Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky (10 page)

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
 
 

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. Then 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.

‘Aso-san’s five
peaks … are supposed to look like … a sleeping Buddha,’ gasped
Benkei, struggling to get his breath back. With an exhausted wave of the hand, he
indicated the eastern peak to be the head and a steaming vent on another to be the
Buddha’s navel.

Although Jack couldn’t quite see the
resemblance, standing on the lip of the caldera he felt as if he was on top of the
world. The sky above was a cloudless blue dome, while the bowl of the crater dropped
away into forested slopes to meet the patchwork plateau far below.

Before they began their descent, Jack stole
one final look at the Kuju mountain range behind. Upon a far ridge, he caught the sun
glinting off something. Calling for Benkei to wait, he shielded his eyes and looked
again. He now wished he possessed Miyuki’s eagle sight, but his eyes were good
enough to spot more reflected gleams moving rapidly in their
direction.

Jack turned to Benkei to deliver the bad
news. ‘We have company.’

18
 
 

‘Those samurai don’t give up
easily, do they?’ panted Benkei, as they weaved in between the shimmering fields
of rice.

‘Focus on your breathing,’ said
Jack, not breaking his stride.

He’d taught Benkei the art of Dragon
Breathing, the secret to the ninja’s ability to run like the wind. This special
cyclic pattern of inhales and exhales ensured that maximum oxygen reached the lungs.
Inhale – exhale – exhale – inhale – exhale – inhale – inhale – exhale
. The
rhythm focused the mind, while the increased breaths improved efficiency, allowing the
body to sustain its pace over long distances. Propelled by this extra energy, the two of
them raced across the plateau.