The soldiers drew ever nearer. Fortunately, their attention was focused on the alleyways and buildings. Yori and Miyuki passed unnoticed. But, with the samurai so intent upon their search and Jack keeping his head down, one of the soldiers accidentally collided into him.
The samurai turned on Jack and glared.
‘Sumimasen,’ apologized Jack, bowing low and keeping his eyes to the ground in respect.
Miyuki and the others slowed their pace, Saburo reaching inside the canvas bag for his katana, Miyuki palming a hidden shuriken.
The samurai stepped up to Jack, his hand moving towards the swords on his obi. Jack held his breath and prepared to run.
‘My apologies, pilgrim,’ said the samurai, pulling a coin from the pouch on his belt. ‘I have no wish for bad luck. Please accept my o-settai.’
Stunned, Jack took the money and was about to walk away when he remembered the ritual. Putting his hands together and keeping his head bowed, he chanted ‘Namu Daishi Henjo Kongo’ three times. Then he handed the samurai a nameslip. The soldier appeared satisfied and resumed his search for the fugitives, oblivious to how close they really were.
5
Turning of the Tides
‘We made it!’ Yori sighed, showing their travel permits and climbing on-board the boat bound for Shikoku Island.
‘All thanks to Miyuki and your pilgrim knowledge,’ agreed Jack.
They found a spot near the bow to stow the canvas bag and sat down. While the other passengers were finding their own places for the voyage, Jack took the opportunity to glance up and give the vessel a quick inspection. It was quite different in design from the mighty three-masted ocean trader he’d sailed upon to Japan. This wooden ship had a single mast with a square canvas sail, a flat keel and a wide, open deck. It was perhaps a third of the size of the Alexandria, with room for fifty passengers. Its cargo of rice bales and lamp oil was piled high on the deck and in the hold. The gunwales were raised with a diamond-shaped latticework of bamboo guardrails and the stern’s upper deck was given over to a large rudder and extra-long tiller. To Jack’s eye, it was more a coastal vessel than an ocean-going ship, but it looked seaworthy enough. He relaxed, knowing they would soon be under way.
‘It’s not over yet,’ warned Miyuki, looking back down the harbour.
A samurai patrol had just entered the brewery.
‘Why aren’t we setting sail?’ Saburo demanded, becoming nervous.
The boat was full but the captain seemed in no urgency to depart.
‘Perhaps there isn’t enough wind?’ suggested Miyuki.
Jack shook his head. ‘There’s more than enough.’
Yori turned to a kindly-looking man sitting nearby, who was contemplating the sea and mumbling to himself. ‘Excuse me,’ asked Yori, ‘what’s the delay?’
Blinking as if disturbed from a trance, the man offered a cordial smile, then in a soft voice replied:
‘Horseshoe harbour
Where the great tides turn
my life flows in and out.’
His cryptic answer made Jack wonder if the man was in his right mind.
The smile on the man’s lips faltered as he looked expectantly at Yori. ‘So … what do you think?’
Yori appeared pensive before replying. ‘Like the sea, your haiku is deep and moving.’
The man beamed upon hearing such gracious praise. ‘You’re a poet too!’ he exclaimed.
Yori bowed his head in humble acknowledgement.
‘I’d be honoured if you’d share a haiku of yours with me,’ requested the poet, excited at the prospect.
‘Of course,’ replied Yori, trying to keep his calm under the mounting pressure of the samurai. ‘But first we were wondering why the boat hasn’t sailed yet?’
The poet seemed surprised at such a question and replied matter-of-factly, ‘We must wait for the tides to turn.’
‘And when will that happen?’ pressed Saburo as Jack glanced again towards the warehouse. The samurai had yet to emerge, but they had surely discovered the bodies by now.
‘When the time is right,’ declared the poet. ‘Upon rising, the great tidal streams flow in from both east and west and meet just offshore from Tomo. When falling, they recede again in both directions – taking us and every soul upon this boat along with them. Tomo Harbour isn’t merely a stop-off upon a journey, it’s a place to wait for the “tide of life” to turn.’
At that moment, the samurai burst out of the brewery. They began to accost any pilgrim wandering along the harbour. Some soldiers backtracked into the village, while others worked their way towards the jetty. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, Jack and his friends could only sit and watch as the samurai advanced. Jack realized this was a turning point in his life. He and his friends would either escape or die, their fate seemingly dependent upon the pull of the moon.
Two of the samurai had already boarded the first boat in line, when the captain of the pilgrims’ ship gave the order to unfurl the sail and cast off. Jack felt the sweat on his brow as he prayed their captain wouldn’t notice the disturbance further down the dock.
The samurai were now running along the jetty to stop any more vessels leaving. On-board their ship, Jack exchanged a worried look with Miyuki. At this rate, they had no hope of escaping. The soldiers were halfway down the jetty when the boat eased away from the harbourside, the breeze filling the sail.
But its progress seemed excruciatingly slow to Jack and his three anxious companions. Shouting to the captain, the samurai were sprinting headlong to draw level. Luckily, the wind buffeting the sail muffled their cries and the captain remained focused on navigating through the narrow mouth of the harbour. All of a sudden, their boat picked up speed. Caught by the ebbing tide, Jack and his friends were carried out with the current and into the haven of the Seto Sea.
For the first time in over a year, Jack truly felt at ease. They’d escaped the samurai and he was back at sea. Saburo was fast asleep, snoring, his face shaded from the bright spring sunshine by his pilgrim hat. Yori was exchanging haiku with the poet, while Miyuki, vigilant as ever, was keeping a watchful eye in case a boat followed them from Tomo. But their vessel was making such headway that Jack knew it would be impossible for the samurai to catch up now.
Jack sat upon the prow as their boat cut through the waves. Every so often he risked a glance up, relishing the breeze upon his face, and breathed in a deep lungful of sea air. The boat’s constant pitch and roll was as comforting as a mother’s arms. And the rushing lap of water against the hull sent a familiar thrill through him. He was back in his element.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the ocean life – the feel of the rough wooden deck beneath his feet; the snap of the canvas sail beating with the wind. Almost four years had passed since he’d sailed aboard the Alexandria, and it seemed like a lifetime ago. With all his training at the Niten Ichi Ryū, he was now more samurai than seaman. But his seafaring instincts were too deeply ingrained to be lost. His late father had seen to that. With a quick glance, Jack could tell the captain wasn’t sailing the ship on its optimum tack. The sail could be trimmed to get at least another knot of speed out of her. His eye remained sharp for navigational signs: the light blue hue of the water indicated where the seabed was relatively shallow and he could tell by the position of the sun they were headed in a south-westerly direction, following the coastline.
As he made these observations, his body gently swayed, unconsciously counterbalancing the rise and fall of the ship’s prow.
You can take the sailor from the sea, but you can never take the sea from the sailor.
His father had often jested with his mother about that every time he’d returned from a voyage. And it was never long before his father got the urge to set sail again. That very same impulse had drawn Jack to the ocean and his father’s trade as a ship’s pilot. The two years spent sailing from England to the Japans as a rigging monkey had been some of the happiest in his life. During the voyage, his father had taug
ht him how to navigate by the stars, gauge the weather, plot a course and, most importantly, decipher the cryptic notes and observations in the rutter – the logbook having been encoded to prevent prying eyes from discovering its valuable secrets.
Gazing across the Seto Sea with its countless islands glimmering like jewels, Jack could almost sense the spirit of his father by his side. With a wistful sigh, he surrendered himself to the memories.
Many of the other passengers – a surprising mix of pilgrims, merchants, a couple of court nobles, a monk and several travellers – were also enjoying the view, each wrapped in their own thoughts.
A man got unsteadily to his feet and approached the bow. Jack caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. Glimpsing the hilt of a samurai sword on his hip, he momentarily panicked. But the man was a little green with seasickness and had no interest in him. Unkempt, with a stubbly face and wayward hair, he was thickset and had battle scars across his arms. He wore a shabby brown kimono with no visible mon, the crest that would indicate his allegiance to a particular samurai lord. Without it, Jack guessed he was a ronin, a masterless samurai.
The ship suddenly pitched over a wave and the ronin stumbled. As he tried to regain his balance, he accidentally kicked the canvas bag. One of Jack’s swords tumbled out, its blade sliding from its saya. The razor-sharp steel gleamed in the sunlight, the name Shizu clearly etched upon its surface.
The ronin stared in disbelief at the samurai blade, then turned to Jack.
‘What sort of pilgrim travels with Shizu swords?’
6
School of No Sword
‘Answer me, pilgrim!’ demanded the ronin. ‘Or perhaps you’re not a pilgrim at all …’
Jack daren’t look up and reveal his true identity. Yet he didn’t know what to say either. Nor did Saburo – startled from his sleep, he could only gawp at the exposed weapon. With their lives at risk, Miyuki was about to snatch up the katana when Yori stepped between Jack and the ronin.
‘They’re gifts,’ he explained in an innocent tone, leaving Miyuki to repack the sword before it attracted anyone else’s attention.
‘Gifts?’ spat the ronin, unconvinced. ‘A Shizu sword seems an incredible gift.’
Every samurai knew Shizu-san was one of the greatest swordsmiths to have lived, and his blades were revered for both their quality and benevolent spirit. With only a few true ones in existence, their value was inestimable.
Yori nodded sincerely. ‘They’re offerings for the gods at Oyamazumi Shrine on Omishima Island. We’re donating them on behalf of our sensei.’
The ronin squinted at Yori. ‘But this boat isn’t headed for Omishima Island.’
‘We’re … going there after the pilgrimage,’ stated Yori, but his hesitation made the reply sound hollow and the ronin remained sceptical.
‘What sword school do you belong to?’ he demanded.
Yori paused before answering, ‘The School of No Sword.’
Since the Niten Ichi Ryū had been closed by order of the Shogun, Jack knew it was wise of his friend to give another school’s name. But even Jack was surprised by such a preposterous-sounding one.
The ronin snorted in disdain. ‘What sort of ridiculous sword style is that?’
Yori swallowed nervously. ‘Would you like a demonstration?’
Grinning with malicious delight, the ronin grunted, ‘A duel! Most definitely.’
As the ronin began to clear the deck of passengers, Jack grabbed Yori’s arm. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘We have to get rid of this ronin,’ Yori insisted. ‘Otherwise he’ll discover who you are.’
‘But did you have to challenge him to a duel?’ Jack knew Yori wasn’t a fighter at heart and he feared for his friend’s life. The ronin may be suffering seasickness, but judging by the scars on his arms he was a battle-hardened and dangerous foe. ‘Let me take your place,’ suggested Jack.
‘Trust me,’ Yori replied, with only a slight tremble to his voice. ‘I can handle him.’
‘What’s going on here?’ The captain, a burly man with a face weathered as old leather, strode down the steps from the stern’s upper deck.
‘A duel!’ cried one of the merchants excitedly.
‘I won’t have fighting on-board this ship,’ ruled the captain.
Unwilling to lose face, the ronin stepped forward. ‘The challenge has been set. My honour is at stake. We must duel.’
‘My ship, my rules,’ said the captain firmly.
‘I’m a samurai,’ said the ronin. ‘Do what I say.’
‘I’m the captain,’ he shot back, unfazed by the ronin’s belligerent attitude. ‘At sea, you do what I say.’
A tense stand-off occurred between the two men and the ship fell silent.
Coughing for their attention, Yori bowed to the captain. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to lend us the rowing boat? Then we can duel on that island over there without injuring any of your passengers.’
Yori pointed to an uninhabited outcrop of rock, crowned with trees and ringed by a small beach. The captain regarded Yori thoughtfully, his curiosity roused at the prospect of a fight between a samurai and a pilgrim.
‘That’s acceptable,’ agreed the captain, giving the order to drop anchor.
A couple of his crew lowered the rowing boat over the side. The ronin climbed down the rope ladder and waited impatiently for Yori to join him.
‘Let me come with you,’ suggested Saburo.
‘It’s best that I go alone,’ Yori replied, taking a grip of the swaying ladder.
‘Don’t you want to carry a knife at least?’ asked Miyuki, offering him her hidden tantō.
Yori shook his head and descended into the rowing boat. The ronin took the oars and began to paddle. Powerless to prevent the duel now, Jack, Saburo and Miyuki stood by the guardrail, watching their friend bob across the water towards the island.
‘That ronin will cut him into eight pieces,’ sighed Saburo mournfully.
By now, all the passengers and crew were gathered along the gunwale, eagerly awaiting the start of this unusual match. Jack noticed the merchants and court nobles were placing bets on the outcome of the duel – and the odds weren’t favourable for Yori.
As the rowing boat approached the little beach, the ronin shipped the oars and leapt on to the sand. Within the blink of an eye, he’d drawn a bloodstained sword and assumed a battle stance.
‘Time to prove yourself, pilgrim!’ he snarled.
Jack’s heart was in his mouth as he saw Yori stand up to follow his opponent ashore. All of a sudden Yori snatched up an oar and pushed the rowing boat back out to sea. The ronin stared in outrage and utter bewilderment as his adversary left him stranded.
Rowing calmly away, Yori cried out, ‘There’s your demonstration in defeating the enemy … with no sword!’
7
Seasickness
Yori reboarded the boat to the sound of applause. In awe of his peaceful resolution, the pilgrims clustered round him asking for his blessing. Meanwhile, the merchants and court nobles were arguing over their bets – some believing Yori to be the clear victor, others protesting that an actual duel had never occurred.
‘What about the ronin?’ a deckhand asked the captain.
The samurai was stamping up and down on the beach, waving his arms furiously at them.
‘He’ll be picked up by another boat …’ replied the captain, ‘… eventually!’
With a booming laugh, he gave the orders to weigh anchor and they resumed their journey towards Shikoku Island.
‘Did you see the look on the ronin’s face?’ Saburo chortled, when Yori finally managed to rejoin his friends. ‘It was as if he’d swallowed a fish whole.’
Jack laid a hand upon Yori’s shoulder. ‘You really had me worried for a moment.’
Yori smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry, but it was the only way I could think of to get the ronin off the boat without a fight.’
‘That is ninja cunning!’ Miyuki
remarked. ‘Still, you should’ve taken a weapon, just in case.’
‘I did,’ replied Yori, tapping a forefinger to his temple. ‘The mind is the greatest weapon.’
Jack grinned at his friend. Every day Yori was becoming more and more like their old Zen master, Sensei Yamada – not only in manner but in wisdom too.
The boat sailed on and the passengers settled down again, dozing in the sun or gazing across the glistening waters of the Seto Sea. Returning to their position at the bow, Jack and the others ensured the canvas bag was kept securely between them. But they needn’t have worried. The other travellers now maintained a respectful distance from Yori and his companions, his honourable act having enhanced his status on-board the boat.
Jack looked towards the distant horizon. Shikoku Island was not yet in sight. Surveying the huge expanse of water before him, he suddenly experienced a deep ache in his heart. England lay two years’ voyage on the other side of the world, divided by vast oceans and fierce storms. Yet being at sea, he felt closer to home than ever before. He yearned to set foot on English shores once again – to find his sister, Jess, and to finally stop running. Jack had no doubt that she still prayed for his and his father’s safe return, even after all these years. But he was worried about what had become of Jess without a family to protect and care for her.
‘I feel awful,’ groaned Saburo, holding his head in his hands.
Jack took one look at his friend’s pale face. ‘You’re seasick. Stand up and keep your eye on the horizon.’
Getting shakily to his feet, Saburo leant against the guardrail. Jack fished out a gourd from the bag and offered it to him. ‘You need to sip lots of water.’
Saburo took a swig. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he moaned, ‘Oh, I wish this deck would stop moving.’
‘This is nothing!’ laughed Jack. ‘Wait until we hit a storm. The deck heaves so much, the sky becomes the sea and you don’t know which way is up!’
Young Samurai: The Ring of Wind Page 3