Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky (8 page)

The knife sliced down.

13
 
 

Crouched in the darkened cell, Jack
clutched his wounded hand to his chest. The stump of his little finger throbbed like
wildfire. Although the bleeding had stopped, Jack was pale and shaken from the
experience.

He simply couldn’t comprehend what
Sensei Kyuzo had done to him. He’d watched in disbelief as his
taijutsu
master brought down the knife, the keen blade slicing through flesh and bone like
butter, severing the tip of his little finger. Bizarrely, he could recall the steel
feeling cool to the touch, before the nail and first knuckle were separated and dropped
to the floor. For a moment, Jack felt nothing but numbing shock. Then a raging fire
ignited in his hand as the pain registered and blood spurted across the white cloth.
He’d screamed to block out the agony. But it shook him in wave after fierce
wave.

‘Stop whining,
gaijin
!’
Sensei Kyuzo had snarled, wiping clean his knife. ‘Show some samurai
backbone.’

Somehow Jack managed to stifle his cries.
But what had hurt him the most was that his teacher had done the deed with a
smile
on his face. Sensei Kyuzo had even wrapped the severed
portion of the fingertip in the cloth and presented it to the
bugyō
for inspection. Indifferent to Jack’s suffering, the magistrate
had merely logged an account of the punishment before sealing the court document for his
records. He then put his brush aside and tossed Jack’s fingertip into the
expectant mouth of his hunting dog.

Sickened to the pit of his stomach, Jack
barely heard the
bugyō
as he determined his fate. The magistrate decided that
Jack should be held in prison until the Shogun’s samurai came for him. He then
wrote a message and summoned a
hikyaku
to deliver it. The ‘flying
feet’ courier was running before he even got out of the door. Only when the
bugyō
noticed blood staining his highly prized woodblock floor did he send
Jack to his prison cell.

Before they threw him in, one of the
dōshin
bandaged his hand and tied a tourniquet round the stump of his
little finger. Jack mumbled his thanks, but the
dōshin
had just snorted,
‘We don’t want our “reward” dying on us from gangrene now, do
we?’

Jack looked up at a small barred window. The
silvery light of a waning moon cast its deathly pallor on to the dirt floor. The few
stars he could spy seemed more distant than ever – but still not as far away as England
and his sister now felt.

His journey was over.

His hopes of reaching Nagasaki had been
brought to a swift and agonizing end by his old
taijutsu
master. Jack
couldn’t believe Sensei Kyuzo would go to such lengths just to keep his identity
hidden. But Jack had to face the hard truth. Sensei Kyuzo
wasn’t
on his
side. He’d been wrong to trust in the
bushido
code of loyalty. Sensei
Kyuzo had never
had any intention of saving him – in fact, he seemed
determined to be rid of him once and for all.

In the darkness, Jack heard the hunting dog
scrabbling at the earth outside, no doubt lured by the prospect of a larger bone to gnaw
on. In his injured state, Jack didn’t hold out much hope of fighting his way out
before the Shogun’s samurai arrived. Although he wasn’t crippled by any
means, he’d be unable to control a sword properly. Until his hand had healed, he
was like a tiger whose teeth had been pulled.

From the direction of the Zen garden, the
jingle of the wind chime drifted into his cell. Aware that he had to do something
positive to stop himself lapsing into despair, Jack focused his mind on the delicate
sound. He meditated until the throbbing in his hand subsided. Then, under his breath, he
began to chant the mantra for
Sha
:

‘
On haya baishiraman taya
sowaka …
’

Sha
was one of the nine rituals of
kuji-in
, the art of ninja magic. Combined with a secret hand sign and
focused meditation, it would speed up the healing process. But Jack was under no
illusion.
Kuji-in
couldn’t bring his fingertip back. He’d be
scarred for life. But at least it might mean he could grip a weapon far sooner.

With one hand out of action, Jack
couldn’t form the complete sign required for the ritual, so he just extended the
thumb and forefinger of his right hand and held the palm over the bandaged wound. As he
chanted, he sensed a tingle of warmth. But his stump was such a confusion of pain and
numbness that he wasn’t certain this was the result of
kuji-in
.

How he wished Miyuki was with him now. She
was an expert healer, having tended to his injuries many times. Loyal,
dependable and resourceful, she would have completed the healing and already be
planning their way out of the cell.

If Saburo was here, Jack knew he’d be
making some joke. Lightening the mood and keeping everyone’s spirits up.

Then there was Yori. What Jack would do to
hear some wise and comforting words from his dear friend. He’d probably say
something like, ‘
Pain is inevitable, but suffering is
optional
.’

A sad smile passed across Jack’s face
at the memory of his friends. He keenly felt their absence. They’d each played a
crucial part in his life. Together they’d been a team – strong, courageous and
seemingly invincible. Now he sat alone in a dark prison cell, injured and without
hope.

But he daren’t give up. His friends
wouldn’t have wanted him to.

Outside the dog stopped digging.

‘
Hey! Nanban!
’
whispered a voice from the barred window.

Jack glanced up to see a wild-haired
silhouette against the moonlight.

‘Benkei!’ said Jack, amazed.
‘You’ve come back?’

‘Of course,’ replied Benkei.
‘I’ve got your half of the winnings here!’

14
 
 

Jack heard more scrabbling and realized the
noise hadn’t been the dog. A chink of moonlight shone through a crack in the
cell’s plaster wall. Then the iron tip of a leaf-shaped blade appeared and the gap
widened.

‘Give it a kick,’ hissed Benkei
from the other side.

Sitting on the floor, Jack thrust his heel
at the loose plaster. It fell away to reveal a hole gouged into the wattle-and-daub
wall. The opening was barely big enough for Jack. But, with Benkei’s help, he
scrambled through and soon stood next to him in the courtyard.

‘What happened to you?’ asked
Benkei, noticing Jack’s bloody bandage.

‘I had a run-in with an old
sensei,’ said Jack, brushing the plaster from his kimono with his good hand.
‘So how did you get away?’

‘A quick costume change,’
replied Benkei, who was now dressed in an unassuming brown kimono. With a flourish, he
revealed his jacket’s multicoloured interior. ‘I simply turned it inside out
and hid in the barn until nightfall. That’s where I found this
kunai
.’

He held up the farmer’s digging tool – a
blunt broad-bladed knife with twine wrapped round the shaft for grip.

‘We should keep that,’ said
Jack. ‘A
kunai
makes a good weapon.’

‘Then you have it,’ said Benkei,
passing him the tool. ‘I’m no fighter.’

With an accepting nod, Jack slipped the
kunai
into his belt.

From an outbuilding came the sound of
raucous laughter and drunken singing.

‘The
dōshin
are celebrating
your capture,’ sniggered Benkei, picking up a large bag and heading out of the
yard. ‘Let’s go! I’ve already bought our supplies.’

Jack shook his head. ‘I have to get my
swords and pack first.’

Benkei gave him an exasperated look.
‘How many fingers do you want to lose?’

‘I won’t leave without my
belongings,’ insisted Jack.

Realizing he wouldn’t be swayed,
Benkei resigned himself to the situation. ‘I’ll wait for you in the barn
until sunrise … then I’m going.’

‘I understand,’ replied Jack,
grasping his shoulder in friendship. ‘You’ve done more than enough helping
me to escape.’

‘And all that effort will be wasted if
you get yourself caught again!’ Benkei muttered, before disappearing down a
backstreet.

Jack skirted the courtyard, keeping to the
shadows and steering clear of the celebration. Entering the Zen garden, he noticed the
outline of the
bugyō
’s dog on the veranda to the courtroom. The Akita lay
with his muzzle between his paws, apparently asleep. Jack had the unsettling vision of
his fingertip disappearing down the dog’s throat and shuddered.

Using his ninja stealth-walking skills, Jack
crossed the pebbled path. Step by cautious step, he drew closer to the veranda without
making a sound. But, as he climbed up, the dog stirred. Jack froze, still as a statue.
The dog snuffled and turned its head, before settling back down, the soft pant of sleep
flaring its nostrils.

With great care, Jack continued and slid
open the
shoji
to the
bugyō
’s courtroom. He let his eyes adjust
to the dark. The pale moon shone in, giving Jack just enough light to see that the place
was deserted. The door to the
bugyō
’s private office was on the opposite
side of the room. Checking the dog was still asleep, he stepped inside. Jack crept round
the edge, avoiding the centre of the wooden floor in case it creaked. As he reached out
for the handle, he prayed that his belongings would still be there.

‘You were never one to give up easily,
were you,
gaijin
?’

Jack spun to see Sensei Kyuzo emerge from a
hidden alcove beside the
fusuma
doors.

‘
Seven times down, eight times
up!
’ mocked his teacher, recalling the proverb that had been Jack’s
winning mantra during the
Taryu-Jiai
match three years ago. ‘Well, you
won’t be getting up this time.’

Sensei Kyuzo stalked towards him.

Jack held up his bandaged hand as a sign of
peace. ‘You’re supposed to be my sensei, not my enemy. How could you have
cut my fingertip off! Have you lost all respect for
bushido
?’

Sensei Kyuzo snorted. ‘Think yourself
lucky. I could have severed the whole finger!’

The
taijutsu
master glared at him,
his expression one of bitterness and hate.

‘Since the war ended, I’ve been
on the run. Forced to hide
for fear of reprisal. I’ve lost all
status because of
gaijin
like you. And now I’ve no choice but to work as
a lowly
dōshin
.’ He tugged at his uniform in disgust. ‘I have to
take orders from that potbellied
bugyō
. A man not even of samurai class.
He’s a bureaucrat, little more than a pumped-up clerk who likes to think
he’s a warrior. He hasn’t fought in a war, let alone held a sword in combat!
Yet
I
must bow to him.’

‘If you despise him so, then why
arrest me?’ argued Jack. ‘Or is it that you wanted the ten
koban
reward?’

‘I’m not interested in the
money
,’ spat Sensei Kyuzo, offended to the core by such a suggestion.
‘You’re my guarantee to redeem my status. To become a
respected
samurai once more.’

Jack was aghast. His
taijutsu
master’s vendetta was about personal loss of face. ‘You claim to be a
samurai, yet you violate the very code of
bushido
– rectitude, honour and
loyalty. By turning me in, you’re betraying Masamoto-sama, my guardian and
your
friend.’

Sensei Kyuzo’s face contorted as a
battle of emotions played out – fury, guilt, sorrow, loathing – before they all hardened
into pure anger. ‘I owe
him
no allegiance. Not since he surrendered and
went into exile. He should have committed
seppuku
. Died with honour.’

‘Masamoto never surrendered!’
shot back Jack. ‘And if defeat is so shameful, then why didn’t
you
commit
seppuku
?’