Despite being half-crippled from the after-effects of the kick, Jack rose again. All the taijutsu lessons in which he’d been uke for Sensei Kyuzo were now paying off. Over time he’d built up a tolerance to the pain his teacher could inflict – a resilience in the face of constant punishment. Jack also knew his opponent. He realized he could see the telltale signs of each technique – and had been taught the counters to each of his teacher’s attacks. But, more significantly, Jack had one big advantage that Sensei Kyuzo had no idea about: his ninjutsu training.
The ninja’s hand-to-hand fighting style was specifically developed to counter the samurai arts. And one of those techniques was to feign weakness and defeat.
Half-bent over, he gave Sensei Kyuzo the target of his head. His taijutsu master went to roundhouse-kick him there, but Jack suddenly leapt into action. Avoiding his sensei’s foot and stepping inside the arc of the kick, he trapped the leg with his left arm and drove an Extended Knuckle Fist strike at the mid-point of the inner thigh. Sensei Kyuzo grunted with pain as the unexpected attack hit a kyusho point. The nerve was struck with such force that it paralysed his teacher’s entire leg.
Jack then brought his head up, using Demon Horn Fist to ram Sensei Kyuzo under the jaw. His taijutsu master staggered backwards. Jack heel-struck Sensei Kyuzo’s left ankle and swept him off his feet. Sensei Kyuzo tried to correct his fall with his right leg, but the immobilized limb simply gave way beneath him. He crashed to the ground, his face contorted in shock, anger and pain at being beaten.
Jack didn’t hesitate now. He rushed forward to finish him off. But Sensei Kyuzo lashed out with his still-mobile left foot. He targeted Jack’s injured hand. Jack cried out as a searing stab of pain almost caused him to pass out. Sensei Kyuzo kicked him again, then rolled out of harm’s way. By the time Jack was able to focus on something other than sheer agony, Sensei Kyuzo was standing and furiously massaging his leg back to life.
‘This will be your final lesson, gaijin,’ snarled Sensei Kyuzo, his near defeat having brought his cruel game to a swift end.
As his taijutsu master limped determinedly towards him, a deep-throated growl emanated from behind Jack. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the Akita hunting dog at the open shoji. It leapt for his back. On instinct, Jack dived aside. He felt the dog’s claws rake his neck as it flew past to collide with Sensei Kyuzo instead. As dog and teacher both tumbled to the ground, the Akita tore its teeth into Sensei Kyuzo’s right shoulder. While the taijutsu master wrestled the ferocious beast in his arms, Jack scrambled away and headed for the bugyō’s office.
A crack, like a branch breaking, abruptly ended the snarls and gnashing of teeth. Sensei Kyuzo shoved the Akita to one side, its body slumping lifeless to the floor.
‘I never did like that dog,’ spat the sensei, inspecting his ravaged shoulder. Blood dripped down his arm, which now hung limp at his side.
‘Your superior,’ said Jack, emphasizing the bugyō’s status, ‘won’t be happy you killed his dog.’
Sensei Kyuzo glared at him. ‘I’ll simply blame it on you, gaijin.’
Jack ran for the door and his swords, but Sensei Kyuzo pounced on him in a miraculous leap. With his one good arm, he grabbed Jack and executed Yama Arashi. The Mountain Storm throw tossed Jack high in the air before bringing him smashing into the wooden floor. Sensei Kyuzo then dropped beside him and wrapped his legs round Jack’s neck.
‘This is Yoko Sankaku Jime,’ explained Sensei Kyuzo, as if he was instructing Jack in a class. ‘It’s a triangular choke. The technique gets its power from the pressure exerted by the legs.’
Sensei Kyuzo began to squeeze. Jack spluttered as his airway was instantly cut off.
‘The top leg also imparts direct force on your carotid artery, blocking the blood to your brain.’
Jack felt a horrendous pressure starting to build in his head.
‘The second leg working in conjunction with the arms optimizes the choke.’
Jack felt as if he was gripped in a human vice.
‘Within a matter of seconds, you’ll pass out,’ revealed Sensei Kyuzo with evident glee. ‘But if I then keep the choke on … brain damage is certain … followed by death.’
The throbbing in Jack’s head grew thunderous. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the dull sheen of an iron blade beside the office door. Jack desperately reached for the twine handle. Blackness was seeping into his vision. He had mere seconds to live.
His fingers clasped round the kunai.
As the curtain fell over his vision, he drove the iron tip into Sensei Kyuzo’s right leg. His taijutsu master yelled in agony and the pressure was instantly released. Jack pulled away, taking the kunai with him. All sensation returned in a flood.
He then leapt on his wounded taijutsu master. His rage boiled over at the sensei who’d made his life hell at the Niten Ichi Ryū – the teacher who’d publicly humiliated and tortured him in front of the entire class. Now this man had arrested him and cut off his finger … and had been determined to murder him.
‘Go on, kill me!’ goaded Sensei Kyuzo, blood pouring from the laceration in his leg.
Jack raised the kunai and brought it down hard. He struck his taijutsu master in the temple with the blunt end of the handle.
‘No, I follow the code of bushido, unlike you,’ said Jack as Sensei Kyuzo slumped unconscious on the floor. ‘And I still respect my sensei.’
16
Prayer Flags
‘You look terrible!’ exclaimed Benkei as Jack limped into the barn with a black eye, split lip, bruised jaw and swollen throat.
‘You should see the loser,’ rasped Jack.
‘Well, I hope the damage was worth it.’
Jack nodded and patted his treasured swords.
‘We should go,’ said Benkei, grabbing their bag of supplies. ‘As soon as the sun rises, they’ll come after us. And I don’t want to end up looking like you!’
Jack didn’t argue. He shouldered his pack – all the contents still there – and followed Benkei out into the night.
They darted across the moonlit paddy fields to the cover of the trees. Heading west, they climbed the valley and up the steep slope of the double-headed volcano. Trees gave way to hardy bushes, then to a barren rocky landscape. Following animal tracks, they traversed the mountainside and reached the first peak just as dawn was breaking.
Like a newborn phoenix, the sun rose out of the glistening Seto Sea in the far distance. Its warming rays were a welcome sight for Jack and Benkei, who were cold and fatigued from the ascent. Hearing the flapping of a flock of birds, Jack looked up but couldn’t spot any flying overhead. Then, as they crested a small ridge, he discovered the sound was made by hundreds of prayer flags fluttering in the wind. At their heart was a solitary shrine perched atop an outcrop of rock. Adorning its wooden eaves were streams of brightly coloured silk banners.
Jack and Benkei passed through a grey stone torii gateway and up steps hewn into the rock. They entered the shrine.
‘I feel so drab compared to these flags,’ remarked Benkei, dumping their supplies in a sheltered corner and disappearing behind the altar.
Exhausted, Jack sat down at the shrine’s entrance and gazed at the rippling prayer flags. The constant flutter of silk was like an unending mantra to the gods, the yellow, green, red, white and blue hues forming an undulating rainbow against the cloudless sky. He recalled Yori once explaining the significance of these colours for a Buddhist monk. To his surprise, they’d corresponded to the Five Rings of the Ninja …
Earth was yellow.
Water denoted by green.
Fire symbolized by red.
Wind represented by white.
Sky signified by blue.
These five great elements of the universe, which were the spiritual touchstone of Buddhist monks, also formed the basis of the ninja’s philosophy to life and combat. Both groups channelled the energy and wisdom of the Five Rings: the monks for peace and the ninja for
protection.
The most powerful of these was Sky.
His ninja Grandmaster had explained that this element was the source of mikkyō, their secret teachings of meditation, mind control and kuji-in magic. He’d demonstrated to Jack how to invoke the power of Sky to connect to the energy of the universe. When attuned to this element on a mission, a ninja was able to sense the surroundings and respond without thinking – without even using any physical senses.
Master the Five Rings, the Grandmaster had told him. Learn to endure like the Earth, to flow like Water, to strike like Fire, to run like the Wind and be all-seeing like the Sky. Then you’ll be a ninja.
But it wasn’t a simple task to tap into the Ring of Sky. It took immense focus and concentration. Jack was quite adept at the healing aspect – even helping to save Saburo’s life on one occasion – but that was just a small part of the secret teachings for Sky. With true mastery, a ninja could draw upon great strength in times of crisis, sense another person’s thoughts, foretell of imminent danger and even control the elements of nature itself.
At first Jack had been sceptical of such claims. But, after witnessing the old Grandmaster lift a tree trunk above his head and another ninja, Zenjubo, invoke a mist during a mission, he quickly became a believer. But in his own kuji-in training he’d only once managed a true connection to the Ring of Sky – and that had been luck. And Jack knew he needed more than luck if he was to survive the journey to come.
A sudden gust of wind whipped the flags into a flurry, their faded tatters galloping on the breeze.
Wind horses.
That was what Yori called the prayer flags. Upon the silk were potent symbols, inscriptions and mantras that the wind supposedly bore away into the world to ease mankind’s suffering.
Just as a drop of water can permeate the ocean, Yori had explained, prayers released to the wind disperse and fill the sky.
As Jack sat within the mountain shrine, he sensed Yori’s spirit close by. Silently reassuring him. Jack whispered a heartfelt prayer – for Yori, his lost friends, Akiko and his distant sister – hoping that his blessing would also be carried on the wind.
‘That’s much better,’ announced Benkei, slumping down on the steps, having reversed his kimono back to its motley-coloured glory.
He rummaged through the supply bag and produced a length of clean cloth.
‘I thought you could use this,’ he said, indicating the blood-soaked bandage on Jack’s hand.
‘Thanks,’ replied Jack. Tearing off a strip, he began redressing his wound. He bit his tongue against the pain as he unwrapped the old bandage to reveal his mutilated finger.
Benkei grimaced at the sight of the raw and bloody stump. ‘We should rest a while,’ he suggested. ‘From here on, it’s tough going. The Kuju range is just mountains and rock and … more mountains.’
He took a swig from a water gourd, then offered it to Jack. After a couple of mouthfuls, Jack poured some over his wound to clean it.
‘Don’t use too much,’ warned Benkei. ‘Not all streams are fit to drink in this volcanic region.’
Putting back the stopper, Jack returned the gourd. Then, after tucking into a mochi rice cake, Benkei settled down for a nap while Jack focused on healing himself. But his body hurt so much he almost didn’t know where to start – his hand, his head, his jaw or his throat. If the battles kept coming at this rate, Jack realized it would take a miracle to reach Nagasaki in one piece … let alone alive.
17
Caldera
The sky stretched out like a boundless kingdom above their heads, volcanic peaks competing with one another to claim the horizon. Graced by fair weather, Jack and Benkei made good progress on their journey across the rugged Kuju range. With each passing day Jack felt stronger and fitter, his healing sessions seeming to be enhanced by their proximity to the heavens. By the third day, his throat was no longer swollen and his eye was turning into a healthy yet colourful purple patch. He changed dressings regularly, ensuring that his wound didn’t become infected. And, although his finger was still in trauma and throbbed painfully, he forced himself to open and close his hand to maintain the flexibility and strength he’d need to wield a sword.
As they hiked along majestic ridges, through gullies and across gorges, they encountered no one, apart from the odd startled deer and hunting hawk. In the crystal-clear mountain air and the wild barren landscape, Jack could almost believe they’d eluded their pursuers. But he knew that would be a foolhardy assumption and they both pressed on.
At such altitude the nights were cold but spectacular with their starry display of constellations that glittered like cut diamonds in the black sky. By contrast, the summer days were hot and stifling, the only relief a mouthful of water and the breeze that blew across the grassy ridges. With no tree cover, Jack tied a bandanna round his head to combat the sun’s fierce rays and stop the sweat streaming into his eyes.
‘You could fry noodles in this heat!’ remarked Benkei, mopping his brow with a red handkerchief.
Jack noticed the symbol of a horse and an inscription on the silk cloth. ‘You stole a prayer flag!’
Benkei nodded. ‘There were hundreds,’ he replied by way of defence. ‘Who’s going to miss one?’
Jack shook his head in dismay. ‘The flags repeat the same pattern of colours over and over. A good tracker will soon spot a break in the line.’
Benkei gave a contrite shrug. ‘Sorry, nanban, I … didn’t realize.’
He guiltily threw away the flag.
‘No!’ cried Jack. But it was too late.
The flag caught in an updraught and sailed out of reach. Benkei ran after it, but the wind horse twirled high over a sheer cliff.
‘Now we’ve left another marker,’ sighed Jack.
Benkei offered him an apologetic smile. ‘Perhaps if it flies far enough, the flag could send them off course.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ replied Jack, trying his best to sound optimistic.
They walked on in silence, leaving their fate to the wind.
‘I think we’re home free, nanban!’ announced Benkei cheerily.
It was their fifth day of hiking and there’d been no sight or sound of a patrol.
Jack was inclined to agree. If any dōshin or samurai from Yufuin were on their trail, they would have seen them by now. Reassured, he allowed himself to relax a little.
‘Now we’re friends, you can call me Jack if you want.’
An affable smile graced Benkei’s lips. ‘It’s because we’re friends that I call you nanban. I wouldn’t dare insult you by using the term gaijin. You’re certainly not a barbarian, but you must be from the south – that’s where all the other foreigners came from.’
‘Actually, I was shipwrecked on the eastern shore, near Toba.’
Benkei raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘That may be the case, but azuma no yaban hito doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue.’ He gave Jack a rueful grin of apology. ‘Anyway, how’s the finger, nanban?’
Accepting that his nickname was to remain, Jack replied, ‘Healing well.’
He held up his hand, the bandage neatly wrapped and no longer bloodstained.
‘Still, that’s a brutal wound. How could a sensei do that to one of their own students?’
‘You’ve not met Sensei Kyuzo. His favourite expression was: Pain is the best teacher and that’s why you’re in my class!’
Benkei laughed. ‘Well, I’m glad I never went to samurai school!’
‘Not all the teachers were that harsh,’ said Jack, remembering his kindly Zen master, Sensei Yamada. ‘In fact, I owe one my life. When I washed up on these shores, half-drowned and orphaned, I was taken in by Masamoto Takeshi, the head of the Niten Ichi Ryū. He treated me as his own son. Fed, clothed and sheltered me. Taught me how to fight with a sword. Made me a samurai. If it wasn’t for his kindness, I’d have been dead a long time ago.’
‘It must be good to have someone care for you like that,’ said Benkei wistfully. The
n his expression hardened. ‘But where is he now, when you need his protection most?’
Jack sighed, saddened at the memory. ‘The Shogun forced him into exile, banishing him to a remote temple on Mount Iawo for the rest of his life.’
Benkei studied Jack, clearly feeling his pain and loss. ‘And you’ve not seen him since?’
Jack shook his head. Upset at the thought of his imprisoned guardian, he tried to move the conversation on. ‘So you never went to school?’
Benkei snorted. ‘My mother always wanted me to become a monk, so I could learn to read and write.’
‘Did you?’
‘Of course not! I’d have had to shave off all my hair!’
On the seventh day, they emerged from the Kuju range to be faced by a formidable wall of rock. The escarpment rose before them like a gigantic tidal wave, stretching north and south as far as the eye could see.
‘Welcome to the Aso caldera,’ announced Benkei, noting the disbelief on Jack’s face. ‘We could go round it, but that would take days.’
‘Then we’ve no choice but to go over it,’ accepted Jack.
Benkei led the way up the precipitous slope. Traversing back and forth, they made painstakingly slow progress towards the summit. The sun beat down and with every step their legs grew heavy as lead weights.
Eventually, after a whole morning of relentless climbing, they breached the wall to be greeted by an awe-inspiring sight. The caldera was a single giant collapsed volcano, its crater wide as a sea and equally as long. The opposite side was little more than a hazy mountain ridge on the distant horizon. Over the centuries, the fertile soil of the vast inner plateau had been farmed into a carpet of green paddy fields, laid out like tatami mats for the gods. At the heart of the ancient crater was a group of smouldering peaks, a potent reminder that the massive volcano was still very much alive.
Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky Page 6
