The Ring of Earth

by Chris Bradford

  Akiko was equally talented, possessing an inner strength like the steel of a samurai blade. But she had a gentle side, a warmth and a compassion for others that knew no bounds.

  Jack missed her deeply.

  21

  RICE PAPER

  Hanzo shot by the house at full pelt. Close behind was Kobei, followed by two other boys. Wondering what the urgency was, Jack stopped his stealth-walking practice in the paddy field and watched them hurtle down the road. But as they sprinted past the other villagers, nobody seemed alarmed at their haste. When the four boys reached the pond, they rounded the large hanging tree and raced back up the road. Approaching the house once more, Jack noticed they all wore straw hats on their chests.

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried Jack.

  ‘Speed … training,’ gasped Hanzo, drawing nearer.

  ‘But why the hats?’

  ‘Makes-you-go-faster,’ replied Hanzo, zooming past without stopping. ‘Can’t … let them … fall.’

  Hanzo disappeared up the road towards the shrine, a trail of dust following in his wake. Kobei was still hot on his heels, but the other two boys now lagged far behind. This at least explained Hanzo’s remarkable pace in the escape run.

  ‘Impressive, isn’t he?’

  Jack turned round to see Soke, his bright eyes gazing proudly in Hanzo’s direction.

  ‘He’s certainly full of surprises,’ agreed Jack. ‘After barely a few lessons, he’s skilful enough to wield a real sword. It’s as if he was born with it in his hands. Where does he get it from? His parents? Or you?’

  ‘No, no, no … He’s a natural. Much like yourself.’

  ‘Me?’ said Jack, surprised by the compliment.

  Soke nodded. ‘I was concerned your samurai training would be a barrier to ninjutsu, but you’ve mastered the basic principles very quickly. Even more impressive, you’ve already become quite adept at shinobi aruki,’ Soke commended. A wry smile then graced his old worn face. ‘Certainly better than when you tried to sneak up on me and Momochi having tea the other week.’

  Jack’s face flushed with shame.

  ‘Don’t worry. Spying is exactly the sort of skill you should be refining as a ninja.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time I left,’ said Jack, mortified at being caught. ‘I’ve already delayed more than I should.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Soke, waving his hand dismissively. ‘You’ve only taken your first steps in comprehending the Five Rings. It would be irresponsible of me to let you leave half-trained.’

  ‘But Momochi –’

  ‘Momochi is just being paranoid,’ Soke interrupted. ‘But that’s a good thing. It’s important that somebody questions matters. Momochi’s suspicious nature has paid off on many occasions. He has a nose for trouble.’

  ‘I should go then,’ Jack insisted. ‘I have no wish to endanger the village more than I have.’

  Despite his noble words, Jack didn’t really want to leave. He felt protected within the valley. Granted, he was worried by Momochi’s intentions, but he was more concerned about the samurai who hunted him. Not that he wanted to stay any longer than necessary among the ninja; it was just that the ninjutsu lessons were increasing his chances of reaching Nagasaki alive.

  Soke laid a reassuring hand upon Jack’s shoulder. ‘Momochi’s wrong in this instance. Shonin and I have spoken and he is of the same mind. The searches are dying down, but the samurai are still patrolling the borders. You should stay a while longer. Patience is not only a virtue; it can be a lifesaver for a ninja.’

  Jack was relieved at the Shonin’s decision, though he knew Miyuki wouldn’t be thrilled at his continued presence and would most certainly try to make his life with the ninja as uncomfortable as possible.

  ‘Follow me. It’s time we perfected your stealth-walking,’ said Soke, leading Jack back inside the house.

  Laid out across the floor of the doma were long sheets of thin rice paper. They stretched from the doorway to the raised wooden floor and had been dampened with water.

  ‘Your task is to cross the room without tearing the paper.’

  Jack didn’t think this was possible – the sheets looked awfully fragile.

  ‘You’ll need to master uki-ashi,’ explained Soke. ‘Floating feet technique.’

  The Grandmaster stepped on to the paper with his tiptoes and very gently lowered his feet. ‘Imagine each step is as light as a feather.’

  Jack couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The Grandmaster appeared to almost hover above the paper’s surface. As Soke crossed the room, he didn’t leave a single mark or footstep. To the untrained eye, it looked like magic.

  ‘Now you try,’ said Soke, mounting the raised wooden floor to observe his student.

  Taking a breath, Jack carefully placed his toes down on the paper just as the Grandmaster had. So far, so good. Lowering the sole of his foot to the ground, he took a second step. But when he lifted his back foot, he heard the undeniable rip of paper.

  ‘Call upon the Ring of Wind,’ Soke advised. ‘Float, don’t walk.’

  Jack tried again, summoning up feelings of lightness and imagining he was a feather. His balance was much improved from all the paddy-field practice, but still his feet tore the rice paper every time.

  At that moment the door opened and Hanzo, hot and out of breath, charged in.

  ‘Floating feet!’ he cried. ‘I love this!’

  Kicking off his sandals, he joined Jack in the task. ‘Bet I can reach the other side before you do, tengu!’

  ‘It’s not a race, Hanzo,’ chided Soke gently. ‘If you’re not careful, one day your impetuosity will be your downfall.’

  As if to prove Soke’s point, there was a sound of tearing as Hanzo tried to overtake Jack.

  ‘It’s only a little rip,’ defended Hanzo, bringing his thumb and forefinger close together to show how insignificant it was.

  Soke shook his head. ‘A tear is a tear. Even the slightest error of judgement can ruin a mission. Remember that. Your life may depend upon it.’

  ‘Yes, Soke,’ replied Hanzo, abashed.

  ‘Uki-ashi takes patience to perfect,’ instructed Soke. ‘But once you master it, you’ll be able to cross any surface without making a sound.’

  ‘Even a Nightingale Floor?’ Jack asked.

  Two years ago, daimyo Takatomi, the lord of Kyoto Province, had invited Jack to his castle and demonstrated this remarkable security feature for preventing an assassination – a wooden floor constructed on metal hinges that trilled like a bird with the pressure of a single foot. No one could walk across it without alerting the guards – supposedly, not even a ninja.

  ‘That is the most challenging of crossings to train for,’ admitted Soke. ‘I know of only one man who has achieved such a feat.’

  ‘Will you show me how, Grandfather?’ asked Hanzo eagerly.

  ‘When you’re able to steal the pillow from beneath my sleeping head, then you’ll have truly mastered uki-ashi. And only then will you have the necessary skill to cross a Nightingale Floor.’

  Giving the boy an affectionate pat on the head, Soke settled himself in front of the hearth and started the fire for dinner.

  Hanzo glanced up at Jack, frustration etched across his face.

  ‘It’s impossible,’ complained Hanzo under his breath. ‘I’ve tried, but he always wakes up!’

  22

  SHURIKEN

  ‘How’s the shakuhachi playing coming along?’ enquired Soke.

  Jack looked up from his breakfast of rice, miso soup, pickles and broiled fish. He’d virtually forgotten the taste of barley bread, butter and cheese that formed the staple ingredients of his breakfast back in England. In fact, his previous life was little more than a faded memory. Jack often wondered if he’d even recognize England when he eventually found his way home. More to the point, would his sister recognize him?

  ‘To be honest, I haven’t practised much,’ Jack admitted, feeling a little guilty. Another week had passed and, although he’d f
ound the flute a pleasant enough pastime, he considered his energies better spent on skills more relevant to being a ninja and helping him on his journey to Nagasaki. ‘I’ve been concentrating on uki-ashi and the Secret Fists.’

  ‘You really should practise everyday.’

  ‘I’ve kept up my breath-control training,’ Jack added quickly.

  ‘The shakuhachi is more than meditation and breathing exercises.’

  Soke picked up his flute and began to play. His soulful melody lulled Jack, who leant against the wall to respectfully listen. Partway through the tune, Soke raised the bamboo flute and pointed it in Jack’s direction.

  All of a sudden, there was a sharp phut.

  A black dart shot out from the end of the flute and pierced the wooden pillar beside Jack’s head. Jack was too startled to say anything. Hanzo, his mouth full of rice, spluttered with laughter.

  Soke lowered his flute. ‘As I was saying, you really should keep up your practice.’

  ‘It’s a weapon?’ exclaimed Jack, regaining his composure.

  Soke nodded. ‘A blowpipe in disguise.’

  Putting down the flute, Soke stood and retrieved his walking stick. ‘If a ninja is going to travel freely, he has to carry weapons that don’t arouse suspicion.’ Soke tapped his cane. ‘As innocent-looking as this is, my walking stick makes a very effective hanbō. I can use the staff to strike, restrain or even throw an enemy.’

  He twisted the head of the bamboo stick.

  ‘With a slight shinobi adaptation, it becomes even more lethal.’

  Swinging the cane round his head, a short length of chain shot out and whipped through the air, its weighted end passing a hair’s breadth from Jack’s nose. For a second time, Jack swallowed back his shock. This wasn’t turning out to be the relaxed breakfast he’d expected.

  Slipping the chain back inside his walking stick, Soke then pointed to the various farm tools that lay around the doma. ‘For a ninja, anything can become a weapon. We’ve adapted the rice flail into the nunchaku; the sickles we use for harvesting become deadly kama; the grappling hook is a kaginawa for both climbing and hooking an enemy. In fact, the more common the item, the better.’

  Soke picked up one of the hashi he’d been using for breakfast. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the chopstick at Jack. It penetrated the wall like an arrow, the quivering shaft directly in line with Jack’s eyeball.

  ‘With the right technique, a hashi can become a very effective shuriken,’ explained Soke.

  Jack pulled out the chopstick and examined it in amazement. He’d never take a hashi for granted again.

  ‘Come,’ beckoned Soke. ‘We’ll find Tenzen. He’s one of the best at shuriken-jutsu.’

  The three of them wandered over to the village square, where they found Tenzen with Kajiya in his forge. They bowed their greetings to one another and Soke invited Tenzen to introduce Jack to the Art of the Shuriken.

  ‘Shuriken are a simple, but versatile weapon,’ explained Tenzen as Kajiya laid out a selection of throwing blades – some were straight iron spikes; others were flat and star-shaped; some looked like needles; others like knives.

  ‘As you can see, most are small enough to conceal in your hand. This gives us the element of surprise in a fight.’

  Tenzen picked up an eight-pointed throwing star, a hole through its centre.

  ‘Although they can kill,’ he said gravely, ‘we mainly use shuriken to distract the enemy.’ He pointed to various parts of Jack’s body. ‘Targets are the eyes, face, hands or feet. Basically any area not protected by a samurai’s armour.’

  ‘Are these poisoned?’ Jack asked, recalling Dragon Eye’s devious tactics.

  Tenzen shook his head. ‘You can poison the tips for a more lethal effect, but you have to be very, very careful when handling them yourself. I’d advise against it until you’ve become more skilled.’

  Jack gazed in dread fascination at the varied array of shuriken.

  ‘What’s that one used for?’ he asked, pointing to a large shuriken with a spiralled cord attached.

  ‘It’s a little invention of mine,’ answered the bladesmith, grinning with pride. ‘Inspired by the Ring of Fire. I’ve attached a fuse, so the shuriken can be lit and thrown to start a fire. Tenzen’s been testing it out for me.’

  ‘I’ve heard it works rather well,’ said Soke, giving Kajiya a congratulatory pat on the back. ‘Tenzen, will you show Jack the three main techniques for throwing a shuriken?’

  Bowing, Tenzen selected several of Kajiya’s shuriken and took up position in the square. At one end were three fence posts driven into the ground. Even at this distance, Jack could see the wood was pockmarked and guessed they were regularly used for target practice.

  By now, some of the villagers had gathered round to watch the display.

  Choosing a straight spiked shuriken, Tenzen threw it overarm at the target. It struck the first post with a resounding thunk. Then he selected a flat-bladed shuriken, flinging this one underhand. The weapon pierced the second post, sending a splinter of wood flying. Finally, he flicked a star-shaped shuriken sideways from waist level. The silver star flashed through the air to penetrate the third post. Each attack was effortlessly executed and devastatingly accurate.

  ‘Now ikki goken,’ instructed Soke.

  Hanzo nudged Jack excitedly, whispering, ‘The “five blades in one breath” technique! Tenzen’s the only one who can do it.’

  Fanning out four throwing stars in his left hand, Tenzen weighed-up the first shuriken in his right hand and took aim.

  In the blink of an eye, Tenzen launched the first shuriken. His arm moved in a blur as he threw the other four in quick succession. The attack was so fast that before the first star had even hit the middle post, the other four were all airborne. They struck the wood one after the other like a pepper of gunfire.

  There was a round of applause from everyone and Tenzen gave a humble bow. He turned to Jack and handed him a four-pointed star.

  ‘You have a go.’

  Jack reluctantly accepted it. The shuriken was lighter than he’d expected and the edges viciously sharp. He felt very uneasy holding the trademark weapon of the ninja, having witnessed first hand the damage they could inflict. His father had been wounded by one, the cook at Akiko’s house had been killed with one and Yamato’s brother had been poisoned by one. And now he was about to learn how to use this weapon himself.

  Tenzen mistook Jack’s uncertainty for a lack of confidence.

  ‘Hold it between your thumb and forefinger. Not so tight,’ he advised, adjusting Jack’s finger positioning. ‘Grasp it lightly as if holding a swallow’s egg. You need to allow the shuriken to slide from the fingers.’

  Jack did as he was told and lined himself up with the first post.

  ‘Now throw it sideways, flat, as if you’re skimming a stone. At the moment of release, tense your fingers and wrist so you get a straight accurate pitch.’

  Jack brought back his arm, winding up to throw. As he straightened his arm, with a flick of his wrist he let the metal star go.

  The shuriken shot through the air and struck the target dead-centre.

  Tenzen and Hanzo stared in amazement at Jack, while Soke’s eyebrows shot up with surprise. Jack couldn’t believe it himself.

  ‘Beginner’s luck,’ he said by way of an explanation.

  Tenzen wordlessly passed Jack a second star.

  Jack went through the motions again. But the pressure was on this time and he released the shuriken too late and with too much force. The star veered wildly off target, shooting between the posts, towards the village well.

  A dark-haired girl let out a surprised yelp as the shuriken shattered the clay water pot she was filling. Soaked to the skin and looking around furiously for the source of the attack, Miyuki spotted Jack.

  She gave him a deadly stare.

  Tenzen, trying to stifle a laugh behind his hand, whispered, ‘I think you need more practice.’

  23
r />   THE INVISIBLE NINJA

  ‘Please be seated,’ said Shonin, indicating for Jack to take his place between Soke and Hanzo.

  Jack had been invited with his hosts for dinner at the farmhouse. Miyuki, Tenzen and a grumpy Momochi sat cross-legged opposite. Shonin was at the head of the table.

  Two young girls bearing trays entered the room and began to set out dishes. Although the food wasn’t as varied and fancy as the samurai banquets Jack had experienced in Kyoto, it nonetheless looked extremely tasty, with miso soup, purple eggplant, pickles, omelette and grilled fish, as well as several bowls of steaming rice.

  ‘Tell me, how are you finding life as a ninja?’ asked Shonin as they ate.

  Jack thought for a moment. ‘Challenging!’ he replied.

  But Jack didn’t mean this solely in terms of the intense diversity of his ninjutsu training. Or how it conflicted with what he’d learnt as a samurai warrior. He was struggling with his opinion of the ninja themselves. He’d been in their company a month now and, like the skin of the mikan, his views regarding the ninja had slowly been peeled back to reveal a different truth.

  They were no longer the faceless assassins he’d fought against. They were farmers, villagers, children and even training partners. Poles apart as they were from the samurai, this didn’t mean the shinobi were without virtue or principles. The spirit of ninniku was apparent in every aspect of their lives. Bounded by compassion and guided by the Five Rings, they possessed a philosophy and way of life equal to that of the samurai’s bushido.

  And, dare he admit it, Jack enjoyed training as a ninja. Their arts, dark and mysterious as they were, made a great deal of sense to him – especially considering the long and dangerous journey ahead. Yet he’d sworn since his father’s death that the ninja would always be his enemy. But were they?