by Unknown
Jack now understood. He had disgraced himself in the worst possible way for a samurai. By not telling Masamoto about his father’s rutter, he had broken the code of bushido, the seven virtues a samurai strove to adhere to: Rectitude, Courage, Benevolence, Respect, Honesty, Honour and Loyalty. His dishonesty had cost him his guardian’s trust and a lot more besides.
He’d also failed in his fundamental duty as a samurai to serve his lord. By hiding the rutter in daimyo Takatomi’s castle, which Dragon Eye then infiltrated, he had endangered the daimyo himself, the very man Masamoto was employed to protect.
Without warning, Masamoto drew his wakizashi sword. The blade glinted in the light, hinting at its intent.
‘Seppuku is an extremely painful and unpleasant way to die. First, you slit open your own belly…’
Jack trembled at the thought. He recalled the warning of Father Lucius, the Jesuit priest, now deceased, who’d once taught him Japanese: ‘Step out of line and he’ll cut you into eight pieces.’
Jack had stepped out of line and he was to pay the price.
All the training he’d struggled through and everything he’d strived for was to come to nothing. He would never see his sister again. He would die in Japan.
‘… then at the moment of agony, your head is chopped off!’
‘It wasn’t their fault!’ blurted Jack as the fate of his friends suddenly came to mind. Would they be forced to commit seppuku too? ‘Please don’t punish them for my mistake. I swore them to secrecy and forced them to help me. I hid the rutter on my own. Akiko and Yamato are blameless!’
‘I admire your loyalty to your friends, Jack-kun, but I’ve made my decision.’
‘I’ll leave,’ begged Jack, bowing until he was prostrate on the floor. ‘I won’t burden you any more.’
‘You can’t leave,’ stated Masamoto coolly. ‘You’re well aware that it’s not safe for you to travel alone. We both now know that Dokugan Ryu wants you dead – and for good reason. But, more importantly, I’m your guardian and you are my responsibility until you are of age. You can’t leave, since you need to return to school.’
‘W-what?’ stuttered Jack, raising his head to glance at Masamoto.
The samurai was actually grinning at him, the smile crinkling the scarred left-hand side of his face.
‘My idea of a little joke, Jack-kun,’ said Masamoto, letting out a short grunt of laughter as he resheathed his sword. ‘You don’t need to commit seppuku and I won’t chop your head off. You haven’t disgraced yourself enough for that.’
‘But I thought I’d broken the code of bushido,’ exclaimed Jack, not appreciating his guardian’s macabre sense of humour.
‘No, you did many things, but you always maintained bushido.’
Jack allowed himself to breathe again as Masamoto settled back on the dais. Picking up a cup of sencha from a nearby table, his guardian savoured the brew.
‘Sensei Yamada petitioned me on your behalf and I am inclined to agree with him that your decisions, however misguided, were made with the greatest consideration and respect to me. The three of you demonstrated immense loyalty to one another in your actions and you maintained your honour in fighting a formidable foe.’
‘So do you mean we’re all going back to school?’ asked Yamato timidly, bowing his head to the tatami mat.
‘Of course you’re going back!’ snorted Masamoto, glancing at his son with annoyance. ‘But it was important that I showed the rest of the school you’d been disciplined appropriately. What you had done cannot be condoned. You jeopardized daimyo Takatomi’s safety so deserved to be suspended – in fact you warranted a far greater punishment.’
He stared gravely at each of them in turn to ensure their complete understanding of the severity of the matter.
‘However, you also deserve recognition for what you attempted and the bravery you displayed. You were bold, daring and courageous – qualities I wish to foster in all samurai of the Niten Ichi Ryū. And in light of your previous service to the daimyo Takatomi, his lordship has graciously pardoned you all.’
He clapped loudly once and the shoji doors of the reception room slid open. Three of his samurai guards entered carrying weapons. They placed a tall bamboo bow and quiver of hawk-feather arrows before Akiko. Then they presented Jack and Yamato with their confiscated daishō, the matched pair of samurai swords that represented the social power and personal honour of a samurai.
‘I reinstate your right as samurai to bear arms,’ announced Masamoto, indicating for them to pick up their weapons.
Grateful for their reprieve, they all bowed.
Jack reached for his swords. He relished the cool touch of the lacquered sayas, the jet-black scabbards decorated only with a small golden phoenix near the hilt. The firebird was Masamoto’s family kamon and the two swords, the katana and the shorter wakizashi, had been Masamoto’s first daishō. Jack had been given them for winning the inter-school Taryu-Jiai contest and he was glad to have them back in his possession.
He drew the katana, enough to check the blade. Etched into the gleaming steel was a single name.
Shizu.
Jack smiled. Masamoto’s daishō had been forged by the greatest swordsmith, Shizu-san. Jack now knew the blades were true and that they harboured the benevolent spirit of their maker – unlike the ninja’s cursed tantō he also possessed.
‘Thank you for your forgiveness, Masamoto-sama,’ said Jack, bowing once more.
Masamoto nodded his head in acknowledgement and indicated with a wave of his hand that they were to leave. Standing, Jack slipped the two swords into his obi, where they rested comfortably against his hip. He couldn’t quite believe he was returning to the Niten Ichi Ryū. He would be allowed to complete his training. And he would need every ounce of skill for when he faced Dragon Eye next.
At the doorway, Jack hesitated before turning back to Masamoto.
‘What is it, Jack-kun?’ enquired his guardian.
Jack glanced apprehensively at Yamato. Even though his friend had insisted Hattori Tatsuo was dead, there was still a remote chance he had survived as the old woman had said. And Masamoto had commanded them to tell him everything they knew or discovered about Dokugan Ryu. If his guardian knew who the ninja really was, he may have an idea where he was located.
‘On our journey to Toba, we met an old woman who said she knew who Dragon Eye was.’
Masamoto put down his teacup and looked at Jack with sudden interest. Yamato started to shake his head, willing Jack to stop talking.
‘And? Who is he?’ demanded Masamoto.
‘Hattori Tatsuo. The woman swore he didn’t die in the Nakasendo War.’
Masamoto stared at Jack a moment longer, then began to laugh.
‘That is a tale told to scare children, Jack-kun. The Old Warlord of the North coming back from the dead. I’m afraid she was teasing you. I won’t deny that there were rumours Hattori Tatsuo had been sighted after the war, but I found them a little difficult to believe.’
‘Why?’ asked Jack.
‘Because I chopped the man’s head off.’
Jack nodded slowly, finally accepting the truth. The only lead he had turned out to be a dead end. Literally. He realized now all he could do was wait for Dragon Eye to come to him.
‘Dokugan Ryu is no ghost,’ said Masamoto, the utterance of the ninja’s name making him scowl. ‘Evil, despicable and ruthless, yes, but he’s an assassin for hire. No more, no less. Talking of which, I’ve made some careful enquiries as to this rutter of yours.’
Jack looked up hopefully.
‘I’m afraid no one has come across it, or even heard of it. The ninja himself has gone to ground. Probably in preparation for a new assignment. But considering the value of the rutter, I’m sure it will turn up sooner rather than later. I’ll let you know if I hear any more.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jack, bowing to hide his disappointment.
‘In the meantime, you should stay alert. If Dragon Eye does fail to deciph
er it, he will undoubtedly be back. And you need to be ready. That is why, when we return to Kyoto next month for the opening of the Hall of the Hawk, you will have a new sensei. And I understand he is a tyrant.’
‘Who is he?’ asked Jack, worried the teacher might be as vindictive and bigoted as his taijutsu master, Sensei Kyuzo.
‘Me!’ Masamoto laughed. ‘It’s time I taught you the Two Heavens.’
9
THE HALL OF THE HAWK
‘YOUNG SAMURAI!’ roared Masamoto across the expanse of the Niten Ichi Ryū’s pebbled courtyard.
The entire school fell silent, having gathered excitedly for the opening ceremony of the Taka-no-ma.
Masamoto stood upon the veranda of a magnificent wooden building, accompanied by his sensei, the daimyo Takatomi and a Shinto priest.
Though about half the size of the Butokuden, the Hall of the Hawk complemented its larger brother like the two swords in a daishō. Constructed entirely of dark cypress wood, the hall was eight columns across and six deep with a large curved roof of pale-russet tiles. The borders of the roof were decorated with rows of ceramic roundels, each bearing the kamon of a crane.
‘We are greatly honoured by the presence of daimyo Takatomi,’ began Masamoto, bowing deep in respect to his lord, ‘for it is he who has graciously bestowed this new training hall upon the Niten Ichi Ryū.’
The students clapped loudly and their daimyo stepped forward.
Takatomi was dressed in his finest ceremonial kimono, the family crest of a crane picked out in white and silver thread. His right hand stroked his pencil-thin moustache, while his left rested nonchalantly upon his sword and generous round belly. Jack had met with the daimyo before the opening ceremony to offer his formal apology for hiding the rutter in his castle. It had been accepted, but the warmth of friendship the daimyo had once extended to him was now gone. Jack knew he’d burnt that bridge and would not be invited back to Nijo Castle ever again.
‘In recognition of the great service Masamoto-sama and his school have rendered me over the years, I am proud to be opening the Taka-no-ma. It is my hope that this hall will be a beacon of light in dark times.’
A genial man of typically good humour, the daimyo’s expression was uncharacteristically solemn as he nodded to the Shinto priest to begin the ceremony.
The priest, in his traditional white robe and black conical hat, made his way over to the main entrance where a temporary altar had been erected – a small square marked out by a thin-knotted rope and four green stems of bamboo. In the centre a tiered wooden shrine held a green-leafed branch from a sakaki tree, festooned with white paper streamers.
Jack watched with interest as the Shinto priest intoned an incantation and lit an offering of incense.
‘Has the ritual begun yet?’ whispered a small voice to Jack’s right.
Jack looked down at his friend Yori, a boy large of heart but slight of stature. He couldn’t see the proceedings from behind the taller students.
‘I think so,’ replied Jack. ‘The priest’s now scattering salt and waving a flat wooden stick at the shrine.’
‘That’s his shaku,’ explained Yori eagerly. ‘He’s purifying the new building. He’ll then make an offering to the gods and invite the kami spirits in.’
‘What for?’ asked Jack.
‘We hope the kami will bless the hall’s shrine with their energy and bring prosperity and good fortune to the new building.’
Jack watched as the priest summoned daimyo Takatomi over and presented him with a small evergreen sprig. The daimyo turned to the shrine and placed the sacred sprig on the lowest shelf of the wooden altar. Then, as was the custom, he bowed deeply two times, clapped his hands twice and bowed once more.
With the formal offering made, the Shinto priest invited the kami to leave the ritual site, scattering water at the entrance. There was a brief moment of silence, then the doors to the Hall of the Hawk opened.
‘What did our daimyo mean by a beacon of light in dark times?’ asked Kiku, Akiko’s good friend, a petite girl with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.
‘I’m not sure, but it was a very strange thing to say,’ Akiko agreed, as they all slipped off their sandals and entered the Taka-no-ma to view its grand interior.
Once inside, they gathered at the edge of the training area, a beautifully polished wooden floor empty save for a stack of small tables in one corner. Upon the rear wall was a raised shrine, which the students would bow to before commencing their training. Apart from that, there appeared to be little decoration.
Until they looked up. The ceiling had been painted with a mural of a huge hawk in mid-swoop, its wings spread wide, its talons splayed. The strength and swiftness of the bird was apparent in every brushstroke. Standing beneath it, Jack realized the students were meant to be the hawk. Otherwise they would be its prey.
‘Maybe the daimyo thinks there’s going to be a war,’ suggested Jack.
The previous year, Jack had overheard his school rival, Kazuki, talking about Kamakura, the daimyo of Edo Province, planning to wage all-out war against Christians in Japan. Since then, there had been increasing cases of persecution and a growing prejudice against foreigners, but the campaign itself had yet to amount to a full-blown crusade.
‘Jack could be right,’ said Yamato. ‘We all know what daimyo are like. They’re always fighting over one another’s territorities.’
‘But the Council of Regents have held the peace for almost ten years now,’ Kiku replied. ‘There’s not been a war since the Battle of Nakasendo. Why should there be one now?’
‘Maybe daimyo Takatomi was referring to the martial art we’ll be taught here?’ proposed Yori, his eyes wide and fearful at the talk of war.
‘But what exactly are we going to be learning?’ butted in Saburo, a round-faced, jovial boy with thick bushy eyebrows. ‘I can’t see any weapons in this dojo. And who’s going to teach us?’
‘I believe that’s our new sensei,’ said Akiko, indicating a tall, thin lady talking to Masamoto.
Dressed in a black kimono with a stark white obi, the woman had ashen skin and colourless lips. Her eyes were the deepest brown and, despite their warmth, spoke of a great sadness. Yet the most striking aspect of her appearance was the waist-length mane of snow-white hair.
‘Who is she?’ asked Saburo.
‘Nakamura Oiko,’ breathed Kiku in awe. ‘My father once talked of her. She’s a great female warrior who became famous when her husband was killed during the Nakasendo War. Her hair turned white with grief overnight, but she still took over his battalion and led them to victory. She’s legendary for her skill with the naginata.’
‘Naginata?’ queried Jack.
‘It’s a long wooden shaft with a curved blade on the end,’ Yamato explained.
‘It’s a woman’s weapon,’ dismissed Saburo.
‘Not if you’re on the wrong end of it,’ snapped Akiko, irritated by Saburo’s remark. ‘The naginata’s only favoured by women because it has a greater reach than a sword, allowing us to overcome a much bigger opponent.’
She stared meaningfully at Saburo’s well-fed stomach. Saburo instinctively placed a protective hand over his belly, his mouth falling open as he tried to think of a suitable reply.
‘Who’s the boy next to Sensei Nakamura?’ Yori asked quickly, aware the conversation was in danger of becoming an argument.
They glanced over to a good-looking boy with dark hair tied into a topknot. He appeared to be a couple of years older, but his physique was slight and he possessed the soft cultured features of a nobleman. He stood quietly beside Sensei Nakamura, seemingly at ease in his new surroundings.
‘That’s Takuan, her son,’ said a voice from behind.
Jack turned round to see Emi, daimyo Takatomi’s elegant daughter, a slender girl with long straight hair and a rose-petal mouth. Either side of her were her two friends, Cho and Kai, both of whom seemed transfixed by the new boy.
‘Emi, how are you feeling now?’
asked Jack, bowing.
The last time Jack had seen Emi she’d been unconscious after the female ninja Sasori had struck her in the neck and knocked her out.
‘Fine,’ she replied coolly, ‘though it took over a week for the bruising to go down.’
‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Jack.
‘Not as sorry as my father was for having invited you into his castle.’
Jack didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected such a prickly reaction from Emi. He thought they’d become friends. Emi gave Jack an icy stare before turning on her heel and gliding away in the direction of Takuan.
‘I don’t think you’re her favourite samurai any more,’ commented Saburo in Jack’s ear.
‘Thanks for pointing that out,’ replied Jack, irritably digging Saburo in the stomach with his elbow.
‘I’m not the one who almost got the daimyo’s daughter killed!’ Saburo complained, rubbing his injured belly.
‘That’s enough! Jack’s already made his formal apology to the daimyo,’ interrupted Yamato, seeing the shame in Jack’s eyes. ‘The new boy does seem to be making rather an impression, though.’
Jack looked round and saw that the girls in the hall had their attention turned towards Takuan, many whispering and giggling behind their hands. Takuan, who was engaged in conversation with Emi, glanced over in their direction and spotted Akiko beside Jack. He gave her a broad smile and inclined his head, inviting Akiko to join them. Akiko returned the greeting, her face blushing at the attention.
Still smarting from Emi’s harsh reception, Jack was surprised to find himself irritated by this exchange. ‘He looks more poet than warrior,’ commented Jack. ‘What’s he doing in a samurai school?’
Akiko frowned at Jack. ‘I expect that he’s going to train with us.’
‘Us?’ said Jack.
‘Yes, he probably knows a lot more than just poetry considering his mother’s reputation. We should go and welcome him.’
Jack lingered behind as Akiko, Kiku and Yori went over to greet Takuan.
‘Hey, the gaijin’s back!’ mocked a familiar voice.
