‘A gaijin samurai!’ Ronin laughed incredulously. ‘Who on earth made you a samurai?’
‘Masamoto Takeshi. My guardian.’
Ronin stopped laughing.
‘He’s the head of the Niten Ichi Ryū –’
‘I know who he is,’ Ronin interjected, his left hand coming to rest upon the hilt of his katana. Jack tensed, unsure of the samurai’s intentions. ‘Masamoto-sama’s reputation precedes him. Now I’m not surprised the Shogun’s after you. Not only are you his enemy’s adopted son, you’re the embodiment of everything that man hates about foreign intrusion. Did Masamoto-sama teach you the Two Heavens?’
Jack nodded warily.
Ronin’s face burst into a grin. ‘I’m envious,’ he admitted, letting go of his sword and toasting Jack with his saké jug. ‘I’ve always wanted to challenge that samurai to a friendly duel. They say his secret two-sword technique is invincible.’
‘He’s a very honourable and courageous samurai,’ Jack replied, relieved at Ronin’s admiration of his guardian. ‘But the Shogun’s banished him to a remote temple on Mount Iawo and I’ve heard nothing of him since.’
At this, Ronin lost interest in his saké and shook his head with disgust. ‘Such a waste!’
They both sat in silence, listening to the rain pound upon the wooden roof. Ronin’s head lolled and he seemed to fall into a drunken slumber. Meanwhile, Jack fondly recalled Masamoto’s lessons as he attempted to master the Two Heavens. Training to become a samurai at the Niten Ichi Ryū in Kyoto had been tough and gruelling, but the sense of purpose it had given him and the lifelong friendships he’d forged there had made it all worthwhile. Jack longed to return, but doubted the school was still open following Masamoto’s banishment and the devastating war in which many of the sensei had died.
All of a sudden Ronin roused himself. ‘So, young samurai, you trained at the Niten Ichi Ryū, fought under Satoshi’s flag against Kamakura, somehow survived the Battle of Osaka Castle, then what?’
‘I escaped with Akiko to the port of Toba, where we stayed with her mother –’
‘Who’s Akiko?’
‘Masamoto’s niece … and my best friend,’ replied Jack, the corners of his mouth turning up at the thought of her. How he missed Akiko being around. If she’d been by his side, he would surely not be in this mess and he’d feel far less alone and vulnerable than he did now. The smile faded into regret at leaving her.
Seeing the forlorn expression on Jack’s face, Ronin raised his eyebrows knowingly. ‘So why didn’t you stay?’
‘I couldn’t. After the Shogun passed the law banishing all foreigners and Christians, her family were put in great danger. So I’ve been heading for Nagasaki ever since. I hope to find a ship there, bound for England.’
‘So when did you leave Toba?’
‘It must have been springtime,’ Jack admitted, realizing that it was now autumn.
‘And you’ve only reached Kamo!’ snorted Ronin in disbelief.
It hadn’t been in Jack’s plans to make such little progress, but circumstances had delayed him. Having almost been caught by the Shogun’s samurai on the Tokaido Road, he’d escaped into the Iga mountains – the domain of the ninja. Here, he’d ended up living in a secret village with his archenemies. But in that time his eyes had been opened to the truth about the ninja’s way of life. All his preconceptions and prejudices were brought into question as they trained him in the art of ninjutsu, introduced him to their moral code of ninniku and taught him about the Five Rings. In the process, he’d learnt some vital skills and his old enemies, the ninja, had become his friends. And though he still struggled with the idea, he now considered himself both samurai and ninja. But Jack was reluctant to reveal any of this to the samurai.
‘I got lost in the mountains,’ Jack explained, which was partly true.
Ronin nodded slowly, but didn’t look entirely convinced by this answer. ‘Easily done. Is that why you’re in such a state? Your injuries aren’t just from today.’
Jack looked at himself. The red welts from the dōshin’s jutte were layered over a patchwork of dark blue bruises that criss-crossed his body. His split lip and swollen eye throbbed dully, as did his ribs. So many injuries and no memory of how he got them all. But these were nothing compared to his stomach, which was still sore from the dōshin leader’s vicious attack.
‘I don’t know,’ Jack replied, shrugging. ‘I can’t remember anything of the last few days.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. That often happens to me,’ Ronin grunted, raising the jug to his lips.
‘But I don’t drink saké!’ replied Jack, laughing despite himself, then wishing he hadn’t as his stomach muscles contracted painfully.
‘So what’s your plan now?’ asked Ronin as he settled back against the shrine wall.
‘My first step is to try to get back everything I’ve lost …’ Jack began. Then, remembering the omamori in his hand, he added, ‘Or that’s been stolen.’
‘You’ve been robbed not only of your memory but your possessions too!’ Ronin exclaimed, raising his eyebrows in sympathy. ‘You have been ill-fated. What was taken?’
‘Everything. My clothes, my money, my food, an inro case given to me by daimyo Takatomi, which contained a good-luck paper crane from my friend Yori and a precious pearl that was a gift from Akiko …’
‘Anything else of value?’ asked Ronin, his bloodshot eyes suddenly sparkling.
Jack nodded. Careful not to directly refer to the rutter, he added, ‘My father’s … diary, some shuriken stars I happened to acquire and, of course, my swords.’
‘Your swords!’ said Ronin in dismay.
‘Yes,’ Jack admitted, feeling the shame. The sword was the soul of the samurai and therefore considered unforgivable to lose. ‘They belonged to Akiko’s father and were made by the swordsmith Shizu. They had dark red woven handles and their sayas had mother-of-pearl inlays. I’d recognize them anywhere.’
‘Shizu,’ Ronin breathed with admiration, clearly aware of the reputation of the legendary swordsmith. ‘This girl must favour you greatly to bestow such an heirloom. And to have them stolen must be intolerable!’
Ronin stroked his beard thoughtfully. Putting down his saké jug with a decisive thump, he announced, ‘I’ll help you, young samurai. I suspect it’s the work of bandits.’
‘I appreciate your offer, Ronin,’ replied Jack, surprised by the man’s altruism. ‘But I have nothing to pay you with.’
‘I don’t do things for money!’ he snorted. ‘Money is for merchants, not samurai. Yet …’ He shook the nearly empty saké jug. ‘A man cannot live on air alone. In return for my services, I ask only that I can choose one item from whatever we recover.’
Jack hesitated. What if Ronin decided upon the rutter? But that was highly unlikely; the samurai was interested in only one thing and that was getting drunk. Studying the dishevelled intoxicated man, Jack wondered whether Ronin would be more of a hindrance than a help. But Jack needed whatever help he could get, so nodded his agreement.
‘Good. It’s settled then,’ said Ronin, taking a swig of rice wine to seal the deal, before settling back against the wall and closing his eyes. Within seconds, he was snoring loudly.
Some help he’s going to be! thought Jack.
5
THE RIDDLING MONK
Jack knelt before the shrine’s altar, hands clasped, eyes tight shut. He prayed, thinking of his parents up in heaven, desperately wishing for the comforting embrace of his mother and the sound counsel of his father. John Fletcher was a man who never wavered, never lost hope, not even in the fiercest of storms.
A smooth sea never made a skilful mariner, he would say.
Now, as the rain battered the little shrine, Jack called upon that same strength of mind. But, try as he might, a sense of despair seeped into his thoughts. What chance did he have of recovering his possessions, let alone of surviving? He still couldn’t remember anything. He had no idea who’d attacked him, or why.
It could have been a samurai patrol or, as Ronin suspected, a bunch of bandits. Had they known who he was? Or had it been a random assault? Did they even realize the true worth of what they’d stolen? And, most importantly, where were his possessions now?
There were so many unanswered questions. Jack pounded the floor in frustration, willing himself to remember … a face … a name … a place … anything!
But his mind remained a blank.
Whoever it was, they evidently thought they’d killed him. That gave him an edge at least, since they wouldn’t be expecting him to rise from the grave. On the other hand, he was a wanted gaijin, a samurai without his swords, a ninja without a disguise. His situation was desperate, summed up in the fact he had to rely upon a washed-up masterless samurai for help. The ordeal before him seemed insurmountable.
Sorry, Jess, thought Jack, reflecting on his responsibility to his sister back in England. Although she’d been left in the care of a neighbour, Mrs Winters, that was over five years ago and the woman was old then. Jack was worried that Jess, now aged ten, could be on her own – or, worse, in a workhouse for orphans.
Jack bowed his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. May God take care of you, because I fear I might not make it home.
‘Only dead fish swim with the current,’ cried a croaky ratchety voice.
Jack spun round in shock. Ronin was still comatose in the corner of the shrine. But, emerging through the silver curtain of rain, a fiery grizzled demon hopped towards him. Jack’s heart was in his mouth as the vision drew nearer.
Then he realized it was a man. Bug-eyed, with a shiny bald pate and a wild bush of a beard, he wore a long red robe, a black obi and a necklace of blue prayer beads. Jack guessed by this he was a yamabushi, a mountain monk. Over one shoulder was slung a sturdy stick from which hung a white cloth knapsack. In his right hand, he clutched a parasol of broad green leaves to keep off the rain.
The mountain monk skipped lightly down the path, leaping puddles like a deranged toad. In a singsong voice, he cried, ‘Riddle me this before I die, what gets wet as it dries?’
The monk landed with both feet in a puddle, soaking Jack by the entrance.
‘Purified!’ he declared. ‘Now do you know the answer to my riddle? Be quick, be fast, be nimble!’
Bewildered, Jack shook his head. The bizarre behaviour of the man left him speechless. The Riddling Monk entered the shrine, eyeballing Jack and tutting loudly.
‘This answer I’ll give for free, but next time you’ll pay a fee,’ he announced, giving the sleeping Ronin a cursory inspection. ‘What gets wet as it dries? A towel, of course!’
The monk danced a jig, then plonked himself down beside Jack.
‘You’re a strange-looking fish,’ he said, plucking a blond hair from Jack’s head and examining it.
‘Excuse me,’ said Jack, gathering his wits, ‘but who are you?’
‘My name is mine, but other people use it so much more than I. Why not ask them?’
He turned to the altar and began babbling some incomprehensible prayers. Jack quickly gathered the monk was mad. Otherwise he seemed relatively harmless, so Jack saw no reason to wake Ronin.
All of a sudden, the monk seized Jack’s wrist.
‘My, my, my! What an interesting life!’ he proclaimed, running a dirty fingernail along the lines of Jack’s palm.
Jack tried to pull his hand away, but the monk was remarkably strong.
‘Don’t you want to be told what the future may hold?’ the monk admonished.
Reluctantly, Jack allowed the man to study his hand. Arguing with a lunatic would get him nowhere. The monk’s bulging eyes widened even more and there were numerous coos of surprise, sighs of woe and fits of giggles as he read Jack’s palm.
‘What have you seen?’ Jack asked, curious in spite of himself.
The monk looked up, a deadly serious expression on his face. ‘You seek more than you have, young samurai,’ he answered, his voice grave and low. ‘Know this! What you find is lost. What you give is given back. What you fight is defeated. And what you want is sacrificed.’
Jack stared at the monk, utterly bewildered. ‘What does any of that mean?’
‘What lies behind us and what lies before are tiny matters compared to what lies within us,’ he replied, letting go of Jack’s wrist. ‘Other hand.’
Sighing, Jack offered his left hand in which he held the green silk amulet, hoping for a more lucid answer.
‘The Great Buddha’s omamori!’ the monk exclaimed in delight. ‘Did you climb through his nose, or just bow down before his toes?’
Though Jack had no idea what the man was talking about, he was thrilled to discover the monk recognized the amulet. ‘You know whose this is?’
‘That I do! It’s the Great Buddha’s,’ replied the monk, smiling broadly to reveal a toothless mouth.
‘Do you know where he is?’ Jack demanded.
The monk nodded. ‘From here he’s neither near nor far.’
Jack tried to keep calm in the face of the monk’s infuriating riddles. ‘In which direction?’
‘If you went backwards, it would be Aran.’
The monk was making no sense to Jack. Desperation getting the better of him, he asked, ‘Can you guide me there?’
Jumping to his feet, the monk pirouetted on the spot and raised his parasol of leaves. ‘Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead, for I may not follow.’
Jack realized it would be a futile expedition to go with this crazed man. ‘At least point me in the right direction.’
The monk laughed. ‘Riddle me this, young samurai! What is greater than God, more evil than the Devil? Poor people have it, rich people need it, and if you eat it you’ll die. Tell me this and I shall give it to you.’
Jack thought hard. At the Niten Ichi Ryū, Sensei Yamada had often set his class koan riddles – testing questions to focus on while meditating. Although familiar with the mindset required to answer such conundrums, Jack was never the best at these mental tests. How he wished his friend Yori was with him now. That boy could figure out any koan. But Jack’s head was too clouded and confused for meditation and no answer came to mind.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Jack in frustration.
‘Come, fish, don’t give up so easily! Your soul’s not beat until you next meet me!’
With that, the Riddling Monk danced off into the pouring rain.
6
THE RING OF WATER
Jack sat staring at the bend in the path where the crazed man had disappeared, questioning whether he’d seen the monk at all. The encounter had been so bizarre as to be unbelievable. Having already lost his memory, Jack convinced himself the monk was no more than a figment of his fevered imagination – a combination of fatigue, stress and lack of food.
The amulet in his hand was real enough, though. And the pain he felt was all too real. Then he noticed the footprints in the mud, heading towards the forest. They weren’t his or Ronin’s. They could only belong to the Riddling Monk. The rain was falling even harder now, rapidly washing away the evidence. But at least Jack knew he wasn’t going mad.
Only dead fish swim with the current.
Had the Riddling Monk been speaking to him? This was the sort of enigmatic advice Sensei Yamada usually offered. Surprisingly, in this instance the monk’s words made some sense to Jack. If he simply gave up in this desperate situation, he’d be washed away like a dead fish. Alternatively, he could fight the current and overcome the difficulties he faced.
There was a glimmer of hope after all. The Riddling Monk had recognized the omamori. It belonged to the Great Buddha, whoever and wherever he was. Jack would ask Ronin when he awoke.
The path leading up to the shrine began to flood in the torrential rain. A trickle grew into a stream and wound its way down the slope into the forest. Jack watched as a large brown leaf was caught in its wash, briefly held back by a pile of stones, before floating round and away.
Like a ri
ver flowing down a mountain, whenever you encounter an obstacle, move round it, adapt and continue on.
The leaf had reminded Jack of Soke, the ninja Grandmaster, and his teachings of the Five Rings: the five great elements of the universe – Earth, Water, Fire, Wind and Sky – that formed the basis of a ninja’s philosophy to life and to ninjutsu itself. Soke had explained the Ring of Water was about adaptability and nagare, flow, its core principle demonstrated by the unstoppable nature of a river. Jack realized if he was to survive he’d have to apply the Ring of Water – adapt to his circumstances, go with the flow and overcome the obstacles on his journey.
While Jack didn’t want to admit it, ninjutsu was more relevant in this dire circumstance than any of his samurai training. He found it ironic that the skills of the ninja, once utilized by Dragon Eye in his attempts to kill Jack, might now be his salvation.
The first step was to begin self-healing. Sitting cross-legged, Jack clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers while leaving his index finger and thumb both extended, to form the hand sign for Sha. He began softly chanting, ‘On haya baishiraman taya sowaka …’
Deep within, Jack experienced a warm glow that slowly spread through his body. Sha was one of the nine secret hand signs of kuji-in, ninja magic. These powers originated from the Ring of Sky, the element representing the unseen energy of the universe, and this was what he was tapping into now.
After a while, Jack ceased the mantra and tentatively touched his split lip and swollen eye. Although there was no discernible change, his aches and pains seemed to have eased. Jack knew he’d have to repeat the process several more times, its accumulative effect speeding up his body’s healing.
During his meditation, the rain had slackened and Jack decided to venture into the forest. Soke had also taught him fieldcraft, knowledge garnered from the Ring of Earth, so Jack knew what berries, fruits and nuts he could or couldn’t eat and, more importantly, where to find them. Getting to his feet, Jack left the comatose Ronin snoring away, his arms wrapped protectively round the saké jug.
The Ring of Water Page 3
