgate and headed west along the old Roman road. Sir Henry’s stable boy, yawning and rubbing his eyes, had provided them with horses, saddles and some basic provisions. Even at this unearthly hour in the morning, the highway was bustling with traffic: messengers in their riding gear, farmers driving their cattle into market, travellers in their carriages bound for Oxford. But the further they left the capital behind, the more the traffic thinned out until they were seemingly the only ones on the road.

  Jack rode in silence, his thoughts consumed by the demonic shadow of the previous night. He knew that it could only have been his imagination – the shadow had been a trick of the light or else a nightwatchman merely going about his business. That seemed the most likely explanation for the black-robed figure he’d seen. Still, he couldn’t get the horrifying image out of his head …

  ‘You’re quiet,’ remarked Akiko, trotting up alongside him. ‘What’s troubling you?’

  Jack nodded vaguely, unsure whether to share his concerns or not. He knew Dokugan Ryu and his successor were dead. Moreover, this was home – this was England, a world away from Japan and its ninjas. So the idea that he’d seen Dragon Eye was simply ludicrous. Not wanting to worry Akiko unnecessarily, or have her think he was going mad, he said, ‘I was just thinking about Jess, wondering why she’d be in Stratford-upon-Avon, of all places.’

  ‘From what Bodley said, it sounds like she didn’t have much choice,’ said Akiko.

  ‘But was Jess running away, or being taken away?’ Jack questioned. ‘There’s a big difference.’

  ‘Well, we know Mrs Winters is scared of something … or someone,’ said Yori, bouncing atop his mare like a bobbin on a spindle. ‘Perhaps Jess is too.’

  ‘I guess the only way to find out is to find her,’ said Rose, and she geed up her horse.

  As they crested the brow of a hill, Jack took one final glance back at the hazy city in the distance. He was glad to be leaving London behind with all its perils and problems. But he feared what lay ahead for them too. Would he find his sister? Or would he discover her dead and buried? What would he do then? He’d spent so many years with one goal in mind – being reunited with Jess – that he hadn’t really thought beyond that. And after their rude and violent welcome to England, would Akiko and Yori really want to stay with him in this country? His future – and their future – was as open as the road that lay ahead of them.

  Fields spread out on either side of the highway, carpeting the countryside in a patchwork of golden barley and rich brown earth. Woodland came and went. So did babbling brooks and streams. Hamlets of a dozen or so houses sprang up every so often, congregated round an old stone church or a creaking watermill. As Jack and his friends passed through the settlements, the farmers and their families watched their progress with wary curiosity, many perturbed by the sight of the Japanese monk and Japanese girl on horseback. Jack was reminded of the strange and often hostile looks he’d got when he travelled through Japan. But if the farmers’ stares made Akiko and Yori uncomfortable, they were doing a good job of hiding it.

  After riding most of the day, they entered a village and stopped at a water trough to give their horses a chance
to rest and drink. With the barley harvest being brought in, the village was all but deserted, everyone, including the children, working in the fields. However, as Jack dismounted, he noticed a grizzled old farmer on a stool outside a small thatched cottage. He was chewing on a long piece of straw and eyed the four travellers with guarded suspicion.

  ‘Good day to you,’ greeted Jack. ‘What village is this?’

  ‘Oakfield,’ grunted the farmer.

  ‘Do you mind our horses drinking?’

  The man offered a shrug of his bony shoulders. ‘Bit late to ask, considerin’ they already are.’

  Yori stepped forward and bowed. ‘Thank you for your kindness. It’s an honour to visit your village.’

  The farmer snorted. ‘An honour?’ He gave Jack a sidelong look. ‘Can your friend see with those eyes? This place be just a patch of mud!’

  ‘Yori and Akiko are from the Japans,’ Jack explained, as Akiko bowed respectfully too. ‘It’s their first time in England.’

  The farmer gnawed thoughtfully on the straw’s stem. ‘Don’t they ’ave mud in their country?’

  Jack laughed. ‘Yes, lots. But this is English mud. Nothing finer!’

  The farmer’s frosty demeanour slowly gave way to a toothless grin. ‘Aye, it’s good mud!’ He offered his hand to Jack. ‘My name’s Jon Tiller. There’s some hay for the horses round back if you want.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jack. Rose walked off behind the cottage and soon came back with an armful of hay.

  ‘Where you folks travelling?’ asked Jon, his eyes never leaving Akiko or Yori.

  ‘Stratford-upon-Avon,’ Jack replied.

  The farmer spat out a chewed wad of straw. ‘Long way to go. You ’ave business there?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Looking for my sister. She’s gone missing.’

  His brow furrowing like a ploughed field, Jon sighed. ‘Lots of folk gone missing, what with the plague an’ all.’

  They both fell into a gloomy silence. Jack tried not to imagine that gruesome fate befalling his sister, but, after seeing his father’s cottage all boarded up, it was hard to suppress his dread. Perhaps the plague was the reason Jess had been forced to move? But … why Stratford? As far as he knew, they didn’t have any family connections to the town … although it was possible Mrs Winters did.

  The horses having finished their hay, Jack unhooked the reins and remounted. Their break had been short, and he still felt saddle-sore after their long ride out of London. ‘How far to the nearest decent coaching inn?’ he asked.

  The farmer rubbed his stubbled chin. ‘Hmm, I’d say some fifteen or so miles. Travellers do say the Fox and Pheasant ain’t bad, tho’ I never been there myself. But if you don’t tarry, you’ll get there ’fore sunset. Bear right as you leave the village, then carry on along the road till you come to the corner of a wood, then take the left-hand fork.’

  ‘Any thieves in the wood?’ asked Rose.

  ‘Nah,’ said Jon, selecting a fresh piece of straw from the ground and popping it in his mouth. ‘There’s a witch, you see. Scares ’em off, she does!’ The old farmer chuckled. ‘Keep away from the woods and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘This must be the fork,’ said Jack. They had come to a junction marked by a set of old stocks on which someone had heaped a pile of leaves and old rags.

  Yori glanced nervously towards the dark wood. ‘Do you really think there is a witch in there?’

  ‘England has its fair share of them,’ Rose replied. ‘I wouldn’t go wandering off, if I were you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Yori,’ said Jack, seeing his friend go pale. ‘The farmer was just trying to frighten us, that’s all.’

  But no sooner had he spoken than the pile of rags twitched, causing his horse to rear up in fright. Mouldy leaves tumbled aside to expose a grey-haired, wrinkled old crone in the stocks. The creature looked more dead than alive: her face was lined and rough as a piece of bark, her eyes little more than slits, her hands curled and blackened like crow’s feet, and her skinny legs protruded through the holes of the stocks like the limbs of a dead tree. Then the crinkled corpse of a woman gave a dry cough.

  ‘She’s still alive!’ Akiko gasped, scrambling down from her horse.

  ‘Careful!’ warned Rose. ‘She could be the witch.’

  ‘She’s just an old woman,’ said Akiko. ‘What harm can she do?’

  Rose gave her a sober look. ‘A witch can do a lot of harm, from what I hear.’

  ‘We don’t know she’s the witch,’ said Jack, dismounting.

  Remaining in her saddle, Rose shook her head doubtfully. ‘Who else would be put in stocks out here?’

  ‘Well, we can’t leave her like this,’ insisted Akiko. ‘She’ll die.’

  Witch or not, Jack agreed with Akiko. He dismounted and opened the satchel on his saddle. Sir Henry’s stable boy had given him a leather water bottle and he took it out. Pulling the stopper, he pressed the spout to the old woman’s parched lips. Her tongue sought out the water like a wriggling worm. She swallowed, then coughed and spluttered.

  ‘Kindness can kill,’ she rasped.

  Ignoring the warning, Jack offered her more. This time she drank, glugging greedily. Once she had slaked her thirst, she rose stiffly to a sitting position. Through limp strands of her dirty hair her eyes fixed on Jack.

  ‘You!’ she croaked. ‘You seek one missing!’

  Jack almost dropped the water bottle in shock. ‘H-h-how do you know?’

  A grim twist of a smile threaded its way across her cracked lips. ‘One sees much on this road … especially when one has little choice.’ She looked down despairingly at her legs in the stocks.

  Jack pulled out the locket from under his shirt and showed her the portrait. ‘Have you seen this girl?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘Ooh, pretty little thing … Jane, isn’t it … no, Judith … no, Jess … yes, Jess!’

  Jack’s hands began to tremble with hope. ‘Where is she? Where’s Jess?’

  The old woman raised a finger, crooked as a knotted twig. She held it up before Jack’s eyes. ‘When a wise man points at the moon –’ Jack followed her fingertip in an arc through the air – ‘the fool looks at the finger!’

  She let out a cackling laugh.

  Jack frowned in dismay, while Rose sighed heavily.

  ‘She’s just playing games with you,’ she said impatiently. ‘Come on – let’s go.’

  ‘Then how did she know my sister’s name?’ challenged Jack.

  ‘She guessed it,’ Rose replied, and she pointed at the locket. ‘The letter J is inscribed within the flower engraving on the front.’

  Jack looked and saw it now for himself. Annoyed at being duped by a simple parlour trick, Jack shoved the stopper back in the water bottle.

  ‘Oh, Jack, don’t be so petulant!’ chided the old woman.

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Jack in shock. ‘You know my name as well?’

  ‘However far the stream flows, it never forgets its source!’ the old crone answered cryptically.

  Jack crouched down closer to her. ‘So tell me, what else do you know? Has my sister passed this way?’

  The old woman gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘I know not everyone who travels these roads, but I do know the world has taken much from you. So ponder this on your journey: when you feel furthest away, you’re closer than you think.’

  ‘Don’t get drawn in by her trickery!’ Rose cautioned. ‘Let’s leave before this witch curses us all!’

  The old woman scowled at Rose. ‘A bird may be known by its flight, so why don’t you just fly away!’

  ‘At least I ain’t bound to the ground like you,’ Rose shot back.

  Gazing mournfully at her pinned legs, the old woman sighed. ‘Aye, it’s a cruel fate when they clip the wings of an old bird.’

  Akiko knelt down and inspected the padlock and iron clamp holding the top piece of wood in place. ‘It’ll be impossible to get this off,’ she said.

  Looking to Yori, Jack asked, �
��Can your chants break them?’

  Yori shook his head. ‘Even kiai-jutsu has its limits.’

  ‘Ah! Foreign magic,’ muttered the old woman, licking her dry lips. ‘But not everyone who wears a cowl is a monk.’

  ‘And not every wise woman is a witch,’ replied Yori with a nervous smile.

  Jack examined the stocks themselves. While the padlock was solid and secure, the stocks were old and worn, the wood weathered and riddled with woodworm. ‘I might be able to free you,’ he offered.

  ‘It would take a strong man to break these bonds,’ replied the witch.

  ‘I don’t need strength,’ replied Jack, ‘just technique.’

  Recalling his tameshiwari training, Jack knew it was possible to break through three blocks of wood in a single punch. He’d only ever managed two blocks, but the stocks looked to be about the same thickness. Breathing deeply and harnessing his inner energy, Jack channelled the ki into his fist. Then, with a mighty shout of ‘KIAI!’, he punched the brittle wood …

  CRACK!

  But the wood wasn’t as brittle as it looked. The stocks splintered but refused to snap, his knuckles crumpling instead. Grimacing in pain, Jack clutched his hand.

  How Sensei Kyuzo would be laughing in his grave at such a failure! he thought grimly.

  ‘Good try, dear,’ soothed the old woman as Jack nursed his throbbing fist. ‘Seems you broke your hand rather than the stocks. Here, let me have a look at your injury.’ Then, with startling ease, she slipped her ankles out of the stocks and creakily got to her feet.

  They all stared dumbfounded at the crone.

  ‘You … you could get out? Any time?’ gasped Yori.

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied the old woman, smirking. ‘Stocks can’t hold a witch.’

  ‘I warned you the hag was playing tricks on us!’ cried Rose.

  The witch laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t curse any of you. Not even you, Rose.’

  Flinching at the use of her name, Rose fearfully backed her horse away.

  ‘But I did want to test you,’ the witch went on. ‘Most travellers ignore me, or they taunt or abuse me. Few show compassion … although there was a girl, blonde-haired … eyes like the sea …’ She smiled at Jack, a hideous, crooked, black-toothed smile.