Young Samurai 06 - The Ring of Fire Read online

  CHRIS BRADFORD

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  YOUNG SAMURAI THE RING OF FIRE

  ‘A fantastic adventure that floors the reader on page one and keeps them there until the end. The pace is furious and the martial arts detail authentic’ – Eoin Colfer, author of the bestselling Artemis Fowl series

  ‘Fierce fiction … captivating for young readers’ – Daily Telegraph

  ‘Addictive’ – Evening Standard

  ‘More and more absorbing … vivid and enjoyable’ – The Times

  ‘Bradford comes out swinging in this fast-paced adventure … and produces an adventure novel to rank among the genre’s best. This book earns the literary equivalent of a black belt’ – Publishers Weekly

  ‘The most exciting fight sequences imaginable on paper!’ – Booklist

  Winner of Northern Ireland Book Award 2011

  School Library Association’s Riveting Read 2009

  Shortlisted for Red House Children’s Book Award 2009

  Chris Bradford likes to fly through the air. He has thrown himself over Victoria Falls on a bungee cord, out of an aeroplane in New Zealand and off a French mountain on a paraglider, but he has always managed to land safely – something he learnt from his martial arts …

  Chris joined a judo club aged seven where his love of throwing people over his shoulder, punching the air and bowing lots started. Since those early years, he has trained in karate, kickboxing, samurai swordsmanship and has earned his black belt in taijutsu, the secret fighting art of the ninja.

  Before writing the Young Samurai series, Chris was a professional musician and songwriter. He’s even performed to HRH Queen Elizabeth II (but he suspects she found his band a bit noisy).

  Chris lives in a village on the South Downs with his wife, Sarah, his son, Zach, and two cats called Tigger and Rhubarb.

  To discover more about Chris go to www.youngsamurai.com

  Books by Chris Bradford:

  The Young Samurai series (in reading order)

  THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR

  THE WAY OF THE SWORD

  THE WAY OF THE DRAGON

  THE RING OF EARTH

  THE RING OF WATER

  THE RING OF FIRE

  For the Pocket Money Puffin series

  VIRTUAL KOMBAT

  For my son, Zach,

  the fire in our lives

  CONTENTS

  Map: The Japans – 17th Century

  The Letter

  1 Frozen

  2 Rice

  3 Neko

  4 Black Moon

  5 Seven Samurai

  6 Fire

  7 Baby

  8 Abducted

  9 Recruitment

  10 An Old Friend

  11 A Helpful Monk

  12 Splitting Arrows

  13 Hayato

  14 Yuudai

  15 Out of Time

  16 White Shadow

  17 Army of Children

  18 The Reluctant Leader

  19 A Ninja’s Inspiration

  20 Through the Eyes of the Enemy

  21 Locked Horns

  22 Defences

  23 A Samurai’s Sword

  24 A Dark Secret

  25 Divisions

  26 Samurai School

  27 Thorn Bushes

  28 A Lost Cause

  29 Wanted

  30 Scouts

  31 Tracking Trails

  32 Akuma

  33 Up in Flames

  34 Rescue

  35 Fire Fight

  36 An Icy Grave

  37 Healing

  38 Straw Soldiers

  39 Battle Cry

  40 Doubts

  41 Fear

  42 Night Watch

  43 The Raid

  44 The Mill

  45 The Bridge

  46 Ice

  47 A Deal

  48 Scared

  49 Shot Down

  50 Assassination

  51 Execution

  52 The Burning Pyre

  53 Gone

  54 The Ring of Fire

  55 Overrun

  56 Shakujō

  57 The Pond

  58 End of a Nightmare

  59 Tears and Celebration

  60 Koban

  61 Fugitives

  Notes on the Sources

  Character Names

  Japanese Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  THE LETTER

  Japan, 1614

  My dearest Jess,

  I hope this letter reaches you one day. You must believe I’ve been lost at sea all these years. But you’ll be glad to know that I am alive and in good health.

  Father and I reached the Japans in August 1611, but I am sad to tell you he was killed in an attack upon our ship, the Alexandria. I alone survived.

  For these past three years, I’ve been living in the care of a Japanese warrior, Masamoto Takeshi, at his samurai school in Kyoto. He has been very kind to me, but life has not been easy.

  An assassin, a ninja known as Dragon Eye, was hired to steal our father’s rutter (you no doubt remember how important this navigational logbook was to our father?). The ninja was successful in his mission. However, with the help of my samurai friends, I’ve managed to get it back.

  This same ninja was the one who murdered our father. And, while it may not bring you much comfort, I can assure you the assassin is now dead. Justice has been delivered. But the ninja’s death doesn’t bring back our father – I miss him so much and could do with his guidance and protection at this time.

  Japan has been split by civil war and foreigners like myself are no longer welcome. I am a fugitive. On the run for my life. I now journey south through this strange and exotic land to the port of Nagasaki in the hope that I may find a ship bound for England.

  The Tokaido Road upon which I travel, however, is fraught with danger and I have many enemies on my trail. But do not fear for my safety. Masamoto has trained me as a samurai warrior and I will fight to return home to you.

  One day I do hope I can tell you about my adventures in person …

  Until then, dear sister, may God keep you safe.

  Your brother, Jack

  P.S. Since first writing this letter at the end of spring, I’ve been kidnapped by ninja. But I discovered that they were not the enemy I thought they were. In fact, they saved my life and taught me about the Five Rings: the five great elements of the universe – Earth, Water, Fire, Wind and Sky. I now know ninjutsu skills that go beyond anything I learnt as a samurai. But, because of the circumstances of our father’s death, I still struggle to fully embrace the Way of the Ninja …

  1

  FROZEN

  Japan, winter 1614

  Jack’s limbs were frozen solid. He was so cold he could no longer even shiver. Only sheer willpower kept him putting one foot in front of the other as he battled through the blizzard.

  He seriously regretted his decision to take the mountain route. He may have evaded the Shogun’s samurai, but he’d barely made it over Funasaka Pass alive. During the night the weather had turned harsh, battering him into submission and forcing him down the mountainside.

  The icy gusts cut through his silk kimono straight to the bone like knives. Jack clasped his body for warmth, his head down to the wind, his thin straw hat offering poor protection against the stinging snow. Upon his hip rattled the two red-handled samurai swords his best friend, Akiko, had given him. Slung across his back was the pack that contained her black pearl, five shuriken stars and, most importantly, his father’s rutter – the priceless navigational logbook he’d fought tooth and nail to keep safe. Yet, however precious these items were to him, the
y were now like lead weights round his neck.

  Cold, tired and hungry, Jack felt the last of his strength ebbing away.

  Glancing up to get his bearings, there was nothing to see. The landscape was shrouded in a thick blanket of white, the sky swallowed up by endless grey clouds. Behind him, his lone track of footprints was already disappearing beneath a new veil of snow.

  At least I’m off the mountain, he thought, taking in the vast featureless expanse of the Okayama Plain. Perhaps I should rest awhile. Let the snow cover my body. No one would find me, not even Kazuki –

  Jack shook himself. He couldn’t allow such self-defeating thoughts to overwhelm him. Fighting his exhaustion, he focused on the burning hope in his heart: of returning home to his sister Jess.

  Since leaving his friends – the samurai Ronin and the girl thief Hana – he’d been making good progress with his escape to Nagasaki, the southern port where he hoped to find a ship bound for England. Miraculously, he’d passed unscathed through the outskirts of Osaka. He’d then followed the coastal road, avoiding all the samurai checkpoints, to reach the castle town of Himeji. Here Jack made his first mistake. Having run short of supplies, he’d risked buying some rice in a market with the last of his coins. But the Shogun’s samurai were everywhere – on the lookout for foreigners, in particular a gaijin samurai. Although he’d tried to keep his face hidden, Jack was spotted and forced to flee. For the next three days, troops of samurai were hard on his trail. He only managed to lose them when, using his ninja stealth skills, he broke from the coastal road and headed deep into the mountains.

  But that decision now looked to be the end of him.

  Praying for shelter, Jack stumbled on blindly through the snowstorm. Twice he fell to the ground and got back up again. On the third time, his body simply gave in – the lack of food, sleep and warmth finally taking its toll.

  The snow quickly began to settle upon his frozen form.

  As the ground consumed him, Jack heard the faint voice of his friend Yori in his head … Seven times down, eight times up!

  The mantra, which had been his saving two years before in the Taryu-Jiai interschool martial arts contest, repeated itself, growing louder and louder.

  Seven times down, eight times UP! Seven times down, EIGHT TIMES UP! SEVEN TIMES DOWN, EIGHT TIMES UP!

  The lesson of never giving up was burnt so deep into his soul that Jack overruled his body’s failure. Summoning up the last of his energy, he dragged himself to his feet, snow tumbling from his shoulders. In his determination to rise, he thought he saw the flickering orange flame of an oil lamp in the distance. Staggering towards the light, more lanterns came into view until an entire town materialized out of the storm.

  Although Jack avoided civilization whenever he could, desperation now drove him forward. In a final burst, he fell into the shelter of the nearest building, huddling from the bitter wind in the corner of its veranda.

  Once he’d recovered slightly, Jack took in his new surroundings.

  Lights spilt on to the main street in welcoming arcs and the warm glow of fires beckoned the weary traveller inside the numerous inns and eating establishments lining the road. The noise of laughter and drunken singing greeted Jack’s ears as small groups of samurai, geisha, merchants and townsfolk hurried between the wooden slatted premises in search of entertainment and refuge from the storm.

  Slumped where he was, Jack realized he was in full view of these people and would soon draw attention to himself. Gathering his wits, he pulled his straw hat further over his face and entered the town, acting like any other samurai.

  The smell of cooked rice, soy sauce and steamed fish assaulted his senses. To his right, a shoji door was partially open. Three samurai warriors sat round a roaring hearth fire, knocking back saké and scooping generous portions of steamed rice into their mouths. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal. For the past week, he’d been forced to forage. But winter was a meagre time. Early on he’d managed to kill a squirrel with his shuriken; otherwise in the mountains he’d found nothing, the snow having driven all animals to ground.

  As one of the samurai closed the shoji, blocking his view, Jack knew food had to be his priority. But with no money to his name, he’d have to beg, barter or steal in order to survive.

  All of a sudden he collided with something solid, the impact almost bowling him over.

  ‘Watch it!’ snarled a burly samurai, accompanied by a white-faced geisha girl who began to giggle incessantly.

  ‘Sumimasen,’ said Jack, apologizing in Japanese and bowing respectfully. The last thing he wanted was trouble.

  But he needn’t have worried. The samurai was drunk and more intent on reaching the next inn to care any further about Jack.

  Up ahead a shoji flew open and three men were ejected from the hostelry. A roar of laughter followed as they landed face first in the snow.

  ‘And don’t come back!’ shouted the innkeeper, wiping his hands of them before slamming the door shut.

  The three men picked themselves up and despondently dusted themselves down. Dressed in threadbare smocks and trousers, they looked like beggars or impoverished farmers. Whoever they were, it was clear to Jack that this town had no sympathy for vagrants.

  While Jack considered the few options he had left, the three men headed towards him. Although they didn’t look like fighters, they outnumbered him and, given his weakened condition, posed a threat. As they drew closer, Jack’s hand instinctively went to his swords. His frozen fingers could barely grip the handle of his katana and Jack wondered if he’d even have the strength to fight them off.

  ‘Go on!’ said the apparent leader of the group, a sour-faced man with hollow cheeks and thin weathered lips. He shoved the youngest forward.

  Jack stood his ground.

  The young man, a nervous individual with a missing front tooth and jug-like ears, asked, ‘Are you a … ronin?’

  Jack simply nodded that he was a masterless samurai and made to walk on. But the young man stepped into his path. Jack tensed in readiness as his challenger summoned up the courage to make his next move.

  Taking a deep breath, the young man blurted, ‘Do you want a job?’

  2

  RICE

  Jack was dumbfounded at the suggestion.

  ‘We can pay you,’ said the third and eldest man, who possessed only a few strands of hair on his otherwise bald head.

  Jack hesitated. He certainly needed the money. But looking at their dishevelled appearance, he wondered how they could afford to pay anyone. Even if they could, taking a job was too much of a risk. How could he trust them? His identity was bound to be discovered. His journey would be delayed. Besides, their offer was most probably a trap.

  Shaking his head, he walked away.

  ‘Please … hear us out,’ the old man insisted, an imploring hangdog expression on his wrinkled face. ‘At least join us for supper. We’ve freshly cooked rice.’

  Jack’s stomach growled at the thought. And the old man’s desperation appeared genuine. What had he to lose simply by listening? His need for food outweighing his better judgement, Jack agreed. ‘But I’m not making any promises,’ he added.

  ‘We understand,’ said their leader, bowing in acknowledgement. ‘Come this way.’

  Jack followed the three men down a side street to a dilapidated storehouse at the edge of town. His senses on high alert, he glanced around for telltale signs of an ambush – footprints leading to a darkened alley, snow disturbed from a rooftop, a building that could conceal a surprise attack. But if there were enemies around, they were well hidden.

  The sour-faced man pushed open a rickety door and entered first. Jack paused at the threshold, trying to assess the danger within. But it was pitch-black inside and all he detected was the stench of rotting straw.

  ‘My apologies,’ said the old man, ushering him meekly in. ‘But this is the only lodging we can afford.’

  A stub of a candle flickered into lif
e, its weak flame illuminating a spartan room with a hard-packed earthen floor and a rough wooden deck for sleeping.

  The young man closed the door behind them as Jack was invited by the leader to be seated upon the raised platform. Unshouldering his pack, Jack removed his swords and placed them, close at hand, by his side. The three men knelt before him on the dirt floor.

  ‘My name is Toge,’ said the leader, bowing his head. ‘We’re farmers from Tamagashi village. This here is Sora –’ the old man bowed – ‘and the boy is Kunio.’

  Offering a gap-toothed grin, Kunio prostrated himself before Jack. Peering from beneath the brim of his hat, Jack now saw Kunio wasn’t much older than he was. Sixteen or seventeen, at most.

  Jack nodded his head in acknowledgement, deciding not to reveal his own name. Until he knew these people’s intentions, he had to be cautious, but he didn’t wish to lie to them either. An awkward silence fell and the three farmers began to fidget uncomfortably as their anxiety grew at this mysterious samurai.

  ‘Your rice is just coming,’ said Sora quickly, gesturing towards the far corner of the storehouse.

  Only then did Jack notice a fourth person in the room; his fatigue had clearly impaired his warrior awareness. He reached for his wakizashi, then, on closer inspection, checked himself. Hidden in the shadows, a girl crouched over the dying embers of a small fire. Scooping out a portion of rice from a battered pot, she scurried over to Jack and presented him with the bowl.

  Little more than a waif in a tattered kimono, the fourteen-year-old girl had a tangled bob of black hair and a round pale face that appeared pretty beneath the many layers of grime. As she looked to Jack, he noticed her cat-like eyes constantly flitting between him and the farmers, revealing a lively spirit behind her unkempt condition.

  Toge batted his hand impatiently at the girl and she returned to the pot. Working silently, she served out three more bowls of rice and handed these to the farmers.