Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Thank goodness for a soft landing!’ said Benkei, patting himself down for injuries.

  While Benkei dropped from the tree to save Jack, Saburo had rushed to Akiko’s aid. He’d charged at Goro, their swords clashing, and driven him backwards into the half-blind Raiden. His surprise attack had given Akiko the opportunity to steal Hiroto’s katana and she was now battling Raiden and his nodachi.

  Sensing his long-awaited revenge slipping from his grasp, Kazuki roared in rage. ‘You will die, gaijin!’

  It was now Kazuki who’d forgotten the principle of fudoshin. ‘It’s your fault! All your fault my mother died,’ he spat. ‘Gaijin are a disease. A plague that must be wiped from the face of this earth. And I will destroy you!’

  His anger consumed him, his hunger for revenge overwhelming all rational thought. His katana and hand blade became a whirl of steel as he attacked Jack with the brutal fury of a man possessed.

  Jack fought back with equal passion. Encouraged by Saburo’s miraculous survival and Akiko’s fighting spirit, he’d regained his warrior’s sense of control. The two of them battled through the garden, their blades ringing like deathly tolls as the steel struck, blocking and countering one another. Neither could break through the other’s defence.

  Panting from exhaustion, Jack and Kazuki circled one another, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. Jack had drawn upon all his reserves to fend off his rival, but he knew Kazuki was the stronger in this duel – and so did Kazuki.

  From within the inn, Raiden cried out as his nodachi rolled across the floor and he clasped what remained of his severed hand. With one eye gone and an arm disabled, Raiden had had enough and fled from the inn. His desertion didn’t go unnoticed by Kazuki. Although he didn’t break his stare, Jack spotted the tip of Kazuki’s sword tremble ever so slightly.

  ‘Suki – a break in composure and concentration. That is your opportunity to attack,’ the Shodo master had said.

  Realizing his opportunity, Jack flipped his wakizashi in his hand, deftly swapping to the reverse grip he’d mastered with Shiryu. Spinning on the spot, he knocked Kazuki’s sword aside with his katana, then drove the tip of the wakizashi backwards. Caught totally off-guard by the unconventional technique, Kazuki was skewered through the side. The blade penetrated all the way through, pinning him to the trunk of the cypress tree behind.

  Kazuki gasped in agony, his eyes widening in shock. ‘That wasn’t the Two Heavens!’

  Disbelief registered on his face as he looked down at the shaft of steel piercing his right-hand side, just below the ribs.

  But Jack wasn’t finished with him. Letting go of the wakizashi’s handle, he followed through on his spin, whipping his katana round, ready to decapitate his rival and end their blood feud for good.

  58

  All in Vain

  ‘NO, JACK!’

  The blade stopped a hair’s breadth from Kazuki’s neck, Jack’s killing stroke stayed by a voice from the grave.

  ‘Revenge has no more quenching effect on the emotions than salt water on thirst,’ said Yori, entering the garden.

  Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. Yori’s robes were singed at the hem, the tip of his shakujō charred black, and he walked with a slight limp. But his friend was alive. ‘Yori … you survived the fire! But how?’

  Yori smiled serenely up at him. ‘The same way we survived the Way of Fire at the gasshuku – the Heart Sutra meditation. Part of the barn wall burned down and I walked out through the flames.’ He lifted a foot, the skin of his sole blistered red raw. ‘But I admit I’ve yet to perfect the technique.’

  Kazuki groaned in pain, a bloodstain blossoming where the wakizashi impaled him to the tree.

  Jack still held the katana to his throat, the urge to follow through almost overpowering. After the years of torment and suffering Kazuki had inflicted upon him and his friends, he surely deserved to die.

  ‘Let him live,’ said Yori. ‘There’s no place for anger or rage in bushido.’

  ‘But Kazuki’s responsible for Miyuki’s death!’ argued Jack, his sword hand trembling in its desire for justice.

  ‘Completing your journey would be the best revenge,’ Yori replied calmly. ‘Honour her sacrifice not through hate and killing, but through triumph and mercy. Remember, the Way of a Warrior is not to destroy and kill, but to foster life. To protect it.’

  Jack was struck by Yori’s words. They were exactly the same as Sensei Yamada’s three years before, when his Zen master had spoken with him about his desire for revenge against Dragon Eye. ‘But why should Kazuki survive? If I’d been the one to die, Miyuki wouldn’t hesitate to end his life. I owe it to her.’

  ‘Then you must decide whether you’re a samurai or a ninja, Jack.’

  Yori turned his gaze upon Kazuki. ‘But think on this: a far greater punishment than a quick death would be a long life lived in the knowledge that his efforts were all in vain. That he’d failed in his duty as a samurai to the Shogun. The loss of face would be unbearable.’

  Kazuki scowled at Yori, the truth of his words cutting deeper than any sword.

  Jack pressed his katana against Kazuki’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. It would be so easy to end this feud. But would he be any better than his rival if he killed out of revenge? Sensei Yamada’s counsel came once more to his mind: Rectitude, your ability to judge what is wrong and what is right, is the keystone to being samurai.

  Kazuki glared up at Jack, daring him to push harder.

  With immense willpower, Jack withdrew his blade. He of all people knew that revenge didn’t heal the wounds of the heart. The death of Dragon Eye had brought him little comfort; he still deeply missed his father and no day passed when he didn’t think of Yamato. So why would executing Kazuki be any different? Whether his rival was dead or alive, the loss of Miyuki would haunt Jack forever.

  But, by showing compassion at least, he could hold his head high and know his rival suffered too.

  He pulled out his wakizashi with a sharp jerk. Kazuki collapsed to his knees, clutching his wounded side, blood seeping through his clasped fingers.

  ‘I despise you … gaijin,’ he spluttered, pure malevolence in his eyes.

  ‘And I … forgive you,’ replied Jack, the words hard to say, but even harder for Kazuki to accept.

  The bitter shame of defeat and Jack’s unexpected mercy crushed him. In a last-ditch attempt to save face, he turned his secret blade upon himself. But Jack stamped on the steel, snapping it from its fixings, and kicked the blade away into the bushes.

  Curling up in a ball, Kazuki sobbed in frustration, ‘You won’t even let me die an honourable death! Curse you, gaijin!’

  From inside the inn, Goro spotted Kazuki at Jack’s feet, bowed and defeated. Immediately he broke off his fight with Saburo and bolted out of the inn’s entrance. Akiko stood over the pinned Hiroto, his katana clasped in her hand.

  ‘Please … don’t kill me,’ he pleaded.

  Bending down, Akiko pulled the knife from his shoulder and, with a kick to his rear end, sent him on his way. He blundered after Goro.

  ‘When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter,’ observed Yori with a wry smile.

  Saburo and Akiko joined them beneath the cypress tree. Although Akiko looked pale, their victory had given her renewed strength and she strode over without help from Saburo.

  ‘You arrived in the nick of time, Saburo,’ said Jack.

  ‘But we saw you die,’ said Yori, overjoyed to find his friend safe.

  ‘Then I must be a ghost,’ he teased, wringing the water from his kimono sleeves.

  ‘So how did you survive?’ asked Akiko.

  ‘As we rolled down the bank, I managed to twist the tantō round. The ronin impaled himself on his own knife. I knew the other samurai would slaughter me if I surfaced, so I used the ninja method of breathing through a reed, just like Miyuki had once shown me …’

  He trailed off, keenly aware of her absence, and a deep grief consumed the five surviving frie
nds.

  After a moment’s silence, Akiko asked, ‘But how did you both find us?’

  Saburo managed a smile. ‘I spotted Benkei hanging from the tree!’

  ‘And it was a good thing that I dropped in too,’ jested Benkei, popping his head out from behind a bush. ‘Without me, you’d be dead by now.’

  ‘True,’ said Jack, glancing at the unconscious Nobu. ‘And you hit the bullseye!’

  He turned back to Kazuki, crumpled on the ground, then looked at Akiko. ‘What about Kazuki’s vendetta against you?’

  Akiko shook her head, untroubled. ‘With all his gang abandoning him, he’s a scorpion without a sting.’

  A low, weak chuckle bubbled from Kazuki’s lips.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ demanded Jack.

  ‘Your efforts – not mine – are all in vain!’ he said, giving Jack a hard cold stare. ‘The Shogun’s samurai are on their way.’

  59

  Palanquin

  Four samurai in gold-and-black armour stood over Miyuki’s lifeless body. A trail of corpses led from the alleyway to where she’d fallen in battle in the middle of the street. Jack and his surviving friends hid within the entrance to the inn.

  ‘We should have gone back to save her,’ said Jack, his vision blurring with tears.

  ‘How could we?’ said Saburo. ‘We were all fighting for our lives.’

  ‘And we wouldn’t be here now,’ Akiko reminded him, ‘if Miyuki hadn’t been so brave.’

  ‘The blossom may fall, but the tree survives,’ said Yori, planting his staff between them.

  Following Yori’s gesture, Jack, Akiko, Saburo and Benkei gripped the shakujō as one and bowed their heads in silent prayer.

  The sound of horses’ hooves made them look up.

  ‘We’d better go,’ said Akiko as more of the Shogun’s samurai arrived at the burnt-out bridge.

  With one last grieving look in Miyuki’s direction, Jack followed his friends through the inn and across the garden. As they headed for the back gate, he spotted a gardener’s straw sunhat and grabbed it.

  ‘You can run, but you can’t hide, gaijin,’ wheezed Kazuki, a malicious glint in his eyes.

  ‘Save your breath for living,’ replied Jack and closed the gate on his rival, who they’d left bound to the cypress tree along with the dazed Nobu.

  Keeping low, they evaded any patrolling ronin and escaped the death-trap village. Once they were a safe distance, Akiko whistled twice and Snowball galloped from the fields to reunite with them. Much to Jack’s relief, his pack and its precious contents were still tied to the saddle.

  Exhausted, injured and bleeding, they embarked on their final dash for Nagasaki, praying they could reach the port before the Shogun’s samurai caught up with them.

  ‘How much further?’ asked Jack, breathing hard as they raced along the dirt road.

  ‘If I’m right, the main road from Fukuoka should be over that next hill,’ Benkei panted, hobbling slightly from the arrow wound to his rear. ‘And then it’s no more than five ri.’

  Jack rammed the straw hat on to his head; it was proving too small for him and threatened to fall off. He grimaced as he lowered his sword arm. His injuries from the duel were mercifully only flesh wounds, but still painfully raw and seeping blood.

  Yori limped alongside him, aided by his staff. He winced with every step of his blistered feet, but made no complaint. Akiko, the most gravely injured among them, trotted behind on the back of Snowball. Saburo followed last, keeping a lookout for any sign of their pursuers. Since leaving the inn, they’d paused only to apply a fresh bandage to Akiko’s shoulder, eat the last of their supplies and drink from a stream. Ragged and battleworn, they looked like refugees of war. And, as they passed farmers in the fields and other travellers on the road, they were greeted by barely suppressed gasps of astonishment and given a wide berth.

  But being noticed was the least of their concerns now. They simply needed to make a run for it.

  Joining the main road to Nagasaki, they encountered more foot traffic as the route wound through the last knot of hills and valleys towards the coast. Akiko led the way. Her samurai status and the fact she was on horseback cleared a path through the stream of farmers, pilgrims and merchants headed for the port. On either side of the road, tea houses sprang up at each milestone and small food stalls offered welcome refreshments to the weary travellers. With the blazing sun giving no respite from its glare, the establishments were doing a roaring trade.

  But Jack and his friends didn’t dare stop to eat or rest again. Hounded by the unseen force of samurai, they pressed on.

  As they crested a rise, the view opened out into a long, narrow bay. The large natural harbour was bounded on either shore by a ruckle of steep green hills and the late afternoon sun shimmered like silver across its still waters. A busy port filled the flatlands of the bay before fanning out into the tucks and crevices of the surrounding hills.

  ‘Nagasaki!’ exclaimed Jack, unable to believe they’d actually made it.

  Protected from storm and wave, the bay was a haven for ships of all kinds – large and small, fishing and merchant, ocean and coastal, Japanese and Chinese and … European. There were so many different boats nestled in the harbour that Jack thought an armada had arrived. Only a few were ocean-going galleons, but one of them had to be English.

  His pace became urgent. But Akiko pulled on her reins and brought Snowball to a sudden halt.

  ‘There’s a checkpoint ahead,’ she said.

  At the end of the road, a wooden-gated entrance marked the port’s boundary. A unit of guards was meticulously checking permits.

  ‘How will we get past them?’ said Yori.

  Jack looked towards the surrounding hillsides, but any such approach would easily be spotted by a sharp-eyed guard, and then there was the high boundary wall to negotiate. Their only other alternative was to wait until nightfall, but the Shogun’s samurai were bound to reach Nagasaki and find them before dusk came.

  ‘Why don’t we carry Jack through in style?’ Benkei suggested, pointing to a palanquin parked outside the last tea house.

  The enclosed wooden seat, mounted on two poles for carrying, was fancy and ostentatious. Decorated with black lacquered wood and gilded with flowers and birds, the palanquin clearly belonged to an aristocrat of some importance. Inside were soft plush cushions, but the seat was empty, its owner dining within the tea house. The four bearers were fast asleep under a tree, exhausted from the heat of the day and their exertions. Despite wearing just loincloths, their bronzed bodies still glistened with sweat.

  ‘Palanquins are for high officials only,’ reminded Akiko.

  ‘Exactly,’ Benkei replied with a grin. ‘And they don’t need travel permits.’

  Jack and his friends immediately grasped Benkei’s plan.

  ‘We can’t steal from a high official,’ exclaimed Yori.

  ‘Technically, it’s not stealing,’ Benkei assured with a wink. ‘Just borrowing.’

  ‘But how are we going to carry it? We won’t pass as bearers,’ said Saburo.

  ‘Perhaps we can help?’ said a familiar voice.

  Jack and the others spun to discover the old farmer Takumi standing unexpectedly behind them. He was accompanied by four younger men from the Christian village they’d saved.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ exclaimed Jack.

  Takumi bowed. ‘We prayed as you asked and the Lord spoke to us. He told us to follow.’

  ‘A god who foresees need is a powerful one indeed,’ remarked Yori.

  ‘Our prayers were answered when you came to our rescue.’ Takumi smiled. ‘True faith can move mountains.’

  ‘Well, can it move a palanquin?’ said Benkei, hurriedly beckoning them over to the tea house.

  With no time to waste, Jack clambered inside the palanquin and slid the ornate door shut. The four farmers, having stripped to their waists, lifted the seat by its poles and hurried down the road before any of the official bearers awok
e. Once again Akiko took the lead, her samurai armour and horse adding status to the ragtag entourage. Yori, Saburo, Benkei and Takumi brought up the rear as loyal followers.

  Hidden inside the swaying palanquin, Jack peeked through a gap in the door. They were approaching the gate. Everything now relied upon the impression of high status.

  A guard held up his hand. The farmers slowed to a stop.

  ‘What happened? Where’s the rest of your escort?’ the guard demanded, peering suspiciously at the palanquin.

  ‘We were attacked by bandits,’ Akiko explained, indicating her wounded shoulder. ‘Many lost their lives, but thankfully our master is safe.’

  The guard nodded gravely at such honourable sacrifice.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ challenged Akiko. ‘Send out a detachment immediately!’

  She gave the command with such authority that the guard jumped.

  ‘And be warned,’ she added, ‘the bandits are disguised as the Shogun’s samurai.’

  The guard’s eyes widened in shock at this news. He bowed in acknowledgement of the order, then waved them on. The farmers bore the palanquin through the gate and into the port.

  60

  Flag

  Jack had finally arrived.

  After more than a year of running, hiding and fighting for his life, he’d reached his destination. Nagasaki. He just hoped that it would offer the salvation he’d been praying for all this time.

  As he peered out from the palanquin, he caught glimpses of the bustling port. They were heading along the main street towards a bridge that spanned the Nakashima River. Women in brightly coloured kimono hurried to and fro. Traders called out their wares – exotic spices from Java, ivory from India, silk from China and foods from all four corners of the known world. There was a lively, relaxed atmosphere to the place, as if the outside influence of foreigners had diluted the traditional Japanese formality and injected a vibrant, almost rebellious spirit. Jack even spotted a Catholic church, although its doors were boarded up.