Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky (3 page)

Then he heard the ominous roar of a
wave.

A rush of wind preceded the unseen wall of
water as the sea funnelled into the confines of the passage and hurtled towards Jack.
Snatching a last breath, he braced himself. The wave hit him with the impact of a
stampeding horse. Water flooded the passageway and he was submerged beneath a bubbling
roar.

Fighting to control his panic, Jack knew his
only chance of survival lay in a ninja breath-suppression technique. There’d been
no time to perform the requisite deep-breathing exercise, so he had to rely on the other
elements being enough. With
practised skill, he relaxed his muscles and
focused his mind. Summoning up a joyous moment in his life as a means of
zazen
meditation, Jack pictured Akiko, his closest friend, sitting with him beneath the
sakura
tree in Toba. The turbulent wave buffeted him as he dropped into a
meditative state and his heartbeat slowed dramatically. At half the rate, his
body’s demand for oxygen fell and he was able to suppress his natural need to
breathe.

But only for so long … a few
minutes at the most.

The sea surged through the passageway,
threatening to hold him in its watery embrace forever. Then his shoulders broke free,
the pressure of the wave dislodging him. A moment later, the flow reversed direction and
Jack was pulled along in its wake. As he struggled in its wild current, his heart rate
shot up and his lungs burned for oxygen. Jack had reached his limit and his mouth
involuntarily opened to suck in water where it expected air …

On the brink of drowning, Jack was saved at
the last second when the wave finally receded. His head broke the surface and he gasped
for air. Coughing and spluttering, he groped in the darkness for his swords and pack.
His hands clasped round the handles and strap, then he scrambled as fast as he could
along the gradually widening passageway. But, before he could reach the sea entrance,
another wave flooded in.

Jack was more prepared this time. Bracing
himself against the walls, he took three deep breaths before holding the last and
re-entering his meditative state. The sea tore past him and his kimono felt as if it
would be ripped from his back. But Jack held firm. He counted time, waiting for the turn
of the current. The wave rolled on and on, a seemingly endless surge.
Then he felt the shift in direction. All the while his need to breathe intensified.
The water took far longer to disperse than he’d anticipated. His lungs were on the
point of bursting … then the passage emptied of water. As he gulped in
precious air, he could already hear another wave approaching and realized the tide must
be coming in.

Lucky to have survived the first two waves,
Jack knew the third would be the end of him.

He crawled along the passageway, dragging
his pack and swords behind. The wave thundered closer. He scrabbled over some rocks and
came to a fork in the darkness. With no time to hesitate, a gleam of light convinced him
to go left. The slope inclined upwards to a large hole. Behind, the sea pursued him like
a foaming monster. With a final burst of effort, Jack clambered out and rolled on to a
patch of sand, a spray of seawater shooting out of the blowhole after him.

Jack lay for several moments on his back,
recovering from his narrow escape. He found himself in a large cave with rock pools and
stalactites. Bright welcome sunlight poured through the cave’s craggy opening.
Beyond stretched a beach of glistening black sand.

Wasting no more time, Jack secured his
swords and shouldered his pack. Cautiously, he made his way to the entrance and peered
out. Apart from a few seagulls, the beach was deserted. It appeared the samurai patrol
hadn’t yet managed to climb over the headland. Leaving the shelter of the cave, he
dashed across the beach towards what looked like a trail winding its way up the opposite
cliff face.

The sand was hot beneath his feet as he ran.
By midday, Jack guessed it would become unbearable. He was halfway
along the beach when he spied an object among the pecking seagulls on the sand. As he
drew closer, the seagulls flew off and Jack was sickened to discover that it was a human
head.

He shouldn’t have been so shocked. The
samurai were well known for decapitating their victims. After a battle, it was the
tradition for warriors to present the heads of their conquered enemies to their generals
for inspection. Heads were also cut off as part of
seppuku
, ritual suicide. Or,
in less honourable circumstances, as a brutal form of capital punishment. In this case,
the unfortunate victim was a boy and appeared to be a peasant or common criminal – the
head didn’t sport the shaved pate and topknot of the ruling samurai class.
Instead, wayward black hair shot up as if still in shock from its owner’s sudden
demise.

Jack offered the head a pitying look and ran
on, keenly aware that the same fate awaited him if he didn’t escape.

‘Hey,
nanban
!’

Unsheathing his
katana
, Jack spun
to face the samurai patrol. But there was no one chasing him.

‘Are you blind? Down here!’

Jack stopped in his tracks. The decapitated
head was
talking
to him.

4
 
 

‘Stop gawping and help me,’ it
demanded, squinting against the bright sunlight.

‘Y … you’re still
alive!’ Jack exclaimed in disbelieving horror.

‘Of course,
nanban
. Now stand
in front of the sun.’

Sword still drawn, Jack warily approached
and positioned his shadow across the head’s face. On his journey through Japan,
he’d experienced many strange encounters – from shape-shifting monks to
fortune-telling witches to warrior spirits – but this undead head was beyond all
reasonable explanation. Then he realized the young man was buried up to his neck in the
sand. A year or so older than Jack, the disembodied boy possessed a flattened brow, snub
nose and large ears that stuck out like jug handles. The thick lips were sunburnt and
the reddened cheeks glistened with sweat. Several bloody peck marks dotted the forehead
beneath the wild forest of black hair.

Once shaded from the sun’s glare, the
boy sighed with relief. Then he scrunched up his face and began twitching manically.
‘Scratch my nose, will you?’

Jack reached out a tentative hand and rubbed
the boy’s nose with a fingernail.

‘A little lower … ah,
that’s better! An itch is torture. Now, are you going to help me or
not?’

‘I’m not sure there’s much
more I can do.’

‘Are all
nanban
so
simple-minded?’ said the boy in exasperation. ‘How about digging me
out?’

Before leaping to his aid, Jack took a
moment to glance over his shoulder. Although there was still no sign of the patrol, he
couldn’t afford to linger on the beach digging this person up …

‘What are you waiting for?’
complained the head. ‘I’m dying here!’

But neither could he abandon the victim to
certain death. The sun was already scorching and the tide was coming in. Within hours
the young man would be killed by the blistering heat or drowned beneath the waves.
Forgetting his own fate for a moment, Jack hastily sheathed his sword, dropped to his
knees and began scooping up handfuls of sand. Then he hesitated again.

‘Don’t stop!’ cried the
head.

‘Why are you buried in the first
place?’ asked Jack, suddenly aware he could be unearthing more trouble for
himself.

‘My friends did it for a joke,’
the head replied, giving him a hearty smile.

‘Some joke.’

The head could see Jack wasn’t
convinced. ‘I’m not a murderer if that’s what you’re thinking,
nanban
. You of all people must know what it’s like in Japan with the
new shogun. The innocent are guilty … unless they’re samurai!’

Jack did understand. Since his arrival in
Japan, he’d witnessed a deaf tea merchant lose his head for simply not bowing and
Christian priests hung by their necks solely for their beliefs. Race, religion or lowly
status provided enough reason for a death sentence under Shogun Kamakura’s
ruthless reign. Whatever crime this young man had committed, he was unlikely to deserve
such a cruel punishment.

Jack resumed his digging. ‘So who are
you?’

‘Benkei the Great!’ proclaimed
the head.

Jack raised an eyebrow at such a grandiose
title, but made no comment. ‘I’m Jack Fletcher from England.’

‘A
nanban
who speaks fluent
Japanese,’ remarked Benkei, impressed. ‘Nor have I ever met a southern
barbarian with samurai swords before. Who did you kill to acquire those? Or did you
steal them from a battlefield?’

‘They were a gift from a close
friend,’ Jack stated, working hard to shift the wet sand trapping Benkei’s
chest.

Benkei shared a conspiratorial wink with
him. ‘Whatever you say,
nanban
.’

Jack ignored his cynicism and asked,
‘How long have you been buried like this?’

‘Oh, a day or so.’

‘I’m surprised you’re
still alive.’

‘I caught a couple of sand crabs in my
mouth,’ Benkei explained. ‘A bit crunchy for
sashimi
, to be honest.
And they fight back!’ He stuck out his tongue to show a red pincer mark.
‘Then last night when the heavens opened, I had more than enough to drink.
Actually, I almost
drowned
.’

Jack stopped digging again and asked
tentatively, ‘Have you seen anyone else along this beach?’

Benkei considered this for a moment.
‘Maybe. Who are you looking for?’

‘Three friends. A small monk by the
name of Yori, carrying a Buddhist ringed staff. A young samurai called Saburo.
He’s a lot larger, particularly round the middle. And Miyuki, a slim girl with
spiky dark hair and eyes black as midnight.’

‘Aren’t we all looking for a
girl like that?’ Benkei replied with a mischievous grin.

‘This one could kill you,’
warned Jack, and the grin died on Benkei’s face. ‘So have you seen any of
them?’

‘Finish digging me out and I’ll
tell you who I saw.’

Encouraged by this, Jack furiously shovelled
sand until Benkei’s arms were free. Then between them they created a hole large
enough for Jack to pull him out.

‘That’s the last time I go to
the beach,’ said Benkei, brushing the sand from his brightly coloured kimono, a
motley patchwork of red, green and yellow silks. He shook his gangly legs and a
bewildered crab dropped from his undergarments. ‘
That
was really
uncomfortable.’

‘So who did you see?’ Jack
urged, eager for news of his friends.

Benkei shrugged apologetically. ‘No
one fitting those descriptions, I’m afraid.’

Jack felt cheated. ‘But you said
–’

‘Thanks for digging me out,
nanban
,’ he interrupted, his eyes flicking to the headland, before
sprinting off in the opposite direction. ‘Nice to meet you!’

Hearing a shout from behind, Jack turned to
find the samurai patrol charging along the beach towards him. Beginning to regret his
decision to stop and help, Jack ran after Benkei.

5
 
 

‘They’re after
me
, not
you!’ cried Jack as they reached the top of the cliff.

‘That may be true,
nanban
,
but I’m not exactly popular with the samurai in these parts either,’ said
Benkei, not breaking his stride.

The trail cut through shrubland to a
crossroads beside a lone tree. A well-used dirt road followed the coastline, while a
smaller track headed inland towards a rugged mountain range.

‘Which way? I’ve no idea where I
am,’ Jack admitted.

Benkei raised an eyebrow in surprise.
‘This is Kyushu Island. North takes you to Shimonoseki, south to Funai through the
town of Beppu, and that way –’ he pointed along the track – ‘leads to the
Kuju range. But I’d avoid that route if I were you. Unless you want to get
really
lost!’