Shiryu quietly applauded his success. Jack bowed his appreciation in return.
‘You could even reverse the wakizashi in your grip,’ suggested Shiryu with a wry smile. ‘That would really confuse your opponent.’
Jack grinned back at his new sensei. It was a radical idea, but one that might just work.
Two weeks passed undisturbed, during which Jack practised hard. The new hold soon became familiar as an old glove, while the reverse grip proved to be a formidable and revolutionary sword technique. Although less powerful and more limited in range, the reversed blade enabled him to execute hidden slashes, unexpected stabs and full coverage deflections. He could even strike to the rear and, combined with his katana, perform devastating double cross-cuts that the traditional Two Heavens style wouldn’t allow.
Yet, despite this progress, Jack was mindful that the new technique would only work in certain close-quarter situations. So he trained himself to fluidly switch between forward and reverse grips.
A clever tiger hides its claws, the Grandmaster had once said in reference to a ninja’s tactical use of surprise. Jack knew it was important that he saved this secret technique for the right moment.
At the end of each training session, Jack joined Shiryu in the pavilion for a Shodo lesson. The old master had explained, ‘A samurai warrior well versed in the arts of peace is strong for the arts of war. Shodo cultivates a strength of mind and composure that will allow you to respond more instantly to an opponent’s attack. By removing the hesitation in your brushstroke, we’ll remove any hesitation in your sword strike too.’
The ‘spiritual forging’, as Shiryu liked to call it, lasted until nightfall … or else Benkei complained for lack of company in the house. Each lesson began with a fresh sheet of rice paper and a new set of kanji to learn. Jack would kneel beside Shiryu, copying the brushstrokes for each character, memorizing their order and attempting to put ‘rhythm’ and ki into them. He would repeat the characters over and over, focusing on quietening his mind so that he could become one with the brush, ink and paper. Familiar with meditation as a result of Sensei Yamada’s Zen philosophy lessons, Jack found this aspect the easiest to master. But the essence of Shodo – stillness in motion – eluded him.
Nevertheless, by the end of the first week, Shiryu had been impressed enough with Jack’s progress to ask him what kanji characters he’d like to learn next. Without a second thought, Jack asked for the Five Rings:
Shiryu smiled appreciatively. ‘A powerful set of kanji,’ he remarked, pointing to a scroll hanging from the eastern beam of the pavilion. Upon it, Shiryu had inscribed a poem in kanji in his exquisite hand:
If we always look at the earth,
we do not see the sky.
‘A Shodo master often seeks the Ring of Sky as a means of connecting to the energy of the universe,’ he explained.
Jack tried to contain his surprise at the idea of a Shodo master using ninja techniques to write.
‘The element of Sky inspires our creative nature,’ Shiryu continued, ‘and nourishes our ability for self-expression.’
With a flourish, he inked the strokes for Sky. The kanji was so charged with energy, it seemed to soar off the page.
He invited Jack to follow his movements. Jack loaded his brush and tried to imitate Shiryu’s work. He produced an admirable likeness, but spotted an incomplete stroke and without thinking went back to touch up the character. Shiryu immediately stopped him.
‘Just as a mistake in a sword duel results in death, in Shodo all mistakes are final too.’
He handed Jack a blank sheet.
‘Start afresh. Remember, a Shodo artist endeavours to succeed before the brush even touches the paper, in much the same way that a skilled samurai will spiritually win before drawing his sword.’
Nodding, Jack pictured the kanji for Sky in his head before committing brush to paper. Only when he could see the whole form in his mind’s eye did he begin. This time the strokes were faultless.
Within a few days, as a result of Shiryu’s excellent tuition, Jack had mastered all five of the elements. He finished the kanji for Wind with a small flick of the brush, then handed his work to Shiryu for inspection.
Shiryu raised his eyebrows appreciatively, then glanced at Jack.
‘A word of warning: never let an enemy observe you write. By studying your Shodo form, they could uncover your inner sword techniques and defeat you. That little flick told me a great deal about how you finish a cut.’
Jack was taken aback. He’d never realized there was so much to the art of Shodo. Its knowledge seemed to be as limitless as the sky itself.
26
A Good Deed
Jack’s brush hovered over the paper, uncertain how to begin. Shiryu had presented him with the most difficult and complex kanji yet:
The two characters meant ‘Hesitation’, which was exactly what he was doing now.
Gently taking his hand, Shiryu steadied the tip of Jack’s brush.
‘In Shodo, the body reflects the mind,’ he said, his voice soft as a stream. ‘A shaking brush not only makes it difficult to paint stable kanji, but it also indicates a nervous mental state. As you prepare to write, the tip of your brush must be still.’ He let go of Jack’s hand. ‘It’s the same for the sword. If you notice your opponent’s kissaki begin to tremble, this indicates suki – a break in composure and concentration. And that is your opportunity to attack.’
Taking a deep calming breath, Jack refocused. After two weeks of constant practice, the brush was becoming as familiar in his hand as his katana. With a loud kiai, he put brush to paper without hesitation. The tip danced across the surface, moving from stroke to stroke with effortless grace. Jack felt his ki flow through the bamboo and into the ink. For a moment, his soul seemed rooted in the kanji, the characters suddenly clear and precise in his mind. With a last out-breath, he inked the final stroke.
Shiryu knelt forward and admired Jack’s work with quiet astonishment. ‘Dochu no sei,’ he uttered.
Jack gave a humble and surprised bow, his kanji somehow having attained ‘stillness in motion’.
‘The student is only as good as his teacher,’ he said.
Shiryu laughed. ‘No,’ he corrected. ‘The teacher is only as good as his student. And there’s nothing more I can teach you that time and practice won’t.’
‘Am I glad to hear that!’ cried Benkei, strolling over the bridge, only a slight limp visible. ‘No disrespect, Shiryu, but I’ve got cabin fever. And I’m not a bird that can stay caged for long.’
‘With your peacock feathers, I can see why,’ replied Shiryu, eyeing Benkei’s unconventional kimono with wry amusement.
‘No bird flies too high, if he soars with his own wings,’ Benkei shot back in good grace, flapping his wide sleeves and jumping in the air as if to take off. ‘Thanks to you, I can fly again.’
‘Benkei’s right,’ said Jack. ‘Grateful as we are, we need to move on. Not only for your safety, but we have a journey to complete.’
Shiryu nodded. ‘All birds must leave the nest at some point.’
Jack and Benkei stood at the gate that had opened so unexpectedly two weeks before and saved their lives. And it was here that they said their goodbyes to the old Shodo master. Shiryu had prepared a fresh bag of supplies for their journey and given Jack a new straw hat to wear. Jack pulled the brim low to shield his face. Finally, Shiryu bowed and handed him a small scroll.
‘Something to remember me by,’ he said, ‘and remind you where to look for inspiration.’
Jack carefully unrolled it. At the top a perfect ensō had been drawn, as round as the midday sun. Below was Shiryu’s poem of Earth and Sky. Jack smiled, the significance of the gift not lost on him. He stowed the scroll in his pack next to the rutter and bowed his thanks to Shiryu. ‘My father used to say, good friends are hard to find, difficult to leave and impossible to forget. I’ll always remember your kindness, Shiryu.’
With a final bow, Jack and Benke
i headed into the forest. Shiryu remained in the gateway until they rounded a bend, then the old man disappeared from view.
As they followed the main trail south, the morning sun glimmered through the canopy, dappling the ground with golden leaves of light. A soft breeze played among the branches, giving the impression that the forest was breathing in the new day, while birds fluttered from tree to tree, singing brightly to one another.
‘Feels good to be walking again!’ said Benkei, skipping along the track.
Jack was glad to be back on the road too. Every step took them a little closer to Nagasaki and the possibility of home. But he remained wary. Although Shiryu had assured him that the search parties had moved on, he still kept an eye out for any signs of a patrol. Kazuki may have lost their trail, but his rival was tenacious and Jack had no doubt that their paths would cross again.
‘Do you know where we’re going?’ asked Jack as they followed a zigzagging trail down the valley side.
Benkei nodded. ‘Shiryu suggested we head towards Ōzu, then follow the Shira River to the castle town of Kumamoto.’
‘We want to avoid such towns, if we can,’ said Jack, anxious at the thought of entering a samurai stronghold.
‘Not much choice, I’m afraid,’ replied Benkei, leaping over a log. ‘That’s where we have to catch the ferry across Shimabara Bay. But then it’s only a hop, skip and a jump to Nagasaki.’
Benkei enacted each of the actions as he spoke, dancing down the slope.
Shiryu’s herbs certainly did the trick, thought Jack, amazed by his friend’s recovery and boundless energy.
‘How long will it take?’
‘A week at most.’
Heartened by this news, Jack couldn’t help but bound alongside his friend. They reached a dirt road running through the forest. It appeared to be well used, so they kept to one side just in case they heard any samurai approaching and needed to hide.
Heading west, they stopped by a stream for an early lunch of cold noodles before continuing on their way. Jack was eager to press on and take advantage of the deserted road. But by mid-afternoon Benkei’s limp had become more pronounced and their pace slowed.
‘Ōzu shouldn’t be much further,’ announced Benkei, pausing on the road.
Jack noticed him massaging the stiffness from his thigh and suggested, ‘Let’s rest there for the ni–’
A piercing scream interrupted him.
‘That’s the sound of trouble,’ Benkei hissed and dived into the bushes.
Jack joined him as another scream broke the forest silence. A girl’s scream.
Moving swiftly, Jack headed in the direction of the cries. His feet barely made a noise as he trod lightly between the bracken and twigs. But Benkei, who didn’t know the ninja art of stealth-walking, ploughed through the undergrowth like a startled pheasant. Jack turned and put a finger to his lips, urging his friend to be quiet. They crept the last few paces in silence. Remaining hidden behind a tree, they peered round to see three rough-looking men on the road, surrounding a defenceless girl.
‘Come on!’ grunted one of them, a bear of a man with bushy eyebrows and a beard that looked like he’d had a fight with a thorn bush and lost. ‘Dance for us!’
The girl, maybe sixteen, with brown eyes, rose-red cheeks and shoulder-length dark hair, was in tears, terrified for her life. She wore a green silk kimono that was torn at the shoulder and a string of jade-coloured beads that hung from her hair. With as much composure as she could muster, the girl began a formal dance, moving her arms in graceful arcs and shaking her head so that the beads jingled.
The two other men, one portly, wearing a dirty red bandanna, and the other a scrawny runt with a ponytail, laughed at her efforts. Ridiculing her, they started throwing sticks and stones. The girl squealed in pain as the missiles pelted her legs and feet.
‘Dance faster!’ ordered the bearded man.
Sobbing, the girl continued to twirl like a wounded butterfly.
‘Bandits!’ spat Benkei in disgust.
Jack reached for his sword. Bandits were the curse of the countryside – low-life criminals and dishonoured warriors who pillaged defenceless villages and robbed innocent travellers. As a samurai, Jack couldn’t just stand by and watch this poor girl be assaulted … maybe even killed. But a hand upon his arm held him back. Benkei was furiously shaking his head.
‘You can’t risk getting involved,’ he warned under his breath.
‘Shiryu took a risk to save us,’ reminded Jack. ‘And one good deed deserves another.’
27
Hero Worship
‘I’m bored with this dance,’ declared the bearded bandit. ‘I think we should cut her out of the show, don’t you?’
Grinning at his nodding associates, he drew a rusty blade from his belt and approached the girl. Before she could run away, the bandit with the ponytail grabbed her by the hair. The girl struggled in his bony arms as the bearded bandit raised his knife to her bare neck.
‘Let her go!’ ordered Jack, stepping out from behind the tree.
The three bandits spun round to see who their challenger was. Mindful to keep his face hidden, Jack nonetheless ensured the men noticed the two samurai swords on his hip.
The bearded bandit laughed. ‘Honour isn’t dead then? A noble samurai come to the rescue of a damsel in distress!’ he mocked.
‘There’s no need for bloodshed,’ replied Jack, taking his time to assess his opponents and work out the best tactics. ‘Release her and go on your way.’
The bearded bandit considered this for a moment. ‘Of course …’ he replied, throwing the girl to the ground. ‘But we won’t be going anywhere.’
The three bandits seized their weapons. The scrawny one picked up a staff leaning against a tree, while the portly bandit took out a pair of short-handled kama, the sickle-shaped blades sharpened into deadly points. The bearded leader swapped his knife for a chigiriki. He swung the short flail in tight arcs, making the spiked iron weight at the end of the chain whistle menacingly through the air.
Jack stood his ground, yet to draw his swords. Benkei remained hidden behind the tree, wide-eyed at Jack’s boldness.
The portly bandit scraped his kama blades together as if preparing to slice up sushi. ‘We eat young samurai for lunch,’ he warned.
‘Well, I eat old bandits for breakfast,’ replied Jack.
Exchanging an amused look, the three men grunted with laughter at Jack’s retort. Then they attacked.
Jack had decided not to resort to his swords, unless forced to. He planned to incapacitate the bandits, save the girl and quickly move on. Leaving evidence of a bloody fight might draw the attention of a samurai patrol. So Jack’s intention was for the encounter to be quick and painless … painless for him at least.
Before the bandits got close, he threw the rock concealed in his right hand. With sharp accuracy gained from his shuriken training, he struck the scrawny bandit in the centre of his forehead. The stunned man stopped dead in his tracks and collapsed face first in the dirt. Next, Jack kicked up the earth at his feet, sending a clod into the eyes of the kama-wielding bandit, stalling his attack. As the bearded bandit took a swipe with his chigiriki, Jack dropped into a crouch, the flail passing over his head, and rolled towards the blinded kama bandit. He performed a spinning sweep kick, knocking the man’s legs from under him, and followed up with an axe kick. His heel struck the fallen bandit’s solar plexus like a blacksmith’s hammer, cracking a couple of ribs. Wheezing for breath, the bandit let go of his lethal kama to clutch his crushed chest.
Jack dived away as the bearded bandit lunged for him again. The chigiriki whipped through the air, just missing his shoulder.
‘I’ll pound you into a pulp, samurai!’ vowed the bandit, bringing the flail down as if he was beating a drum.
Jack leapt aside. With lightning speed, he roundhouse-kicked the bandit in the thigh. The man staggered under the blow, but kept his feet. Jack had judged this one would be his toughest opp
onent and kicked him again. Howling in pain, the bandit foamed at the mouth as he swung his flail in furious swipes. The chigiriki shot towards Jack’s head. He ducked at the last second, the iron tip rocketing past and clipping the bark of a nearby tree. Chunks of wood flew in all directions.
Roaring in frustrated fury, the bandit swung again and again. Jack was forced on the retreat, the chigiriki whipping either side of him as he dodged to left and right. There was no chance to retaliate – just survive. Then, in an overzealous attack from the bandit, the spiked weight of the flail became wedged in the fork of an overhanging branch. With the weapon temporarily out of action, Jack charged at him with Demon Horn Fist. His head collided with the man’s gut and the bandit staggered backwards, losing his grip on the chigiriki. Jack then launched a barrage of punches and body kicks. Yet however hard Jack hit him the man wouldn’t go down.
The bandit front-kicked Jack in the chest, sending him barrelling into a thorn bush. As Jack fought to untangle himself, the bandit rushed back to the tree and yanked out his chigiriki. He whirled the weapon above his head and strode towards Jack, intent on fulfilling his deadly promise. Jack still struggled to free himself.
The bandit was about to crack his skull in half when there was a surprised grunt of pain. Then he toppled forward to land with a heavy thud.
Benkei stood over the bearded bandit, a broken branch in his hands.
‘What took you so long?’ asked Jack, breathless from the fight.
‘I was waiting for the right moment,’ replied Benkei, resting his foot triumphantly on the back of the unconscious bandit.
At this, the girl came running over and prostrated herself in front of them.
‘Arigatō gozaimasu,’ she sobbed and began to repeatedly bow her head to the floor in gratitude.
Realizing she might never stop, Benkei asked, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Junjun.’ She glanced up at him with eyes still red from tears.
Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky Page 10
