Young Samurai: The Ring of Wind (5 page)

The samurai were now running along the jetty to stop any more vessels leaving. On-board their ship, Jack exchanged a worried look with Miyuki. At this rate, they had no hope of escaping. The soldiers were halfway down the jetty when the boat eased away from the harbourside, the breeze filling the sail.

But its progress seemed excruciatingly slow to Jack and his three anxious companions. Shouting to the captain, the samurai were sprinting headlong to draw level. Luckily, the wind buffeting the sail muffled their cries and the captain remained focused on navigating through the narrow mouth of the harbour. All of a sudden, their boat picked up speed. Caught by the ebbing tide, Jack and his friends were carried out with the current and into the haven of the Seto Sea.

For the first time in over a year, Jack truly felt at ease. They’d escaped the samurai and he was back at sea. Saburo was fast asleep, snoring, his face shaded from the bright spring sunshine by his pilgrim hat. Yori was exchanging
haiku
with the poet, while Miyuki, vigilant as ever, was keeping a watchful eye in case a boat followed them from Tomo. But their vessel was making such headway that Jack knew it would be impossible for the samurai to catch up now.

Jack sat upon the prow as their boat cut through the waves. Every so often he risked a glance up, relishing the breeze upon his face, and breathed in a deep lungful of sea air. The boat’s constant pitch and roll was as comforting as a mother’s arms. And the rushing lap of water against the hull sent a familiar thrill through him. He was back in his element.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the ocean life – the feel of the rough wooden deck beneath his feet; the snap of the canvas sail beating with the wind. Almost four years had passed since he’d sailed aboard the
Alexandria
, and it seemed like a lifetime ago. With all his training at the
Niten Ichi Ry
ū
, he was now more samurai than seaman. But his seafaring instincts were too deeply ingrained to be lost. His late father had seen to that. With a quick glance, Jack could tell the captain wasn’t sailing the ship on its optimum tack. The sail could be trimmed to get at least another knot of speed out of her. His eye remained sharp for navigational signs: the light blue hue of the water indicated where the seabed was relatively shallow and he could tell by the position of the sun they were headed in a south-westerly direction, following the coastline.

As he made these observations, his body gently swayed, unconsciously counterbalancing the rise and fall of the ship’s prow.

You can take the sailor from the sea, but you can never take the sea from the sailor.

His father had often jested with his mother about that every time he’d returned from a voyage. And it was never long before his father got the urge to set sail again. That very same impulse had drawn Jack to the ocean and his father’s trade as a ship’s pilot. The two years spent sailing from England to the Japans as a rigging monkey had been some of the happiest in his life. During the voyage, his father had taught him how to navigate by the stars, gauge the weather, plot a course and, most importantly, decipher the cryptic notes and observations in the
rutter
– the logbook having been encoded to prevent prying eyes from discovering its valuable secrets.

Gazing across the Seto Sea with its countless islands glimmering like jewels, Jack could almost sense the spirit of his father by his side. With a wistful sigh, he surrendered himself to the memories.

Many of the other passengers – a surprising mix of pilgrims, merchants, a couple of court nobles, a monk and several travellers – were also enjoying the view, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

A man got unsteadily to his feet and approached the bow. Jack caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. Glimpsing the hilt of a samurai sword on his hip, he momentarily panicked. But the man was a little green with seasickness and had no interest in him. Unkempt, with a stubbly face and wayward hair, he was thickset and had battle scars across his arms. He wore a shabby brown kimono with no visible
mon
, the crest that would indicate his allegiance to a particular samurai lord. Without it, Jack guessed he was a
ronin
, a masterless samurai.

The ship suddenly pitched over a wave and the
ronin
stumbled. As he tried to regain his balance, he accidentally kicked the canvas bag. One of Jack’s swords tumbled out, its blade sliding from its
saya
. The razor-sharp steel gleamed in the sunlight, the name
Shizu
clearly etched upon its surface.

The
ronin
stared in disbelief at the samurai blade, then turned to Jack.

‘What sort of pilgrim travels with Shizu swords?’

School of No Sword

‘Answer me, pilgrim!’ demanded the
ronin
. ‘Or perhaps you’re not a pilgrim at all …’

Jack daren’t look up and reveal his true identity. Yet he didn’t know what to say either. Nor did Saburo – startled from his sleep, he could only gawp at the exposed weapon. With their lives at risk, Miyuki was about to snatch up the
katana
when Yori stepped between Jack and the
ronin
.

‘They’re gifts,’ he explained in an innocent tone, leaving Miyuki to repack the sword before it attracted anyone else’s attention.

‘Gifts?’ spat the
ronin
, unconvinced. ‘A Shizu sword seems an
incredible
gift.’

Every samurai knew Shizu-san was one of the greatest swordsmiths to have lived, and his blades were revered for both their quality and benevolent spirit. With only a few true ones in existence, their value was inestimable.

Yori nodded sincerely. ‘They’re offerings for the gods at Oyamazumi Shrine on Omishima Island. We’re donating them on behalf of our
sensei
.’

The
ronin
squinted at Yori. ‘But this boat isn’t headed for Omishima Island.’

‘We’re … going there after the pilgrimage,’ stated Yori, but his hesitation made the reply sound hollow and the
ronin
remained sceptical.

‘What sword school do you belong to?’ he demanded.

Yori paused before answering, ‘The School of No Sword.’

Since the
Niten Ichi Ry
ū
had been closed by order of the Shogun, Jack knew it was wise of his friend to give another school’s name. But even Jack was surprised by such a preposterous-sounding one.

The
ronin
snorted in disdain. ‘What sort of ridiculous sword style is
that
?’

Yori swallowed nervously. ‘Would you like a demonstration?’

Grinning with malicious delight, the
ronin
grunted, ‘A duel! Most definitely.’

As the
ronin
began to clear the deck of passengers, Jack grabbed Yori’s arm. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘We have to get rid of this
ronin
,’ Yori insisted. ‘Otherwise he’ll discover who you are.’

‘But did you
have
to challenge him to a duel?’ Jack knew Yori wasn’t a fighter at heart and he feared for his friend’s life. The
ronin
may be suffering seasickness, but judging by the scars on his arms he was a battle-hardened and dangerous foe. ‘Let me take your place,’ suggested Jack.

‘Trust me,’ Yori replied, with only a slight tremble to his voice. ‘I can handle him.’

‘What’s going on here?’ The captain, a burly man with a face weathered as old leather, strode down the steps from the stern’s upper deck.

‘A duel!’ cried one of the merchants excitedly.

‘I won’t have fighting on-board this ship,’ ruled the captain.

Unwilling to lose face, the
ronin
stepped forward. ‘The challenge has been set. My honour is at stake. We
must
duel.’

‘My ship, my rules,’ said the captain firmly.

‘I’m a samurai,’ said the
ronin
. ‘Do what I say.’

‘I’m the captain,’ he shot back, unfazed by the
ronin
’s belligerent attitude. ‘At sea, you do what I say.’

A tense stand-off occurred between the two men and the ship fell silent.

Coughing for their attention, Yori bowed to the captain. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to lend us the rowing boat? Then we can duel on that island over there without injuring any of your passengers.’

Yori pointed to an uninhabited outcrop of rock, crowned with trees and ringed by a small beach. The captain regarded Yori thoughtfully, his curiosity roused at the prospect of a fight between a samurai and a pilgrim.

‘That’s acceptable,’ agreed the captain, giving the order to drop anchor.

A couple of his crew lowered the rowing boat over the side. The
ronin
climbed down the rope ladder and waited impatiently for Yori to join him.

‘Let me come with you,’ suggested Saburo.

‘It’s best that I go alone,’ Yori replied, taking a grip of the swaying ladder.

‘Don’t you want to carry a knife at least?’ asked Miyuki, offering him her hidden
tant
ō
.

Yori shook his head and descended into the rowing boat. The
ronin
took the oars and began to paddle. Powerless to prevent the duel now, Jack, Saburo and Miyuki stood by the guardrail, watching their friend bob across the water towards the island.

‘That
ronin
will cut him into eight pieces,’ sighed Saburo mournfully.

By now, all the passengers and crew were gathered along the gunwale, eagerly awaiting the start of this unusual match. Jack noticed the merchants and court nobles were placing bets on the outcome of the duel – and the odds weren’t favourable for Yori.

As the rowing boat approached the little beach, the
ronin
shipped the oars and leapt on to the sand. Within the blink of an eye, he’d drawn a bloodstained sword and assumed a battle stance.

‘Time to prove yourself, pilgrim!’ he snarled.

Jack’s heart was in his mouth as he saw Yori stand up to follow his opponent ashore. All of a sudden Yori snatched up an oar and pushed the rowing boat back out to sea. The
ronin
stared in outrage and utter bewilderment as his adversary left him stranded.

Rowing calmly away, Yori cried out, ‘There’s your demonstration in defeating the enemy … with no sword!’

Seasickness

Yori reboarded the boat to the sound of applause. In awe of his peaceful resolution, the pilgrims clustered round him asking for his blessing. Meanwhile, the merchants and court nobles were arguing over their bets – some believing Yori to be the clear victor, others protesting that an
actual
duel had never occurred.

‘What about the
ronin
?’ a deckhand asked the captain.

The samurai was stamping up and down on the beach, waving his arms furiously at them.

‘He’ll be picked up by another boat …’ replied the captain, ‘… eventually!’

With a booming laugh, he gave the orders to weigh anchor and they resumed their journey towards Shikoku Island.

‘Did you see the look on the
ronin
’s face?’ Saburo chortled, when Yori finally managed to rejoin his friends. ‘It was as if he’d swallowed a fish whole.’

Jack laid a hand upon Yori’s shoulder. ‘You
really
had me worried for a moment.’

Yori smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry, but it was the only way I could think of to get the
ronin
off the boat without a fight.’

‘That is
ninja
cunning!’ Miyuki remarked. ‘Still, you should’ve taken a weapon, just in case.’

‘I did,’ replied Yori, tapping a forefinger to his temple. ‘The mind is the greatest weapon.’

Jack grinned at his friend. Every day Yori was becoming more and more like their old Zen master, Sensei Yamada – not only in manner but in wisdom too.

The boat sailed on and the passengers settled down again, dozing in the sun or gazing across the glistening waters of the Seto Sea. Returning to their position at the bow, Jack and the others ensured the canvas bag was kept securely between them. But they needn’t have worried. The other travellers now maintained a respectful distance from Yori and his companions, his honourable act having enhanced his status on-board the boat.