The Ennin Mysteries: Collected Series 1 – 5 (25 Stories) MEGAPACK

by Ben Stevens

  Surprise briefly showed itself on the faces of the two men; they had obviously heard of my master’s name. Indeed, they both bowed slightly, as one said –

  ‘Of course, Ennin-sensei. Please wait here, just a moment…’

  With that, they ‘vanished’ as immediately as they had ‘appeared’. Really, it was quite remarkable; almost like a magic trick.

  ‘So they teach some basic ninjutsu techniques here, it would seem,’ sniffed my master almost dismissively, as though he had somehow realized my thoughts.

  The two men soon reappeared with a third man stood between them, who I at once realized had to be ‘Yoshida-sensei’. He was a man of perhaps fifty years of age, broad and powerful, with great hands and deep-set eyes.

  ‘So the great Ennin-sensei has chosen to visit my humble dojo, situated out here in the back of beyond,’ declared Yoshida, his voice deep. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected honor?’

  The tone was polite, and Yoshida was smiling, yet still I noticed a slight air of suspicion.

  ‘Greetings, Yoshida-sensei. I have for some time desired to visit your dojo, which has the most excellent reputation,’ returned my master cordially. ‘Finally, I – accompanied by my servant here, Kukai – am able to do so. I hope you do not object to the intrusion…’

  ‘Not at all, Ennin-sensei. Indeed, I welcome you here. I have actually read one or two of the accounts concerning your adventures; from the story your servant entitled The Demon King, I see that you are yourself a formidable martial artist.’

  My master gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

  ‘Kukai has been a most loyal friend of mine for some years now. He does, however, have a habit of frequently exaggerating whatever small ‘abilities’ I may lay claim to possess.’

  As befitted my role of servant, I of course said nothing, instead lowering my eyes and staring at the back of my horse’s neck as I was so discussed.

  ‘You have ridden far, Ennin-sensei?’ asked Yoshida then.

  ‘A small detour only; we were passing through this region in any case,’ returned my master easily. And as I looked back up at Yoshida, just for a moment I thought that I saw something flash in his eyes…

  Some recognition that my master had just lied…?

  ‘Come, Ennin-sensei, please,’ said Yoshida then. ‘You and your servant. We will see your horses get properly rested and watered – and doubtless you would both appreciate some refreshment yourself!’

  My master laughed readily enough at this ‘joke’, and Yoshida continued –

  ‘Then I will show you around the inside of my dojo, where my students train hard every day. You may be interested to see the types of training they receive, I suspect; the variety of styles…’

  ‘Yes,’ returned my master. ‘I would. Very much.’

  With that, we dismounted from our horses, and began walking with Yoshida and the two men I took to be his senior students towards that massive dojo, situated way out here in a pine forest.

  3

  With a blood-curdling yell, a young man smashed down his forehead on a large stone lying lengthways across two other stones. The large stone broke clean in two and the young man straightened himself up, with not a mark that I could see upon his forehead. Despite his fierce cry just a moment before, his expression was now completely neutral – as though his very face had itself been carved from stone.

  ‘Incredible,’ I breathed.

  ‘That is Fujihara, one of my senior students,’ observed Yoshida, as we walked past the young man. ‘And here we can see Maeyama, demonstrating how such lethal breaking power can be developed in the fists, feet, elbows, knees, forehead and – well; you get the idea…’

  I certainly did, as I watched this ‘Maeyama’ smash his right fist again and again into a wooden post, the top of which (the striking part) was wrapped in straw.

  ‘A makiwara,’ observed my master, with a nod. ‘I have heard of these on the island of Okinawa…’

  ‘And now here in Japan – or at least, in my dojo,’ declared Yoshida, with evident pride. ‘As is perhaps obvious, the repeated striking of this post will only strengthen and condition whatever body part is used – so that it subsequently becomes a weapon as deadly as any club.’

  All around us Yoshida’s students were training hard. Either practicing on their own, using such apparatus as the makiwara, or in pairs. The inside of the dojo was primarily a great wooden-floored hall, two staircases either side leading up to a narrow walkway, located quite high up and so close to the roof with its vaulted timber beams; this walkway led all the way around the interior of the dojo.

  ‘I have to take a class soon, Ennin-sensei,’ declared Yoshida. ‘You wish to stay and watch…?’

  ‘Thank you,’ returned my master, ‘but Kukai and I are a little tired. We would like to rest for a few hours, if we may. Perhaps we could return – later?’

  Just for a moment, illuminated by the light which broke softly through the paper-shutters of the windows up there by the walkway, I thought that I saw a smirk cross the face of the powerful martial arts sensei. As though my master had, somehow, just played into his hands…

  But then the expression was gone, as Yoshida merely said politely –

  ‘But of course, Ennin-sensei. I would take great pleasure in showing you my dojo again when it is a little less – well, crowded, shall we say. As for now, I will have one of my students escort you to the dormitory building that is nearby. There you may both rest in your own room, and I will have a meal brought to you before a student brings you back here.

  ‘I trust this is agreeable? Excuse me not spending more time with you before this evening comes, but I hope you will understand that…’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said my master. ‘You are being more than generous, Yoshida-sensei, so that I am very glad that I was finally able to come here; to visit your splendid dojo.’

  At this Yoshida briefly smiled, before calling over the student who’d just stopped hitting the makiwara. Evidently, it was Maeyama who would be escorting my master and me to this ‘dormitory’.

  4

  In several of the cases I have written concerning my master and I (perhaps most notably the case entitled The Demon King), I have made it obvious to the reader that my master is an expert martial artist.

  Even so, I wandered how he would fare, were he ever to be matched against this Maeyama – far less Yoshida himself…

  For most men (including myself, I was obliged to admit) – pitted against such a foe they could have done nothing more than to go down on their knees, there to beg for a quick death…

  …Such were my thoughts, as my master and I rested in one of the rooms of the long dormitory located a short walk from the dojo. My master had actually fallen asleep; and in that small and rather ‘bare’ tatami mat room, I had little to do except lie there on my futon and think.

  I was uneasy being here at the ‘Hall in the Sea of Waving Pines’, I realized. I did not like that famous martial arts sensei, nor his undoubtedly extremely skilled (and thus, potentially highly dangerous) senior students. And my master’s words just a couple of days earlier; about how he was in some way responsible for the mysterious death of not only the boy named Shintaro – but also for at least two other teenagers…

  And what, exactly, was the ‘reason’ for their deaths? What could have caused such apparently healthy young men to suddenly die, shortly after they had returned from this dojo? Some slow-acting poison, maybe…?

  Whatever the answer to this tragic mystery, I had no doubt that I would discover it from my master in due course. And yet first we had to return to this dojo, as it now grew towards evening – and that, I fully confess, was the last thing I wished to do…

  A meal was delivered to us, and then a short while later the student called Maeyama again came to the small room.

  ‘Would you care to come with me back to the dojo, Ennin-sensei?’ he asked, his tone polite but his expression absolutely unreadable. He had on the black
training gi that all of Yoshida’s students wore.

  ‘Yes,’ said my master, so that I briefly glanced at him. There was something in his voice, some tightness, that signified a source of tension within him. Most people would not have recognized this – but I, who had been with him some years now…

  We left the room and the rectangular-shaped dormitory, walking back through the great pines – swaying now in the strong evening breeze – to that dojo.

  Maeyama indicated for us to enter inside ahead of him. It was gloomy, the light outside beginning to fail. Dark shadows clung to the walls all around; while that walkway high above, by the ceiling beams and the sliding window-shutters of wood and paper, could hardly be seen.

  Confused, my master and I walked a few more paces inside. I turned, sharply, as I sensed rather than saw Maeyama dart away to one side of us.

  Then – almost as suddenly as those two men had appeared in front of my master and me when we’d first entered the pine trees surrounding this dojo – Yoshida appeared a short distance in front of us. The student named Fujihara was stood to one side of him, another student who I recognized by sight (he’d been in the dojo earlier) on his other side.

  Both Fujihara and the other student carried the long wooden swords, called bokken, which are used by samurai and other skilled martial artists in training.

  …And then I realized that the student named Fujihara had produced a type of weapon I had never seen before. I can best describe it as being two lengths of hardwood, connected by a short chain.

  ‘Nunchaku,’ said Yoshida easily, motioning to this strange instrument. ‘Also from Okinawa, just like the makiwara. So you have heard of these also, perhaps, Ennin…?’

  In the steadily diminishing light, still I saw perfectly the arrogant, yet also vicious smirk playing on Yoshida’s mouth as he spoke. His three students also wore this same smirk; gone were the previous, stone-like expressions.

  ‘Actually, I had,’ said my master quietly.

  ‘Well, now you shall get to receive a demonstration, concerning just how effective they can be. You and your servant, also. Just in case, we also have these bokken too, which in the hands of a skilled practitioner – for example, one of my students – can break a bone with every single strike they deliver. And there is no way of blocking such strikes, of course.

  ‘So you (and your servant) shall have your ‘demonstration’ – which I fear will be a somewhat painful and bloody one for you, before such time as I decide to end your misery… Permanently.’

  ‘It was the Dim Mak, of course,’ remarked my master almost absently. ‘The ‘Touch of Death’ so feared in ancient China. The ability to strike someone with not even any great degree of force, but in one of those spots of the human body that – when struck precisely – disrupt the flow of ki with ultimately fatal consequences.

  ‘Somehow you learnt this technique, and furthermore used it on those young students whom you ‘failed’ – after pretend ‘sparring’ matches with yourself – before sending them home to die.

  ‘You knew that ultimately I would get to hear of this, and so would come to investigate, and then…’

  ‘Oh, well done, Ennin,’ returned the sensei mockingly, so that Fujihara briefly snorted with laughter. ‘It’s just a pity that allegedly great brain of yours didn’t figure all of this out before you entered this dojo. Unfortunately, it is now far too late for you and your servant…’

  ‘I knew it already,’ returned my master mildly. ‘I recognized the approaching threat to my life and so also Kukai’s; you are one of those would-be assassins employed – and doubtless already paid handsomely, with the promise of yet more money to come when I am truly cold and dead – by some mysterious person whose name you do not even know.

  ‘Really, do you think you are the first? You have not read that adventure which my alleged servant and biographer entitled The Forty-Eighth Ronin?’

  ‘He was nothing more than a clumsy drunk,’ retorted Yoshida, for the first time appearing slightly angry. ‘Doubtless, he was used just to make you drop your guard – to make you believe that anyone else sent to kill you would be similarly inept.

  ‘Only, I did not have to find you – you found me. And now it ends, Ennin – for you and your servant…’

  With that, Yoshida and his three students began advancing towards us...

  ‘But what of my other friend, Yoshida?’ asked my master then, raising his voice as he spoke. ‘My other friend, that is, apart from my servant here…’

  Despite our seemingly desperate situation, I turned my head to look curiously at my master, surprised by his words. And then with a grunt, the student of Yoshida’s whose name I did not know fell as though clubbed to the ground, where he lay quite still. I was conscious of a curious ‘whistling’ noise, like something flying through the air, and Maeyama fell. And again, the same noise a split second later, seeming to come from somewhere up on that high walkway – and down went Fujihara, his nunchaku clattering onto wooden floor beside him.

  ‘What – what is this…?’ breathed Yoshida, frantically looking behind him and up at that walkway which by now lay entirely shrouded in gloom.

  ‘Perhaps you failed to read that little adventure of mine which Kukai entitled The Ninja,’ declared my master. ‘In it I made a friend, you see. A very… useful… friend. A friend who by very nature of what they do must remain somewhat… well, mysterious, but whose assistance I later requested for the case which Kukai entitled The Dark Scrolls…

  ‘Really, Kukai,’ said my master then, turning his head to look at me as his tone became almost scolding. ‘The titles you give these stories of ours…! ‘Melodramatic’ is hardly the word…’

  ‘Yes, master,’ I returned patiently. ‘I was already aware of your opinion concerning this matter.’

  ‘A ninja?’ demanded Yoshida, who (needless to say) had paid absolutely no attention to the conversation between my master and me just now. ‘You had a ninja come here…?’

  As he spoke, the martial arts master continued to look all around him, up towards the walkway and the sloped roof of his dojo.

  ‘Oh, my friend has gone by now,’ declared my master causally. ‘Through one of those windows which are so conveniently located close by that walkway – the same way my friend entered just a little earlier, incidentally.

  ‘I requested my friend to be here this evening, sending a message before Kukai and I even set out for this accursed ‘Hall in the Sea of Waving Pines’ – after I had been visited by one of the grief-stricken mothers of the boys you murdered.’

  Now, my master’s voice was low and dangerous. I sensed a fierce rage within him; the type of anger which I personally had only witnessed him exhibit once or twice before.

  ‘So my friend took care of your armed thugs with a simple sling and three stones; and now, before the light entirely fails, I will take care of you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Yoshida.

  ‘I mean that soon, very soon, one of us will die, Yoshida,’ returned my master instantly. ‘Your men lying here knew about the ‘Touch of Death’, yet still I ordered my friend that they must only be rendered unconscious. But you – you who committed such vile murders – you must surely die for your crimes.

  ‘And I intend to be your executioner…’

  Yoshida nodded, and cracking his great hands said –

  ‘You are welcome to try, Ennin. You and that pipsqueak standing beside you. But you may well soon find that you regret having sent that ninja away too quickly…’

  ‘As for the ‘pipsqueak’,’ said my master. ‘He will wait outside this dojo while we fight. This is just between you and me, Yoshida – you and me…’

  There was nothing I could do expect obey my master’s order. I exited out into the shadows which had almost fully deepened, the moon out and the pines swaying fiercely now. All around me was the whipping wind, as my mind struggled to understand what I had just heard…

  A cry coming from inside the dojo… Comi
ng from Yoshida? My master? The sound of flesh meeting flesh, another cry, a hard thump on the wooden floor…

  My heart was in my mouth. Yes, I’d seen my master fight the sort of men – creatures – as described in The Demon King. Yet, as I’d thought just earlier that day, how could he hope to fare against a man such as Yoshida…?

  And then I almost groaned aloud as Yoshida walked slowly out of the dojo. He appeared hurt, and yet his presence could mean only one thing –

  He had beaten my master. My master was dead.

  …But then the martial arts sensei fell down to his knees, and there in the darkness emitted a terrible cry. A roar of pain, of defeat… And then he pitched forwards onto his face, where he lay soundless and still.

  My master appeared, walking towards me. He wiped a slight trickle of blood from his mouth.

  ‘He managed to land one blow, at least,’ declared my master. ‘And then I dealt a mortal blow – a ‘death strike’ of my own – straight to his heart. He fell down… but then managed to get up again. Even dying, he succeeded in staggering out of the dojo…’

  My master shrugged, and looked all around him at the windy darkness.

  ‘The other students are in their dormitory; we will quietly get our horses and leave,’ continued my master. ‘When Fujihara, Maeyama and that other man regain consciousness, they can bury or cremate their instructor as they see fit. And they can also relay the message, to whoever it is who has again hired an assassin to kill me, that I am not so easily destroyed.’

  ‘And this dojo, master – this ‘Hall in the Sea of Waving Pines,’ I said. ‘What will become of it now?’

  ‘Without Yoshida, it will doubtless soon cease to exist. And that is for the best,’ returned my master.

  5

  ‘...Shintaro again appeared to me, just the other night,’ said the woman named Hideshima, in the same room of that inn where she’d last spoken with my master. ‘He was... smiling... He said he was at peace now and so could pass to the... next world... He had come only to bid me a final farewell...’