The Ring of Water

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Fish to a cat, you came back!’

  48

  RIDDLE ME THIS!

  ‘I’m here for the rutter you riddled from Ronin,’ explained Jack, trying his best not to be unsettled by the monk’s proximity.

  ‘A riddle he utter –’ the monk’s eyes rolled towards Hana – ‘yet mine is still to answer.’

  ‘He’s already asked you a riddle!’ exclaimed Hana with alarm.

  Jack nodded. Hana pulled him away from the monk, whispering urgently, ‘But you have to answer it. He’ll take your soul if you don’t.’

  ‘You really believe that,’ replied Jack, glancing at the monk who was now picking lice from his beard and eating each one with relish.

  Hana pointed at the maddened ones hanging in the shadows, eyeing the Riddling Monk with devoted reverence. ‘Onryō or not, they look to have lost their souls to me.’

  With a cold dread, Jack realized Hana could be right. The monk he’d taken for a harmless fool may be mad, but he had a powerful grip over the minds of others. Whatever his secret, he was a dangerous individual.

  ‘Let’s find the rutter and get out of here,’ said Jack.

  Hana stuck close to Jack as he approached the monk.

  ‘Answer me this first,’ he demanded. ‘Do you know where my logbook is?’

  The Riddling Monk smiled inanely. ‘I have many a book. But what it took to take, you must challenge me or … your mind will break.’

  ‘Be careful, Jack. It could be a dangerous trick,’ said Hana.

  ‘Why take life so seriously?’ the monk laughed, dancing a jig around her. ‘You can’t get out of it alive, believe me!’

  ‘Hana, too much is at stake,’ said Jack, under his breath. ‘Too many people have sacrificed themselves for this rutter. I made a promise to my father. There’s no going back –’

  ‘Of course you can’t leave, you’re in a circle, see!’ interjected the monk, pirouetting on the spot. ‘Once bound inside, it’s riddle you, riddle me, riddle die.’

  At that moment, the sun dipped behind the horizon and dusk fell upon the temple. The air chilled and the whole place became as ghostly as a graveyard. Like living corpses, the monk’s maddened disciples slunk out of the shadows and encircled Jack and Hana.

  ‘Looks like we don’t have a choice,’ said Jack, taking Hana’s hand.

  ‘Good! Better! Best!’ exclaimed the monk, clapping with manic joy. ‘The challenge is set, no more bets!’

  He dragged them inside the ruined pagoda. Black as the devil’s cave, they stumbled over bones, both animal and human, strewn across the main hall. The Riddling Monk disappeared into the darkness and Hana gripped Jack tighter as the sounds of slithering and ragged breathing shuffled around them. A leathery hand touched her face and she cried out. Jack drew Hana to him, shielding her from whatever horrors hid within.

  The Riddling Monk clapped twice and several of his disciples lit torches with a guttering candle. The flickering flames revealed hungry, gaunt faces, toothless and terrifying, their cracked lips ceaselessly whispering, ‘The Answer? … The Answer? … The Answer?’

  Spiders, the size of fists, crawled up the walls and cobwebs hung like veils from the rafters. The Riddling Monk was now perched upon a wooden throne, festooned with rotting fruit and long-dead flowers. He wore a crown of thorns and in his hand was a gnarled staff, which he beat upon the floor.

  Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

  The whispering ceased and his disciples lay themselves down among the bones. Jack and Hana stood, still and silent, amid the madness.

  Like a preacher in his pulpit, the Riddling Monk proclaimed, ‘Unless a fool dies, he won’t be cured.’

  His disciples all cried, ‘He has the Answer!’

  ‘Only a fool thinks he knows everything. It’s the wise man who knows he knows nothing.’

  ‘He has the Answer!’ they praised.

  The Riddling Monk stared at Jack and Hana with bulging eyes. ‘Are you wise fools or foolishly wise? Let’s see you pull the truth from its disguise!’

  ‘Ask a Riddle! Ask a Riddle! Ask a Riddle!’ chanted his disciples with feverish excitement.

  The Riddling Monk held up a hand for silence.

  ‘Riddle me this! What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?’

  Jack was taken by surprise. He’d expected the original riddle about God and the Devil. But there’d be no point in arguing with a madman. He’d agreed to the challenge and so decided it was easier to play along with the monk’s crazed game. He thought hard over this conundrum. The one the monk had given him the first time they met – What gets wet as it dries? – had a logical answer despite its seeming contradiction.

  Hana looked anxiously to Jack, whose brow was deeply furrowed. ‘Could it be a baby?’ she suggested.

  ‘Is that your Answer?’ chirped the monk.

  ‘NO!’ said Jack quickly. He whispered to Hana, ‘It can’t be a baby. They weep.’

  The answer was on the tip of his tongue. A bed … a head … a mouth …

  Recalling his nautical lessons with his father, Jack addressed the Riddling Monk. ‘The Answer is a river.’

  ‘Is it? Is it? Is it?’ intoned his disciples.

  The Riddling Monk thumped his stick upon the floor. He glared at Jack before suddenly bursting into a crazed grin.

  ‘Correct,’ he replied, emphasizing each part of the word as if it pained him to say so.

  A collective gasp from the disciples filled the pagoda’s creaking hall.

  ‘Now I must give an Answer for an Answer. Yes, I know of this rutter.’

  Jack was taken off-guard by the Riddling Monk’s unexpected lucid response. ‘Where is it then? Do you have it?’

  The Riddling Monk laughed wildly, slapping the side of his throne with glee. ‘Two more questions, two more riddles! Once again, you’re in the middle.’

  Jack had been tricked. The Riddling Monk was playing games with them.

  ‘Riddle me this! What’s so fragile when you say its name you break it?’

  Jack and Hana again fell into thought. This time the ideas weren’t so forthcoming. Not for the first time, Jack wished Yori was with them. A dull headache began to pulse at his temples and Jack saw Hana was rubbing hers too.

  ‘A china cup?’ offered Hana, but dismissed it straight away. ‘No, no, what other things break? Your leg … a wave …’

  Then Jack thought of Jess and Akiko. ‘Your heart! When you say a loved one’s name that can break your heart, can’t it?’

  Hana nodded slowly, but still looked unconvinced.

  ‘Answer me now or forever cower!’ taunted the monk.

  His disciples began to beat the floor. ‘The Answer! The Answer! The Answer!’

  ‘What else could it be?’ said Jack, the rhythmic pulse piling on the pressure and his headache intensifying.

  Hana didn’t answer. Her eyes were screwed up with pain. Jack felt it too, like a drum inside his head that only the correct Answer could end. He turned to the Riddling Monk. ‘The Answer is –’

  ‘No!’ cried Hana, putting a hand over his mouth. ‘Remember what that monk said to me when I shouted for you in the Tōdai-ji Temple – Please don’t break the silence.’

  Above the cacophony of pounding, Hana cried, ‘The Answer is silence!’

  The beating stopped and all eyes fell upon the Riddling Monk. His face seemed to swell, burning bright red with annoyance.

  ‘Co-rr-ect,’ he spat.

  The disciples wailed. Jack stared at Hana in amazement, now glad more than ever to have her company. The headache began to fade like a receding wave.

  The Riddling Monk leapt out of his throne and began to pace the floor, muttering, ‘I need a riddle, a riddle of rhyme, a riddle that turns and twists the mind.’

  Behind him, Jack heard shuffling and saw the door had been blocked by a group of enraged disciples. A cry of jubilation brought his attention back to the monk, who now danc
ed a jig upon the raised dais of the hall.

  ‘Riddle me this! The one who makes it sells it. The one who buys it doesn’t use it. The one who’s using it doesn’t know he’s using it. What is it?’

  This riddle proved even harder to fathom than the last. Jack’s mind seemed unable to hold thoughts. They kept slipping away like eels, and his headache returned with a vengeance.

  Hana fell to her knees. Jack dropped beside her. ‘Hana! What’s the matter?’

  ‘I … I … I can’t think …’ she stuttered.

  Jack realized whatever strange power the monk had, he was working its magic upon them. Driving them to the brink of madness.

  49

  THE ANSWER

  As the vice-like grip on their souls increased, Jack felt as if he was fighting the monk – not with swords, but with the mind, each riddle an attack and every answer a parry. His mind strained under the stress of battle. It was now almost impossible to think of the Answer. Hana writhed upon the ground in agony, gibbering to herself. The disciples chanted louder, beating the floor with their fists.

  ‘The Answer! The Answer! The Answer!’

  Jack clamped his hands over his ears, his brain fit to burst. He felt as if he was dying … The beating sounded like a hammer … Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! … The cooper’s wrinkled toothless face swam before Jack’s eyes … Funny, isn’t it? How the person who pays for the coffin never wants it and the one who gets it never knows …

  ‘A COFFIN!’ screamed Jack. ‘THE ANSWER IS A COFFIN!’

  Silence descended upon the pagoda.

  Then a whispering, no louder than the wind, began. ‘Is it? Is it? Is it?’

  The Riddling Monk threw his thorny crown across the room in disgust.

  ‘Co-rr-ect!’ he howled. Distraught, he jumped up and down upon his throne like an infuriated monkey. ‘Riddle me this! Riddle me this! Riddle me –’

  ‘No more!’ said Jack, drawing his sword and pointing it at the monk. His disciples rushed to protect their master. ‘We’ve answered all your riddles. Now answer me.’

  The Riddling Monk stopped, neatened his robes and plonked himself back upon his throne. ‘No need for violence,’ he said, as if he was the one hard done by. ‘Where is it? Here. Do I have it? Yes!’

  ‘Then hand over the logbook and we’ll leave you, unharmed,’ said Jack as he helped a trembling Hana to her feet.

  The Riddling Monk wagged a bony finger at Jack, the mad glint in his eyes back again. ‘No, no, no. You’ve still your first to go,’ he taunted maliciously.

  Hana stared at Jack in horror. ‘None of those was your riddle?’

  The Riddling Monk’s demented cackle echoed around the hall.

  ‘Riddle me this, young samurai! What is greater than God, more evil than the Devil? Poor people have it, rich people need it, and if you eat it you’ll die. Tell me this and I shall give it to you.’

  Jack and Hana stared blankly at one another. Their faces were beginning to take on the gaunt strained look of the Riddling Monk’s disciples. The web of riddles he’d cast had captured their minds. And each one they escaped only led to a more complex maze. Feeling his mind stretch and rip like a sail in a storm, Jack fought to control his sanity.

  Think like Yori! Think like Yori!

  He banged his fists against his skull, willing the Answer. ‘What is it? What is it?’

  ‘Only … the wisest of men … could work this out …’ gasped Hana as she felt herself collapsing under the strain.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Only the wisest –’

  ‘You’re right!’ he said, grasping Hana by the shoulders with joyous relief. ‘And the monk’s already given us the Answer.’

  She blinked uncomprehendingly at him.

  ‘Only a fool thinks he knows everything. It’s the wise man who knows he knows nothing,’ explained Jack. ‘Nothing is greater than God, nothing is more evil than the Devil. Poor people have nothing, rich people need nothing, and if you eat nothing you’ll die. The Answer is NOTHING.’

  ‘Co-rr-ect!’ fumed the monk.

  ‘He has the Answer!’ the disciples gasped in awe.

  They all began to bow before Jack. But the Riddling Monk made a show of being less impressed. Indifferently inspecting his fingernails, he acted like a child bored with torturing an insect. ‘You outfoxed a fox, but is the fox a fox at all?’

  ‘Enough of your riddles, monk!’ said Jack.

  ‘As promised, you tell me the answer and …’ The Riddling Monk rummaged in an old chest beside his throne. ‘That is what I give you …’ He opened his empty hands and crowed with laughter. ‘… NOTHING!’

  Jack strode over and held the blade of his katana to the Riddling Monk’s throat. The disciples didn’t intervene this time. The monk swallowed and went pale.

  ‘Here’s a simpler riddle for you,’ said Jack. ‘What one object can save a life?’

  With an unsteady hand, the Riddling Monk reached back into the chest and pulled out the familiar black oilskin that contained the rutter and Jack’s pack, with Sensei Yamada’s red silk omamori still attached.

  ‘Co-rr-ect,’ said Jack, slipping the pack over his shoulder and carefully stowing the logbook.

  Backing out slowly, Jack and Hana emerged from the torchlit confines of the pagoda into the temple courtyard. A pale moon shone, rain clouds skudding across the night sky. The monk’s disciples parted to allow Jack and Hana through.

  As they passed beneath the torii gateway, the Riddling Monk appeared at the pagoda door. Scuttling around his feet was a small furred badger-like creature with sharp teeth … a tanuki.

  With a malicious smile, the Riddling Monk waved Jack and Hana goodbye.

  ‘There are many paths but only one journey,’ he cried, ‘and the only true journey is the one within.’

  He held a bony hand to his chest.

  ‘Find your heart and you’ll find your home, young samurai. But be prepared to lose far more than a book before your journey’s end.’

  50

  THE LAKE

  Glad to be leaving the malevolent monk behind, they stumbled through the forest, blindly following their old route down the mountain. They passed by the screaming statue and weaved through the labyrinth of cedar trees. The noise of a waterfall grew louder, so Jack knew they were getting close to the lake.

  In the darkness it was hard to see more than a few paces ahead, so he used the blind fighting skills Sensei Kano had taught him the year before and navigated by his hearing only. They broke through some undergrowth and Hana cried out, dropping suddenly.

  Only by the luck of the gods, Jack caught her arm as she tumbled over the lip of a craggy rock face, the waters of the lake shimmering below.

  With an almighty heave, Jack dragged her back to safety.

  ‘It’s too dangerous in the dark,’ he said, letting Hana recover from the shock. ‘We need to find a place to rest until daylight.’

  They gingerly skirted the edge of the drop until they rediscovered the main trail down to the lake. Taking shelter beneath a tree, they ate the remains of the cold rice, then bedded down for the night.

  Jack was awoken by the sensation of water lapping against his feet. Looking around, he saw the lake had risen during the night and their chosen path was now completely flooded. The sky was overcast, but he guessed it was long past dawn so nudged Hana. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she yawned, then saw the lake.

  ‘It’s twice the size!’ she exclaimed.

  They waded round the edge to its outflow. Among the debris and trees that formed the dam, Jack spotted several dead fish caught up in the branches. With great care, he clambered across the creaking structure and managed to retrieve several of them.

  Keeping two for breakfast, they stowed the rest in his pack. After a prolonged search, Hana found dry tinder and wood. In the meantime, Jack gutted the fish and plucked some wild herbs to season it. Once the fire was going, the mouthwatering smell of cooking fish filled their nos
trils.

  While they waited, Jack flicked through the pages of the rutter. His father’s handwriting and codes brought comfort to him and he could almost hear his father’s voice, instructing him in the craft of being a pilot. There was so much knowledge contained within the logbook: knowledge his father had discovered and that could change the fortunes of a nation. Jack was relieved to have it back in his hands, but the nightmare of the Riddling Monk’s temple and the crazed looks of his disciples would haunt him forever.

  ‘Do you think Ronin’s all right?’ Hana asked as she turned the fish on the fire.

  ‘He’s tougher than an old boot,’ replied Jack, imagining the samurai propped up in some inn, a bottle in his hand. ‘I only wish I had the chance to take back what I said. To let him know I no longer blame him.’

  ‘I heard a storyteller once say, “Words are like water. Easy to pour but impossible to recover,”’ said Hana. Then, sadly: ‘I wish Ronin was with us now. I know he can be grouchy, but I do miss him.’

  They both lapsed into silence, lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘The fish is ready,’ announced Hana.

  They ate, savouring the smoky herbed flavour, and their spirits were lifted slightly.

  Breakfast over, Jack stood and observed the dam. ‘I think we should cross here.’

  Hana eyed the rickety pile of trees and debris mistrustfully. ‘But it could collapse at any time.’

  ‘We’ll have to take the risk. Unless you fancy swimming!’

  Hana shook her head firmly. ‘You know I can’t.’

  She warily followed Jack across. The tangle of branches and broken stems made the going treacherous. Water trickled steadily through the criss-cross of tree trunks. Conscious of the pressure building up behind the makeshift dam, Jack recalled the ninja Grandmaster’s teachings … Nothing is softer and more yielding than water, yet not even the strongest may resist it. Water can flow quietly or strike like thunder.