The Ring of Earth Read online

  Jack slowly came round. His mouth was parched and he felt nauseous. His head had seemingly swollen to twice its size during the night and he could no longer feel his right leg. All his efforts to free himself had failed and he’d been forced to wait for the boy’s return.

  Opening his eyes, he was greeted by a wrinkled but kindly face. The old man, small of stature with spindly arms and legs, was bald save for his greying eyebrows, which appeared to be fixed in a permanent expression of surprise.

  ‘See, Grandfather, I caught the King of the Tengu!’ said Hanzo proudly.

  ‘Very impressive,’ the old man remarked, patting the boy with affection on the head. ‘Now, why don’t you give the tengu some water? I’m sure he’s thirsty this morning.’

  Hanzo lifted a gourd to Jack’s mouth. Jack spluttered as more water went up his nose than down his throat.

  ‘Thank you,’ he croaked.

  ‘A tengu with manners. How unusual,’ said the grandfather. ‘Perhaps all is not as it appears. Hanzo, I think you can release your captive.’

  ‘But what about his magic powers?’

  ‘Do not worry. We’ve got our own, remember?’

  Grinning, the boy ran off into the bushes. A moment later, Jack went crashing to the ground. Groaning with a combination of relief and pain, Jack’s first instinct was to escape. He rolled on to his back and undid the knot round his ankle. Grabbing his pack and swords, he got up to run away and promptly fell over.

  ‘Give your leg a good massage. That’ll get the blood flowing again,’ the old man suggested as he settled himself upon a nearby log. Resting his chin on his battered walking stick, he observed Jack carefully.

  Hanzo returned and sat next to his grandfather.

  ‘So, Sōjōbō, King of the Tengu, are you known by any other name?’ the old man asked, giving him a knowing wink.

  ‘Jack Fletcher,’ replied Jack, taking another gulp of water from the gourd as he rubbed his numb leg.

  ‘I’m honoured to meet you, Jack Fletcher. I’m Soke. Tell me, where are you from?’

  ‘England.’

  Soke’s eyebrows raised themselves even higher, seeking further explanation.

  ‘It’s on the other side of the world, across two oceans,’ Jack added.

  ‘He must be Sōjōbō!’ exclaimed Hanzo. ‘Only the King of the devil birds could fly around the world.’

  ‘No, I came by trading ship. I’m a sailor.’

  ‘Yet you carry the swords of a samurai,’ Soke noted, pointing to the katana and wakizashi with his cane.

  ‘I was trained as one, at the Niten Ichi Ryū.’

  ‘Ah! The famous One School of Two Heavens.’

  ‘You know Masamoto-sama then?’ Jack asked hopefully. The great swordmaster had been banished by the Shogun to a remote Buddhist temple on Mount Iawo and Jack had heard no word of him since.

  Soke shook his head slowly. ‘Only by reputation – supposedly, the greatest swordmaster alive today. Did he teach you the Two Heavens?’

  ‘Yes, he was my guardian.’

  Soke blinked in surprise. A foreigner being adopted was unheard of. ‘Well, that makes you samurai. Your life has as many twists and turns as a mountain stream. You’re far from home, young samurai. Where are all your other tengu friends?’

  ‘Dead. Killed by ninja who attacked our ship.’

  ‘What about family?’

  ‘My mother died of pneumonia when I was ten. My father was murdered by a ninja called Dragon Eye. The only family I have left is a younger sister in England.’

  The old man, his eyes full of pity, gave a long, sorrowful sigh.

  Then, looking at Hanzo, he put his arm round the boy. ‘Hanzo’s like you. He doesn’t have a mother or father either.’

  ‘But I have you, Grandfather!’ reminded Hanzo, beaming up at him.

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Soke, smiling. He turned back to Jack and asked, ‘Who are you running from?’

  ‘No one,’ replied Jack. While the old man seemed harmless enough, he didn’t wish him to know the Shogun’s samurai were after him.

  ‘But the broken stems and hurried footprints along the trail suggest otherwise. Don’t they teach you the Art of Stealth at the Niten Ichi Ryū?’

  Jack, avoiding eye contact, shifted uncomfortably under the man’s gaze. The grandfather may be old, but he wasn’t stupid. And he was clearly observant.

  ‘You’re easy to track if you know what to look for,’ Soke continued. ‘The samurai patrol is bound to find your trail sooner or later.’

  Jack’s eyes widened in panic.

  Soke smiled shrewdly. ‘So a samurai has become the enemy of the samurai. Intriguing.’

  Jack, gathering his belongings, grabbed his swords and hobbled towards a path leading south out of the clearing.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that way,’ advised Soke.

  Jack stopped. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Samurai.’

  Turning round, Jack headed for a track going east towards the rising sun.

  ‘Nor that way. The Iga mountains are impassable without a guide.’

  Frustrated, Jack went over to a third path.

  Soke solemnly shook his head. ‘Bandits and samurai.’

  Jack began to wonder if the grandfather was playing games with him. ‘I’ll have to take that risk.’

  Stumbling down the sloping path, he tried to shake some life into his legs. Jack knew he’d been lucky the trap hadn’t belonged to a bandit or a ninja, but the boy’s meddling had delayed him and could have been his end. Now Jack had to hope he could elude the samurai patrol looking for him. But he hadn’t got very far before he heard voices.

  ‘Tracker! Which way now?’

  ‘It looks like he went up slope.’

  Below, Jack could see movement in the bushes. The grandfather had been telling the truth. As swiftly and silently as he could, Jack retraced his steps.

  ‘Back so soon,’ observed Soke, still upon the log, clearly expecting his return.

  ‘Which way should I go?’ Jack pleaded, the voices drawing ever closer.

  Soke pointed a bony finger upwards. Hanzo was high in the branches, retrieving his rope. Though his leg was still numb, Jack realized the skills he’d acquired as a rigging monkey on-board the Alexandria would allow him to climb the tree.

  ‘Why don’t you just fly up?’ whispered Hanzo as Jack began his ascent.

  ‘Shh!’ said Soke, putting a finger to his lips.

  Jack had only just reached Hanzo when six samurai strode into the clearing.

  ‘Old man!’ demanded the lead one. ‘Have you seen a gaijin in these woods?’

  Jack immediately recognized the warrior by his rat-like moustache and lack of topknot as the one he’d buried beneath the bamboo ceiling. The soldiers accompanying him appeared to be mean, battle-hardened warriors. Two carried trident-shaped spears and another a lethal-bladed naginata. The samurai was clearly taking no chances this time.

  One of them – the tracker, Jack presumed – was examining the ground carefully. Jack was only metres above him. If he were to glance up, it would all be over.

  Soke cupped a hand to his ear. The samurai rolled his eyes in irritation. ‘HAVE YOU SEEN A GAIJIN?’ he repeated, loud and slow.

  ‘With these eyes?’ Soke laughed. ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘This is hopeless,’ said the leader, angrily kicking Soke’s cane away.

  Then he decided to push the old man off the log for good measure. But somehow the samurai missed as Soke bent to retrieve his cane with unexpected speed. The leader lost his balance and toppled over the log himself. The troop of samurai tried to stifle their amusement.

  ‘Are you all right down there?’ asked Soke, his face crinkling in bemused concern.

  Jumping to his feet, the samurai angrily brushed the dirt off his uniform. Shamed by his apparent clumsiness, he ignored Soke and waved his soldiers on.

  ‘I’ll get this gaijin samurai if it’s the last thing I do!’

  On
ce the troop had left the clearing, Soke beckoned Jack and Hanzo down.

  ‘They’ll be back if that tracker knows what he’s doing,’ said Soke. ‘And there are three more patrols out looking for you.’

  Though surprised at the man’s knowledge, Jack was more than willing to believe him.

  ‘Are you saying I’ve got no chance of escape?’

  ‘Every path has its puddle. You just have to learn how to avoid them.’

  ‘But how can I, when I don’t know where they are?’

  ‘Thankfully, someone else does. Come, we’ll guide you through the mountains.’

  ‘But, Grandfather,’ interrupted Hanzo, ‘what will Shonin say?’

  ‘You forget, Hanzo, I’m Soke.’

  Judging by Hanzo’s respectful tone, this Shonin was clearly important and Jack wondered who he was.

  ‘Besides,’ continued Soke, ‘our village is the only place your tengu will be safe. And if we look after him, perhaps he’ll teach you the Art of the Sword in return.’

  Realizing the old man and the boy were his best chance of escape, Jack nodded his agreement. Hanzo grinned, barely able to contain his excitement.

  ‘But we can’t let you know where the village is,’ added Soke, producing a strip of cloth from the folds of his kimono.

  Jack looked doubtfully at the grandfather. Was this some cunning trick? A means of leading him to the Shogun, so they could claim the reward?

  ‘It’s a matter of trust,’ explained Soke.

  Against his better judgement, Jack let the old man blindfold him.

  6

  THE VILLAGE

  Jack, guided by Hanzo, had no idea where he was going. Despite the sensitivity training Sensei Kano, his blind bōjutsu master, had once taught him, their route twisted and turned so much that Jack could no longer tell if they were walking north, south, east or west. For most of the morning, he gauged they were headed uphill. A number of times, Soke made them hide in bushes and climb trees until one of the samurai search parties passed by.

  Stopping for lunch on a ridge, they feasted on mulberries, nuts and mushrooms, together with some of Jack’s dried rice.

  ‘Where did all this food come from?’ said Jack, biting into an especially juicy mulberry. He couldn’t remember either of them carrying a bag.

  ‘The woods and fields are our kitchen,’ replied Hanzo proudly.

  ‘I’m teaching the boy survival skills,’ explained Soke. ‘How to cook rice under a fire, recognize which berries are poisonous and trap animals.’

  ‘But I thought it would be more fun to trap a man!’ interrupted Hanzo. ‘Never thought I’d capture a tengu, though.’

  ‘I’m not a tengu,’ stated Jack for the umpteenth time. He turned to Soke. ‘Must I still wear this blindfold?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ replied the old man. ‘Our village’s location has to remain secret.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Our very seclusion means we’ve avoided most of the conflicts that have blighted the rest of Japan. We wish to keep it that way. Now we must press on if we’re to get there before nightfall.’

  Following a stream into a valley, they scaled the opposite side. Here they remained high for a while, but Jack was tiring, dead on his feet from his sleepless night suspended in the tree.

  ‘Not much further now,’ promised Soke who, despite his age, showed no signs of slowing.

  But it was almost sunset before they finally came to a halt.

  ‘Welcome to our village,’ announced Soke, removing Jack’s blindfold.

  Jack blinked and rubbed his eyes. On the tree-lined ridge, where he stood, was a simple Buddhist temple with a small graveyard and Shinto shrine. This overlooked a lush, hidden valley. Cradled in its bowl was a community of well-maintained thatched buildings. These were dotted within a maze of terraced paddy fields that fanned out like a patchwork quilt to fill the valley basin.

  A large wooden farmhouse dominated the village’s centre. Built upon a raised earthen bank and surrounded by a bamboo fence and dense thorn hedge, the building fronted an open square. To its left was a large pond fed by a mountain stream. Jack could see only one road leading into the village, but a network of narrow pathways and little bridges criss-crossed the rice fields and funnelled the farmers back to their homes. The whole setting was idyllic, a haven of peace. Jack could appreciate why they wanted to keep its location secret.

  ‘Come,’ said Soke as Hanzo raced on ahead. ‘You’ll need food and a good night’s rest before I introduce you to Shonin.’

  The sun was dropping behind the mountains by the time they reached Soke’s home, two paddy fields from the main farmhouse. Surrounded by a small fenced enclosure, it was a modest affair constructed of roughly hewn timber beams and white clay walls. Soke opened the sturdy door that served as its only entrance and ushered Jack through.

  Inside, the house was more like a covered yard than a room. Basic and functional, with a compacted earth floor, the entrance area appeared to serve as both kitchen and storeroom. By the wall to Jack’s left was a clay furnace oven, housing two circular pots with domed lids. Next to the stove stood a wooden sink, a large jug full to the brim with water and two barrels that Jack guessed contained food. Resting against the opposite wall was a collection of farm implements: a hoe, four wooden flails and some very sharp-looking sickles. The only other items were a grappling hook attached to a length of rope, a broom and a basket for collecting firewood.

  ‘My apologies for the mess,’ said Soke. ‘I’ve been meaning to clear up the doma for a while.’

  ‘It looks fine to me,’ replied Jack, who even after three years was still amazed at the cleanliness of Japan compared to England.

  ‘That’s kind of you to say, but it’s far more pleasant through here,’ said Soke, leading Jack into the other half of the house.

  This area, overlooking the doma, had a raised wooden floor and was divided into four rooms by sliding shoji screens.

  Slipping off his sandals, Jack stepped up to join Soke in the first room. Most of the floor was matted, though the tatami felt much coarser and thinner than the ones at Akiko’s mother’s house. But that was to be expected. A farmer certainly couldn’t afford the same quality as a samurai. In the centre of the room was a sunken square hearth, above which was suspended a long iron pot hook with a lever shaped like a large fish.

  ‘Hanzo will get the fire going,’ said Soke. ‘Then I can brew us some tea.’

  A moment later, the boy entered with some kindling and a smouldering piece of charcoal he’d removed from the oven. Soke knelt beside the hearth and invited Jack to do the same. ‘Make yourself comfortable. You’re holding on to that bag like your life depended upon it!’

  Jack warily put his pack to one side, along with his swords, and sat down. He expected the old man to question him further, but Soke seemed more interested in preparing the tea than discovering the contents of his pack.

  With the fire built, Hanzo scurried off to the doma again, while his grandfather gently fanned the flames and added logs from a neat pile next to the hearth.

  ‘Do you like sencha?’ asked Soke.

  Jack nodded. When Akiko had first introduced him to the drink, he hadn’t enjoyed its bitter grassy flavour. But over the years he’d become used to it and was now quite fond of green tea.

  Hanzo returned, struggling with a heavy iron kettle full of water. Jack helped him place it on the pot hook. Soke added some tea leaves, then used the fish lever to lower the kettle into the fire.

  ‘Tell me, Jack, where are you headed?’

  ‘Nagasaki. It’s where all foreigners have been banished to.’

  Soke nodded his head in sympathy. ‘Such a long journey isn’t undertaken lightly. But you’ve done the hardest part – the first step. And where have you travelled from?’

  Jack saw no reason not to tell the old man. ‘Toba.’

  ‘That’s on the Ise coast. Why did you not go by sea?’

  ‘No one was willing to take me.
Any person found helping or hiding a foreigner could be punished … Soke-san, I –’

  The old man held up his hand. ‘No, just Soke, please. That’s respectful enough.’

  ‘Soke, I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I really should leave as soon as possible. I don’t want to get you or Hanzo into trouble.’

  ‘You need to rest first,’ replied the grandfather firmly. ‘Besides, no one will find you here. You’re perfectly safe. And so are we.’

  ‘But what if someone in the village tells the local samurai?’

  Soke chuckled. ‘I can assure you that won’t happen.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, ignoring Jack’s protests.

  Jack’s stomach growled at the mention of food.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  Leaving Jack to his tea, Soke disappeared into the doma. Hanzo was staring at Jack from the doorway. The boy seemed hypnotized by his blond hair and blue eyes.

  ‘What do tengu like to eat?’ asked Hanzo.

  Jack returned the boy’s gaze. He’d given up arguing about tengu. Instead he decided to play along.

  ‘Little boys mostly.’

  Hanzo’s eyes widened in shock. Then his face brightened.

  ‘Would you eat my friend Kobei for me? He beat me during training the other day and my arm still hurts.’

  He showed Jack the bruise, a large purple patch on his bicep.

  ‘What are you training for?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Hanzo!’ interrupted Soke from the other room. ‘I need your help in here.’

  The boy hurried away.

  A little odd for a farmboy to be involved in combat training, thought Jack as he poured himself another tea. The delicious smell of cooking wafted into the room.

  After a hearty dinner of soup, rice and pickled vegetables, Jack’s exhaustion finally got the better of him and he began to yawn.

  ‘Hanzo,’ said Soke. ‘Please prepare a bed for our guest. He’ll share your room.’

  Sliding back a partition, Hanzo rolled out two futon mattresses, stuffed with straw, in the adjoining room.

  ‘Thank you for your kindness, Soke,’ said Jack, bowing.

  ‘It’s been an honour,’ replied the old man, returning the bow.