The Way Of The Sword (11 page)

Hurriedly he put on his training
gi
, wrapping the upper section round his body, ensuring the lapel went left over right. He didn’t want to dress like a corpse by having them the other way. He then tied the jacket off with a white
obi
round his waist.

Before leaving for breakfast and his first lesson of the day, Jack tended to his
bonsai
perched on the narrow window sill. He treasured the tiny cherry-blossom tree, a parting gift from Uekiya, the gardener in Toba. It was a constant reminder of the kindness the old man had shown him that first summer. He watered it religiously, pruned its branches and removed any dead leaves. The ritual always calmed him, and soon the cruel taunts of his nightmare faded until they were little more than a whisper in his head.

That morning, several of the
bonsai’
s miniature green leaves showed tints of golden brown and fiery red, announcing the arrival of autumn. With only a season left to go before snow heralded the selection trials for the Circle of Three, the sensei had intensified their training, increasing the complexity of the techniques and pushing the students to their limits. Jack was really starting to struggle with the regime.

Securing his
bokken
in his
obi
, he summoned up the energy he would need to get through the day.

‘Again,
kata
four!’ ordered Sensei Hosokawa.

The students sliced the air with their
bokken
, repeating the prescribed series of moves. They had performed hundreds of cuts already that morning, but Sensei Hosokawa’s lesson was relentless.

Jack’s arms were burning with the exertion, sweat poured down him and his
bokken
felt as heavy as lead.

‘No, Jack-kun!’ corrected Sensei Hosokawa. ‘The
kissaki
stops at
chudan
. You are slicing through the belly of your enemy – not trying to chop off their feet.’

Jack, who usually excelled during the sword class, was having great difficulty keeping up. His aching limbs just wouldn’t respond and the
bokken
kept dropping way past its target.

‘Concentrate!’ commanded Sensei Hosokawa, rounding on Jack. ‘Don’t make me remind you again.’

He grabbed Jack’s sword arm, sternly lifting the
bokken
to the appropriate height. Jack’s arms trembled with the effort.

‘These
kata
are the basics of
kenjutsu
,’ reinforced Sensei Hosokawa, addressing the entire class now. ‘You cannot run before you’ve learnt to walk. It is imperative you assimilate these moves so that they become instinctive, so that the
bokken
becomes part of you. When the sword becomes “no sword” in your hands, then you are ready. Only then will you truly comprehend the Way of the Sword!’

‘HAI
, SENSEI!’ yelled the class.

Sensei Hosokawa fixed Jack with a stern gaze, ‘Don’t forget your training, Jack-kun. You should have mastered the basics by now.’

The arrow soared clear of the target, disappearing among the branches of the ancient pine tree. A pair of doves, nestling in the foliage, cooed indignantly and fluttered off towards the safety of the
Butsuden’
s temple roof.

‘This is impossible!’ complained Jack, his frustration getting the better of him.

Unlike Akiko, who struck the furthest target with apparent ease, archery didn’t come so naturally to Jack. And now that Sensei Yosa had doubled the length of the range, setting the targets at the far end of the
Nanzen-niwa
, not one of Jack’s shots had even come close. If he couldn’t hit a target at this distance, how on earth was he supposed to snuff out a candle?

To make matters worse, Kazuki and his friends had been trying to put him off, commenting loudly on each of his failed attempts.

Noticing that Jack was struggling, his
kyujutsu
teacher approached, her hawk-like eyes studying his form and noting his problem.

‘Relax, Jack-kun,’ Sensei Yosa instructed as Jack returned his bow to the rack and knelt back into line. ‘Hitting the target is unimportant.’

‘But it is to me,’ Jack insisted. ‘I want to be able to pass your trial.’

‘You misunderstand,’ said Sensei Yosa, smiling warmly at his keenness. ‘You must abandon the idea of
having
to hit the target. When the archer does not think about the target, then they may unfold the Way of the Bow.’

Jack’s brow creased in confusion. ‘But won’t I be more likely to miss if I don’t think about it?’ he asked.

‘There are no mysteries in
kyujutsu
, Jack-kun,’ continued Sensei Yosa, shaking her head in response. ‘Like any art, the secret is revealed through dedication, hard work and constant practice.’

But I am practising hard
, Jack wanted to say,
and I don’t seem to be getting any better.

Later that day, Jack’s fifth attempt at
origami
lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The rest of the students were deep in studied concentration, cross-legged on their
zabuton
cushions within the Buddha Hall. Today their meditation model was a frog, and all that could be heard was the delicate crimping of countless pieces of paper.

Sensei Yamada had once again set his class a
zazen
mediation on
origami
, repeating the
koan
, ‘What does
origami
teach us?’ No one as yet had provided him with a satisfactory answer.

‘Watch how I do it, Jack,’ Yori offered, turning so that Jack could see his moves.

Jack tried again, but only succeeded in tearing a hole in the fragile paper. He cursed out loud in English and Yori gave him a puzzled look. Jack smiled apologetically.

‘How am I going to be able to answer Sensei Yamada’s
Koan
trial if I can’t even fold a paper frog?’ said Jack, taking another sheet from the pile.

‘I don’t think it matters if you can or can’t,’ replied Yori kindly. ‘The frog is not the focus. Remember what Sensei Yamada said? The answer is in the paper.’

Yori admired his own perfect frog before setting it on the floor next to the perfect
origami
crane, butterfly and goldfish he had already made.

‘But surely the process must help,’ maintained Jack, waving his flat square of paper despondently in the air. ‘Otherwise why would he be getting us all to do
origami
? I seem to be making such slow progress.’

Jack was now very concerned about his chances in the forthcoming trials. There were only five places and if he didn’t pass any of the trials, he wouldn’t earn his place in the Circle of Three, let alone be taught the Two Heavens technique.

‘Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap,’ said a calm voice in his ear.

Sensei Yamada had appeared at Jack’s shoulder and leant over to take the paper from his hands. He scored, folded and bent the sheet in front of Jack’s eyes, transforming it into a beautiful flowering rose.

‘Judge it by the seeds you plant.’

‘You’re having a bad week, that’s all,’ said Akiko, trying to console Jack during dinner that evening.

‘But I haven’t hit the archery targets for nearly a month now,’ Jack replied, half-heartedly spearing a piece of
sushi
with his
hashi
before reminding himself that it was bad etiquette.

‘It’s just a matter of getting used to the distance,’ encouraged Yamato. ‘Don’t you remember how you scored in
kyujutsu
during the
Taryu-Jiai
? It’s not as if you can’t do it.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ conceded Jack, putting down his
hashi
. ‘But it feels like I’ve hit a brick wall with my training. Even in
kenjutsu
Sensei Hosokawa’s constantly on my back, correcting every little mistake. However hard I try, I don’t seem to be getting any better.’

‘But you heard what Sensei Yamada said,’ reminded Yori.
‘Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap
...’

‘Yes, but what seeds am I actually planting?’ sighed Jack, burying his head in his hands. ‘Perhaps Kazuki’s right. I’m not meant to be samurai.’

‘You’re not listening to Kazuki again, are you?’ exclaimed Akiko in exasperation. ‘He’s poisoning your mind! Of course you’re worthy to be samurai. Masamoto-sama would not have adopted you, or invited you to his school if he thought you were anything less. Becoming a true samurai takes time.’

Jack gazed despondently out of the tiny window of his room in the
Shishi-no-ma
. The night sky was a blanket of stars. A waning moon shone its ghostly light and washed out all colour from the buildings of the
Niten Ichi Ryū
.

On the horizon, Jack could see storm clouds brewing. They were blotting out the stars one by one. The prayer flags at the entrance to the
Butsuden
started to flutter like a ship’s sails as a chill wind cut through the open courtyard.

Jack began to imagine he was back on-board the
Alexandria
with his father, learning to navigate by the heavens. That was something he
was
good at. Being a pilot came naturally. He could name the stars and planets and use them to calculate the ship’s position and course, even in rough seas.

He had been destined to be a ship’s pilot by blood and birth. Not a samurai.

Suddenly Jack felt the pressure of life in Japan like a coiled spring in the pit of his stomach, getting wound tighter and tighter until he thought he was going to explode. The headache of speaking Japanese every day. The rigid etiquette of Japanese life as if he was walking on eggshells all the time. The painstaking progress he was making with his training. The constant threat of Dragon Eye and whether he would be ready to face him in time. The gaping absence of his parents. The thought of Jess alone, with the threat of a workhouse hanging over her…

Lost in his despair, Jack almost missed the movement of several shrouded figures crossing the school’s courtyard. Hugging the shadows, they skirted under the lee of the
Butokuden
before disappearing inside.

Determined to discover who the intruders were this time, Jack grabbed his
katana
and sprinted out of the room.

‘Akiko? Are you there?’ whispered Jack through the paper-thin door of her room.

There was no reply. He drew back the
shoji
and peeked inside. Akiko was nowhere to be seen. Her
futon
was untouched even though she should have been in bed by now.

Perhaps she had gone to the bathhouse, thought Jack, or else…

He shut the door and hurried on. A lantern was still burning within Yori’s room.

‘Yori?’ he called.

The little boy slid open his
shoji
.

‘Have you seen Akiko?’

‘Not since supper,’ replied Yori, shaking his head. ‘Isn’t she in her room?’

‘No, I think she’s…’ Jack trailed off, distracted by the sight of countless paper cranes littering Yori’s floor. ‘What
are
you doing?’

‘I’m folding cranes.’

‘I can see that, but
origami
in bed! You take Sensei Yamada’s lessons far too seriously,’ accused Jack. ‘Listen, if you hear Akiko come back, can you let her know that I’ve gone over to the
Butokuden
.’

‘The training hall? And you accuse me of studying too hard!’ Yori glanced dubiously at Jack’s
katana
. ‘Isn’t it rather late to be practising your sword
kata
?’

‘I don’t have time to explain. Just tell Akiko.’

Jack sped off, not bothering to wait for Yori’s response.

As he reached the main door, he briefly considered alerting Yamato and Saburo, but they would be asleep and he had wasted too much time already. The intruders might have gone by the time they all reached the
Butokuden
.

Jack rushed across the courtyard. The storm was approaching fast and icy blasts of wind stabbed through his thin night kimono like a
tantō
blade. Pressing himself flat against the
Butokuden’
s wall, he edged towards its main entrance. Poking his head round the wooden door frame, he searched for the intruders.

In the gloom of the great hall, he could distinguish a number of hunched figures sitting in a tight circle within the ceremonial alcove. But from this distance, he was unable to make out their faces or hear what they were saying.

Jack hurried to the back of the
Butokuden
, where the slatted windows behind the dais were within easy reach. As quietly as he could, he eased open a wooden shutter. Peering through, he discovered he had a direct line of sight to the alcove.

Jack counted four intruders in total. They each wore a heavy cowl so their faces remained cast in shadow. Pressing his ear close to the slatted opening, he listened.

‘...the
daimyo
Kamakura Katsura is going to wage war against the Christians,’ whispered a youthful yet commanding male voice in the darkness.

A husky female voice took over. ‘The
gaijin
are a threat to our traditions and the orderly society of Japan.’

‘But there are so few. How can they be a threat?’ queried a third voice, high and thin like a bamboo flute.

‘Their priests are spreading an evil belief, converting honourable Japanese
daimyo
and their samurai with their lies,’ explained the male voice. ‘They’re trying to overthrow our society from within. They want to destroy our culture, control Japan and its people.’

‘They
must
be stopped!’ interjected the female voice.

‘The
daimyo
is drawing loyal samurai to his cause in preparation for an all-out assault on every Christian,’ explained the first voice. ‘My father, Oda Satoshi, has joined his ranks and sworn allegiance to this righteous cause.’

‘Gaijin
are the germ of a great disaster and must be crushed,’ hissed the female voice with venom.

‘But what can
we
do about it?’ asked the fourth shadow.

‘We can prepare for war!’ stated the male and female voice in unison.

Jack could hardly believe his ears. He had been right all along. Sensei Yamada was mistaken. The killing of the Christian priest was not an isolated case. It had been just the beginning. The
daimyo
Kamakura was intent on slaughtering every Christian in Japan.