The Ring of Earth

by Chris Bradford

  Jack picked up his pack and swords, and joined Hanzo in the other room.

  ‘This one’s yours,’ said the boy, pointing to the futon nearest the door.

  Nodding gratefully, Jack stowed his belongings in the corner where he could keep an eye on them and carefully laid his swords beside his mattress. It had become habit to have them close to hand. As he climbed into bed, Hanzo whispered, ‘When will you start teaching me the sword?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Jack replied, mid-yawn.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise,’ Jack mumbled wearily, surrendering himself to sleep.

  7

  SWORDPLAY

  Yamato hung on for dear life, one hand clasping the balcony rail. Flames engulfed the devastated tower of Osaka Castle, cannonshot shrieked through the night and the sounds of battle raged far below.

  Jack stood there, watching, unable to move. Yamato’s eyes were wide with fear, pleading for him to come to his rescue. But however hard he tried, his feet were immovable as stone. He could hear Akiko screaming in the darkness.

  A single green eye appeared out of the shadows.

  ‘It’s all your fault,’ hissed Dragon Eye.

  The ninja clung to Yamato’s back. One by one, he peeled away the boy’s fingers.

  ‘No!’ cried Jack as his friend plummeted to the ground.

  Only now could Jack move. He ran to the edge and saw Yamato’s lifeless body sprawled in the courtyard.

  But Dragon Eye was nowhere to be seen. A hand seized Jack’s shoulder …

  Before he’d even opened his eyes, Jack had grabbed his sword and half-drawn the blade.

  ‘It’s just me!’ Hanzo exclaimed, his hands raised high.

  Jack lay back on his futon, his heart racing in his chest. As the nightmare receded with the light of day, he grieved for his lost friend.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Hanzo.

  Nodding, Jack calmed himself. He’d had the dream several times before, forcing him to relive that terrible night again and again. In truth, Yamato had made the decision himself to let go, dying with honour. But Jack still wondered if he could have saved both his friends. He shivered involuntarily at the thought of Dragon Eye surviving. But that was impossible. He’d fallen to his death too.

  ‘What were you doing?’ Jack demanded of Hanzo.

  ‘Trying to steal your pillow without waking you.’

  Jack gave Hanzo a befuddled look. The boy had a pillow of his own. ‘Well, you did wake me. Please don’t do that again. I’d hate to mistake you for a ninja.’

  ‘Why?’ said Hanzo, frowning.

  ‘Because I might accidently cut you in half!’

  Jack put the katana safely to one side.

  ‘Your reactions are so fast,’ Hanzo said in admiration. ‘Anyway, you need to get up. You’ve missed breakfast-time. And you promised to teach me the sword.’

  That was the last thing Jack felt like doing. But he’d made a promise and, as a samurai, he had to honour it. Rolling out of bed, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and went into the next room. A bowl of cold rice and a jug of water were laid out beside the hearth.

  ‘Where’s Soke?’ asked Jack as he tucked into his belated breakfast.

  ‘Grandfather’s gone to see Shonin,’ said Hanzo, who waited excitedly by the door. ‘He’s left some water in the sink for you to wash with.’

  Finishing off his rice, Jack slipped on his sandals and entered the doma. Beside the sink was a wooden scoop, which he used to douse his face and hands. What he really wanted, though, was a hot ofuro. The habit of the samurai to bathe daily was one of the surprising pleasures of living in Japan. But Jack didn’t suppose farmers had such luxuries. Anyway, five days of travel grime was nothing compared to being a sailor at sea or living in England, where washing was considered unhealthy.

  Refreshed and a little cleaner, Jack stepped out into the bright midday sunshine. The glistening paddy fields were a vibrant green, the seeds planted in spring having grown into lush summer grasses. A few farmers tended the rice crop, but most appeared to be relaxing in the square. Jack could hear the laughter of children nearby and was struck by how tranquil the village was.

  Hanzo tugged on his sleeve. ‘So, what are you going to teach me first?’

  Jack felt a twinge of nerves. How could he be a teacher, when he wasn’t much more than a student himself? He didn’t even have any training weapons. Looking around the yard, he spotted a stack of bamboo stems beside the outhouse. Jack selected one of appropriate length and passed it to the boy. ‘Here’s your sword.’

  ‘But I want to use a real sword!’ Hanzo protested, giving his bamboo substitute a disgruntled inspection.

  Jack laughed, recalling his own impatience to wield a steel katana. But all that had changed when his late swordmaster, Sensei Hosokawa, had given him a harsh lesson in the responsibility of carrying such a weapon. It had involved a grain of rice, Yamato’s head and nerves of steel to cut the grain in half. Jack had backed out of the challenge, straight away appreciating his teacher’s point. But he had no wish to test Hanzo in such a way. Something about the boy told Jack he’d attempt the feat, whatever the danger.

  ‘Until you have complete control of this sword,’ Jack explained, repeating Sensei Hosokawa’s words, ‘you don’t have the skill to use a real blade.’

  Though obviously disappointed, Hanzo nodded his acceptance. ‘So, what do I do now?’

  Jack thought back to his very first lesson with Sensei Hosokawa.

  ‘Hold out your arms straight in front of you,’ he instructed, ‘with your sword resting in both hands.’

  Hanzo eagerly did as he was told. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Keep holding it like that.’

  There was a small tree in the yard and Jack found a spot beneath it to observe his student. Hanzo gave him a puzzled look. ‘This isn’t sword fighting!’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Jack with a wry smile. Reiterating his kenjutsu master’s teachings, he explained, ‘If your own sword can defeat you in your own hands, what hope do you have of ever defeating your enemy?’

  ‘Ah, it’s a test!’

  With renewed determination, Hanzo held out his sword. A few minutes passed and the boy’s arms weren’t even trembling. Impressed, Jack realized there was more to Hanzo than met the eye.

  As Hanzo stood there, stock-still, three boys and a girl wandered past.

  ‘What are you doing?’ called a round-faced boy over the fence.

  ‘Sword training, Kobei.’

  ‘Scarecrow training more like!’ he laughed.

  ‘What would you know? You don’t have the King of the Tengu teaching you,’ Hanzo shot back, nodding to Jack in the shade.

  The four of them gawped at Jack in amazement.

  ‘I caught him,’ Hanzo explained. ‘And now he’s set me a test to defeat the sword.’

  ‘That’s easy,’ scoffed Kobei, keen to impress the tengu.

  Suddenly the challenge was on. Jack was taken aback by the children’s enthusiasm as all four grabbed a piece of bamboo and held it out like Hanzo.

  Just then a young farmer approached. Strong and tanned from working in the fields, he looked tougher than many samurai. Jack judged him to be about seventeen. He had a broad handsome face with eyes brown as the earth. Discovering the children standing like statues, their faces screwed up with the effort of holding their bamboo swords, he shot Jack a questioning glance but made no comment.

  ‘Hanzo!’ called the farmer. ‘Soke said to bring your guest to Shonin.’

  ‘Yes, Tenzen,’ replied the boy, hurriedly putting down his makeshift weapon.

  ‘You lose!’ said Kobei.

  ‘I’ll beat you all later,’ shot back Hanzo.

  Jack got to his feet and bowed. The farmer inclined his head respectfully.

  As they made their way through the paddy fields, Jack’s curiosity finally got the better of him. ‘Who is Shonin?’ he asked.

  ‘Not who, but what,’ replied Tenzen civilly. ‘
Shonin means the head of the village and is how you should address the leader of our clan. He’s also my father.’

  Walking up a rise and passing through a tall wooden gate, they entered the main square. In one corner was a set of stables. Several children were playing on the horse rail outside, attempting to walk along its beam without falling. Beyond the fence was the pond, where a group of lads were swimming, diving and play-fighting.

  The villagers in the square gazed in wonder at Jack, many bowing at his approach. Jack returned the courtesy. It appeared the anti-foreign prejudice afflicting the rest of Japan had not yet reached this community. Even so, Jack overheard uneasy murmurings among the crowd about a samurai being in their village. It seemed his status was more of an issue than his race.

  Tenzen led Jack over to the farmhouse. The building was far grander than Soke’s and more akin to a samurai’s dwelling. It had a raised veranda and shuttered windows, and was at least double the size of any other home in the village. Two men greeted Tenzen at the door and let them through. Slipping off their sandals, the three of them walked down a polished wooden corridor, passing two rooms to a set of double shoji doors at the far end. As they drew nearer, Jack could hear a heated conversation going on.

  ‘Do you really think it’s appropriate to have brought a samurai here?’

  ‘We could learn many things to our advantage,’ replied a voice Jack recognized as Soke’s. ‘Besides, I sense the boy has a good heart.’

  ‘You said that last time about an outsider and we all know what happened. What if he were to draw a patrol to this valley? Need I remind you that daimyo Akechi still seeks to destroy our village?’

  ‘I realize it’s a risk, but the boy’s as much an outsider as we are. Meet him and judge for yourselves.’

  The doors to the room opened and Jack was ushered inside.

  8

  SHONIN

  The reception room was large, carpeted with finely woven tatami mats and a raised wooden dais at the far end. To Jack’s right was another set of shoji and on the wall behind the dais hung an ink painting of a kingfisher perched over a river.

  Three men sat upon the raised floor, observing Jack’s entrance.

  ‘I thought you said he was samurai,’ whispered the man in the middle. Pudgy, with a generous double chin, drooping moustache and balding head, he reminded Jack of a walrus. As first impressions went, he seemed an odd choice for a Shonin and bore little resemblance to his lean, muscular son. But as this was a farming community, Jack presumed they didn’t require a toughened warrior as their leader. Or a tactful one, it seemed.

  ‘The boy trained at the Niten Ichi Ryū,’ replied Soke, who sat to the man’s left.

  ‘But he’s foreign,’ the pudgy man remarked as Jack approached.

  ‘He’s still samurai. His guardian’s Masamoto Takeshi.’

  ‘That at least explains why there’s such a high price on his head.’ The man’s eyes lit up with a realization. ‘This boy could be used as leverage in negotiations with daimyo Akechi –’

  ‘There’s no bargaining with that lord,’ Soke cut in. ‘And you should be aware the boy speaks fluent Japanese.’

  The man’s face froze in alarm. ‘You could have told me that before!’ he hissed, forcing his startled expression into a smile.

  Pretending not to have overheard the comments, Jack knelt before the three men and bowed low. Though the pudgy man was clearly two-faced, it would do Jack no favours to show disrespect. ‘It is an honour to meet you, Shonin.’

  ‘Well, our friend certainly knows the proper etiquette,’ said the third man, smiling. Slim, with a handsome face and hair neatly tied into a topknot, he wore a dark-green kimono and possessed an air of supreme confidence. He studied Jack with the eyes of a hawk.

  ‘If you know such graces, what could you possibly have done to offend the Shogun? We know he’s banishing foreigners, but why is he so keen on capturing you?’

  Jack decided it would be best to tell the truth to this man, who seemed more astute than the Shonin. But not the whole truth. He’d avoid mentioning the rutter. ‘I fought against the Shogun in the war. I also defeated his sword school in a Taryu-Jiai contest a couple of years back. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me.’

  The man laughed. ‘I’ve heard the Shogun is full of pride. Such a loss of face over his school would be hard to bear. But why are you travelling alone? Surely you still have some samurai friends?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t wish to endanger them.’

  ‘Very loyal of you, and brave to attempt such a journey on your own. I understand you’re heading for Nagasaki. How do you expect to get through all the post station checkpoints?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I’ve got this far. I’ll find a way.’

  ‘Courageous, as well,’ commented the man. He turned to the others. ‘The boy’s a samurai. He clearly follows their code of bushido. Already he’s shown four of its seven virtues. Respect, Loyalty, Courage and Honesty. I like this boy. He should stay.’

  Shonin nodded his head reluctantly in acknowledgement.

  The man in the green kimono addressed Jack again. ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Jack Fletcher. You’re welcome in my village.’

  Jack was momentarily taken off-guard, before realizing this man was actually Shonin. In Japan, it was expected that the most senior person took central position. Shonin had gone against this convention. That meant he was playing a joke on Jack – or was a very cunning man.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Jack, now noting the man’s obvious similarity to Tenzen, his son. ‘But I’m not intending to stay. I appreciate Soke helping me, but I don’t want to burden you or your village.’

  ‘Jack, I’m aware you overheard Momochi-san’s earlier comments,’ Shonin said, respectfully indicating the man in the middle. ‘But don’t concern yourself. Momochi will do anything to preserve this village, even sell his own grandmother.’

  ‘Too late! He’s already done that,’ commented Soke.

  ‘And I didn’t get a very good price!’ retorted Momochi.

  The three men laughed at their little in-joke. Jack, however, couldn’t help wondering what sort of trouble their village was in.

  ‘You’re our guest,’ Shonin continued, ‘and I assure you we won’t be handing you over to the samurai. They’re not exactly our friends. In fact Soke considers it our duty to help you. I, therefore, insist you stay here and rest, at least until the search has died down.’

  Later that evening, Jack joined Soke and Hanzo for dinner, a fresh pot of sencha steaming over the hearth.

  ‘Shonin was quite taken by you,’ said Soke, scooping up a mouthful of rice with his hashi.

  ‘He’s very kind,’ replied Jack. ‘But Momochi is right. I could attract a samurai patrol here. I don’t want to add to your village’s problems.’

  ‘Please don’t worry about such matters. You have enough difficulties of your own to contend with. Shonin doesn’t make such decisions lightly. He’s assessed the risk. There’s little chance you’ll be found here.’

  ‘But what does this daimyo Akechi want from you? Why is Momochi so concerned about the village’s safety?’

  ‘Daimyo Akechi isn’t popular. As lord of this region, he taxes the local villages heavily for their rice. Those who refuse to hand over their share of the crop are punished. Those who do, have barely enough left to eat. The daimyo knows of our village, but not its location. We intend to keep it that way.’

  ‘But what if the daimyo discovered you were helping me? He’d surely do far worse than take your rice.’

  ‘Jack, you know as well as I do that the samurai are scouring these forests for you. The Iga mountains are a maze of gorges and river valleys. That’s why our village has yet to be discovered. If you were captured in this area, it could be disastrous for our village. At least wait a few days.’

  Jack relented, bowing his head in acceptance.

  ‘Good, that’s settled then,’ said Soke, smiling warmly. ‘I hear you were teaching
Hanzo this morning.’

  Jack nodded, but before he could reply Hanzo butted in. ‘Tengu’s been showing me how to defeat my own sword. Otherwise, he said, how can I expect to defeat the enemy!’

  Soke nodded appreciatively. ‘A sound lesson.’

  Hanzo tugged on Jack’s sleeve. ‘What are we going to do tomorrow?’

  ‘Erm … a parry and strike,’ replied Jack.

  ‘Great!’ grinned Hanzo, polishing off his meal.

  Soke got to his feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to see Shonin before I turn in. Hanzo, he’s asked to see you too.’

  The boy jumped up and mock-fought his way across the room.

  ‘See you in the morning, tengu!’

  Jack tried but couldn’t get to sleep. His mind was too full of concerns. Though Soke and Shonin had persuaded him to stay, he had yet to be convinced this was the right decision. It wasn’t only his worry of endangering the village; it was a matter of self-preservation. Shonin appeared a good man, but Jack didn’t trust Momochi. If the village needed to pay taxes, then Jack was surely the solution. The reward on his head was apparently substantial, maybe even enough to cover the annual rice tax several times over. This was a good enough reason why he should leave now, before Momochi persuaded the others. But, as he’d discovered, the mountains brought their own problems and dangers.

  Since Soke and Hanzo hadn’t yet returned from the farmhouse, Jack decided to take a short walk around the village to clear his head. Sliding open the main door, he emerged into a beautiful star-filled night. The pond near the farmhouse mirrored the sky, the moon floating like a silver coin in its waters.

  As he wandered along a path between two paddy fields, Jack gazed up at the constellations. His father had taught him how to navigate by the stars and he knew many of them by name. Arcturus. Regulus. Bellatrix. Spica. They were like old friends.

  Jack wondered if Akiko was looking at the same stars as he was. He’d once shown her Spica, one of the brightest stars in the firmament. He smiled at the memory. That had been more than two years ago in the Southern Zen Garden of the Niten Ichi Ryū. They’d just foiled an attempt by the ninja Dragon Eye to assassinate daimyo Takatomi, the Lord of Kyoto Province.