With a scream of outrage, the thin samurai attacked once more, thrusting for the heart. He forced Jack back towards the counter. Jack blocked the barrage of strikes, but the man was lightning fast and managed to get in a vicious slice across the belly.
At the last second, Jack jumped aside. The razor-sharp blade cut through the saké cask instead, cleaving the wooden barrel in half. Rice wine gushed out. The fat samurai, still on his knees retrieving his sword, was half-drowned beneath the alcoholic waterfall. An idiotic smile blossomed on his face as he gulped down several involuntary mouthfuls of saké.
In contrast, the thin samurai’s expression was a knot of fury. He raised his sword again, determined to finish Jack off. As he did so, the serving girl appeared from behind the counter and smashed a saké jar across the back of his head. The samurai swayed slightly, before collapsing to the floor.
Jack stared in amazement at the girl.
‘They simply can’t handle their drink,’ she said, smiling innocently as the fat samurai struggled in the sludge of mud and wine.
The man pulled himself to his feet, his face dripping with saké. Glancing round at his fallen comrades, he staggered away from Jack.
‘This isn’t a fair fight,’ he pleaded, his sword trembling in his hands.
‘It never was,’ replied Jack, executing an Autumn Leaf strike.
His blade struck the back of the man’s sword twice, disarming him of his weapon in an instant.
The samurai held up his hands in surrender, blubbing, ‘Please don’t kill me!’
In the blink of an eye, Jack sliced across the man’s body with both his swords. The samurai screamed, his high-pitched cry fading into a pitiful whimper.
‘I don’t wish to kill anyone,’ replied Jack, sheathing his swords. ‘I just want to go home.’
The samurai inspected himself with amazement. He was totally unharmed, but then his obi fell apart and dropped from his waist to his ankles, together with the sayas for his swords, his inro carrying case and a string of coins attached to the belt.
Horrified at Jack’s supreme sword skills, the samurai fled from the inn.
3
THE IGA MOUNTAINS
Jack gazed around at the destruction. The inn, run-down to begin with, was now a shambles – upturned tables, half the ceiling caved in and the floor a pool of sticky saké. The owner of the establishment sat in the corner, his head in his hands.
Spying the string of coins left behind by the samurai, Jack picked it up and gave the money to the serving girl. ‘That should pay for the damage.’
She bowed her thanks, pocketing the coins inside the sleeve of her kimono.
‘Tell me, why did you help me?’ Jack asked, surprised the girl had the courage to fight, let alone come to the aid of a foreigner.
‘Those three always bully our customers,’ she explained. Then, sneaking an admiring glance at Jack, she added, ‘You’re the first to fight back … and win.’
From beneath the pile of bamboo the leader groaned.
‘You should go,’ said the girl. ‘His friend will return with more samurai.’
‘Will anyone believe a half-dressed man stinking of saké?’ Jack jested.
The serving girl giggled, but stopped as the clang of the post station’s bell rang out.
‘You must leave now!’ she urged.
Jack hurriedly shouldered his pack. Sticking his head out of the door, he saw a troop of samurai marching towards the inn.
‘Come with me,’ said the girl, leading him behind the counter and through a small kitchen to a back entrance. She grabbed a straw container of rice and shoved it into his hands. ‘Take this and follow that trail south.’
She pointed to a dirt track that branched from the main road and disappeared into a forest.
‘Where does it lead?’ Jack asked.
‘Into the Iga mountains.’
Jack shook his head in despair. The domain of the ninja was the last place he wanted to go. But a splintering crash from behind as the samurai troop kicked down the inn’s door left him with little alternative.
‘Stick to the main trail and beware of bandits,’ the girl advised.
‘Thank you,’ said Jack, knowing she’d risked her own life to save him. ‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, waving him on. ‘I’ll say you forced me to help.’
‘WHERE’S THE GAIJIN?’ came a gruff voice from inside the inn.
Hearing the owner obediently reply, Jack ran for his life.
‘And watch out for ninja!’ the girl called after him.
Fleeing from the Shogun’s samurai and into the heartland of his enemy, Jack realized his escape route was suicidal. But he was spurred on by the angry shouts of the samurai. They charged up the track in hot pursuit. The serving girl was pointing furiously in his direction, screaming, ‘Thief! Thief! He stole my rice!’
She’s as quick-witted as Akiko, thought Jack.
Relieved she’d convinced the samurai of her innocence, he powered on and had almost reached the treeline when a crippling blow from behind knocked him to the ground. Dazed, Jack crawled feebly on. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the samurai closing in fast for the kill. He also discovered what had hit him – an arrow was protruding out of his back.
It was all over. The samurai would show no mercy.
But he felt no pain.
That was when he realized the arrowhead had struck his pack, not him. Scrambling to his feet, Jack lurched into the forest. A second arrow shot past his head, piercing a tree trunk with a resounding thud.
Jack didn’t look back again. He ran faster, his heart thumping, his lungs burning. The trail wound through the forest, narrowing as it rose towards the mountains that ringed the notorious Iga Province.
The samurai were gaining on him.
Passing through a bamboo grove, Jack unsheathed his katana and sliced through the tall stems either side as he ran. Bamboo cascaded down behind him, blocking the path. The samurai were forced to stop and chop their way through.
The ploy bought him a little time. But Jack knew the samurai would eventually catch up if he stayed on the main trail. Reaching a junction of paths, he chose the smallest and least used track. Deeper and deeper he went. The light faded fast as the trees crowded in, blocking out the sky.
Jack slowed his pace and listened. The samurai’s shouts were now far off and receding into the distance. He’d escaped – at least for the time being.
Catching his breath, Jack put down his pack. Hanging next to the arrow was the little red silk pouch his Zen philosophy master, Sensei Yamada, had given him. This contained an omamori, a Buddhist amulet that granted protection to its owner. It evidently worked. On emptying the bag, Jack discovered his father’s rutter had saved him. The arrowhead had embedded itself in the leatherbound cover of the navigational logbook. Jack couldn’t help but laugh. He’d defended this rutter with his life, and now it had returned the favour.
A rutter was the only means of ensuring safe passage across the world’s oceans. His father’s was highly sought after, since there were so few accurate ones in existence. But it represented more than a vital navigational tool. Whichever country possessed such an invaluable logbook could control the trade routes between nations and, in effect, rule the seas. His father had warned him never to let the rutter fall into the wrong hands. At one point it had. His arch-enemy, the one-eyed ninja Dragon Eye, had stolen it on behalf of a Portuguese Jesuit, Father Bobadillo. But with the help of Akiko and Masamoto’s son Yamato, Jack had managed to get it back … though at the cost of his dear friend Yamato’s life. With Dragon Eye and Father Bobadillo now dead, only a few people in Japan knew of the rutter’s existence. Unfortunately, one of them was the Shogun.
Carefully pulling out the arrow, Jack was relieved to find no more than the first few pages had been damaged. For him, the rutter was a means of returning home to England, of becoming a pilot like his father and providing for his sister, Jess. It was al
so his last cherished link to his father. After three years, Jack still felt an overwhelming emptiness in his heart. And the pain hadn’t departed with the death of Dragon Eye, his father’s murderer. The rutter, however, did ease the anguish; his father living on through the countless hand-drawn maps, personal notes and coded messages.
Rewrapping the logbook in its protective oilskin, Jack stowed his precious cargo in the bottom of his pack, along with a spare brown kimono, a string of copper coins and a couple of empty rice containers he’d been given by Akiko’s mother. He added the fresh batch of rice, then checked the small wooden inro case attached to his hip. This contained an origami paper crane – a good-luck charm from his school friend Yori – and a rare black pearl he cherished from Akiko.
He missed his friends. Every day he questioned his decision to leave them, especially Akiko. It had been hardest to say goodbye to her. Ever since his arrival in Japan, Akiko had been a vital part of his life and he felt lost without her by his side. But he’d had no choice. Not only did his sister need him in England, but it was now a crime in daimyo Kamakura’s new Japan to shelter a foreigner. If Jack had stayed in Toba, he’d have endangered all their lives.
The only safe haven was the port of Nagasaki, far in the south of Japan. This was where Jack was headed. But it was a long and dangerous journey.
Akiko had warned him to avoid the main roads and towns, but this wasn’t always possible. With no signposts and few decent roads, the going was painstakingly slow and it was easy to take a wrong turn. Besides, the need to eat and replenish his supplies had forced him to visit the Tokaido Road post station of Shono.
But these rest stops for travellers were also government checkpoints.
Having discovered the Shogun’s samurai were now on the hunt for him, his hope of safely reaching Nagasaki had all but disappeared. He couldn’t possibly expect to fight his way across the entirety of southern Japan.
Perhaps he should have waited to join Sensei Yamada and Yori on their pilgrimage to the Tendai Temple in Iga Ueno. Though the route was arduous and took him off course, at least he’d have benefitted from his Zen master’s protection and guidance. He could imagine the old man tottering along the mountain paths, all grey beard and wrinkles. Any bandit would suffer a painful surprise if they tried to attack him. Sensei Yamada was a sohei – a warrior monk – his ancient appearance hiding his deadly martial art skills. But it was his wisdom that had helped Jack the most.
There’s no failure except in no longer trying, the Zen master had once said. And his advice held true.
Jack knew he mustn’t give up at the first hurdle. After all, this is what he’d been training for these past three years at the Niten Ichi Ryū. He’d always known that one day he would have to make this journey – and that as a skilled samurai swordsman he’d have the best chance of reaching his destination.
Fastening his pack, Jack got back to his feet. The forest around him creaked and groaned, breathing with the wind. It sent a shiver down his spine. The Iga mountains didn’t welcome strangers. This was where Akiko thought her little brother, Kiyoshi, had been taken by Dragon Eye, never to be seen again.
Jack decided to push on. It was still only early afternoon and hopefully he’d come across a trail looping back to the main track before dark.
Grabbing a swig of water from his gourd, he walked on through the woods and entered into a clearing. Suddenly the world seemed to spin on its axis. The trees whirled around him, the sky fell to his feet and his head struck a rock.
Before he knew what was happening, blackness enveloped him.
4
KING OF THE TENGU
Jack’s head throbbed fit to burst. His right leg ached like it was being stretched on a torture rack. And his arms were heavy as lead.
Groggily, he opened his eyes. The forest was still upside down, swaying in a sickly see-saw motion. It took Jack a few moments to realize he was hanging upside down from a tree. All his belongings lay scattered beneath him. His swords, his pack, the water gourd, everything.
Lifting a hand to his face, Jack gingerly touched a patch of dried blood where his head had hit the rock. The cut wasn’t large, but the impact must have been enough to knock him out for a few hours. The forest had since grown dark, the sun now close to setting.
Jack looked up. His foot was caught in a noose, the offending rope leading to a branch high in the canopy. He’d walked straight into a trap. The worrying question was, whose trap?
It was clearly designed for large prey, like a deer … or a man.
That meant bandits. The alternative was ninja and that didn’t bear thinking about. Whoever had set the trap, there was little point in crying out for help. He’d not only attract bandits or ninja, but the samurai who were no doubt still looking for him.
Jack had to free himself before the trapper returned. Stretching out his hand, he extended his fingers in desperation towards his katana. He attempted to swing himself closer. But it was no use. The sword remained tantalizingly out of reach.
Straining against his own body, he now tried to grasp the rope round his ankle. But having hung upside down for so long, his limbs had gone numb. With immense effort, he managed to grab hold of the knot. Jack took one look at it and cursed. Having been a sailor, he recognized a self-tightening knot when he saw one. Jack had little chance of undoing it with his whole body weight pulling down on the binding.
He’d have to climb the rope.
As Jack struggled to pull himself upright, he heard a rustle in the bushes. He froze, hunting for the source of the sound.
A squirrel bolted from the undergrowth and up a nearby tree.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jack continued with his escape attempt. Then his heart stopped in his mouth as he heard another rustle, closer this time.
Someone was approaching.
In the twilight, a young boy entered the clearing. Jack guessed he was about ten years old, the same age as his sister. Dressed in a plain earth-brown kimono, he had short dark hair tied into a topknot. For a moment, they both stared at one another. The boy’s eyes, as black as Akiko’s pearl, showed no fear. Jack relaxed a little. With this boy’s help, he could escape before the trapper appeared. Jack offered his most friendly smile.
The boy returned the smile, then punched the air in delight.
‘It worked!’ he exclaimed.
‘What worked?’ asked Jack.
‘My trap!’
‘This is your doing?’
The boy nodded proudly. Approaching his swinging captive, he turned his head to one side and studied Jack intently.
‘You look funny. Your face is all red.’
‘So would yours be if you’d been hanging upside down!’ replied Jack irritably.
‘Your hair’s gone white too. Very strange.’
‘It’s not white. It’s blond.’
‘And your nose. It’s huge! Are you a tengu?’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Jack through gritted teeth. His nose wasn’t particularly big for a European, but it was compared to a Japanese. ‘Now release me!’
The boy gently shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Tengu are dangerous. They trick people.’
‘I’m not trying to trick you,’ Jack insisted. ‘I don’t even know what a tengu is.’
The boy laughed. ‘Of course you don’t. No demon bird would ever admit to being one.’
He picked up a stick and prodded Jack with it. ‘You may look human, but your beaky nose gives it away.’
The boy began inspecting Jack’s belongings. ‘Where’s your magic feather fan?’
‘I don’t have a fan,’ Jack replied, his patience wearing thin.
‘Yes, you do. All tengu have one. That’s how you grow and shrink people’s noses.’
Setting the pack aside, he spotted Jack’s two gleaming swords.
‘Wow! Are these yours?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many samurai have you killed?’ he asked eagerly. Picking up the wakizashi, he began
to swing it in mock combat.
Staring at the boy with as much menace as he could muster, Jack replied, ‘Let’s put it this way. You’ll be next, if you don’t let me down right now.’
The boy’s mouth dropped open and he respectfully returned the sword to its saya. ‘I know who you are,’ he breathed in awe.
Finally, thought Jack. Now we can make some progress. He must have heard about the hunt for a gaijin samurai.
‘You’re Sōjōbō, the King of the Tengu. You taught the legendary warrior Minamoto the Art of the Sword. You showed him magic too! Helped him defeat his enemies and avenge his father’s murder. My grandfather says you have the strength of one thousand tengu! I can’t believe I caught you –’
‘I’m not …’ Jack interrupted, then had an idea. ‘OK, you’re right. I’m Sōjōbō.’
‘I knew it!’ the boy said, punching the air once again.
‘As you’re so clever, we should be friends,’ said Jack warmly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Hanzo,’ he replied, bowing smartly.
‘Listen, Hanzo, if you let me go, I’ll teach you how to fight with a sword. Just like the warrior Minamoto.’
The boy eyed him cautiously. ‘My grandfather told me that tengu kidnap little boys. You’ll make me eat bugs and animal dung until I go mad!’
‘I promise I won’t. I’m King of the Tengu and want to help you become as powerful as Minamoto.’
Hanzo’s brow furrowed as he considered the offer. Then, without a backward glance, he walked off.
‘Where are you going?’ Jack shouted.
‘I must tell my grandfather I’ve caught the famous Sōjōbō. I’ll be back in the morning.’
‘You can’t leave me here all night!’ Jack protested.
But Hanzo had already disappeared.
5
GRANDFATHER SOKE
‘Here’s a fish that could live in a tree if it wanted to,’ said a voice as old and worn as the mountains. ‘A real survivor.’
The Ring of Earth Page 2