Young Samurai: The Way of Fire (short story)

by Chris Bradford

  CHRIS BRADFORD

  THE WAY OF FIRE

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  THE WAY OF FIRE

  Japan, 1612

  Shipwrecked and his father murdered by ninjas, Jack Fletcher is rescued by the legendary swordmaster Masamoto Takeshi and taken to his samurai school in Kyoto. Hunted by the ninja Dragon Eye, Jack’s only hope is to become a samurai warrior. And so his training begins …

  In order to perfect his fighting skills, Jack goes on a gasshuku. But nothing can prepare him for the punishment of warrior camp – the climax of which is to enter the Way of Fire, a terrifying ritual that burns away evil.

  Can Jack overcome his fear and walk the Way of Fire?

  Praise for the Young Samurai series:

  ‘A fantastic adventure that floors the reader on page one and keeps them there until the end’

  – Eoin Colfer

  ‘Fierce fiction … captivating for young readers’

  – Daily Telegraph

  ‘Addictive’

  – Evening Standard

  www.youngsamurai.com

  Contents

  1 Gasshuku

  2 River Fight

  3 Hojojutsu

  4 The Way of Fire

  5 A Final Test

  6 Ambush

  7 Dragon Eye

  8 The Uninvited Guest

  9 Mount Haku

  10 The Flaming Flower

  11 Eruption

  12 Lava Run

  13 Antidote

  Author’s Note

  Japanese Glossary

  About the Author

  Chris Bradford likes to fly through the air. He has thrown himself over Victoria Falls on a bungee cord, out of an aeroplane in New Zealand and off a French mountain on a paraglider, but he has always managed to land safely – something he learnt from his martial arts …

  Chris joined a judo club aged seven where his love of throwing people over his shoulder, punching the air and bowing lots started. Since those early years, he has trained in karate, kickboxing, samurai swordsmanship and has earned his black belt in taijutsu, the secret fighting art of the ninja.

  Before writing the Young Samurai series, Chris was a professional musician and songwriter. He’s even performed to HRH Queen Elizabeth II (but he suspects she found his band a bit noisy).

  Chris lives in a village on the South Downs with his wife, Sarah, his son, Zach, and two cats called Tigger and Rhubarb.

  To discover more about Chris go to www.youngsamurai.com

  Books by Chris Bradford

  Young Samurai series (in reading order)

  THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR

  THE WAY OF THE SWORD

  THE WAY OF THE DRAGON

  THE RING OF EARTH

  THE RING OF WATER

  THE RING OF FIRE

  THE RING OF WIND

  (available as ebook only)

  THE WAY OF FIRE

  For Charlie Viney, my agent

  Gasshuku

  Koya-san, Japan, October 1612

  ‘RUN!’ bellowed Sensei Hosokawa, directing Jack over a fallen log in the forest.

  Driven on by his swordmaster’s command, Jack sprinted along the narrow log. His feet slid from under him and Jack flung out his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his balance.

  Out of nowhere a thick shaft of bamboo swung straight at his head. Jack ducked, the rock-hard stem barely missing his skull. He stumbled on a few more paces and had almost reached the end of the log, when he was caught in the gut by a second bamboo cane. It sprang out of the forest, knocking him to the ground.

  Reeling from the blow and spitting dirt, Jack struggled to all fours. His right hand grabbed at the log for support, then flared with pain as someone stamped on his fingers. He cried out. Through eyes screwed up in agony, Jack glimpsed the receding figure of his archrival, Kazuki, running across the clearing ahead of him.

  ‘Keep up, gaijin!’ shouted Kazuki over his shoulder.

  The throbbing in Jack’s hand was now replaced by a burst of anger at seeing Kazuki’s gloating face disappear among the tall cedar trees in the direction of the next training challenge.

  A dark-haired Japanese girl dropped down beside Jack.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, breathless from just having crossed the log herself. ‘He didn’t break your fingers, did he?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ replied Jack through gritted teeth, looking into the face of his best friend Akiko.

  ‘He did that on purpose!’ she exclaimed, her pretty half-moon eyes narrowing in annoyance.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Jack, having spotted Sensei Kyuzo, their taijutsu master, emerge from the forest. ‘It looks like I’ve got worse problems than Kazuki.’

  ‘Get up!’ snarled Sensei Kyuzo, his beady eyes boring into Jack. The ill-tempered sensei was smaller than Jack, but as ferocious as an Akita fighting dog. He taught unarmed combat at the Niten Ichi Ryū, the samurai school in Kyoto that was governed by Jack’s guardian, the legendary swordmaster Masamoto Takeshi.

  Sensei Kyuzo briefly glanced at Akiko. ‘What are you waiting for? This is a gasshuku, not a tea ceremony. Keep moving!’

  Akiko threw Jack an uneasy smile and ran on.

  ‘So you’re a monk for three days then?’ mocked Sensei Kyuzo, glaring down at Jack as if the blond-haired, blue-eyed English boy was something vile he’d just trodden in.

  ‘But I’m not training to be a monk,’ Jack replied, getting to his feet and giving his teacher a bewildered look. ‘I want to be a samurai warrior.’

  Sensei Kyuzo shook his head with disgust. ‘Ignorant foreigners!’ he snorted. ‘“To be a monk for three days” means giving up at the first sign of difficulty. But I shouldn’t be so surprised. I always knew that a gaijin like you wouldn’t last long on a gasshuku.’

  ‘I’m not giving up!’ Jack countered, annoyed by his teacher’s unfair harassment. ‘How was I to know you’d spring bamboo traps on me?’

  ‘Zanshin,’ stated Sensei Kyuzo.

  Jack stared blankly at his taijutsu master. He hadn’t yet been taught about zanshin at the Niten Ichi Ryū.

  Sensei Kyuzo rolled his eyes in irritation. ‘Zanshin is a warrior’s awareness of their surroundings and the enemy. It should be instinctive. Give me twenty crescent kicks for failing such a basic training task!’

  Several other students sprinted by while Jack carried out his punishment. Having already hiked up the steep slopes of Mount Koya before dawn as a warm-up to the day’s training, Jack soon felt the burn in the muscles of his legs. Every crescent kick was like fighting with feet made of stone.

  The gruelling exercise caused Jack’s breath to catch in his throat and he thought he was going to throw up. But since he hadn’t been allowed to eat breakfast yet, Jack doubted he would vomit anything more than bile.

  By his fifteenth kick, he was beginning to question his decision to volunteer so readily for the school’s annual gasshuku. But Yamato, the second-born son of Masamoto, and one of Jack’s few friends, had told him it was a privilege to attend the samurai training camp. Held in Koya-san, an ancient complex of Buddhist temples, the camp was located two days south of Kyoto in a secluded valley thick with forests and surrounded by the eight peaks of the Mount Koya range.

  Yamato had suggested the intensive tuition would help them in their preparation for the selection trials for the Circle of Three later that year. This had been all the incentive Jack needed and he’d jumped at the chance.

  Besides, since only fifteen students and three teachers were allowed to go, Jack had hoped that the gasshuku would give him a break from the bigoted instruction of Sensei Kyuzo and
the bullying he’d been suffering at the hands of Kazuki and his gang.

  But the gasshuku had proved to be no break at all.

  It had been nothing but a regime of training, food, training, food, training and occasionally a little sleep. And he hadn’t counted on both Sensei Kyuzo and Kazuki being there.

  Once Jack had finished his kicks, Sensei Kyuzo dismissed him with a bored wave of his hand before returning to the forest to set more bamboo traps for unsuspecting students. Jack ran on as fast as his exhausted legs would carry him. He didn’t want to be the final student to complete the test that morning, since the last was always given extra fitness training.

  He followed the path that wound through the forest. The immense cedar trees on either side of him stretched so high they seemed to touch the clouds, their branches blocking out the early morning sun and leaving much of the path in shadow. Misty with morning dew, the forest was an eerie place to be alone and Jack was glad when he emerged into another clearing.

  A group of students were gathering round Sensei Yamada, the third and final teacher to accompany them on the gasshuku. The ancient Zen philosophy master, with his long wispy grey beard floating in the breeze, was pointing to something on the ground beside a large stack of wood.

  Jack spotted Yamato among the onlookers, recognizing him by his spiky hair. He joined his friend at the edge of the clearing and leant forward to get a better look at what Sensei Yamada was talking to the students about. All Jack could see was an uninviting area of swamp.

  A tall elegant girl with arrow-straight black hair exclaimed, ‘Swim in that! Sensei, is this some sort of joke?’

  The girl was Emi, the daughter of daimyo Takatomi, the Lord of Kyoto province and one of the most powerful men in Japan.

  ‘I’m perfectly serious,’ replied Sensei Yamada with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  Jack and the others inspected the noxious patch of oozing mud with dismay.

  No one in their right mind would walk across it – let alone swim in it!

  River Fight

  Huffing and puffing, a rotund boy with thick bushy eyebrows staggered across the clearing. It was Jack’s friend Saburo.

  ‘When are we going to have breakfast?’ panted Saburo, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘I’m starving!’

  Jack knew his friend hadn’t wanted to come on the gasshuku, but the boy’s elder brother had threatened to tell their father if he didn’t go.

  ‘As soon as you retrieve this rock from the bottom of the swamp,’ explained Sensei Yamada, casting a large round stone into the murky depths.

  It briefly floated alongside the rest of the surface scum before being swallowed up whole by the bog. Saburo glanced down at the revolting mud pit, then at all the reluctant students gathered along its edge.

  ‘What’s everyone waiting for then?’ said Saburo, diving straight in.

  Jack’s full-figured friend belly-flopped on the surface, sending clods of marshy mud flying everywhere. One hit Kazuki square in the face, causing a ripple of amusement among the class. Jack couldn’t help but laugh loudest. Kazuki glared at him as the stinking sludge trickled down his nose.

  ‘That’s karma for stamping on your hand,’ Akiko whispered, exchanging a knowing look with Jack.

  They watched as Saburo sank slowly beneath the surface and emerged several moments later covered in slime, but brandishing the stone.

  ‘See you at breakfast!’ he cried, dragging himself out of the pit and running off to the shukubo, their temple lodgings in Koya-san.

  The midday sun glinted off the fast-flowing waters of Koya-san’s Tama River as the two young samurai adopted sword-fighting stances and sized one another up.

  ‘I’m going to feed you to the fish, gaijin,’ said Kazuki, pointing the tip of his bokken at Jack.

  Jack raised his own wooden sword and prepared to defend himself. Kazuki had never liked him, for the simple reason he was a foreigner, a gaijin. Kazuki believed, like Sensei Kyuzo, that the Japanese were the superior race and that it was wrong to be teaching the secrets of the samurai to an outsider.

  ‘I hope you can swim,’ Jack retorted, trying to find a firm footing in the shallows of the river bed.

  They couldn’t have chosen a worse place to fight. Situated on a wide bend of the Tama River, the ground was carpeted with rocks. The stones closer to the middle of the river were rounded and slippery, while the ones by the bank were jagged and dangerous.

  Jack had fought Kazuki before, but not in such challenging circumstances. One false move could mean a broken ankle or, even worse, a humiliating defeat for one of them. And Jack was determined it wasn’t going to be him.

  A blur of bright blue flashed across the river’s surface as a kingfisher snatched a silvery fish from its waters. In that moment Kazuki struck, his blade arcing towards Jack’s neck.

  Jack was almost caught out, but instinctively blocked the attack. Deflecting it to one side, he retaliated with a lethal slice to the head. Kazuki ducked beneath the blade and thrust the tip of his own bokken at Jack’s chest. Jack stumbled deeper into the river, barely keeping his balance on the submerged rocks.

  Pressing forward, Kazuki cut across Jack’s feet. Jack jumped the blade, simultaneously striking at Kazuki’s wrist. Kazuki yowled in pain as the blow connected, forcing him to drop his bokken.

  Jack didn’t have time to enjoy his victory. He was too focused on landing. The river bed beneath his feet was a treacherous maze of rocks and potholes.

  At the last second, spying two larger boulders, Jack thrust his feet sideways and managed to land, legs spread wide, above the fast-flowing waters. He let out a surprised laugh, amazed by his luck.

  But Kazuki, incensed with pain, shoulder-barged Jack in the midriff. Jack lost his balance, toppling backwards with an unceremonious splash into the river. Retrieving his bokken, Kazuki leapt on to the two boulders and stood over Jack. He planted the tip of his sword on Jack’s throat.

  ‘I win, gaijin,’ he gloated, forcing Jack’s head beneath the surface.

  Jack struggled for breath, spluttering as the icy river water rushed up his nose.

  Hojojutsu

  ‘YAME!’ shouted Sensei Hosokawa from the river bank.

  Kazuki reluctantly let Jack surface and made his way over to the rest of the students, many applauding his triumph in the sparring match.

  Tugging thoughtfully at his tuft of a beard, Sensei Hosokawa, their teacher in kenjutsu, waited for Jack to emerge from the river and join them. Jack trudged over, his head hung in shame.

  ‘Both of you demonstrated excellent samurai sword skills,’ commented Sensei Hosokawa. ‘Quick thinking saved your life, Kazuki-kun, and gave you victory.’

  Kazuki savoured the praise, smirking at Jack who now stood dripping wet beside him.

  ‘Though you were stupid to sacrifice your sword hand,’ the sensei added grimly.

  Kazuki’s smile faded from his face.

  ‘Jack-kun, your agility was exceptional – or else you were very fortunate!’ continued the swordmaster. ‘But you still lost. Remember the battle isn’t over until your opponent is down and stays down.’

  Jack nodded his understanding. He should have known that from his bitter experience of the ninja Dragon Eye. The invincible assassin had killed his father and was now mercilessly hunting him down.

  The ninja was after his father’s rutter, a logbook that contained invaluable navigational information. ‘A rutter for a pilot,’ Jack’s father had once explained, ‘is the equivalent of a Bible for a priest. Until mariners can calculate longitude accurately, it’s the single instrument we have to work out how far east or west a ship is. Such a logbook as this is the only way of ensuring safe passage across the world’s oceans. You must never let it fall into the wrong hands, for whoever possesses it has the power to rule the seas.’

  Jack had come to realize that Dragon Eye would never give up until the rutter was in his grasp, even if that meant killing him.

  ‘Next – Yamato-kun
and Hiroto-kun,’ announced Sensei Hosokawa.

  A thin wiry boy with a hard look in his eyes got to his feet and took his place at the edge of the river. Hiroto was one of the most vindictive members of Kazuki’s gang. He had once beaten up Jack in an unfair fight, so Jack now had his fingers crossed that Yamato would win this match.

  It didn’t take long. Looking to take Yamato off-guard, Hiroto attacked before Sensei Hosokawa called ‘Hajime!’ But Hiroto had misjudged his step. His front foot slipped and wedged itself between two rocks.

  Yamato, seizing the advantage, struck the powerless Hiroto across the stomach with the full length of his bokken. The boy doubled over and fell on his backside, where he floundered waist-deep in the icy waters. Yamato bowed respectfully to his defeated opponent, then carefully made his way back to the bank.

  ‘Why are we training on a river bed, Sensei?’ Akiko asked, as the students greeted Yamato’s victory with a round of applause.

  Sensei Hosokawa pointed to Yamato’s wooden sandals. ‘My own teacher once told me that if you are challenged to a sword fight, look at your opponent’s sandals. If the wooden teeth on the soles are unevenly worn away, you can be sure your challenger will be off-balance and not much of a swordsman.’

  With a sweep of the steel blade of his katana, he indicated the rocky river bed before them.

  ‘Learning to fight on uneven ground will improve your balance. Remember, you won’t always get a choice of where to fight. As a samurai, you must be prepared for battle on any terrain.’