Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky

by Chris Bradford

  To his astonishment, Jack realized he was on trial. Already accused of high treason against the Shogun, he stood little chance of a fair hearing from this magistrate. He glanced up at Sensei Kyuzo, again wondering what his plan was.

  Sensei Kyuzo stepped forward. ‘Is it really worth trying the gaijin when he’s already been sentenced to death by the Shogun?’

  A flicker of annoyance passed across the magistrate’s face. ‘I’m the bugyō for this town and it’s my responsibility to see that law and order is maintained. This recent plague of gambling needs to be stamped out. We must set an example to all lawbreakers. None should escape the consequences of their crimes, including this gaijin. Now, are there any witnesses to the offence?’

  The two dōshin both bowed in acknowledgement.

  ‘He whistled a warning,’ stated one of them.

  The magistrate made a note of this on the paper and seemed satisfied.

  Without offering Jack the opportunity to plead his case, he declared, ‘In my authority as bugyō of Oita District, I pronounce you, Jack Fletcher, guilty as charged. In respect of the severity of your crime, you’re sentenced to yubitsume.’

  Jack had never heard this term before, but it didn’t sound pleasant and a rising sense of panic gripped him.

  ‘Is that wise?’ interjected Sensei Kyuzo. ‘The Shogun signed the warrant for the gaijin’s arrest himself. He should be the one to administer the punishment. This judgment could have an adverse effect on the reward for his capture.’

  ‘I, of all people, am aware of the reward, Renzo,’ said the bugyō firmly. ‘Yet the Shogun would surely respect my duty to uphold his law. And I intend to carry it out to the letter. Besides, the gaijin will still be in one piece … my mistake, two pieces!’

  The bugyō allowed himself a small grunt of laughter.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Don’t question my authority again,’ said the bugyō tersely, cutting off Sensei Kyuzo. ‘Do as I say or I’ll charge you with contempt. Carry out the punishment forthwith.’

  Sensei Kyuzo fumed. Nonetheless, he submitted to his superior’s will with a curt bow of the head. He gave instructions to the two dōshin to bring in the block.

  ‘If the gaijin wishes to act like a samurai, then he should be punished like one,’ stated the bugyō. ‘Finger shortening is a fitting penance and one that would meet the Shogun’s approval, I’m sure.’

  Jack realized he was to be mutilated. Sensei Kyuzo’s attempt at defence had failed. He had to escape, but, bound helpless, he was unable to avoid the imminent yubitsume.

  The bugyō settled back to watch the proceedings, giving his dog an affectionate pat on the head as a wooden chopping block was brought in and placed before Jack. One of the dōshin laid a ceremonial white square of cloth on top and smoothed it flat.

  Jack silently willed his teacher to make his move.

  Without a word, Sensei Kyuzo unbound Jack’s left hand and strapped it to the block, palm down.

  ‘Hold him tight,’ he ordered the two dōshin.

  Jack struggled, helpless in their grip. His throat went dry and his heart began to pound as Sensei Kyuzo unsheathed a razor-sharp tantō. The lethal blade caught the last rays of the dying sun, burnishing the steel an ominous blood-red.

  ‘Cut off the little finger,’ instructed the bugyō, his eyes bulging in cruel anticipation.

  Sensei Kyuzo approached the block, his knife raised. Whatever his taijutsu master’s plan, Jack knew this was the final chance to execute it. As the blade hovered over Jack’s finger, Sensei Kyuzo caught his eye and grinned. Taking this as the signal, Jack readied himself for his taijutsu master to cut his bonds and for them to fight their way out.

  The knife sliced down.

  13

  Cell

  Crouched in the darkened cell, Jack clutched his wounded hand to his chest. The stump of his little finger throbbed like wildfire. Although the bleeding had stopped, Jack was pale and shaken from the experience.

  He simply couldn’t comprehend what Sensei Kyuzo had done to him. He’d watched in disbelief as his taijutsu master brought down the knife, the keen blade slicing through flesh and bone like butter, severing the tip of his little finger. Bizarrely, he could recall the steel feeling cool to the touch, before the nail and first knuckle were separated and dropped to the floor. For a moment, Jack felt nothing but numbing shock. Then a raging fire ignited in his hand as the pain registered and blood spurted across the white cloth. He’d screamed to block out the agony. But it shook him in wave after fierce wave.

  ‘Stop whining, gaijin!’ Sensei Kyuzo had snarled, wiping clean his knife. ‘Show some samurai backbone.’

  Somehow Jack managed to stifle his cries. But what had hurt him the most was that his teacher had done the deed with a smile on his face. Sensei Kyuzo had even wrapped the severed portion of the fingertip in the cloth and presented it to the bugyō for inspection. Indifferent to Jack’s suffering, the magistrate had merely logged an account of the punishment before sealing the court document for his records. He then put his brush aside and tossed Jack’s fingertip into the expectant mouth of his hunting dog.

  Sickened to the pit of his stomach, Jack barely heard the bugyō as he determined his fate. The magistrate decided that Jack should be held in prison until the Shogun’s samurai came for him. He then wrote a message and summoned a hikyaku to deliver it. The ‘flying feet’ courier was running before he even got out of the door. Only when the bugyō noticed blood staining his highly prized woodblock floor did he send Jack to his prison cell.

  Before they threw him in, one of the dōshin bandaged his hand and tied a tourniquet round the stump of his little finger. Jack mumbled his thanks, but the dōshin had just snorted, ‘We don’t want our “reward” dying on us from gangrene now, do we?’

  Jack looked up at a small barred window. The silvery light of a waning moon cast its deathly pallor on to the dirt floor. The few stars he could spy seemed more distant than ever – but still not as far away as England and his sister now felt.

  His journey was over.

  His hopes of reaching Nagasaki had been brought to a swift and agonizing end by his old taijutsu master. Jack couldn’t believe Sensei Kyuzo would go to such lengths just to keep his identity hidden. But Jack had to face the hard truth. Sensei Kyuzo wasn’t on his side. He’d been wrong to trust in the bushido code of loyalty. Sensei Kyuzo had never had any intention of saving him – in fact, he seemed determined to be rid of him once and for all.

  In the darkness, Jack heard the hunting dog scrabbling at the earth outside, no doubt lured by the prospect of a larger bone to gnaw on. In his injured state, Jack didn’t hold out much hope of fighting his way out before the Shogun’s samurai arrived. Although he wasn’t crippled by any means, he’d be unable to control a sword properly. Until his hand had healed, he was like a tiger whose teeth had been pulled.

  From the direction of the Zen garden, the jingle of the wind chime drifted into his cell. Aware that he had to do something positive to stop himself lapsing into despair, Jack focused his mind on the delicate sound. He meditated until the throbbing in his hand subsided. Then, under his breath, he began to chant the mantra for Sha:

  ‘On haya baishiraman taya sowaka …’

  Sha was one of the nine rituals of kuji-in, the art of ninja magic. Combined with a secret hand sign and focused meditation, it would speed up the healing process. But Jack was under no illusion. Kuji-in couldn’t bring his fingertip back. He’d be scarred for life. But at least it might mean he could grip a weapon far sooner.

  With one hand out of action, Jack couldn’t form the complete sign required for the ritual, so he just extended the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and held the palm over the bandaged wound. As he chanted, he sensed a tingle of warmth. But his stump was such a confusion of pain and numbness that he wasn’t certain this was the result of kuji-in.

  How he wished Miyuki was with him now. She was an expert healer, having tended to his injuries ma
ny times. Loyal, dependable and resourceful, she would have completed the healing and already be planning their way out of the cell.

  If Saburo was here, Jack knew he’d be making some joke. Lightening the mood and keeping everyone’s spirits up.

  Then there was Yori. What Jack would do to hear some wise and comforting words from his dear friend. He’d probably say something like, ‘Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.’

  A sad smile passed across Jack’s face at the memory of his friends. He keenly felt their absence. They’d each played a crucial part in his life. Together they’d been a team – strong, courageous and seemingly invincible. Now he sat alone in a dark prison cell, injured and without hope.

  But he daren’t give up. His friends wouldn’t have wanted him to.

  Outside the dog stopped digging.

  ‘Hey! Nanban!’ whispered a voice from the barred window.

  Jack glanced up to see a wild-haired silhouette against the moonlight.

  ‘Benkei!’ said Jack, amazed. ‘You’ve come back?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Benkei. ‘I’ve got your half of the winnings here!’

  14

  An Old Score

  Jack heard more scrabbling and realized the noise hadn’t been the dog. A chink of moonlight shone through a crack in the cell’s plaster wall. Then the iron tip of a leaf-shaped blade appeared and the gap widened.

  ‘Give it a kick,’ hissed Benkei from the other side.

  Sitting on the floor, Jack thrust his heel at the loose plaster. It fell away to reveal a hole gouged into the wattle-and-daub wall. The opening was barely big enough for Jack. But, with Benkei’s help, he scrambled through and soon stood next to him in the courtyard.

  ‘What happened to you?’ asked Benkei, noticing Jack’s bloody bandage.

  ‘I had a run-in with an old sensei,’ said Jack, brushing the plaster from his kimono with his good hand. ‘So how did you get away?’

  ‘A quick costume change,’ replied Benkei, who was now dressed in an unassuming brown kimono. With a flourish, he revealed his jacket’s multicoloured interior. ‘I simply turned it inside out and hid in the barn until nightfall. That’s where I found this kunai.’

  He held up the farmer’s digging tool – a blunt broad-bladed knife with twine wrapped round the shaft for grip.

  ‘We should keep that,’ said Jack. ‘A kunai makes a good weapon.’

  ‘Then you have it,’ said Benkei, passing him the tool. ‘I’m no fighter.’

  With an accepting nod, Jack slipped the kunai into his belt.

  From an outbuilding came the sound of raucous laughter and drunken singing.

  ‘The dōshin are celebrating your capture,’ sniggered Benkei, picking up a large bag and heading out of the yard. ‘Let’s go! I’ve already bought our supplies.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘I have to get my swords and pack first.’

  Benkei gave him an exasperated look. ‘How many fingers do you want to lose?’

  ‘I won’t leave without my belongings,’ insisted Jack.

  Realizing he wouldn’t be swayed, Benkei resigned himself to the situation. ‘I’ll wait for you in the barn until sunrise … then I’m going.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Jack, grasping his shoulder in friendship. ‘You’ve done more than enough helping me to escape.’

  ‘And all that effort will be wasted if you get yourself caught again!’ Benkei muttered, before disappearing down a backstreet.

  Jack skirted the courtyard, keeping to the shadows and steering clear of the celebration. Entering the Zen garden, he noticed the outline of the bugyō’s dog on the veranda to the courtroom. The Akita lay with his muzzle between his paws, apparently asleep. Jack had the unsettling vision of his fingertip disappearing down the dog’s throat and shuddered.

  Using his ninja stealth-walking skills, Jack crossed the pebbled path. Step by cautious step, he drew closer to the veranda without making a sound. But, as he climbed up, the dog stirred. Jack froze, still as a statue. The dog snuffled and turned its head, before settling back down, the soft pant of sleep flaring its nostrils.

  With great care, Jack continued and slid open the shoji to the bugyō’s courtroom. He let his eyes adjust to the dark. The pale moon shone in, giving Jack just enough light to see that the place was deserted. The door to the bugyō’s private office was on the opposite side of the room. Checking the dog was still asleep, he stepped inside. Jack crept round the edge, avoiding the centre of the wooden floor in case it creaked. As he reached out for the handle, he prayed that his belongings would still be there.

  ‘You were never one to give up easily, were you, gaijin?’

  Jack spun to see Sensei Kyuzo emerge from a hidden alcove beside the fusuma doors.

  ‘Seven times down, eight times up!’ mocked his teacher, recalling the proverb that had been Jack’s winning mantra during the Taryu-Jiai match three years ago. ‘Well, you won’t be getting up this time.’

  Sensei Kyuzo stalked towards him.

  Jack held up his bandaged hand as a sign of peace. ‘You’re supposed to be my sensei, not my enemy. How could you have cut my fingertip off! Have you lost all respect for bushido?’

  Sensei Kyuzo snorted. ‘Think yourself lucky. I could have severed the whole finger!’

  The taijutsu master glared at him, his expression one of bitterness and hate.

  ‘Since the war ended, I’ve been on the run. Forced to hide for fear of reprisal. I’ve lost all status because of gaijin like you. And now I’ve no choice but to work as a lowly dōshin.’ He tugged at his uniform in disgust. ‘I have to take orders from that potbellied bugyō. A man not even of samurai class. He’s a bureaucrat, little more than a pumped-up clerk who likes to think he’s a warrior. He hasn’t fought in a war, let alone held a sword in combat! Yet I must bow to him.’

  ‘If you despise him so, then why arrest me?’ argued Jack. ‘Or is it that you wanted the ten koban reward?’

  ‘I’m not interested in the money,’ spat Sensei Kyuzo, offended to the core by such a suggestion. ‘You’re my guarantee to redeem my status. To become a respected samurai once more.’

  Jack was aghast. His taijutsu master’s vendetta was about personal loss of face. ‘You claim to be a samurai, yet you violate the very code of bushido – rectitude, honour and loyalty. By turning me in, you’re betraying Masamoto-sama, my guardian and your friend.’

  Sensei Kyuzo’s face contorted as a battle of emotions played out – fury, guilt, sorrow, loathing – before they all hardened into pure anger. ‘I owe him no allegiance. Not since he surrendered and went into exile. He should have committed seppuku. Died with honour.’

  ‘Masamoto never surrendered!’ shot back Jack. ‘And if defeat is so shameful, then why didn’t you commit seppuku?’

  Sensei Kyuzo stopped in his tracks and fixed Jack with his beady eyes.

  ‘Because I’ve an old score to settle first,’ he revealed, cracking his knuckles.

  15

  A Final Lesson

  Sensei Kyuzo dropped into a fighting stance and beckoned Jack to engage.

  Even uninjured, Jack had been no match for the hand-to-hand combat skills of his taijutsu master. And with one limb incapacitated he was as good as dead.

  So Jack reached for the kunai in his belt.

  Sensei Kyuzo was unperturbed by the appearance of the weapon. ‘At least it’ll make the fight a bit more challenging,’ he mocked.

  They circled the woodblock floor, their bare feet scuffing across its polished surface. Sensei Kyuzo waited patiently for Jack to make his move.

  ‘You can have first strike,’ he promised, narrowing his eyes in anticipation.

  Sensei Kyuzo’s confidence in his own combat skills had turned to arrogance. Still, Jack knew this opening attack might be the only chance he’d get. He had to find a gap in his taijutsu master’s defence before committing to any strike.

  At first glance there was no obvious weakness, his sensei’s stance being n
ear perfect. Then Jack noticed the lead left hand was a little low. To a trained warrior, this was an open door inviting a full-on assault. On the other hand, when dealing with an opponent as cunning as Sensei Kyuzo, Jack knew such a defensive error could equally be a trap.

  He decided to feign an attack at the supposed opening, then switch to a low thrust to the ribs.

  As the kunai jabbed high, Sensei Kyuzo shifted his arm to block the attack. Tricked by the bluff, his left-hand side was now exposed and Jack changed the kunai’s trajectory. But Sensei Kyuzo had been ready for it. His right fist shot across, the knuckles targeting the back of Jack’s right wrist. They struck a nerve point, causing Jack’s hand to spasm, and he lost grip on the kunai. The weapon flew across the room and clattered into the darkness.

  Before Jack could retreat out of range, Sensei Kyuzo countered with disconcerting speed. His left fist targeted Jack’s lower ribs. Jack buckled under the paralysing blow. A right hook caught his eye. Then a left uppercut to the jaw floored him. Seeing stars and his head ringing with pain, Jack writhed on the ground, an easy target. But his taijutsu master made no attempt to finish him off.

  ‘Get up!’ snarled Sensei Kyuzo, a malicious glint in his eyes.

  As he recovered from the hammer-like blows, Jack realized the old man intended to extend and enjoy the fight. While he had no wish to give his teacher such pleasure, neither could he allow himself to be defeated so easily. Wiping blood from a split lower lip, Jack pulled himself to his feet.

  ‘Have you not learnt anything I’ve taught you?’ said Sensei Kyuzo in a disappointed tone. ‘Not that I ever wanted to teach scum like you.’

  With brutal force, he front-kicked Jack in the chest and sent him skidding across the floor. This time Sensei Kyuzo had hit Jack’s solar plexus. Feeling as if his lungs had imploded, Jack found himself fighting for every snatch of breath. Sensei Kyuzo approached unhurried, relishing Jack’s suffering. He flexed his fingers in readiness for the next barrage of blows.