White Crane (14 page)

“Rise, Nezume, warrior student of the Cockroach Ryu. Every samurai must come when he is called, and I am calling you now. Gembuku is not bound by time or place.”

On his feet again, Nezume opens his eyes and smiles. He drops his old kimono to the ground, revealing his back, criss-crossed with deep scars.

Sensei’s face darkens like thunder.

“Who did this?” he demands, but I can tell he already knows.

“The Dragon Master,” Nezume whispers.

“Why?” Sensei’s eyes flash like lightning. A terrible storm is gathering.

“I was ashamed of what happened to Mikko. I refused to say it was right. When three fight against one, there is no victory in winning. Only dishonor. The Dragon Master did not agree. He taught my lesson with a bamboo cane, but I did not listen.”

The White Crane wraps a protective wing around the Long-Tailed Rat. Nezume is safe now.

“You are a much greater and wiser samurai than your old master ever will be,” says Sensei. “Put on your new kimono, and wear it with great pride. Your Dragon days are over. I am your master now, Little Cockroach.”

Bong. Bong-ong-ong.

The gong sounds to call the
ryu
teams to the ceremony. I count seven teams in a sea of bright uniforms and headbands. It’s a good number.

“I feel lucky,” says Kyoko, showing me all six fingers crossed.

Number One speaks in a soft voice, furry from lack of speech.

“Boar Ryu,” he announces.
Bong
. The gong sounds a welcome note.

The students of the Boar line up in the front row, their master at the head of the line. They spread their muscled legs in a fighting stance and crouch down low. Boar samurai are famous for their strength and stamina.

“Uh-uh. Yah!” Bowing low to the Komusu elders, they pound out the traditional samurai battle cry.

Behind me, someone from the Dragon Ryu grunts and snuffles like a pig. They wouldn’t do that if they had ever been chased by a boar. Even a Dragon wouldn’t be brave facing Black Tusk. I lick my lips in memory.

Chance places us before the Dragons, but that won’t last long. They’ll soon be in front of us all, in the place where only winners stand.

“Cockroach Ryu.” Another strike of the gong.

We line up in the second row. Our bronze kimonos shine like gold in the afternoon sunlight flowing through the windows. It’s not easy to crouch on one leg, but Yoshi holds me steady. Sensei thumps his staff on the ground.

“Uh-uh. Yah!” We yell and punch the air with both hands. Except Mikko, of course, but he strikes twice as hard with his one fist. Our cry rings out loud and proud. Yoshi’s deep voice booms through the temple.

“Dragon Ryu.” The gong pounds.

Awed silence stalks the room. Compared to their red and gold kimonos blazing like fire, our bronze uniforms look brown again. The Dragon Master holds out his arm, and the line crouches. “Uh-uh. Yah! Yah-ahh!” Low and menacing. Victorious before the Games even begin.

We might as well go home. It’s already over. Beside me, Yoshi doesn’t agree. The Tiger growls to accept the challenge.

Roll call continues. “Eagle Ryu.”

The Eagles kick high. A soft whistle escapes from Mikko.

“Rabbit Ryu.” “Snake Ryu.” “Wolf Ryu.”

As each
ryu
team is introduced, the gong sounds. Each line assumes their position and shouts their battle cry. Finally all seven teams are in place. It’s time for the Opening Ceremonial Dance.

The drum beats. Punching the air, we kick high. I land on my foot every time, and I’m glad of the hours spent practicing. Then I hear a whispered snicker as my leg is kicked out from under me. I fall flat on my face. No one dares to laugh in front of the Komusu, but I can feel the mockery rippling through the room.

The White Crane hides its head beneath a wing. It’s worse than last year already, and my one leg wants to run home. My face is bright red as Sensei helps me to my feet.

The Komusu stand too. They expect an explanation.

“The boy tripped,” the Dragon Master says. “I saw it. I am standing right behind him. If he can’t stand up properly, he shouldn’t be here.”

The Komusu don’t nod. They wait for me to speak. How can I argue with the Dragon Master? Insults make us strong. A true samurai doesn’t need a sword. Follow Bushido. Sensei’s teachings come to my rescue. I feel sorry for the Dragon Master, who has forgotten what it means to be a samurai.

“
Chi. Jin. Yu.
” I bow my head.

The Komusu nod so hard I worry their baskets will fall off.

“Excellent,” Sensei whispers in my ear. “You have made a big impression. A loud thump followed by wise words. No one could miss that.”

The gong sounds again. The ceremony — and my humiliation — are over. We are free to wander the temple until the Games begin tomorrow morning.

“How do the Komusu judge what they can’t see?” Mikko asks.

“They know,” I answer. “When one is truly wise, he knows.”

Like Sensei. He knows everything.

“Let’s go for a walk in the gardens,” Sensei suggests. “Perhaps I can find a tree to sit and meditate under.”

He doesn’t fool us. Our master wants to sleep and dream.

Flowers grow everywhere. Cherry blossoms on the trees, lotus blossoms on the pond. While the others admire and sniff the blooms, I study the crow-claw imprints Sensei’s knobbly toes leave in the rain-soaked soil. Kyoko’s words echo inside my head. Sensei can’t be a
tengu.
He doesn’t make mistakes. He’s perfect.

“Have you ever made a mistake, Sensei?” I ask.

He looks at me with eyes that care. Sad eyes.

“Everyone makes mistakes, little Niya. It’s how we become wise.”

Sensei’s wisdom is infinite. He must have made a very big mistake.

Sword fighting is the first event of the day. My opponent is a small, thin boy from the Eagle Ryu. He got lucky. He probably couldn’t beat anyone except me.

Yesterday’s rain has disappeared, and the early morning sun warms my back. No cloud would dare interrupt the Games. The Komusu priests would never allow it.

A big group has gathered in the temple grounds — Sensei and my friends, all the Eagle kids, some Dragons and Snakes, and a lone Wolf. They’ve all come to watch me. I’m the only one-legged samurai kid in Japan, famous for falling face-first in the dirt.

With arm raised, Number One stands beside the big circular gong where the names of past winners are inscribed. The dragon’s tail winds around so many times that I lose count. Not a single cockroach scuttles across the gold. We’re not winners, and my first match isn’t going to change that.

My opponent and I face each other, a sword length apart. I bow low — slowly and carefully, so I don’t tip over. The Eagle boy bows low too. When he straightens, I search his eyes for laughter. But the Eagle boy smiles at me, a big friendly grin.

Number One lets his arm fall.
Dong-g-g.
The gong echoes across the mountains.

“Chi,”
I yell.

“Jin.”
My opponent answers the challenge.

“Yu.”
I check his sword thrust with a hard clash above our heads. I’m taller than him, so for a few seconds I have the advantage.

“Yay, Niya!” Nezume cheers from the sideline.

But my one leg eventually brings me down, with a hard crash into the dirt. My moment of glory is over. I can’t match the Eagle boy’s flying twists and kicks.

Beside me I hear someone croak, softly at first, then loud enough for everyone to hear. Laughter echoes through the crowd.

“Ignore them,” says the Eagle boy, helping me to my feet. He points to my nose. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “It’s an old injury. I am the White Crane,” I say. “I am not a frog.”

“I know.” He bows low. “I am the Small Shrike. It was a great honor to battle with one of Ki-Yaga’s pupils.”

“Thank you. The Eagle Ryu’s acrobatics are beyond comparison. It was a privilege to see such skill,” I respond.

Samurai study how to be polite. It’s part of the Bushido code.

“It is important to show good manners,” Sensei teaches. “You should always say please and thank you when chopping off an opponent’s body parts.”

My newfound friend and I turn and bow to the Komusu judges, who award a point to the Eagle Ryu.

“Did you see that?” I say when I join the others. “He didn’t laugh at me.”

“Those Eagle kids are okay,” agrees Yoshi. “They weren’t making rude noises.”

“You were great,” Kyoko adds.

Taji slaps me on the back, and Mikko punches me in the arm.

“Thanks,” I say, but in my heart the White Crane wishes it had won.

“You are a winner,” the wizard Ki-Yaga says, reading my mind. “It is much harder to win an opponent’s friendship than to score a point at sword fighting.”

“My turn next,” says Mikko. “I don’t think I’ll be making any friends.” He slashes his sword through the air. “I’ve got a Wolf to skin.”

Because he only has one arm, Mikko has a big advantage. The Wolf boy thinks he’s going to win easily, but before he can thrust forward, Mikko has already pierced his leather chest plate. It’s all over.

“No-o-o-o!” the Wolf boy howls in frustration.

Mikko’s win scores our first point, but it doesn’t last long. Yoshi refuses to fight and forfeits his match, so a penalty is deducted. By the end of the sword fighting events, we’ve struggled our way up to zero.

The wrestling events are next. Kyoko is matched against an enormous Dragon boy. All the Dragons have come to laugh at the freak girl.

“Hey, white monkey monster, where’s that extra finger?” they call.

Kyoko lets them know. She sticks it in the air with a rude gesture. If you ask me, the Dragon boy is the strange-looking one. He is square like a piece of sushi, with beady, black eyes, and a nasty smile. He smells fishy, as if someone left him out in the sun.

Admiring glances follow the Dragon Master as he struts around the wrestling ring, his red silk cape billowing behind him. No one pays attention to Sensei waiting patiently. When he notices Nezume standing with us, the Dragon Master stops and glares.

“What’s he doing here?” the Dragon Master thunders. “He belongs to the Dragon Ryu.” The thunder drops to a low rumble. “Come and stand with me, boy.”

Shaking his head, Nezume hides behind Sensei.

“Three years ago the boy was a Dragon. But now, he belongs to the Cockroach Ryu.” Sensei’s tone is cold and threatening, like a sword hanging over the Dragon Master’s head. No one says anything. No one moves. We hold our breath and wait to see if the sword drops.

When the Dragon Master laughs, we all breathe again. “You always did pick up what everyone else threw away, Ki-Yaga. If you want him, he’s yours. He has the heart of a cockroach anyway.”

I put my arm around Nezume, to show my support and to make sure I don’t fall over in anger.

Sensei bows politely to the Dragon Master. “The heart of a cockroach beats even after its head has been cut off, but the poor dragon has no heart at all. Your compliment is accepted.”

Before the Dragon Master can reply, the gong booms.
Boom, boom.
The Dragon Master’s retort will have to wait.

Kyoko’s not afraid of her big opponent. Her Snow Monkey spirit knows every wrestling trick. The two lock arms and drop to the ground. Kyoko presses the Dragon boy’s face into the dust. Spluttering, he whispers something into her ear. Pink eyes blaze with anger.

“What did he say?” I ask Taji. A whisper is like a yell in Taji’s ear. I know. I once whispered to Yoshi where I hid a bowl of honey pudding. When I went to get it, Taji had eaten it.

“The Dragon boy said, ‘If you think an extra finger helps, try wrestling with none.’”

“What does that mean?” Mikko asks.

The Dragon boy answers Mikko’s question. Rolling his shoulder onto Kyoko’s hand, he grinds it into the ground. Kyoko turns as white as her hair, and pain streaks her face. The Komusu judges rise to their feet, basket heads bobbing fast. Number Two bangs the gong to signal that a penalty will be deducted if it happens again. But the damage is done. Cradling her hand in pain, Kyoko is unable to continue. The Dragon boy stands over her, ready to claim his victory.