Young Samurai: The Ring of Wind (4 page)

Miyuki leapt on him in an instant and drove her thumb into a pressure point at the base of his neck. The cry died in the man’s throat as he fell limp, dropping lifeless at her feet.

‘You promised you wouldn’t hurt anyone!’ Yori exclaimed.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Miyuki, giving him a reassuring smile. ‘He’ll just have a nasty headache when he comes round.’

‘What about the others?’ asked Jack, emerging from his hiding place and inspecting the unconscious woman and two inert brothers.

‘I only put enough
doku
powder in the
saké
to knock them out for a few hours,’ explained Miyuki. ‘Any more than a few grains and it
would
have killed them.’

‘Good work, Miyuki,’ said Jack, satisfied their victims were still breathing.

The four of them quickly removed the pilgrims’ clothes and began to dress themselves. Being small of stature, Yori was swamped by his outfit and had to roll up the legs and sleeves. Jack anticipated the opposite problem – as a foreigner he was tall by comparison to the Japanese – but he was fortunate the younger pilgrim was so gangly.

Yori helped Jack adjust his blue stole. ‘This is a
wagesa
. It’s a cloth symbolizing a monk’s robe and is meant to show your devotion to the Buddha.’ Yori handed him the rosary beads. ‘These are
nenju
. The number of beads equal the one hundred and eight
bonn
ō
.’

‘What are
bonn
ō
?’ asked Jack, fingering the wooden beads as he absorbed Yori’s information. It was vital to know such facts if he was to pass himself off as a real pilgrim.

‘They’re the misleading Karmas that bind people in
Samsara
, the world of suffering. You must carry both the
wagesa
and
nenju
to be considered a true worshipper.’

Jack picked up the pilgrim’s staff. ‘What’s the bell on the end for?’

‘The bell acts as an
omamori
, like the amulet Sensei Yamada gave you,’ explained Yori, pointing to the small red silk bag attached to Jack’s pack. ‘It protects the traveller upon the road.’

‘Well, it didn’t work for them,’ Saburo chortled, glancing down at the comatose pilgrims as he wriggled his generous belly into a pair of the brothers’ breeches.

Yori rolled his eyes at his friend’s irreverence, then continued. ‘Treat the staff with respect. It represents the body of Kobo Daishi, who spiritually accompanies all pilgrims on their path.’

Nodding, Jack studied the staff in more detail. There were five characters etched into the handle. Thanks to Akiko, he not only spoke fluent Japanese but had a basic understanding of
kanji
, its written form. Yet, even without this knowledge, these characters were instantly familiar to him:

‘The Five Rings,’ breathed Jack, turning to Miyuki who’d already finished dressing and was dragging the bodies out of sight.

‘The Buddhist monks apply them for spiritual purposes,’ she replied quickly, giving Jack a meaningful look to keep secret their ninja arts, even among friends.

Jack held his tongue. He’d been taught about the Five Rings from the Grandmaster. These five great elements of the universe formed the basis of a ninja’s approach to life. They used the Rings’ power and influence within their fighting techniques and survival tactics. This is what gave the ninja their strength and made them so deadly and feared.

Placing the staff to one side, Jack turned his attention to the pilgrim’s white bag. Inside he found incense, candles, a
s
ū
tra
book, coins, a set of bells for chanting, a small notebook and a supply of paper nameslips. He removed the notebook to make room for his own belongings.

‘I’d keep that,’ said Yori. ‘The
n
ō
ky
ō
ch
ō
is for collecting visitor stamps from the temples. More importantly, it’s a travel permit. You’ll need it for passage to Shikoku Island.’

Heeding Yori’s advice, Jack returned it to the bag and took out the bells instead. There was just enough room to stow the most precious item he carried – his father’s
rutter
. The logbook wasn’t only of sentimental value to him; it was his means of getting home and also highly sought after by those who knew of its power. With the
rutter
, the trade routes between nations could be controlled. And Jack had promised his father never to let it fall into the wrong hands. That’s why he had safeguarded it with his life and he wasn’t going to leave it behind now.

His only other item of value, apart from his swords, was the black pearl Akiko had given him the day he departed for Nagasaki. It had a golden hairpin attached on account of a thieving merchant, but this proved useful for securing inside the lapel of his kimono. That left his four remaining
shuriken
stars, a gourd of water and the food supplies in his pack. While Jack contemplated where to stow these, Yori emptied the coins from his pilgrim bag and put them in a small pile, along with some rice from his own provisions.

‘We’re going to need that food,’ said Saburo.

‘We’re not thieves,’ chided Yori. ‘We should at least leave the pilgrims a gift for their involuntary kindness.’

Feeling a touch guilty, Jack took out his pilgrim’s coins and left a couple of his
mochi
. Saburo, unwilling to part with his supply of rice cakes, threw down a samurai helmet with a round dent in the peak.

‘They can sell that if they want.’

‘But that’s the proof to your father you’re a hero,’ exclaimed Jack, recalling the moment Saburo had taken a bullet in the battle against the bandits.

‘It’s too bulky. Besides, if we don’t escape, it won’t matter whether I’m a hero or not!’

‘Hurry up, everyone,’ Miyuki urged, tossing a rice cake on to the pile. ‘The samurai are closing in.’

‘What should we do about the weapons?’ asked Saburo, holding up his swords. ‘They’re not exactly typical of a pilgrim.’

‘I’ve an idea,’ said Jack, pulling out a canvas bag from behind the stack of casks where he’d hidden earlier. ‘Put them in this. They’ll simply look like goods for shipment.’

Stashing their weapons, packs and remaining supplies in the bag, they donned their straw conical hats. Pulling the brim low over his face, Jack peered out of the door. A unit of samurai was entering the warehouse opposite.

‘Quick, let’s go!’ said Jack.

With Saburo carrying the canvas bag, they joined the other pilgrims. The urge to run for the boat was overwhelming.

‘Slow down,’ whispered Miyuki as they approached the jetty.

‘But two samurai are headed this way!’ Yori breathed in terror.

‘Whatever you do, don’t stop,’ she instructed through gritted teeth.

The soldiers drew ever nearer. Fortunately, their attention was focused on the alleyways and buildings. Yori and Miyuki passed unnoticed. But, with the samurai so intent upon their search and Jack keeping his head down, one of the soldiers accidentally collided into him.

The samurai turned on Jack and glared.

‘
Sumimasen
,’ apologized Jack, bowing low and keeping his eyes to the ground in respect.

Miyuki and the others slowed their pace, Saburo reaching inside the canvas bag for his
katana
, Miyuki palming a hidden
shuriken
.

The samurai stepped up to Jack, his hand moving towards the swords on his
obi
. Jack held his breath and prepared to run.

‘My apologies, pilgrim,’ said the samurai, pulling a coin from the pouch on his belt. ‘I have no wish for bad luck. Please accept my
o-settai
.’

Stunned, Jack took the money and was about to walk away when he remembered the ritual. Putting his hands together and keeping his head bowed, he chanted ‘
Namu Daishi Henjo Kongo
’ three times. Then he handed the samurai a nameslip. The soldier appeared satisfied and resumed his search for the fugitives, oblivious to how close they really were.

Turning of the Tides

‘We made it!’ Yori sighed, showing their travel permits and climbing on-board the boat bound for Shikoku Island.

‘All thanks to Miyuki and your pilgrim knowledge,’ agreed Jack.

They found a spot near the bow to stow the canvas bag and sat down. While the other passengers were finding their own places for the voyage, Jack took the opportunity to glance up and give the vessel a quick inspection. It was quite different in design from the mighty three-masted ocean trader he’d sailed upon to Japan. This wooden ship had a single mast with a square canvas sail, a flat keel and a wide, open deck. It was perhaps a third of the size of the
Alexandria
, with room for fifty passengers. Its cargo of rice bales and lamp oil was piled high on the deck and in the hold. The gunwales were raised with a diamond-shaped latticework of bamboo guardrails and the stern’s upper deck was given over to a large rudder and extra-long tiller. To Jack’s eye, it was more a coastal vessel than an ocean-going ship, but it looked seaworthy enough. He relaxed, knowing they would soon be under way.

‘It’s not over yet,’ warned Miyuki, looking back down the harbour.

A samurai patrol had just entered the brewery.

‘Why aren’t we setting sail?’ Saburo demanded, becoming nervous.

The boat was full but the captain seemed in no urgency to depart.

‘Perhaps there isn’t enough wind?’ suggested Miyuki.

Jack shook his head. ‘There’s more than enough.’

Yori turned to a kindly-looking man sitting nearby, who was contemplating the sea and mumbling to himself. ‘Excuse me,’ asked Yori, ‘what’s the delay?’

Blinking as if disturbed from a trance, the man offered a cordial smile, then in a soft voice replied:

‘Horseshoe harbour

Where the great tides turn

my life flows in and out.’

His cryptic answer made Jack wonder if the man was in his right mind.

The smile on the man’s lips faltered as he looked expectantly at Yori. ‘So … what do you think?’

Yori appeared pensive before replying. ‘Like the sea, your
haiku
is deep and moving.’

The man beamed upon hearing such gracious praise. ‘You’re a poet too!’ he exclaimed.

Yori bowed his head in humble acknowledgement.

‘I’d be honoured if you’d share a
haiku
of yours with me,’ requested the poet, excited at the prospect.

‘Of course,’ replied Yori, trying to keep his calm under the mounting pressure of the samurai. ‘But first we were wondering why the boat hasn’t sailed yet?’

The poet seemed surprised at such a question and replied matter-of-factly, ‘We must wait for the tides to turn.’

‘And
when
will that happen?’ pressed Saburo as Jack glanced again towards the warehouse. The samurai had yet to emerge, but they had surely discovered the bodies by now.

‘When the time is right,’ declared the poet. ‘Upon rising, the great tidal streams flow in from both east and west and meet just offshore from Tomo. When falling, they recede again in both directions – taking us and every soul upon this boat along with them. Tomo Harbour isn’t merely a stop-off upon a journey, it’s a place to wait for the “tide of life” to turn.’

At that moment, the samurai burst out of the brewery. They began to accost any pilgrim wandering along the harbour. Some soldiers backtracked into the village, while others worked their way towards the jetty. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, Jack and his friends could only sit and watch as the samurai advanced. Jack realized this was a turning point in his life. He and his friends would either escape or die, their fate seemingly dependent upon the pull of the moon.

Two of the samurai had already boarded the first boat in line, when the captain of the pilgrims’ ship gave the order to unfurl the sail and cast off. Jack felt the sweat on his brow as he prayed their captain wouldn’t notice the disturbance further down the dock.