In The Falling Light (20 page)

The samurai breathed in the night air,
closing his eyes. Something important had happened this afternoon,
an event which was of consequence to him. Shortly after noon, an
emissary from the Shogunate had arrived at the school bearing a
message from the ruling Tokugawa. The Shogun desired a master
swordsman to teach his first-born son the way of the sword, a great
honor to the man selected. Naturally Ittosai was being considered,
and the emissary inquired if the headmaster was open to such a
proposal. Itto had yet to give his answer. For Zenki this meant
that the Itto School – and its best
sempai
– was favored. It
also meant that the time was quickly coming for Zenki to make his
bid for power, to take a worthy place in the Shogunate. Such as a
Daimyo
. With his master as
sensei
to the Shogun’s
son, Zenki would be the natural selection for such a post. His
noble birth, skill at arms, favored status and spiritual purity
made him perfect for the rank.

This was what Zenki had worked towards his
entire life, the reason he strove for perfection, his own road to
enlightenment. He honed his skills so that he could best serve the
Shogun and protect Japan, and it indeed needed protection. The
harsh experience of war with the Chinese had taught him that, and
his hatred for them was great. Once
Daimyo
, he would lead a
campaign against mainland China as his ancestors had. He would make
them servants of the rising sun, as they should be.

And of course, with the position would come
the expected wealth and influence, the comforts to which such a
post was naturally entitled. That, too, was as it should be.

Ono accepted the wine from his wife, nodding
politely. She smiled in a way that was for him alone, lowering her
eyes before retreating into the house. The samurai loved her very
much, and she in turn had borne him four beautiful children, the
oldest only seven. And just as Zenki pondered his own ambitions,
Ono considered what he wanted. Good marriages for his daughters,
training at the Itto school for his sons, peace for his family. And
for himself, a quiet road to enlightenment, a desire formed during
his childhood near the temple. That was not to say that a part of
him did not desire privilege and a measure of authority, the
respect of others, and the opportunity to share the things he
learned. Any man who claimed otherwise was either a liar or a monk,
and Ono was neither.

He looked at his master, who appeared
relaxed, his thoughts far away. Ono remembered one of the few times
in his life when he had seen his master truly angry. It was shortly
after he had arrived at the school, himself a child. The Itto Ryu
was visited by Japan’s legendary swordsman, Miyamoto Musashi. Ono
had been supremely disappointed, for this legend had matted hair
and wore soiled robes, was unwashed, ungroomed, and left a trail of
sour odor everywhere he went. Musashi and Ittosai had
sake
on this very veranda, while Ono hid under the porch listening. His
discovery would have meant at the very least a severe beating, and
at worst expulsion, an unthinkable dishonor. Yet he found he could
not stay away, risking everything to lie motionless in the dark and
the dirt, peeking up through the wooden slats of the veranda at
Japan’s greatest hero.

Ono remembered how they had argued. Their
discussion was of spiritual matters, none of it comprehensible to
the boy, and the debate had grown heated. Ono was fearful that the
exchange would come to blows, but just when it seemed violence
would erupt, both men simply laughed and continued their argument
at a more subdued pace. It wasn’t until years later that Ono had
the courage to ask Itto about the hero’s appearance. It turned out
Ittosai had known of the boy’s presence under the veranda all
along, but had said nothing. He explained that Musashi was so
slovenly because his devotion to his art left no time for
trivialities such as hygiene. And the fact that Musashi
subsequently gave up the sword to pursue a solitary, spiritual life
attested to this. That his master could carry on enlightened
conversations with such a person said much for Ittosai’s
spirit.

I desire one more thing for myself, Ono
thought. I desire to serve you, Itto Ittosai. Ono would be forever
grateful that the old man had shown him the true path of life.
Without being able to put it into conscious thought, he knew he
would obey any request, any demand, without hesitation. Ittosai
would have slyly pointed out that this was the true embodiment of
the perfect samurai.

Ono had seen the Shogun’s emissary too, but
it was of small importance to him. Itto either would or would not
agree to teach the Shogun’s son. There was no shame in refusing,
except perhaps for the Shogun. What made Ono curious was the other
visitor to the school. A Buddhist monk had spoken with Itto for
most of the day, and this was quickly becoming a regular visit, the
holy man showing up several times each month. Ittosai was a
spiritual man who spoke often of the need to follow Buddha’s
teachings, but the frequency of the visits was unusual. Was Itto
thinking of making the monk a regular part of the school? Or
perhaps weighing whether or not to use some of his considerable
wealth to build a temple?

His musings were broken by Zenki’s voice.
“Ono-san, this morning you appeared distressed. Was it the
beating?” Typical Zenki, Ono thought. Just couldn’t let it lie.

“Why do you ask?”

Zenki laughed. “Your thoughts are always on
your face. You must understand that we are not training farmers
here. He was in error, and such an error in combat means death and
the dishonor of failing your liege.”

“There is no dishonor in dying in battle,”
said Ono.

“If you are killed before your obligation to
your lord is fulfilled, there is great shame.”

Ono shook his head. “There is only shame if
one does not do his best. That is the center of the matter.
Victory, death, they are inconsequential. Certainly victory is more
desirable, but it is secondary to the mind and spirit.”

“Very poetic, Ono-san, but not something I
would say to my lord before entering battle. And unrealistic in
these times. Our master has taught us we must be able to
adapt.”

“That is not what he meant,” said Ono, his
eyes hard. Both men looked to their
sensei
for confirmation,
but he remained silent, sipping his
sake
and staring into
the cool night.

It was quiet for a long while, and then Itto
spoke softly. “You are both honorable men,
neh?”
An answer
would have been impolite, and none was expected. “Neither of you
would dishonor me by refusing a gift?”

Both samurai shook their heads.
Unthinkable.

Itto nodded, a decision made. He rose
slowly, bowed, and bid his senior students a pleasant evening
before going into the house. Both men bowed until he left, then sat
with their own thoughts, wrestling with a mixture of excitement and
confusion. It was one of the things which bound them to the old
man, the attraction of peeling away the mystery of his words like
the skin of a fruit, working towards the sweetness of the truth
beneath.

The night air was growing cold now, and both
samurai rose to leave. They said a perfunctory good night to one
another, then returned to their homes.

The sun was barely upon the courtyard when
Itto walked out onto the veranda. Every student was gathered before
him in ranks, kneeling in respect. Zenki and Ono knelt in front of
them, closest to the veranda. This was how school began each day,
and sometimes Itto would have some small words of inspiration, but
more often than not would simply nod and give them over to their
teachers for the day’s training. This morning, Itto Ittosai had
something to say.

He knelt on a mat and looked out over the
young faces, seeing the future before him. The future of his
teachings. “I am in my seventieth year,” he began, his voice
reaching even to the last rank of students. “I have seen much of
the world, have participated in historic events. Yet nothing I have
done is as important as what I do now. The time has come for me to
leave the world of normal men, to devote the remainder of my life
to Buddha. I will join the monks in Kyoto, where I will live out my
days serving my master.”

His words were startling, yet none showed
it.

“The school I have founded,” he continued,
“the Itto Ryu, must be passed to the next generation. It must go
into capable hands.” He extended his palms. “Zenki-san, please
stand.”

The older samurai stood, flushing with
pride.

“And Ono-san,” the old man said, gesturing
that the younger man should also stand. Ono did so, slowly, not
seeing his fellow
sempai’s
flush turn from pride to
rage.

“My two finest students,” Itto said, “are
skilled and capable, spiritual men worthy of being my successor, of
leading the Itto Ryu. So it shall be. Only one, however, may be
headmaster. The other must not face the humiliation of service to
the first. I will not choose between them. Their spirits will
decide.”

Itto paused, looking into the eyes of both
samurai. “This morning, we three will go to the field which
overlooks the sea. There, Zenki-san and Ono-san will face each
other with the sword. He who falls will leave this world an
honorable man, destined for the mysteries of the next life. He who
lives will receive my scroll, which contains the secrets of my
teachings. He will receive my sword, which is alive with the souls
of over three hundred years of samurai. He will receive the Itto
Ryu.”

Zenki, Ono and the rest of the students
bowed deeply in unquestioning acceptance of their master’s will.
The winds of change were upon them all.

It was just after eleven, and a sea wind
blew across the high meadow, scenting the air with the tang of
salt. The murmur of waves lapping against rocks far below was in
harmony with the buzzing of bees among the wildflowers. It was warm
and peaceful. Itto had chosen his spot well.

Zenki and Ono faced each other, six feet
between them. Their swords were bared, held low in their right
hands with the edges facing up. Neither man moved. Ittosai knelt in
the high grass some distance away, his bare head warmed by the sun,
his eyes narrowed in meditation. At his side lay his sword, and
before him was a simple wooden box containing his scroll.

The two samurai had been this way for over
an hour, neither man moving, each watching the eyes of the other.
Time unspooled between them, but actual contact was certain to be
quick and final.

Zenki wore a loose-fitting cotton kimono,
tied at the waist. The wind stirred his baggy skirt and a bee
buzzed past his eyes, but he did not stir. His mind was in motion,
however. At last he would receive the recognition he truly
deserved, for as headmaster he would realize an undreamt-of
ambition. Better than
Daimyo
– those lords would come to
him. Now he would become indispensable to the Tokugawas, sought out
for wise counsel, molding the policies and philosophies of the
Shogunate just as he molded their sons into samurai. Strengthening
Japan. As headmaster he would shape the Itto Ryu into something for
the new century.

First, Ono had to die.

Making that happen should not be difficult.
Ono, for all his pretending, was spiritually weak, lacking the fire
needed to lead the school, to train young samurai for war. Pretty
words and poetry was fine, but meant little compared to the need
for unstoppable, obedient warriors. Ono lacked confidence and
desire, thinking he followed Ittosai’s teaching, but missing the
true messages.

Another hour passed without movement, the
sun making Zenki uncomfortable under the kimono. Sweat trickled
from his forehead into one eye, but he did not blink, did not
notice the distraction. Itto’s voice was in his head.
Even if
one has a strong body but his mind is weak – because he is scared
or unsure – then he is weak. If one has a weak body but a strong
mind, he is strong.
Zenki had both a strong mind and body. He
would kill Ono.

Ono wore the same, simple gray kimono he had
worn during the daily lessons nearly every day since becoming
sempai. Unsure and up against a more experienced swordsman, he was
unable to control his thoughts. Visions of his children and his
wife came to him, and he struggled to banish them. He had to win,
if for no other reason than to keep the school out of Zenki’s
hands, to preserve the Itto Ryu. Yet the responsibilities of a
headmaster were tremendous, and he knew he was not the man Ittosai
was. How could he lead generations down Itto’s path, when he
himself did not truly understand the man’s philosophy? And what of
the obligation he would have to the Shoguns? Zenki was far more
qualified for such duties. His doubts confused him, and for a
terrifying moment he was certain they were revealed on his face –
just as Zenki said – a clear sign for the other man to strike a
blow which Ono could not hope to parry. But the moment passed
without a strike, and Ono’s spirit calmed itself a little.

Itto’s voice spoke to him as well.
A fox
can run very fast to escape. Yet if a dog attacks him and the fox
thinks too much about how to escape, he will not. Don’t use too
much thinking, as it causes doubt.
Ono tried to close his mind
to the random thoughts assailing it.

Hours passed, still without a single
movement from either man. The sun crossed the sky, heedless to the
confrontation below.

For a brief instant, Zenki had the urge to
strike, but he resisted the impulse. The passage of time meant
nothing, only the outcome. The moment had to be right, and Ittosai
had explained when that moment was.
If one can find the
opponent’s mind and control it, then victory will be easy.
Zenki searched for Ono’s state of mind through his eyes for over an
hour, but it was in shadow. Instead of further struggle, he sank
into himself, concealing his mind in its own shadows.