Young Samurai: The Way of Fire (short story) (2 page)

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.’

After lunch the students gathered in the meditation garden of the
shukubo
for a lesson in
hojojutsu
. Jack was intrigued. He had learnt many things since training in the Way of the Warrior, but he’d never imagined there was a martial art devoted to the techniques of rope restraint.

Sensei Kyuzo appeared, bearing several lengths of white cord. He indicated for the class to kneel and the students formed two neat rows on a flattened area of grass beside a small fishpond. In its waters swam an array of multicoloured
koi
carp that made the pond’s surface shimmer like a moving rainbow.

‘To control aggression without inflicting injury is the art of peace,’ began Sensei Kyuzo. ‘
Hojojutsu
is the essence of this philosophy. The techniques that I’ll demonstrate are useful for securing a saddle, tethering a horse and even hanging up your armour, but the art is primarily used for restraining a prisoner.’

He unwound one of the shorter lengths of cord.

‘This is a
hayanawa
,’ he explained. ‘It’s a short rope with a small loop on one end and is used for fast restraint. If you don’t have one of these to hand, you can always use the
sageo
attached to your sword’s
saya
.’ Sensei Kyuzo indicated the braided cord hanging from the wooden scabbard on his hip. He then beckoned his favourite student, Kazuki, to join him.