‘They’re coming!’ said Jack, glad the conversation had been interrupted by events. Hana’s concerns were mirrored in his own heart. Ronin was unpredictable and his past history murky, but the samurai was the only option Jack had.
At last, the merchant and his young wife could be seen making their way along the riverbank towards home. As they turned up the woodland path, Jack and Hana jumped out, Jack wielding his staff, Hana her knife.
‘I’ve come to claim what is rightfully mine,’ declared Jack.
The merchant’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘The gaijin samurai! So you were the intruder!’
The wife’s hand instinctively went to her hair. ‘You can’t have it. This pearl’s mine!’
‘It was a gift to me before it was stolen,’ explained Jack. ‘Now I respectfully ask for its return.’
The merchant laughed. ‘What does a foreigner know about respect?’
‘More than a merchant!’ said Hana. ‘You lied to me about its value.’
‘Business is business. Besides, you don’t deserve respect – you’re an outcast, a nobody.’
Fuming at the repeated insult, Hana took a step towards the merchant.
‘Have you met my bodyguard?’ said the merchant, arrogantly clicking his fingers.
From behind the couple, Ronin appeared. Jack and Hana stared in shock, but he displayed no flicker of recognition – just a cold murderous stare.
‘Kill them!’ ordered the merchant.
Hana took one look at this Ronin, no longer a drunken washed-up samurai but a fearsome warrior, and ran. But Jack stood his ground. ‘I’m not here to fight. I just want my pearl back.’
‘That’s not a choice you have,’ said Ronin, drawing his sword.
Like a bolt of lightning, Ronin attacked, his katana slicing for Jack’s head. Barely having time to duck, Jack felt the deadly steel skim past. He thrust his staff in retaliation, but the samurai evaded the strike and cut down across Jack’s chest. Jack leapt away, the blade whistling past his face.
Whatever they’d planned, Ronin was fighting for real.
Perhaps the merchant’s job offer had been more than persuasive. Or maybe the temptation of the reward for his head had finally turned Ronin against him. Whatever, Jack was now fighting for his life …
He blocked the samurai’s thrust for his heart and whipped the end of his staff round at Ronin’s head. Jack had the advantage of the bō’s length, but Ronin proved the more skilful warrior. Dodging Jack’s assault, he brought the hilt of his sword down upon Jack’s fingers. Crying out in pain, Jack lost his grip on the bō before reeling from an elbow strike to the jaw.
Stunned, Jack was left defenceless as Ronin drove his blade straight through his side. He crumpled to his knees. Jack felt no pain, but an ominous patch of dark red instantly stained his ragged kimono.
‘He’s bleeding! He’s bleeding!’ the young wife squealed, in a mixture of horror and delight.
Jack, too shocked to fight back, clutched at his wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow.
‘Behead him!’ she screeched, her beautiful face contorted with murderous glee.
‘Only real samurai deserve such a death,’ replied Ronin.
Jack collapsed to the earth, letting out a last gutteral moan.
‘Is he dead?’ asked the merchant, peering over his wife’s shoulder.
Ronin prodded the body with his toe and got no reaction. ‘Yes,’ he replied, flicking Jack’s blood from his blade before resheathing it.
‘Then what are we waiting for? Dinner’s ready,’ said his wife imperiously.
‘Perhaps we should take care of the body first?’ suggested Ronin as his employer followed his heartless wife.
‘We can do that later,’ tutted the merchant. ‘Just get him off the path. The crows can pick at his remains.’
Ronin rolled Jack’s lifeless body into the ditch. Then he strode after his new master.
18
ONRYŌ
Jack lay at the bottom of the ditch, no longer breathing, his eyes rolled back with only the whites showing. The point where Ronin’s sword had penetrated him was an oozing red mass. Hana’s concerned face appeared out of the encroaching darkness and she knelt beside Jack’s lifeless form.
‘Jack!’ she gasped in shock, pressing her hand against his sodden wound. ‘You’re not dead … are you?’
The corpse’s head lolled towards her, then grinned. ‘For a moment I thought I was.’
Hana breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You looked really dead.’
‘I’ve had some practice,’ replied Jack, sitting up and rubbing his jaw where Ronin had struck him. Hana took this as a joke, but Jack was actually referring to his ninjutsu training, which included feigning death as one of its hidden arts.
Hana, her fingers thick with Jack’s ‘blood’, began to lick them appreciatively. ‘Such a waste of red-bean manjū.’
Peeling his clothes away from the fake wound, Jack removed the remains of the steamed buns and checked Ronin’s sword thrust had not pierced his flesh as well.
‘That was some fight,’ said Hana.
‘It had to look convincing,’ replied Jack, getting to his feet. ‘But I didn’t expect Ronin to attack with such ferocity. Now where’s the rice flour he bought?’
Hana produced a small cloth bag and began to douse Jack’s hair and face with it until he was deathly white.
‘How do I look?’ asked Jack.
‘Like you’re ready for baking!’ smirked Hana.
Jack shook his head with dismay. ‘I thought so. This is stupid. Who’s going to believe I’m a ghost?’
Stifling her amusement, Hana turned serious. ‘They will. Everyone fears an onryō.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Jack as they made their way to the merchant’s house. ‘Otherwise we’re all in serious trouble.’
Ronin’s plan relied upon the superstitious beliefs of the merchant and his wife. An onryō was a vengeful ghost. And Ronin had explained that anybody who died unjustly or by violence could become an onryō if they weren’t enshrined after their death. These angry spirits haunted the living and caused great misfortune. The only way to exorcise an onryō was to satisfy its reason for revenge and bestow upon its remains a proper burial.
Hana and Jack waited in the treeline until all the lights had been doused.
‘Almost time to go,’ whispered Hana, sprinkling Jack’s hands with the last of the flour. ‘Good luck!’
‘I’ll need more than luck,’ he replied, echoing Hana’s own words. He’d been crazy to let Ronin talk him into such a ludicrous plan. The man had been drunk at the time. But what excuse did Jack have – apart from sheer desperation?
A candle flickered three times from an upstairs window. It was too late to pull out now. Ronin had given the signal.
In the pale light of the moon, they ran across the road and scaled the wall. As they passed through the garden, Jack caught sight of his own reflection in the pond and almost leapt out of his skin. His face was stark and flaking like old parchment. The bean paste had dried to a dark berry-red, all the more vivid against his flour-whitened kimono, which was hanging off him more ragged and ripped than ever.
For the first time, Jack felt a glimmer of hope.
This disguise might just work.
Hana urged him on. Climbing up to the balcony, Jack felt a breeze and the telltale drops of rain. Storm clouds were rolling in. They’d have to be quick. Once in position, he nodded to Hana.
With theatrical flamboyance, Hana flung open the shoji to the bedroom and Jack howled at the moon. Startled cries greeted him as the merchant and his wife sat bolt upright on their futons. Shock turned to terror when they set eyes upon the phantom of the gaijin samurai.
‘Return! Return! Return!’ rasped the ghostly Jack, letting his voice rise and fall like the wind.
The merchant was the first to recover. ‘W-w-what do you want?’
Jack stretched out one limp hand, pointing to his wife’s head.
>
‘The pearl! The pearl! The pearl!’
The wife scrabbled away from the evil spirit, her screams awaking the rest of the household. On cue, the door from the hallway burst open and Ronin appeared, sword in hand.
‘But … I killed you!’ he exclaimed, his face the picture of abject horror.
‘Vengeance! Vengeance! VENGEANCE!’
At that moment, the sky flared with forked lightning. It couldn’t have been planned better. Silhouetted against the storm, Jack took on a demonic appearance. An almighty thunderclap shook the house to its foundations and the heavens opened.
But the effect would be short-lived.
Jack felt the rice flour washing off his face and the red-bean paste running from his clothes. He began to panic as the ghostly illusion disintegrated before everyone’s eyes. But the wife screamed –
‘His face is melting!’
Seizing upon her delusion, Jack howled, ‘So will yours! Return the pearl!’
The lady wailed at the prospect of losing her beauty in such a hideous manner.
Jack decided he’d done enough. Before his disguise completely vanished in the rain, he signalled to Hana. She slammed the door shut and they both clambered on to the roof. A moment later, the shoji flew open again and Ronin charged out.
‘The onryō … he’s gone!’ exclaimed Ronin, his voice horror-stricken. ‘But it’ll be back … they always come back!’
19
BAND OF THREE
The black pearl sat in Jack’s hand, an old friend returned.
‘The merchant’s wife literally begged me to take it away,’ explained Ronin with a roguish smile on his face. He sat down beside Jack in the middle of the storehouse and helped himself to some cold rice he’d bought for breakfast.
‘I can’t believe they fell for it,’ said Jack, unable to take his eyes off Akiko’s pearl for fear it was a dream.
‘Did you see their faces!’ Hana exclaimed, pulling an expression of extreme terror and imitating the wife’s voice. ‘He’s melting!’
Convulsed with laughter, Hana rolled around, clutching her stomach. Jack, however, felt a little guilty. But he reminded himself that no one had been hurt, no theft had occurred and the pearl was back in his possession. It had been an elaborate plan, but one that ensured they weren’t pursued by dōshin. There was certainly more to Ronin than met the eye.
‘Thank you, Ronin, I’m indebted to you,’ he said, carefully pinning the precious gem to the inside of his kimono.
The samurai bowed his head in acknowledgement. Finishing his rice, he washed it down with a large gulp of saké, then looked out of the door at the lightening sky. ‘The rain’s easing. We should get going.’
‘But won’t the merchant suspect something if you don’t return?’ asked Jack.
‘I told him to hire a priest for protection. Samurai don’t fight spirits!’ replied Ronin, rising to his feet. ‘But, as my last duty, I agreed to return the pearl and bury your body.’
He snorted with amusement and picked up his bottle of saké. ‘Ready?’
Nodding, Jack disposed of his old torn clothes beneath a rotting pile of straw. Dressed in his smart blue kimono, he felt more like his former self. A sense of optimism filled his heart and he was eager to go after the rutter.
‘So, on to Kyoto!’ said Ronin, raising his bottle in salute.
‘Kyoto? Botan’s headed for Nara,’ said Jack.
‘And your swords are in Kyoto.’
‘But –’
‘We agreed. A samurai is nothing without his swords.’
‘But Botan’s got everything else, including the inro and my father’s diary.’
‘What’s so important about this diary?’ enquired Ronin.
Careful with his answer, Jack explained, ‘My father was murdered by ninja. The diary’s the only remaining possession of his that I have.’
Ronin fixed Jack with a curiously intense stare, his usual harshness giving way to something approaching compassion.
‘A sentimental motive, but I understand,’ he said, laying a hand proudly on his swords. ‘These were my father’s.’ He uncorked his bottle and drank deeply. For a moment, Jack thought he wouldn’t stop. ‘But if it’s the Botan I’ve heard of, he’s a ruthless warrior and despises foreigners. You’ll need your swords when you encounter him.’
Jack considered Ronin’s advice. The samurai was probably right. Kyoto and Nara were equally dangerous, but he’d stand a better chance with his swords in his hands.
‘Kyoto it is,’ agreed Jack, taking up his staff and putting on Ronin’s straw hat.
With no other belongings to pack, there was little reason for delay.
‘See you around, thief!’ said Ronin, barely glancing at Hana.
He was halfway through the door when Hana, a hopeful expression on her face, asked hesitantly, ‘W-what about me? Can’t I come too?’
Ronin gruffly shook his head. ‘No.’
‘I only –’
‘I said NO!’
Her face fell, crushed by Ronin’s outright rejection. Glancing at Hana, now crouched in the corner, forlorn and lost, Jack realized she not only wanted their company, she needed it.
Jack pulled Ronin to one side. ‘Why can’t she come?’
‘The girl’s a liability. She’s a thief, dishonest and untrustworthy.’
‘But Hana did help us,’ argued Jack.
‘And she’s served her purpose. Besides, she’s another mouth to feed and we don’t have the money to spare.’
‘You never know, her skills could come in useful for recovering my swords.’
Ronin looked far from convinced, but Jack had made a valid point. ‘All right,’ he relented. ‘But one false move and she meets the sharp end of my sword.’
Jack turned to Hana, but she’d already jumped to her feet and was by his side.
‘I’ve always wanted to go to the capital city,’ she beamed. ‘Do you think we’ll see the Emperor?’
Leaving Kizu, they kept to the backstreets but through an alley caught sight of the merchant’s store. The building was now strewn with lucky charms, ofuda talismans and protective amulets from the local Shinto shrine. Inside, the merchant was desperately trying to placate his wife, showering her with new jewellery and kimono. But she was having none of it, questioning where each piece came from and to whom it had belonged before her – all the time wafting incense above her head.
Jack couldn’t help but smile at their antics. Perhaps in future they’d be more respectful to strangers and the merchant more honest in his dealings.
Keeping their heads down, the band of three took the road north to Kyoto. The river was swollen from the night’s storm, threatening to burst its banks. As they crossed, Jack noticed the pillared bridge creaking under the strain of the current and prayed it wasn’t about to give way. He didn’t fancy staying in Kizu another day.
As they made their way north, Hana chatted cheerfully away about nothing and everything. Ronin walked several paces ahead, preferring the company of his saké bottle. Jack, however, was happy to listen to her ramblings. It kept his mind off the prospect of arriving in Kyoto. He couldn’t deny he was excited at returning to the place that had been his home for the past three years, but he feared what he’d find there.
They wound through the forest, following the main track, stopping briefly for a sparse lunch of cold rice. By late afternoon, they were the only travellers on the road. Hana, still as vocal as ever, enthused, ‘This is like being part of a kōshakushi’s story. I once saw one of those storytellers giving a street performance in Kizu. He recited from the Taiheiki and Heiki Monogatari and told tales of legendary battles and brave samurai and –’
She stopped, cocking her head to listen to a strange noise. Jack heard it too – a kind of strangled crooning. They looked at one another, then up ahead to Ronin. To their utter astonishment, he’d begun singing to himself – if his tuneless wailing could be called singing. Throughout the day, Jack had noticed the samur
ai’s manner gradually lightening the more he drank. Ronin had insisted on buying another two bottles for the journey, along with their food supplies. Having got through the first, he was apparently on to the second and was now weaving slightly as he walked.
‘Is he dancing?’ asked Hana incredulously.
Jack couldn’t believe what he was seeing either, yet it appeared Ronin was performing a jig, kicking out his feet and waving his arms. Catching Hana’s eye, Jack could no longer keep a straight face. They both started sniggering at the bizarre spectacle, Ronin oblivious to their amusement.
‘What a merry yet strange band of travellers!’
A dark figure stepped out in front of them. He was broad as an ox, his hair tied back into a single plait and with a nose as wide and flared as a pig’s. In one hand, he nonchalantly swung a large wooden club.
‘A drunken samurai, a giggling girl and a gaijin!’
Ronin swayed where he stood, appearing a little surprised by the man’s sudden appearance.
A rustle of bushes signalled the emergence of five more men. The first, also carrying a club, was short and squat like a tree stump. The one nearest Jack was bald with muscular arms and held an axe. Beside him was a younger man, armed with a staff. The fourth possessed a vicious barbed spear. The fifth, thin as a rake, crept up from behind. He snarled at Hana, revealing a large gap where a tooth had been knocked out, and raised a bloodstained knife.
As the bandits surrounded them, Hana edged closer to Jack.
‘We’re as good as dead,’ she whispered.
20
DRUNKEN FIST
Without taking his eye off the bandits, Jack smiled reassuringly at Hana. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve got Ronin on our side.’
Hana stared at Jack as if he was crazy. ‘But he’s drunk!’
‘Exactly,’ replied Jack, his staff poised for the moment Ronin made his move.
‘If you wish to pass, you must pay a toll,’ declared the bandit leader.
The Ring of Water Page 8