The Way of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  Jack’s attention was drawn by something catching the morning light on the peninsula. He lifted his father’s spyglass to his eye to get a better look. Among the trees stood an exquisite building that appeared to have grown out of the rock itself. Jack had never seen anything quite like it.

  Perched upon a massive stone pedestal were a series of pillars made of deep-red wood. Each pillar had been painstakingly gilded in gold leaf with images of what appeared to be dragons and exotic swirling symbols. Resting upon these pillars were intricately tiled roofs that curled up towards the heavens. At the very peak of the highest roof was a tall thin spire of concentric golden circles that pierced the forest canopy. In front of the building, and dominating the bay, a huge standing stone thrust up from the ground. This too was engraved with the same ornate symbols.

  Jack was trying to figure out what the symbols were, when he glimpsed movement.

  Next to the standing stone a glorious white stallion was tethered, and in its shadow, barely reaching the height of the saddle, was a slim dark-haired girl. She appeared as ephemeral as a spirit. Her skin was as white as snow, while her hair, black and mysterious as jet, cascaded down past her waist. She wore a blood-red dress that shimmered in the haze of the early morning light.

  Jack was transfixed. Even at this distance, he could feel her gaze. He raised his hand hesitantly in greeting. The girl remained motionless. Jack waved again. This time the girl bowed ever so slightly.

  ‘Oh, glorious day!’ exclaimed a voice from behind. ‘One so much sweeter for the passing of the storm.’

  Jack turned round to see his father admiring the ruby-red disc of the sun as it rose over the ocean.

  ‘Father, look!’ cried Jack, pointing to the girl on the peninsula. His father glanced up and searched the headland.

  ‘I told you, son! This land is gilded with gold,’ he said jubilantly, pulling Jack to him. ‘They even build their temples with the very stuff…’

  ‘No, not the building, father, the girl and…’ But the girl and the horse had disappeared. Only the standing stone remained. It was as if she had been carried away on a breeze.

  ‘What girl? You’ve been too long at sea!’ teased his father, a knowing smile on his lips, which quickly faded as if stolen by a forgotten memory. ‘Far too long…’

  He trailed off, gazing mournfully at the headland.

  ‘I should never have brought you, Jack. It was foolhardy of me.’

  ‘But I wanted to come,’ insisted Jack. ‘Like you said, to be the first Englishman to set foot in Japan.’

  ‘Your mother – God rest her soul – would never have allowed it. She would have wanted you to stay home with Jess.’

  ‘Yes, but my mother didn’t even allow me to cross the docks without holding her hand!’

  ‘And for good reason, Jack!’ he replied, the smile returning to his lips. ‘You were always one to seek out adventure. You’d have probably jumped aboard some ship bound for Africa and we wouldn’t have seen you again!’

  Jack suddenly found himself enveloped within one of his father’s massive bear hugs.

  ‘Now here you are in the Japans. And, by my life, son, you proved your mettle last night. You’ll be a fine pilot one day.’

  Jack felt his father’s pride in him seep into his very bones. He buried his head into his father’s chest, wanting never to be let go.

  ‘Jack, if you did spy someone upon the headland, then we had best remain on our guard,’ continued his father, taking the spyglass from Jack. ‘Wako ply these waters and one can never be too vigilant.’

  ‘What are wako?’ asked Jack, pulling his head away.

  ‘They’re pirates, son. But no ordinary pirates. They’re Japanese pirates, disciplined and ruthless,’ explained his father, scanning the horizon. ‘They’re feared in all places and have no qualms about killing Spanish, Dutch, Portuguese and English men alike. They’re the very devil of these seas.’

  ‘And they are the reason, young man,’ interrupted the Captain from behind, ‘why we must make haste and repair the Alexandria. Now, Pilot, did you get the damage report from the First Mate?’

  ‘Yes, Captain,’ replied Jack’s father as he and the Captain made their way to the helm. ‘It’s as bad as we feared.’

  Jack remained close by, catching snatches of their conversation while he continued to search the headland for signs of the mysterious girl.

  ‘The Alexandria’s taken quite a beating…’ said his father.

  ‘At least two weeks to get her into proper shipshape…’

  ‘… I want the Alexandria seaworthy by the turn of the new moon.’

  ‘… that’s barely a week away…’ protested his father.

  ‘Double shifts, Pilot, if we are to be spared the fate of the Clove…’

  ‘… dead to the last man. Beheaded – each and every one.’

  The news of double shifts did not go down well with the men, but they were too afraid of the Bosun and his cat-o’-nine-tails to complain. For the next seven days, Jack, along with the rest of the crew, laboured like galley slaves, the sweat pouring off them in rivulets under the hot Japanese sun.

  While repairing the foresail, Jack found himself often gazing up at the temple. Shimmering in the heat haze, it appeared to be floating above the headland. Every day he had been on the lookout for the girl – but he was beginning to think he’d imagined her.

  Perhaps his father was right. Maybe he had been too long at sea.

  ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all,’ complained Ginsel, rousing Jack from his daydream. ‘We’re a trader ship with no sail. We’ve got a cargo of cloth, sappanwood and guns. Any pirate worth his salt is going to know we’re a prize for the taking!’

  ‘But there’s over a hundred of us, sir, and we have cannon,’ pointed out Christiaan. ‘How could they possibly beat us?’

  ‘Don’t you know nothing, you little sea urchin?’ spat Piper, a thin, bony man with skin that hung off his scrawny frame like dry parchment paper. ‘This here is the Japans. The Japanese ain’t no defenceless, bare-breasted natives. They’re fighters. Killers! You ever heard of the samurai?’

  Christiaan shook his head in mute reply.

  ‘The samurai are said to be the most deadly, evil warriors to walk this earth. They’ll kill you as soon as look at you!’

  Christiaan’s eyes widened in horror. Even Jack was taken aback by the terrifying description, though he was well aware of Piper’s reputation as a teller of tall tales.

  Piper paused to light his small clay pipe and sucked lazily on it. The sailors all huddled closer.

  ‘Samurai work for the Devil himself. I’ve heard they’ll chop your head off if you don’t bow to them like serfs!’

  Christian gasped… a few men laughed.

  ‘So if you ever meet a samurai, lads, bow low. Bow very, very low!’

  ‘That’s quite enough, Piper! Less of your scaremongering!’ interjected the Bosun, who had been watching them from the quarterdeck. ‘Now get this boat shipshape – we must be ready to sail by sunrise tomorrow!’

  ‘Aye, aye, Bosun,’ the men all chanted, hastily returning to their duties.

  During the night, there was a growing uneasiness among the crew. Rumours about samurai and wako had spread like wildfire, and the watch had sighted black shadows moving through the forest.

  The next day, all eyes were fixed on the shore and, despite the coastline remaining completely deserted, there was a feverish anxiety to the way the men worked.

  It was close to dusk by the time the Alexandria was fit to sail. The Bosun called all hands on deck and Jack waited with the rest of the crew to hear the Captain’s orders.

  ‘Gentlemen, you have done a fine job,’ announced Captain Wallace. ‘If the wind is fair, we sail in the morning to Nagasaki and our fortune. You’ve all earned yourselves an extra ration of beer!’

  The whole crew let out an enthusiastic cheer. It was rare for the Captain to demonstrate such generosity. As the cheering
died down, though, the watchman from the crow’s-nest could be heard shouting.

  ‘Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!’

  They all turned as one and looked out to sea.

  There, in the distance, was the ominous outline of a ship… bearing the red flag of the wako.

  5

  SHADOS IN THE NIGHT

  The old moon had waned, leaving the night as black as pitch, and the wako ship was soon swallowed up by the darkness.

  Up on deck, the Captain had doubled the watch in case of an attack, while below those off duty whispered their fears to one another. Exhausted, Jack lay silent in his bunk, staring blankly at the spluttering oil lamp, which made the men’s faces appear gaunt and ghostly as they talked.

  Jack must have drifted off because when he opened his eyes again the oil lamp had gone out. What had woken him? The night was soundless, apart from the heavy snoring of his fellow crewmembers. Yet he still felt an intense disquiet.

  Jack dropped from his bunk and padded up the companionway. It was no lighter up on deck. Not a single star could be seen and Jack found the absolute darkness disturbing. He made his way across the deck, feeling his way as he went. The fact that there appeared to be no one around only served to increase his sense of unease.

  Then, without warning, he collided straight into a watchman.

  ‘Bleeding idiot!’ snarled the sailor. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me.’

  ‘Sorry, Piper,’ said Jack, glimpsing the little white clay pipe in between the man’s lips, ‘but why are all the lamps out?’

  ‘So the wako can’t see us, stupid,’ whispered Piper harshly, sucking on his unlit pipe. ‘What are you doing up on deck anyway? I’ve the mind to clip you one.’

  ‘Er… I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Right. Well, this ain’t the place for a midnight stroll. We’ve been issued with guns and swords in case the wako attack, so you get below. Wouldn’t want to spoil that pretty little face of yours now, would I?’

  Piper gave Jack a wide toothless grin and raised a rusty looking blade in front of Jack’s face. Jack wasn’t sure whether Piper was being completely serious or not, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out.

  Jack retreated to the companionway.

  He was about to go below, when he took a final backward glance at Piper. He was now over by the rail, lighting his pipe. The tobacco glowed red, a single ember in the darkness.

  The tiny fire suddenly disappeared as though a shadow had engulfed it. Jack heard a soft exhalation of air, the clatter of the pipe landing upon the deck and then he saw Piper’s body slump noiselessly to the floor. The shadow flew through the air and into the rigging.

  Jack was too shocked to cry out. What had he just seen? His eyes had become more accustomed to the dark and he could just make out shadows crawling all over the ship. Two other watchmen on the foredeck were swallowed up by these shadows and collapsed. The unnatural thing about it all was the absolute silence of the attack. And that, Jack realized, was what it was – an attack!

  Jack flew down the stairs and dashed straight to his father’s cabin.

  ‘Father!’ he cried. ‘We’re under attack!’

  John Fletcher bolted from his bunk and snatched the sword, knife and two pistols that were lying on his desk. He was fully dressed, as if he had been anticipating trouble, and hurriedly buckled the sword round his waist, ramming the pistols and knife into his belt.

  ‘Why wasn’t there a call from the watch?’ his father demanded.

  ‘There is no watch, Father. They’re all dead!’

  John was briefly halted in his tracks. He spun round in disbelief, but one look at Jack’s ashen face convinced him otherwise. He removed the knife from his belt and handed it to Jack along with the key to the room.

  ‘You are not to leave this cabin. Do you hear? Whatever happens, do not leave,’ commanded his father.

  Jack nodded obediently, too stunned by the unfolding of events to argue. He had never seen his father so serious. Together they had survived full-on enemy attacks from Portuguese warships while navigating South America and its infamous Magellan’s Pass. But never had Jack been told to stay in the cabin. He had always fought side-by-side with his father, helping to reload his pistols.

  ‘Lock it – and wait for my return,’ ordered his father, closing the door behind him.

  Jack heard him disappear down the corridor, gathering the men.

  ‘ALL HANDS ON DECK! MAN THE GUNS! PREPARE TO REPEL BOARDERS!’

  Jack locked the cabin door.

  Not knowing what else to do, he sat on the bunk, still holding his father’s knife. He could hear the pounding of feet as the men rallied to his father’s call. There were shouts and cries as they flooded up the companionway and on to the deck.

  Then there was silence.

  Jack listened intently. All he could hear was the creak of the boards as the men cautiously moved about. There appeared to be some confusion.

  ‘Where’s the enemy?’ called one of the crew.

  ‘There ain’t any attack…’ said another.

  ‘Quiet, men!’ ordered his father and the men were hushed.

  The utter silence was unnerving.

  ‘Over here.’ It was Ginsel’s voice. ‘Piper’s dead.’

  Suddenly it sounded as if all hell had broken loose. There was the crack of a pistol, followed by more shots. Men screamed.

  ‘THEY’RE IN THE RIGGING!’ came a cry.

  ‘My arm! My arm! My –’ screamed someone until his anguished cries were ominously cut short.

  Swords clashed. Feet thundered across the decks. Jack could hear the grunts and oaths of hand-to-hand fighting. He didn’t know what to do. He was caught between two fears – fighting or hiding.

  The sounds of battle were joined by the groans of the dying, but Jack could still hear his father rallying the men to the quarterdeck. At least his father was alive!

  Then something crashed against the cabin door. Jack jumped up from the bed, startled. The handle was frantically jerked back and forth, but the lock held.

  ‘Help me! Please help! Let me in!’ came a thin desperate voice from the other side. It was Christiaan, his hands hammering on the locked door.

  ‘No! No! I beg you –’ There was a frantic scrabbling. A soft fleshy thump followed by a pitiful moan.

  Jack ran to the door. Fumbling with the key, he dropped it before he could get it in the lock. Panicking, he picked it up again, turned it and flung open the door, his father’s knife in his hand, ready to defend himself.

  Christiaan fell into the room, a small throwing knife sticking out of his stomach. Blood gushed on to the floorboards and Jack felt it run warm and sticky beneath his feet.

  Christiaan’s eyes stared right up at him, terrified and pleading.

  Jack dragged his friend into the cabin, ripping bedsheets from his father’s bunk to stem the bleeding. He then heard his father cry out in pain. Forced to leave Christiaan where he lay, Jack stepped out to confront the shadows in the darkness.

  6

  FEVER

  Jack screamed in agony.

  It was still night, but a glaring white light broke the darkness.

  Strange voices encircled him, alien and confusing.

  Jack could make out a man’s face hovering over him. One side was pitted and horribly scarred as though melted away. Curiously, the man’s eyes showed great concern.

  The man reached out to him.

  Jack’s whole arm suddenly flared white-hot and beads of sweat broke from his fevered brow. Gasping and writhing, he tried to pull away from the excruciating pain, but felt himself slipping away, weightless as if floating on a bed of soft straw…

  He drifted in and out of consciousness… and dark memories took hold…

  Jack was on the quarterdeck.

  He could hear his father shouting. Men lay dead or dying, their bodies piled one upon the other. His father, still standing but covered in blood, was surrounded by five shadows. John Fletcher spun
the ship’s grappling hook in circles round his head, fighting with the ferocity of a lion. The shadows, clad head-to-toe in black, a single slit for the eyes, couldn’t get near.

  One lunged at him.

  His father brought the hook sharply down, catching his assailant in the side of the head with a sickening crunch… the shadow crumpled to the deck.

  ‘Come on!’ his father roared. ‘You may be phantoms, but you still die like men!’

  Two of the shadow warriors attacked. One was armed with a vicious-looking blade attached to a chain, while the other rapidly twirled two small scythes, but neither could get close. The group circled Jack’s father, waiting for him to tire.

  Jack couldn’t bring himself to move; his feet were nailed to the deck with fear. He’d never used a knife in battle before. He raised his father’s blade with a shaking hand, steeling himself to attack.

  Then one of the shadows threw a glimmering star…

  Everything was dazzlingly bright. Jack squinted into the daylight. His body was on fire and his head pounded. A dull ache pulsed in his left arm. He lay there, unable to move, staring at a ceiling of polished cedar. This wasn’t the ship…

  His father didn’t see it coming, but Jack did.

  The shuriken struck his father on the bicep. John Fletcher grunted with pain, then ripped the metal star out with disgust. A thin stream of blood seeped from the wound. His father laughed at the pathetic little weapon.

  But the shuriken was not meant to kill; it had merely been a distraction. A shadow dropped silently out of the rigging immediately behind his father, a spider pouncing on its prey.

  Jack yelled a warning, but his voice was choked with panic.

  The shadow slipped a garrotte round his father’s throat and yanked back hard. Jack felt utterly helpless. There were too many. He was just a boy. How could he possibly save his father?

  In utter despair, Jack screamed and made a courageous charge with his father’s knife…