The Ring of Water

by Chris Bradford

  ‘We have to follow the river valley,’ Hana explained.

  ‘How do you know the way?’ asked Jack, noting there wasn’t even a path.

  ‘I don’t,’ she admitted. ‘But once I was forced to hide out on this mountain and got lost. I saw the Riddling Monk while I was up here and caught a glimpse of his temple at the top. I’d heard the rumours about him and ran away.’

  The two of them stumbled on, following animal tracks and sometimes having to cut their own trail through the undergrowth. The route steepened and, in the darkness and rain, the footing became treacherous. Eventually, Jack called a halt when they reached an overhanging rock face.

  ‘We should rest here for the night. Out of the rain,’ he suggested.

  ‘You’re right,’ said a breathless Hana. ‘We’ll need our strength to climb Mount Jubu in the morning.’

  They took shelter from the downpour in a small cave. Jack tried to get a fire lit, but all the wood was too wet. Without any heat, they sat shivering on a rock and had to make do with cold rice and raw vegetables. Jack braved the deluge once more to cut down some leafy bushes to form a makeshift bed. It was damp but better than the hard stone floor.

  Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rolled down the valley, its deep rumble reverberating within the cave. Hana instinctively edged closer to Jack.

  ‘I hope this storm passes soon,’ she chattered, her trembling now seeming to be from both cold and fear.

  Jack put an arm round her and began rubbing her for warmth. ‘You needn’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ve sailed through far worse at sea.’

  ‘You don’t understand. This is a cursed mountain,’ she said, looking up at him with eyes as wide as the moon. ‘They say the mountain god of Jubu roars when he’s angry.’

  Another burst of lightning scorched the sky.

  ‘That’s him fighting the river god. If he loses, his sides run with blood, he blocks the rivers and floods the valley below.’

  Hana cowered into Jack’s embrace as thunder filled their ears.

  ‘Is that why this temple’s abandoned?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Partly. But it’s also haunted by onryō.’

  ‘Real onryō?’

  Hana nodded. ‘I heard a kōshakushi tell its tale once. Many, many moons ago, at the time of Emperor Temmu, Jubu Temple was a place of dark magic. A monastery of mystic monks. It was said they could move mountain boulders with a single hand; read a man’s mind and bend it to their will; they even had the power to control the elements.’

  She shuddered at this thought. Jack felt her fear, but inside he smiled to himself. Her description reminded him of the ninja and their kuji-in magic. He’d witnessed the shinobi accomplish just such things using the power of the Ring of Sky. He had even been taught some of their dark arts.

  ‘The Emperor declared them evil spirits and sent his army in to destroy the temple,’ she explained, her voice thin and hollow. ‘A huge battle took place. Of the ten thousand troops that climbed this mountain, only a hundred returned and most of them had been driven mad. Of the thousand monks that supposedly resided at the temple, none of their bodies was ever found. But their spirits still haunt the grounds. And anyone who trespasses is subject to their wrath and never seen again.’

  ‘So how has the Riddling Monk survived?’ asked Jack.

  ‘He’s one of those ancient monks. They say, if you can’t answer his riddle, he takes your soul.’

  She went deathly quiet.

  ‘We should get some sleep,’ suggested Jack, unsettled by the story himself but not wishing to show it. He’d been riddled by the monk and had yet to provide an answer.

  They lay down upon the leafy bedding, Jack keeping his swords close to hand. Through sheer exhaustion Hana was soon fast asleep. Jack listened to her steady breathing and the sound of the raindrops echoing in the cave. As he hugged himself for warmth, he touched the soft silk of the omamori hanging from his obi. Unhooking it, he stared at the amulet’s little green bag.

  How had he come into possession of this?

  Again he wondered what had happened after Ronin had drugged him. Had the samurai also been responsible for his injuries? Why had Ronin split from the gang? And how come he’d been left in possession of the rutter?

  Jack willed himself to remember. The sky flared and the mountain god roared again. Just as he drifted off to sleep, the memory slipped back …

  46

  MUGGING

  ‘Take a look at this fancy inro, Botan,’ said a voice.

  Jack felt the carrying case tugged from his obi. He floated on the edge of consciousness, too weak to move. The basket upon his head had twisted and all he could see were four pairs of sandalled feet.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ slurred a voice belonging to Ronin.

  ‘This is no longer your business,’ replied a gruff man.

  ‘I thought he was to be interrogated,’ said Ronin. ‘Not robbed!’

  ‘You’ve done your job. Now take your saké and go.’

  ‘Botan, when did a monk ever carry swords like these?’ questioned a third man.

  ‘Hey, Manzo, he’s got a string of money too!’ exclaimed the first voice. ‘And a bag full of food, clothes and a … book?’

  ‘Who is this man?’ questioned the gruff voice. ‘Shoda, let’s see his face.’

  The basket was wrenched from Jack’s head.

  ‘A gaijin!’ exclaimed a gaunt-looking samurai, dressed in a grey threadbare kimono. He stumbled away, basket in hand.

  ‘You’re so easily scared, Shoda. He’s just a boy!’ teased a younger samurai with high eyebrows and a jutting jaw. He was wielding one of Jack’s swords. ‘You know I could defeat anyone with a weapon like this.’

  ‘I wasn’t scared, Manzo. I just didn’t expect to see another face as ugly as yours!’

  Ronin, quaffing on a large bottle, stared in shock at the unexpected foreigner.

  ‘This isn’t just any gaijin,’ said Botan. ‘Blond hair, blue eyes and samurai swords. He can only be the gaijin samurai those dōshin are seeking. We’ve struck gold! There’s a reward of a whole koban on this boy’s head.’

  Shoda’s eyes widened in greedy delight.

  ‘Tell me, is this gaijin worth more alive or dead?’ he asked, his leering face drifting in and out of focus before Jack.

  ‘Not sure,’ replied Botan. ‘But it’s too much effort dragging him to Kizu. Just take his head.’

  On hearing this Jack wanted to scream, but could only manage a feeble groan.

  ‘Let me!’ volunteered Manzo, hefting Jack’s katana in one hand.

  ‘No!’ shouted Ronin, drawing his sword and blocking Manzo’s blade. ‘This is not what was agreed.’

  ‘Plans have changed,’ said Botan.

  ‘I won’t stand by …’ Ronin swayed uncontrollably ‘… and let you …’ He shook his head trying to clear it ‘… murder an innocent boy …’

  Ronin collapsed to the ground, his bottle rolling into the bushes.

  Manzo laughed. ‘I can’t believe you drugged his saké too.’

  Botan stood over the comatose Ronin. ‘Remind me never to hire a drunken samurai again.’

  ‘What are you going to do with him?’ asked Shoda.

  ‘Nothing. He won’t remember any of this by the morning.’

  ‘Good, then we won’t have to split the spoils with him either.’

  ‘It’d be unfair to leave him with absolutely nothing,’ said Botan, picking up Jack’s rutter and dropping it into Ronin’s lap. ‘At least he’ll have something to read when he eventually comes round!’

  Botan gave a deep booming laugh at his sick joke.

  ‘Now kill the gaijin and bag his head.’

  Grinning, Manzo swung the blade at Jack. Facing certain death, Jack’s survival instinct sent a surge of adrenalin through him. Willing every muscle in his body to move, he rolled out of the way as the blade sliced for his neck, embedding itself in the tree instead.

  Struggling to his feet while
Manzo tried to pull the sword free, Jack snatched up his shakuhachi and brought it crashing down on the back of the samurai’s head. Manzo dropped to the ground like a stone.

  ‘Stop him!’ snarled Botan.

  Shoda rushed in. Jack, too drugged to react to the flurry of punches, was caught full in the face. His lip split and blood flooded his mouth. With a desperate thrust, he drove the end of the shakuhachi into Shoda’s gut, winding him. Having no real control over his body, Jack then did the first thing that came to mind – Demon Horn Fist – a ninja technique of simply driving head first into your opponent. Like a battering ram, Jack struck the wheezing Shoda, knocking him off his feet.

  A moment later, Jack was sent flying by a devastating kick from behind. He landed upon the lip of the gorge and barely had the strength to stop himself rolling over the edge. Losing grip on the flute, he watched it bounce down the slope and drop into the raging river below. Defenceless, he tried to crawl away into the bushes, but Botan was already bearing down on him.

  Blows pummelled him into the earth. Every time he tried to rise, Botan hit him again. His vision blurred as he was struck on the head and his left eye swelled. Then Botan kicked him in the stomach before hauling him to his feet.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy killing you,’ he said, spitting into Jack’s face.

  In a last-ditch effort, Jack headbutted Botan. There was a satisfying crunch as his nose broke. Botan roared in agony and let go. Jack’s legs, too weak to hold him, gave way and he lurched towards the edge. As he toppled backwards he grabbed for Botan’s obi, but his hand only caught the green silk omamori hanging from it. Jack tumbled over and over, his clothes tearing on the thorny bushes and the rocks battering his body, until his head struck …

  … Jack awoke, the grey light of morning seeping into the cave. It was still raining, but the worst of the storm appeared to have passed.

  Rubbing his eyes wearily, he stood up and groaned with pain, his left arm stiff and sore from the sword cut. But at least he now recalled everything. How he’d got his injuries. How he’d acquired the omamori. How he’d escaped. And how he’d broken Botan’s nose!

  Most importantly, he knew Ronin hadn’t really been part of the gang. He’d been deceived too, and he had tried to save Jack’s life.

  But it was too late to worry about such matters. Ronin had his demons to deal with and Jack had the rutter to find.

  47

  ALL MAD

  Leaving Hana to sleep on, Jack performed a healing mantra before changing the bandage on his arm. Then he foraged for some breakfast to supplement their dwindling supplies. When he returned to the cave, he found Hana awake and pacing the floor in an anxious state.

  ‘There you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought an onryō had taken you in the night.’

  Jack smiled. ‘No chance of that. Remember, I was one myself!’

  His joking seemed to calm her and when he produced a sleeve full of berries and nuts, her face positively lit up. They tucked into their breakfast, then looked for a route up the sheer cliff. Halfway along, Jack spotted a face carved into the rock. It was partially hidden by a bush and covered in lichen. With wild hair, three eyes and long sharp teeth, the terrifying image did nothing to allay their fears. But it did indicate a narrow ledge along which they could ascend.

  ‘At least we know we’re on the right path,’ said Jack, going first.

  Clinging to the wall, they sidled up the cliff in painstaking steps. The rock was slippery and Hana’s legs trembled all the way. Jack was impressed by her courage – she didn’t complain or freeze at any point. Reaching the top, Hana let out a huge sigh of relief.

  ‘That’s the easy part over,’ she gasped.

  Below them, the forest formed an unbroken carpet all the way to the river, which wound like a silver snake down the valley basin. Above, a new forest began, giant cedar trees stretching as far as the eye could see.

  ‘Where’s this temple then?’ asked Jack.

  Hana pointed to the wooded peak of Mount Jubu in the distance. A glimmer of a pagoda spire could be seen jutting out of the canopy.

  ‘No wonder it’s abandoned,’ said Jack, realizing it would take them all day to reach.

  A narrow track wound its way upwards through the forest and they trudged along, the rain dripping heavily from the spreading cedars overhead. Their trek took them through countless swollen streams and they had to negotiate several trees that had fallen during the night’s storm and blocked the path. Quickly the forest became claustrophobic. The maze of cedar trees had strangled all life from the ground and what little sunlight there was struggled to break through. Jack was glad when they finally emerged from its disturbing gloom to stand beside an expansive mountain lake.

  ‘Let’s stop here for lunch,’ he suggested, cupping his hands and drinking from its waters.

  Sitting upon a large boulder, they shared half the remaining rice and admired the waterfall cascading over a craggy rock face and into the lake. The point at which the lake flowed into a river was clogged with fallen trees, forming a natural dam. The scene was quite beautiful and for a moment they both forgot about their quest.

  As soon as they finished eating, Jack suggested they move on. Once again, the forest swallowed them. By late afternoon, the path they’d been following petered out and Jack was forced to rely on his natural sense of direction to guide them. The trees crowded in on either side of them and the forest grew darker, but his confidence rose when he spied another of the gruesome faces carved into a boulder.

  Jack was keeping his eyes peeled for another sign, when Hana grabbed his arm.

  ‘I think there’s someone ahead,’ she whispered.

  Sure enough, a figure sat motionless upon a rock, his back turned to them.

  Not daring to breathe, Jack and Hana hid behind a tree and observed the man.

  Several long moments passed and nothing happened. Jack waited a little longer before deciding to make an approach. Signing for Hana to stay where she was, Jack stood, his hand ready upon his sword, and walked up to the man. He still didn’t turn round. In fact, he didn’t move at all. It was then that Jack realized the man was a statue.

  The figure was unsettlingly lifelike, almost as if the man had been turned to stone where he sat. But the eyes had been plucked out, his tongue was forked and the mouth was fixed in an eternal scream. The image sent a cold shiver through Jack.

  ‘It’s a warning,’ said Hana, almost making Jack jump out of his skin. ‘An outer demon to the temple.’

  A crashing through the undergrowth made them both spin round. But, when they looked, there was no one there. Just an eerie stillness among the trees.

  ‘What was that?’ said Hana, her voice no more than a whisper.

  ‘Must have been a falling branch,’ replied Jack, keeping a firm hold of his sword. ‘Best keep moving.’

  The rain now dripped in a sluggish rhythm from the canopy above and the air seemed heavy, almost too dense to breathe. A mist hung among the trees and Jack felt a growing sense of foreboding.

  All of sudden, disembodied giggling echoed through the forest and a branch cracked nearby.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ gasped Hana, flinching, her eyes round with fear.

  ‘Yes.’ Jack nodded and drew his katana.

  They crept onwards. A clump of ferns twitched, seemingly alive with spirits. But when Jack hacked them down, there was nothing.

  Hana’s breathing became agitated and rapid as panic overwhelmed her. ‘Onryō. We should get out of here!’

  ‘Stay calm. It was probably just some animal,’ said Jack, though he too felt the creeping coldness as the mist wrapped its tendrils around them.

  Shadows flitted between the trees. Jack and Hana picked up their pace, fear driving them on. The ground beneath their feet hardened and the mist parted briefly to reveal a hidden pagoda. Lopsided, with green walls, the forest had grown into it, tree roots wrapping themselves around its base.

  They had entered Mount Jubu’s abandoned
temple.

  But it didn’t feel very abandoned to Jack or Hana.

  Maddened laughter assaulted them from behind. Turning, they saw a skeletal man in a tattered robe, his eyes sunken and his cheeks hollow. He stood beneath an ancient torii gateway, the entrance through which Jack and Hana must have passed unwittingly. Lurching towards them, one foot dragging behind, one hand outstretched, he croaked, ‘Have you the Answer?’

  Jack and Hana backed away from the hideous onryō. As they passed another decrepit building, a bony hand shot out from a shadowy doorway and grabbed Hana. She screamed and Jack wrenched her from its grip.

  ‘Have you the Answer?’ beseeched a voice from the building’s dark recesses.

  Several more voices joined the entreaty. ‘Have you the Answer? … The Answer? … The Answer?’

  More emaciated bodies materialized out of the mist. Upon a flight of crumbling stone steps a man rocked to and fro, mumbling gibberish to himself. Another was slapping his head with his hands and howling like a wolf. Crouched in a corner, a woman was putting pine cones into a bowl, emptying them on to the ground, then repeating the process endlessly.

  ‘They’re all mad!’ said Hana.

  The chorus of ‘Have you the Answer?’ grew and the skeletal man advanced on them, others joining his ranks. Jack and Hana found themselves surrounded and backed up against the pagoda.

  Then suddenly the chanting ceased and the onryō scattered, disappearing into the shadows.

  Glancing up, Jack saw a head thrust out of an upper window of the pagoda. Bald, bug-eyed and bearded, it gawped down at him with wild delight. The head vanished and a moment later reappeared in a window on the floor below. It popped out again on the third, second and first floors, before the Riddling Monk, in bright red robes, burst from the pagoda’s doorway and bowed with great ceremony.

  Skipping round Jack and Hana, he waved a dead branch and scattered leaves over their heads in a bizarre imitation of a Shinto purification ritual. He stopped before Jack, bringing his face so close that their noses touched.