But Jack knew the presence of land brought its own set of problems. For the inexperienced pilot, a ship could run aground on a hidden sandbank or strike an underwater reef. Sudden changes in wind direction caused by a nearby land mass could capsize a boat. And he was already aware of the major influence that tidal currents played in this region. Jack wished he had a pen and ink, so he could note down his observations in the rutter. This seafaring knowledge could prove invaluable with time. He remembered his father always jotting down notes in the logbook wherever they sailed. It was second nature to him. Observe, write, remember, he would always say. Jack felt compelled to follow his father’s lead and tried to commit his observations to memory.
‘Bit of a seaman, are you?’ grunted the captain, noting the ease with which Jack rode the pitch and roll of the deck.
‘I … sailed with my father,’ replied Jack, hastily adjusting his hat to shield his face.
‘A fisherman, eh?’
‘No. A navigator.’
‘Hmm,’ said the captain, reassessing the pilgrim before him. ‘What’s our current bearing?’
‘North,’ replied Jack. ‘And before that, north-west.’
The captain smiled for the first time. ‘Take the tiller,’ he ordered.
Before Jack could protest, the captain let go and strode over to the guardrail. ‘Hold her steady!’ growled the captain as he relieved himself over the side.
Jack leant his weight against the long arm of the rudder. He could feel the rush of the sea vibrate up the wood and the power of the wind as it thrust the boat through the waves.
Turning back, the captain caught a glimpse of the wide grin on Jack’s face.
‘The Golden Tiger may not be much to look at, but she fair flies with the wind, eh?’ he said with pride.
Jack nodded, although he feared the ship would disintegrate in anything more than a strong breeze.
‘Why doesn’t the Golden Tiger carry a flag?’ Jack asked.
‘Pirate tolls are costly,’ replied the captain indignantly. ‘Besides, her looks make her an unappealing prize.’
Considering the sheer amount of cargo on-board, Jack wondered if the boat’s poor condition wasn’t more of an incentive to a pirate. But he sensed that the captain was more interested in profit than protection. Fortunately, there were no pirate ships in the vicinity. The forested slopes of Omishima’s mountain drew ever closer. Surveying its rocky shore, Jack couldn’t see any obvious harbour.
‘Bear north-west,’ ordered the captain, pointing to a gap between the headland and a nearby islet. ‘Beware that outcrop, though. There’s a vicious current that’ll drag you across if you’re not careful.’
Jack leant on the tiller until the Golden Tiger’s prow was aimed dead centre of the gap. The lead edge of the sail started to flap in the wind.
‘Shouldn’t your crew trim the sail?’ Jack suggested, knowing that a new tack required an adjustment to take best advantage of the wind.
‘My crew are a useless bunch,’ snorted the captain. ‘They wouldn’t know the wind’s direction even if it farted in their faces!’
He shouted at them to tighten the sheets. Wearily, the deckhands did their duty. The sail stopped flapping and the Golden Tiger picked up speed.
‘Why hire them if they can’t sail?’ asked Jack in amazement.
‘They’re cheaper than real sailors!’ laughed the captain, taking over the tiller as the boat rounded the headland.
A sheltered cove came into view. The wind dropped and the Golden Tiger coasted towards a long wooden pier that jutted out from the beach. Bizarrely, the pier was covered by an ornate green-tiled curving roof with bright red pillars. Jack was surprised that a humble fishing port would have such a grand jetty.
Then he heard Yori gasp in rapture.
Upon the headland, overlooking the bay, was a magnificent red and gold temple.
10
Warrior Spirit
‘Aren’t you going to pay your respects at the shrine?’ enquired the captain, wondering why his passengers hadn’t disembarked. ‘We may be some time unloading.’
Reluctant as they were to leave the ship, Jack and his friends had no choice but to follow custom. They couldn’t appear anything less than devout worshippers, otherwise they would arouse suspicion. In spite of their misgivings, Saburo welcomed a return to dry land and Yori was delighted at the opportunity to visit such a renowned temple.
‘Oyamazumi is one of the oldest Shinto shrines in Japan. Some monks call it “the seat of the gods”,’ he recounted excitedly as they left the pier and passed through the first torii gateway. ‘Sensei Yamada insisted that I visit here at least once in my lifetime.’
Climbing the stone steps up the mountainside, Jack was equally awed by the shrine. Tucked into the forested side of the headland, the temple sat like an ancient god within the throne of the cove. The walls – painted bright red and studded with large iron bolts – resembled the armoured breastplate of a warrior. Its gilded eaves glistened in the late evening light. And crowning the main Hall of Worship was a green gabled roof with golden shachihoko adorning each corner – these gargoyles had the body of a carp and the head of a dragon.
The four false pilgrims wound their way up the wide path towards the shrine’s courtyard. At its heart was an immense camphor tree, its ancient trunk twisting skyward to where a lush green canopy revealed a mass of white flowers emerging for spring. As they passed beneath its branches, Yori whispered in a reverential tone, ‘This tree was planted by Jimmu Tennō himself – the first Emperor of Japan!’
Jack began to appreciate the shrine’s significance for his friend. The Emperor was viewed as a living god and such a gesture would have bestowed great spiritual wealth on the temple.
Yori led them over to a fountain housed within a small covered pavilion. Fresh water spouted from an ornate dragon’s head into a stone basin. Setting aside his pilgrim’s staff, Yori picked up a wooden ladle and washed both his hands then mouth in a purification ritual. Saburo, Miyuki and Jack observed the same rite before entering the Hall of Worship.
Within its cool darkened interior, they were greeted by calming wafts of jasmine incense and the soft murmur of prayer. Several monks in white robes and black cloth hats knelt in a line, hands clasped in worship. Behind them were a group of pilgrims, some local fishermen and three samurai bearing arms. Although their heads were bowed in devotion, Jack kept his distance from the warriors. He knelt to Yori’s far side as the four of them paid their respects.
‘The shrine is dedicated to Oyamazumi, the protector of sailors and samurai,’ whispered Yori. ‘He’s the brother of Amaterasu, the sun goddess –’
The monks’ incantation stopped and the head priest rose to his feet. He walked over to the three samurai, who prostrated themselves and held their swords outstretched.
‘Many samurai make such offerings in the hope of success in battle, or as thanks for victory,’ Yori continued under his breath. ‘Sensei Yamada told me daimyo Kamakura came here after he won the Battle of Osaka Castle.’
Jack felt his heart harden at the mention of the name of the Shogun. He was the man responsible not only for the civil war and the exile of all foreigners but for the banishment of Jack’s guardian, Masamoto. If it wasn’t for daimyo Kamakura, Jack wouldn’t be on the run with a price on his head.
Accepting the samurai’s weapons, the priest walked over to a large set of double doors. As he approached, they opened to reveal an adjoining chamber.
‘That’s the Hall of Offerings,’ explained Yori, seeing Jack’s eyes widen in amazement. ‘It houses every gift donated in honour of Oyamazumi.’
The chamber was overflowing with ceremonial swords and armour. Blades hung like silver scales from every wall, tall racks of spears and bows lined the sides, and taking pride of place in the centre of the room was a gleaming suit of silver-white armour.
‘That belonged to Minamoto Yoritomo, the first Shogun. Such gifts are the reason why the temple possesses so
much divine power. Many believe the spirits of the great warriors live on through this shrine. At night, monks have even heard battles in the Hall of Offerings.’
The priest returned, closing the doors behind him. The monks’ incantation resumed as the priest presented each of the samurai with an omamori talisman.
‘I wish I hadn’t left my helmet in Tomo,’ Saburo whispered. ‘We could have made an offering ourselves – for good luck on the voyage.’
‘We can still pray for such fortune,’ said Yori, closing his eyes and putting his palms together.
The four of them fell into silent worship. Jack took the moment to pray to his own Christian God, letting his mind drift with the monks’ chant. But he was soon distracted by a ray of light playing upon his face. Opening his eyes, he discovered the setting sun was streaming in through one of the latticed windows. It overlooked a path that led to a cliff. An elderly man was perched upon a rock near the edge, directly in line with the sun. His movement causing the beam of sunlight to flicker.
All of a sudden, the man toppled forward and disappeared.
Jack blinked, unsure if he’d really seen him at all. No one else in the temple apparently had. His friends remained deep in prayer and, not wishing to disturb them, Jack hurried out to discover if the man was alive or not … or if he’d even existed.
The courtyard was deserted as he ran along the path to the cliff edge. Bracing himself for the worst, Jack looked over to see a dizzying drop. The cliff plummeted straight down into the sea. Waves churned at the bottom and offered no prospect of survival. Then a head bobbed to the surface. The man swam for the shore, but another wave rolled in and he disappeared once more.
Jack spied a rock-strewn animal track leading to a ledge at the cliff base. Without a thought for his own safety, or the fact that he’d reveal his identity, he scrambled down in a wild attempt to save the drowning man. Jack was almost halfway when he burst back to the surface. But yet another wave engulfed him. Breathless, Jack bounded over the last few steps and hurried to the water’s edge. He searched the turbulent sea for any sign of the man. But the churning white mass offered little hope.
A huge wave rolled in and broke against the cliff. Jack jumped back to avoid getting dragged in himself. As it retreated, he was stunned to see an elderly man sitting casually upon the ledge, wringing the salt water from his beard.
‘Are you hurt?’ asked Jack, offering a hand to help him up.
The man stood on his own. ‘Why should I be?’
‘How could anyone survive in there?’ said Jack, pointing to the deadly confusion of rocks and white water.
‘It’s easy,’ replied the man, his slate-grey eyes taking in Jack but showing no concern for his foreign appearance. ‘I follow the way of the water and do nothing to oppose it – its nature becomes my nature.’
The man started up the track, pausing briefly as an invitation for Jack to follow. Jack was surprised by the nimbleness and speed with which the old man scaled the steep face.
‘The fall alone should have killed you,’ Jack insisted, unable to believe the man was unharmed.
Reaching the top, the elderly man picked up a bird’s feather and held it before Jack’s nose.
‘Watch this,’ he instructed, and let it go. The sea breeze caught the feather and it fluttered across the bay, floating towards the beach. ‘You see, the feather doesn’t resist. It simply goes where the wind blows.’
Jack immediately understood. The old man was talking about the Ring of Wind. The Grandmaster had used the exact same words. This element of the Five Rings embodied the spirit of ninjutsu – evasion, open-mindedness, the ability to respond to any situation, be ready for any attack as it occurs. To go where the wind blows.
The man pointed to a tree beside the temple, the bough broken and the trunk split. ‘That oak tried to resist the wind. Strong as it is, the tree lost the fight.’ He looked Jack directly in the eye. ‘Bear this in mind, young samurai, for when an old enemy returns anew.’
A shiver ran down Jack’s spine, as if someone had walked across his grave. How could this old man know such things?
He was about to ask when he heard a shout from behind.
‘Jack!’ cried Miyuki, waving frantically from the courtyard. ‘The boat’s leaving without us!’
11
Wind Demons
They raced along the beach, shouting for the captain to stop. But the ship had raised its sail and the crew were casting off. Either the captain didn’t hear them, or he chose not to.
Their feet pounded on to the wooden pier. Miyuki was the fastest, flying down its length and leaping catlike to land upon the ship’s deck. A crewmember stumbled back in shock.
Still the boat pulled away.
Jack and Saburo tossed the canvas bag with all their might and Miyuki caught it. Springing mid-step, Jack flew through the air to land deftly on the gunwale. He dropped on to the deck before turning to help the others. Saburo, his cheeks red and wheezing like a pair of bellows, began to flag. With each step, the gap between the pier and the boat grew ever wider.
‘Jump now!’ shouted Jack.
Ditching his pilgrim’s staff, Saburo threw himself across the water. Arms extended, he crashed painfully into the guardrail and clung on for dear life. Jack and Miyuki dragged him on-board. Only Yori remained. Lagging behind because of his smaller stride, he was still halfway along the pier. Yet the boat was almost at the end and heading out into open water.
‘Stop the ship!’ cried Miyuki.
The captain held up his hands apologetically. ‘I can’t. The tides have turned.’
‘Come on, Yori!’ urged Jack, running to the stern.
Yori sprinted after them, his short legs pumping furiously.
‘JUMP! I’ll catch you,’ shouted Jack, leaning over the rail.
The boat cleared the pier. Yori made a leap of faith. Legs and arms flailing, he launched himself towards Jack’s outstretched arms.
‘He’s not going to make it,’ said Saburo. Seizing Jack’s waist, he and Miyuki shoved Jack further over the side. Jack, fingers splayed, stretched for all he was worth. Yori tumbled towards him. Jack missed the left hand and Yori fell away before his eyes. But the extra reach allowed him to snatch at Yori’s pilgrim staff. He clamped down hard, gritting his teeth as the wood slipped through his fingers.
Yori cried out, desperately clinging on. He swung helpless above the water and Jack thought he was about to lose his friend, when the staff juddered to a halt. The Five Rings characters etched into the handle gave him just enough grip to halt Yori’s fall. With muscles straining, Saburo and Miyuki pulled them both to safety. They all collapsed on the deck, breathing heavily.
‘You left us on purpose!’ accused Miyuki, glaring at the captain.
‘I forgot we had passengers,’ the captain replied with unconvincing innocence.
Miyuki rose to confront him. ‘If you ever forget us again, you’ll live to regret it.’
‘What are you going to do?’ snorted the captain. ‘Throw your prayer book at me?’
Miyuki started forward, but Jack took her by the arm.
‘He’s our only passage to Nagasaki,’ Jack reminded her quietly.
Fuming, Miyuki stormed down the steps to the main deck.
‘She’s lucky you stopped her,’ remarked the captain, puffing out his chest.
No, you’re lucky I stopped her, thought Jack, wondering how the captain would have steered with a broken arm.
Jack joined the others amid the chaos of the cargo. As the boat sailed round the headland, Jack realized he’d never said goodbye to the old man on the cliff. Looking up, he could make out his silhouette against the dying light of the day. The old man was sitting upon the rock again, staring out to sea. Jack waved farewell to him.
‘Who are you waving to?’ asked Saburo.
‘The old man up there.’
Yori and Saburo both glanced up.
‘That isn’t a man,’ said Yori with an amused smile. ‘T
hat’s Taira Rock.’
‘What?’ said Jack, eyeing the figure more carefully.
‘It’s named after Taira Masamori, the Great Pirate Queller,’ explained Yori. ‘Five hundred years ago, as daimyo of Aki Province, it was his responsibility to stop their raids. Every time he defeated a pirate clan, he honoured the gods at this shrine. Then one night pirates attacked Omishima Island and captured Masamori. They threw him off that cliff top. Somehow he survived, climbed back up and killed them all. But during the fight he suffered fatal wounds and died upon that spot. Legend says, when his body was found, it had turned to stone.’
‘But I talked with him,’ insisted Jack.
‘Jack’s speaking with warrior spirits now!’ chuckled Saburo, tucking into a piece of dried fish in an effort to eat before he became seasick again.
But Jack didn’t laugh. He swore he hadn’t imagined the encounter. Yet, as their boat pulled away from the cove, the figure revealed itself to be nothing more than a large rock.
Jack stood upon the bow, deep in contemplation. The sun had set and the Seto Sea now reflected a starlit night sky. A gibbous moon hung in the heavens, casting a silvery sheen across the crest of the waves.
An old enemy returns anew.
The phrase haunted his thoughts. He remained convinced that his experience at Taira Rock had been genuine. The bottoms of his white breeches were still damp from where the wave had broken over the ledge. Yet Miyuki didn’t remember seeing anyone when she’d called to him from the shrine.
Jack sighed. Daydream or not, he realized it was likely that Kazuki and his Scorpion Gang had picked up their trail. His old school rival could easily have got word of their escape from Tomo Harbour. Tenacious and resourceful, Kazuki would deduce they’d gone to sea and wouldn’t rest until he’d captured Jack. At least his enemy’s continued pursuit meant Akiko was safe, since he couldn’t fulfil his vow to punish her for crippling his right hand.
Young Samurai: The Ring of Wind Page 5
