The Way Of The Sword (6 page)

His thumb sought out a pressure point in Jack’s neck and the sensei pressed down hard. Jack’s body was instantly paralysed with pain. He hung there like a rag doll. To the students, Jack merely appeared exhausted from the
randori
. For Jack, it was as if Sensei Kyuzo had inserted a molten iron rod into his spine.

‘What did I say?’ breathed Sensei Kyuzo into Jack’s face with hardened contempt.
‘Nage waza
and
katame waza
only. Since when was punching part of grappling technique?’

‘Since when… was murder… encouraged during
randori
?’ replied Jack through clenched teeth as he fought against the spasms of pain.

Kazuki lay in the centre of the
dojo
, nursing a split lip, his
gi
stained in bright red patches with his own blood.

‘You have much to learn,’ said Sensei Kyuzo, ‘the first principle being
fudoshin
. You’re clearly too unbalanced to be samurai!’

Jack was dumbfounded, not only by the agony Sensei Kyuzo was inflicting upon him, but by the injustice of it all.

‘As punishment for your lack of self-control,’ announced Sensei Kyuzo so that the whole class could hear, ‘you will return here at dinner and polish every single woodblock in this
dojo
. And you will not go to bed until you have finished. Do you understand?’

‘But, Sensei, I have to go to tea with
daimyo
Takatomi tonight.’

Sensei Kyuzo fumed at Jack, knowing he couldn’t force him to miss such an important appointment. ‘Tomorrow night then!’

‘Hai
, Sensei,’ replied Jack grimly.

The sensei leant forward, screwing his thumb further into Jack’s pressure point and sending another excruciating wave of pain through him. He bent down to whisper in his ear, ‘I don’t know how you got your name on the submission for the Circle of Three, but, mark my words, I will personally ensure that you’re not selected during the trials.’

‘What’s
fudoshin
anyway?’ groaned Jack, rubbing his tender neck as he and his small group of friends wound their way through the streets of Kyoto after lunch.

‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Yamato.

Jack looked to the others for an answer, but Akiko mutely shook her head, appearing to be equally baffled. Saburo stroked his chin in contemplation, but he clearly hadn’t a clue either, for he quickly went back to munching on his
yakatori,
the stick of grilled chicken he’d just bought from a passing street vendor.

‘It means “immovable spirit”,’ said Kiku.

Yori, who was trailing beside her, nodded in agreement as if that explained everything.

‘But what does it mean to have an “immovable spirit”?’ asked Jack.

‘My father said
fudoshin
is about taking control of your emotions,’ replied Kiku. ‘A samurai must remain calm at all times – even in the face of danger.’

‘So how do you get
fudoshin
?’

‘I don’t know… My father’s good at explaining things, but not at teaching them.’

Kiku gave Jack an apologetic smile, then Yori piped up, ‘I think
fudoshin
is a bit like being a willow tree.’

‘A willow tree?’ Jack repeated, his eyebrows wrinkling in puzzlement.

‘Yes, like a willow tree you must grow deep roots into the ground to weather the storm, but also be soft and yielding against the winds that blow through.’

‘That’s easier said than done!’ laughed Jack. ‘You try keeping calm when you’re being strangled and getting told that foreigners are being burnt alive – and that you’re next!’

‘You shouldn’t listen to Kazuki, Jack,’ said Akiko, sighing with concern. ‘He’s just making up stories to scare you.’

‘Sorry,’ interrupted Saburo, a sheepish look on his face as he swallowed his last bit of chicken, ‘but Kazuki’s right.’

All eyes fell upon Saburo.

‘I didn’t want to tell you, Jack, but the
daimyo
Kamakura supposedly did kill a Christian priest. There was a sign about it in the street…’

Saburo trailed off as he saw the blood drain from Jack’s face.

Listening to his friend’s revelation, Jack felt the warmth of the midday sun disappear, a chill running down his spine like a sliver of ice. So Kazuki
had
been telling the truth. Jack had to know more and was about to ask Saburo when, turning a corner into a large square, he was suddenly confronted by the gleaming blade of a samurai sword.

Held high in the air by a warrior in a dark-blue kimono with the
kamon
of a bamboo shoot, the arc of lethal metal was poised to strike. All thoughts of Kamakura and the dead priest were wiped from Jack’s mind.

But the blade wasn’t directed at Jack – rather at a battle-hardened warrior, dressed in a plain brown kimono with the
kamon
of a crescent moon and star, standing motionless three sword lengths from his opponent.

‘A duel!’ exclaimed Saburo with a yelp of delight, dragging Jack out of the way. ‘Quick, over here!’

A crowd had gathered in the duelling ground. Some of them eyed Jack’s arrival with suspicion, whispering to one another behind their hands. Even the warrior in blue glanced over, distracted from the impending duel by the strange spectacle of a blond-haired foreigner dressed in a kimono.

Jack ignored them. He was used to the curiosity he generated wherever he went.

‘Hello, Jack. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

Jack turned to see Emi, dressed in an elegant sea-green kimono, accompanied by her two friends, Cho and Kai, along with an elderly samurai chaperone. The two groups of students bowed to one another.

‘Why are they fighting?’ Jack asked Emi as she took up position by his side.

‘The samurai in blue is on his
musha shugyo
,’ replied Emi.

The warrior who had been distracted by Jack’s appearance was several years younger than his opponent, who looked about thirty. His kimono was dusty and faded in patches and his face weathered by the elements.

‘What’s a
musha shugyo
?’ asked Jack.

‘It’s a warrior pilgrimage. When samurai finish their training, they go on a quest throughout Japan to test their strength and refine their fighting skills. Warriors challenge one another to prove who is the best.’

‘The loser can be knocked out or disabled, and sometimes even killed!’ interrupted Saburo, a little too enthusiastically for Jack’s liking.

‘Killed? That seems a rather idiotic way to test yourself.’

‘Well, how else are they going to know if they’re any good or not?’ replied Emi matter-of-factly.

Jack turned his attention to the two contesting samurai. They stared at one another. Neither seemed willing to make the first move. In the heat of the midday sun, a bead of sweat ran down the side of the blue-clothed warrior’s face, but he disregarded it.

‘Why isn’t he attacking?’ asked Jack.

‘They’re trying to hide any weaknesses they may have,’ Yamato answered. ‘My father told me that even the smallest movement can reveal a flaw in your fighting technique, which your opponent can then take advantage of.’

The crowd, sensing the growing tension, was now motionless too. Even the children gathered round the edges were quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the chime of temple bells marking the beginning of midday prayers.

The samurai in blue shifted uneasily and dust swirled in little eddies across the ground. His opponent, however, remained perfectly calm, his sword still sheathed inside its
saya
.

Then as the last ring of temple bells died away, the older samurai withdrew his
katana
in one fluid movement.

The crowd shuffled backwards.

The duel had begun.

The two samurai circled one another warily.

Suddenly the warrior in blue screamed,
‘KIAI!’

Brandishing his sword, he advanced on the older samurai. Ignoring this display of bravado, the older man merely dropped back into a wide stance, side-on to his enemy. At the same time, he raised his own sword over his head then dropped it down behind his body, so that his opponent could no longer see his blade.

The older samurai waited.

‘KIAAAIIIIIII!’

The samurai in blue screamed again, summoning all his fighting spirit, and launched an attack. He cut down with his sword on to the exposed neck of the warrior, victory assured.

Still the older samurai didn’t move and Jack was sure he was as good as dead.

Then at the last second, the older samurai shifted off-line, avoiding the lethal arc of the blade, and with a short cry of
‘Kiai!’
cut his own sword across the unguarded side of his attacker.

For what seemed an eternity, the two samurai froze, face-to-face.

Neither broke eye contact.

One sword dripped blood.

There was a disturbing absence of sound, as if death itself had muffled the ears of the world. Not even a temple bell chimed.

Then, with a low groan, the younger samurai leant to one side and crumpled to the ground, dead. His body threw up clouds of dust that billowed away as if they were the warrior’s fleeing spirit.

The older samurai maintained his focus a moment longer, ensuring the duel was over. Then he straightened up and flicked the blood from his blade in a move Jack recognized as
chiburi
. Resheathing his sword, the samurai walked away without looking back.

‘I suppose that’s what Sensei Kyuzo means by
fudoshin
,’ breathed Saburo in awe. ‘That samurai didn’t even blink when the sword was going for his head.’

But Jack wasn’t listening. He was transfixed by the blood seeping into the dusty ground. The duel had reminded him of how brutal and unforgiving Japan could be. The news that the priest’s death was true meant that
daimyo
Kamakura’s plan to wipe out Christians
had
to be too. The question was how long did Jack have left in this violent land?

‘Run!’ whispered Akiko urgently later that night. ‘They’re coming!’

Jack bolted from their hiding place underneath the staircase. He hurried down the corridor and into a room with a large silk-screen painting of two ferocious tigers. He heard a cry from behind and realized the guards had already caught Akiko. They would be after him now.

Opening the
shoji
door on the other side of the Tiger Room, he glanced down the hallway, saw it was deserted and ran. He switched left at the end, then took the first right. He had no idea where he was going, since the
daimyo’
s castle was a complete labyrinth of rooms, corridors and passageways.

Running on tiptoe so that he made as little sound as possible upon the wooden floorboards, he followed the corridor round past two closed
shoji
doors and then bore left. But it was a dead end.

He heard a guard’s voice and spun round. But the corridor was empty.

Jack retraced his steps, stopping where the corridor switched right. He then listened for the sound of approaching feet.

Dead silence.

Warily, he peeked round the corner.

The corridor was windowless and only one of the paper lanterns that hung from the beams had been lit. In the flickering gloom, he could see a single
shoji
at the far end of the passageway.

With no sight or sound of anyone, he stepped out.

And his foot disappeared through the floor.

He cried out as he plummeted downwards. In sheer desperation, he flung himself to one side, grabbing at the wall. His fingers found purchase on a wooden crosspiece and Jack clung on for all his life was worth.

To his alarm, he hung over a gaping hole in the woodblock floor. A sliding trapdoor had been opened to catch unsuspecting intruders.

Jack peered into the depths. A small set of steps led down into unfathomable darkness. Jack cursed himself for his hastiness. He could easily have broken his leg, or even his neck. Here was all the proof he needed that escape was futile.

Regaining his composure, he edged backwards until his feet found solid ground again.

‘Come on! This way!’

A guard had heard his cry and they were now in pursuit.

Skirting the hole, Jack made his way down the corridor, but he could hear footsteps rapidly approaching.

‘He’s not in here.’

Jack quickened his pace, keeping one eye on the floor and one eye on where he was headed. His pursuers would soon turn the corner and discover him.

He reached the end of the corridor, slid the
shoji
open and stepped through, swiftly closing the door behind him.

The rectangular room he had entered was large enough for twenty
tatami
straw mats. Jack guessed it was a reception room of some kind. At the rear was a polished cedar dais, adorned with a single
zabuton
cushion, behind which was a large silk wall hanging of a white crane in flight. Otherwise, the fawn-coloured walls were completely bare.

No windows. No other doors. No escape.

Jack could hear his pursuers running down the corridor.

He was trapped.

Then Jack noticed the crane shifting slightly as if caught in a breeze. But with no windows or doors, something had to be causing it to move.

Jack hurried over to inspect the hanging more closely. There, concealed behind the silk screen, was a secret bolt-hole. Without a second thought, Jack scrambled through, pulling the wall hanging back to hide the entrance just as the
shoji
was jerked open.

‘So where is he?’ demanded a voice.

‘He can’t have vanished,’ replied another, this one female.

Jack held his breath. He could hear the two of them pacing the room.

‘Well, he’s not here,’ said the first voice. ‘Maybe he doubled back?’

‘I told you we should have checked that first room. Come on!’

The
shoji
slid shut with a soft
whoosh
and the voices receded down the hallway. Jack let out a relieved sigh. That had been
too
close. If he’d got caught, it would have been all over for him.