The Way of the Sword

by Unknown

  ‘Death… Touch,’ Jack somehow managed to gasp.

  ‘Dim Mak!’ breathed a horrified Sensei Kano.

  Immediately, the great sensei ran his hands over Jack’s body. Having found what he was feeling for, he pulled Jack forward and, in five rapid strikes with the tips of his fingers, hit Jack at key points on his back and chest.

  Like a new spring dawn, Jack’s body jerked into life.

  He drew in a great breath as his lungs expanded wide. The pressure in his chest vanished as if the gates of a mighty dam had been opened, and his blood flowed through his body in one life-giving flood. His eyesight rushed back and he could now see the bloodstained, bearded face of Sensei Kano, his fingers searching for Jack’s pulse in his neck.

  ‘I’m all right, you can stop now,’ said Jack wearily as his sensei began to massage his chest.

  ‘I can’t. I must ensure your ki is flowing freely.’

  ‘But how do you know what to do?’

  ‘I learnt the black art called Dim Mak from the same blind Chinese warrior who taught me chi sao,’ explained Sensei Kano quietly.

  He began to work on Jack’s limbs.

  ‘Dim Mak is the source of the ninja’s Death Touch technique. Think of it as the opposite side of the coin to acupuncture. While acupuncture heals using pressure points and nerve centres, Dim Mak destroys. You’re extremely fortunate to have survived, young samurai.’

  He carefully picked up the weakened Jack like a bear cub in his huge arms.

  Before heading back to the temple, the great samurai took a moment to pull out the bloody metal spike that had speared his foot.

  ‘Probably poisoned,’ he mumbled, inspecting the tetsubishi. ‘I’ll need to keep this for the antidote.’

  46

  MOUNTAIN MONK

  Tadashi ran over to Jack. Pale-faced and sweating, his eyes as wide as saucers, he garbled something incomprehensible then passed out at Jack’s feet.

  Jack looked down at the comatose traitor. He had little sympathy for his old training partner and false friend who had cheated twice during the Circle of Three. He deserved his fate.

  Two monks rushed over and dragged Tadashi to his feet. One threw water over him to try to revive him. The boy spluttered, opened his eyes, screamed at something unseen, then fainted again.

  Feverish whispering broke out among the school as they pondered what could have caused such shock and terror in Tadashi during his Spirit challenge.

  ‘What on earth’s up there?’ asked Kazuki of the High Priest, pointing to the craggy peak of the highest mountain in the Iga range.

  This third peak loomed over the small grassy plateau where the final Circle of Three entrants now stood, guarded by a ring of troops from the Castle of the White Phoenix in case of another ninja attack.

  ‘Don’t ask yourself what’s at the top of the mountain, ask what’s on the other side,’ the priest replied cryptically. Then he pointed at Jack. ‘You’re next.’

  Jack stepped forward but was held back by Akiko, who had placed her hand on his arm. ‘Are you sure you should be doing this?’

  ‘I’ve come too far to turn back now,’ he replied. But Jack’s physical and mental fatigue were obvious in the heavy roughness of his voice and the watery glaze to his eyes.

  ‘But you almost died last night,’ she pleaded, squeezing his arm gently.

  Jack, comforted by Akiko’s concern, replied, ‘Sensei Kano says I’ll be fine. Besides I can rest all I want after this final challenge.’

  ‘That’s if you make it. You saw the state of Tadashi. Whatever’s up there is not for the faint-hearted. You’re not invincible, Jack, however much you may wish you were.’

  ‘I can do this,’ Jack asserted, as much for his own reassurance as Akiko’s.

  She let go of his arm and bowed to hide her fears. ‘Be careful, Jack. Don’t lose your life in a rush to live.’

  Jack had been given nothing but a fresh white robe to climb to the top of the mountain. He had asked if he could take his swords or at least some water for the Spirit challenge, but the High Priest had replied, ‘All you need, you already carry with you.’

  As Jack set off up the path that wound its way to the peak, he was cheered by his fellow students, all wishing him luck for this final challenge of challenges. He spotted Yamato, Kiku and Saburo shouting their encouragement and, behind them, Emi and her friends waving enthusiastically.

  He then passed the line of sensei and bowed his respects to each of them in turn. Sensei Kano was not among the teachers. He was recovering in the temple under the supervision of the medicine monk. The bō master had been correct in his assumption that the iron spike was poisoned. Once his wound had been cleaned and bound, he had drunk an evil-smelling antidote concocted by the monk. He had been sick all night as a result. Laughing as he threw up for a fourth time into a nearby bucket, the bō master had assured Jack that this was all part of the purging process.

  Last in line was Sensei Yamada. The Zen master stepped forward and handed Jack a small origami crane.

  ‘From Yori,’ he explained with a cheerful smile. ‘He wanted you to carry it for luck. He also wanted you to know that he is feeling much better and will be returning to Kyoto with us tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s great news,’ replied Jack, taking the paper bird. ‘Any final words of advice, Sensei?’

  ‘Follow the path and you won’t get lost.’

  ‘Is that it?’ said Jack, surprised by the plain nature of the Zen master’s answer.

  ‘Sometimes that is all that’s required.’

  * * *

  The path was stony and difficult, wending a steep zigzag up the mountainside. A rock gave way under Jack’s foot and a small avalanche of dust and stone clattered down the slope.

  He paused to take a much-needed rest and sat down at the edge of the path. The storm of the previous night had passed and a hot spring sun now warmed his aching bones.

  Above him, a hawk soared in the clear blue sky and Jack recalled Sensei Yamada’s reading of his dream. The bird represented strength and quick-wittedness. Surely, this was a good sign.

  Looking over the wide valley basin, Jack could see the school watching him from the grassy plateau below. Up here everything was so calm and peaceful, the air fresh and pure. Life gained a new perspective at this height, he thought. The big became small, his worries disappeared into the distance and the horizon promised new beginnings.

  When Sensei Kano had returned with him to the temple after the ninja attack, Jack had been relieved to see that Akiko was already there, safe and sound, along with Yamato, Saburo and everyone else, even Kazuki.

  Both Jack and Sensei Kano had been rushed to the temple’s medicine monk to be checked out. While Sensei Kano was busy throwing up as a result of the purging potion, Jack was given a sedative to reduce his pain and help him sleep. As he drifted off, Jack overheard Masamoto discussing the raid with the commanding officer of the Castle of the White Phoenix. The Commander believed it to be a raid by a local ninja clan. Jack had groggily mumbled Dragon Eye’s name and the Commander had nodded as if he already knew. He confirmed to Masamoto that such attacks by Dokugan Ryu’s clan often occurred when there were visiting dignitaries like Masamoto himself.

  In the morning Jack had discovered that there had been a unanimous decision to continue with the Circle of Three. Masamoto had announced that no ninja clan would prevent the Niten Ichi Ryū completing an ancient samurai tradition. Under armed guard, Jack and the three remaining competitors were led up to the start point of the third and final challenge.

  Jack glanced up at the craggy peak that thrust like an arrowhead into the sky. Somewhere up there was the Spirit challenge.

  What had terrified Tadashi so badly that he had returned a quivering wreck? Jack couldn’t believe that the challenge was any worse than having his heart nearly explode inside his chest with the Death Touch.

  Miraculously, he had survived.

  Just.

  He still had a poun
ding headache and his body felt as if it had been beaten black and blue with iron rods. His heart throbbed, but he realized he should be thankful that it was still beating at all.

  Gazing in the direction of Kyoto, Jack wondered if Dragon Eye was already on his way to Nijo Castle to steal the rutter. Jack realized now he must tell Masamoto about it, but then he remembered that the ninja thought he was dead. There would be no urgency for Dragon Eye to retrieve what would always be there. It slowly dawned on Jack that if he could get back to Kyoto before Dragon Eye decided to make his move, he could still save the rutter.

  Invigorated by this prospect, Jack began scaling the peak anew, fresh hope in his heart.

  Jack hesitated outside the entrance to a cave.

  A few prayer flags fluttered in the high mountain breeze, but otherwise the peak was desolate and bleak. There was no question that the path led anywhere other than into the dark recesses of the mountain, but Jack was still reluctant to enter. The black hole in the rock face was as inviting as the mouth of a serpent.

  Yet he had come this far. There was no point in turning back now.

  Jack took a step inside. As soon as he had crossed the line from light to shadow, the warmth of the sun disappeared and was replaced by a damp chill.

  He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness and saw that the cave was a rough tunnel cut deep into the heart of the mountain. The passageway curved away into pitch-blackness. Taking one last look behind him at the small circle of sunlight that marked his way out, he turned the corner and entered the unknown.

  For several moments he saw absolutely nothing. Not even his hand in front of his face. Fighting the urge to flee, he edged deeper into the darkness.

  He had no idea how far he had gone when the wall he had been using to guide him suddenly disappeared. Through the large crack in the rock, Jack caught sight of a fiery red glow. With trepidation, he entered a small cavern.

  He gave a startled cry at what he saw.

  A huge distorted shadow of an ogre towered over him, a massive club in its hand.

  ‘Welcome, young samurai,’ spoke a quiet voice.

  Jack spun round to where a saffron-robed monk with a bald round head, a skinny neck and a childlike smile was feeding an open fire with a twig.

  A pot rested in the flames, happily boiling away.

  ‘I’m just brewing some tea. Would you like some?’

  Jack didn’t answer. He was still shaken by the appearance of this tiny man whose shadow seemed to have a grotesque life of its own.

  ‘It’s the finest sencha Japan has to offer,’ insisted the monk, indicating with a wave of his hand for Jack to sit.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Jack, warily taking his place on the opposite side of the crackling fire.

  ‘Who am I? A very good question and one that takes a lifetime to answer,’ he replied, sprinkling tea leaves into the boiling pot. ‘I can tell you what I am. I am Yamabushi.’

  Jack looked blankly at the old man.

  ‘Literally, it means “one who hides in the mountains”,’ he explained, tending the fire, ‘but the villagers call me the Mountain Monk. They occasionally come to me for spiritual healing and divination.’

  He lifted the pot from the fire and poured a watery green brew into a plain brown teacup. He handed Jack the steaming sencha.

  ‘You cannot know who you are, unless you know how you are that person.’

  Though he didn’t like green tea, Jack accepted the drink out of courtesy. He took a sip. It tasted bitter. Certainly not the finest sencha Jack had ever tried. Nonetheless, he smiled politely and took another gulp to finish it quickly. Glancing round the cavern, he noticed it was empty apart from a small shrine set into the rock, circled by flickering candles and incense.

  ‘Are you the Spirit challenge?’ enquired Jack.

  ‘Me? Of course not,’ the monk chuckled, his laughter rebounding off the cavern walls in eerie mocking echoes.

  ‘You are.’

  47

  SPIRIT COMBAT

  The cup in Jack’s hand drooped and slowly melted like hot tar to the floor. Jack stared at the gooey mess, then looked up at the Mountain Monk for an explanation.

  The skinny monk smiled serenely as if nothing unusual was happening, his saffron robes now an intense orange and his head like a round citrus fruit ripened under the Mediterranean sun. His eyes sparkled as if sprinkled with stardust and his grin was as wide as a crescent moon.

  ‘What’s happening?’ exclaimed Jack in panic.

  ‘What’s happening?’ repeated the monk, his words slow and slurred like they were molasses in Jack’s ears. ‘A very good question and one you must ask when you meet your maker.’

  Jack’s head swirled. At some point during their conversation, the cavern had expanded to the size of a cathedral and its rock walls now breathed in and out in steady contractions. The circle of candles around the shrine had become a multicoloured rainbow that left tracer lines of light like fireworks exploding inside his eyeballs. The fire between Jack and the monk suddenly roared, flaring into a white-hot furnace too bright to look at.

  Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the crazy visions.

  When he dared open them again, the fire had died down to glowing embers and the monk had disappeared. Only the teapot remained, lying on its side.

  What had just happened? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was it an after-effect of Dragon Eye’s Death Touch?

  Jack looked around for the monk, but the cavern was deserted.

  Akiko had been right. He had pushed himself too far by taking on this final challenge. He was too drained to cope and now he was seeing things.

  Jack picked up the teapot.

  It squealed at him and Jack dropped it in shock. The pot suddenly grew hundreds of little black legs like a millipede and scuttled away in a mad panic. Before he could comprehend what he had just seen, he was distracted by a harsh cracking sound behind him.

  Jack forced himself to turn his head.

  His scream caught in his throat, unable to escape alongside the rush of terror and panic that tried to claw its way out at the same time.

  A giant black scorpion, big enough to devour a horse, skittered over the cavern floor towards him. Jack couldn’t move for fear. The creature scuttled closer and examined its prey.

  ‘It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…’ Jack feverishly repeated to himself.

  Then the scorpion raised one of its powerful pincers and swiped at Jack. It struck him in the chest and Jack went flying against the cavern wall.

  ‘It’s real, it’s real, it’s real…’ stammered Jack, struggling to his feet.

  The scorpion attacked, its stinger swishing through the air straight at Jack’s heart.

  Jack dived to the right and the barb ricocheted off the rock face behind. It struck again as he rolled across the floor, just managing to avoid its poisoned tip.

  Scrambling to his feet, he ran for the gap in the wall, but the scorpion was too quick and blocked his path. The creature, aware it had him trapped, slowly advanced, its pincers crackling and its stinger flicking like a poisoned spear.

  Backed up against the rear wall, Jack had nowhere left to hide. He bent down to pick up a rock to defend himself with and there, lying discarded on the floor, was the little paper crane Yori had made for him.

  Origami.

  Nothing is as it appears.

  All of a sudden, he understood that he was in the midst of the Spirit challenge. The High Priest had instructed them to ‘be the master of your mind, rather than being mastered by your mind’.

  Whether the scorpion was real or not didn’t matter.

  His mind believed it was. And…

  Just like a piece of paper can be more than a piece of paper in origami, becoming a crane, a fish or a flower; so a samurai should never underestimate their own potential to bend and fold to life.

  Yori’s answer to the origami koan flashed bright and clear like a beacon in Jack’s head. He had to
strive to become more than he appeared, to go beyond his natural limits.

  Jack roared at the scorpion in defiance.

  The creature hesitated a moment.

  Then it went for the kill.

  Jack roared louder as if he was a lion and struck out with his fist. But it was a fist now armed with the claws of a lion. It batted the scorpion’s tail away and Jack pounced cat-like on to the creature’s back.

  The scorpion bucked and reared, but Jack rode it out, driving his claws deep into the creature’s exoskeleton. The scorpion struck wildly with its stinger, Jack dodging from side to side to avoid its poisoned tip.

  As it struck yet again, he flung himself on to the creature’s head. At the last possible moment he leapt away. It was too late, though, for the creature to pull back its strike. Its barbed tail sunk deep into its own solitary eye, a single green lidless orb that glowed in the dark.

  Blinded, the scorpion whirled in frenzied agony, emitting an unholy high-pitched screech that echoed around the cavern. The scream was then drowned out by the sound of a thunderclap and the fire flared again, as bright as the sun.

  The scorpion was gone and Jack was sitting opposite the Mountain Monk, who was throwing incense powder on to his fire, each handful turning the flames a bright purple and sending out heady waves of lavender-scented smoke.

  ‘Would you like some?’ he asked, handing Jack a cup of lemony liquid.

  Jack refused to take it, afraid of what horrors it might unleash.

  ‘I would advise drinking it,’ the monk insisted. ‘Together with the incense, it counters the effects of the tea.’

  Jack did as he was told and within moments he felt his world returning to its normal dimensions.

  ‘Well?’ asked Jack as the monk began to prepare another pot of water for a brew.

  ‘Well, what?’ replied the Mountain Monk, bemused.

  Jack was becoming irritated with the man’s obtuse attitude. ‘Have I passed?’

  ‘I don’t know. Did you?’

  ‘But you set the Spirit challenge, surely you decide.’