The Way Of The Dragon (4 page)

‘Surely you’ve heard that Kunitome-san’s swords are evil. They’re not the weapons of a virtuous samurai,’ he explained, looking at Yamato. ‘Kunitome-san’s work is infamous round these parts. He resides but ten
ri
west of here in the village of Shindo.’

At the mention of the village’s name, Jack glanced over at Akiko and Yamato. Both their faces registered the same astonishment he felt. This was too much of a coincidence.

‘Kunitome-san is a violent man and possesses an ill-balanced mind, some say verging on madness,’ confided the proprietor. ‘These traits are said to pass into his blades. Such a weapon as yours hungers for blood, impels their owner to commit murder!’

Jack gazed down at the
tantō
. It looked like any other knife, but then he recalled the throb of revenge it triggered in him when he thought of his father’s death.

‘We appreciate your concern,’ said Akiko, a wry smile on her lips, ‘but we’re too old to believe in such superstitions. You can’t scare us.’

‘I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to warn you.’

The proprietor put down his tray.

‘If you would allow me to tell you a story, then you might understand.’

Akiko politely acknowledged his request with a nod of her head and the old man knelt beside them.

‘Kunitome-san is a student of the greatest swordsmith to have ever lived, Shizu-san of the Soshu School of Sword-making. Several years ago, Kunitome-san challenged his master to see who could make the finer sword. They both worked at their forges day and night. Eventually Kunitomesan produced a magnificent weapon he called
Juuchi Yosamu
, Ten Thousand Cold Nights. Shizu-san also completed his, which he named
Yawaraka-Te
, Tender Hands. With both swords finished, they agreed to test the results.

‘The contest was for each to suspend their blades in a small creek with the cutting edge facing the current. A local monk was asked to preside over the competition. Kunitome-san went first. His sword sliced through everything that flowed its way – dead leaves, a lotus flower, several fish, the very air that blew upon it. Impressed with his protégé’s work, Shizu-san then lowered his sword into the stream and waited patiently.

‘It didn’t cut a thing. Not a single leaf was parted; flowers kissed the steel and floated by; fish swam right up to it; the air sang as it gently blew by the blade.’

‘So Kunitome-san’s was the better blade,’ interrupted Yamato.

‘No! The monk declared Shizu-san the winner. Kunitomesan contested the decision, for his master’s sword had failed to cut anything. The monk then explained. The first sword was by all accounts a fine weapon. However, it was blood-thirsty and evil for it didn’t discriminate as to who or what it cut. “It may just as well be cutting butterflies as severing heads,” the monk had said. Shizu-san’s sword, on the other hand, was by far the finer of the two for it didn’t needlessly cut that which was innocent and undeserving of death. The spirit in his sword demonstrated a benevolent power worthy of a true samurai.

‘Because of this, it’s believed that a Kunitome blade, once drawn, must draw blood before it can be returned to its
saya
, even to the point of forcing its wielder to wound himself or commit suicide.’

Jack glanced down at his healing thumb, then at the
tantō
with his blood still stained upon the steel. Perhaps there was some truth in the old man’s warning.

‘Mark my words, that
tantō
is a demon blade. It’s cursed and will breed bloodlust in those who carry it.’

‘Old man, are you serving or gossiping?’ demanded a samurai who sat impatiently at a table on the other side of the tea house.

‘My apologies,’ replied the proprietor, bowing. ‘I will be with you right now.’

He got up and retrieved his tray.

‘My advice is to lose that
tantō
in the forest you found it in.’

The proprietor then bowed and left the three of them to ponder his words. They all gazed at the blade, its awakened spirit seeming to draw them in as if they were caught in a whirlpool.

‘What did I tell you?’ said Jack excitedly, breaking the spell. ‘It’s fate. We have to go to Shindo. The
tantō
comes from the same village that Orochi mentioned. This must mean the ninja came from around there too.’

‘Didn’t you hear anything the man just said?’ asked Yamato, his dark brown eyes wide in disbelief at Jack’s jubilant reaction to the news. ‘That knife is cursed.’

‘Surely you don’t believe that?’ dismissed Jack, though he wasn’t quite as certain as his bravado made out.

‘Yet you believe in fate; that we should go to Shindo.’

‘Yes, but this is different,’ Jack argued, cautiously sheathing the
tantō
and slipping it into the
obi
around his waist. ‘The knife’s superstition. This is a clear sign we must follow our destiny. We must follow the Way of the Dragon – find where the ninja hides. Isn’t that right, Akiko?’

Akiko was flattening the folds of her ivory-coloured silk kimono and appeared to be thinking very carefully before answering. Jack had used the very words she’d whispered to him after she’d awoken from her poisoning. Jack just hoped Akiko would still be on his side, despite the obvious danger of such a venture.

‘I think we should go,’ agreed Akiko. ‘Masamoto-sama made clear to us that we
have
to tell him any information we know about Dokugan Ryu. That includes anything we find out about him too. Imagine if we could give Masamoto-sama the location of the ninja’s headquarters. We may even get back Jack’s
rutter
.’

‘Why are you suddenly so keen on pursuing this ninja, Akiko?’ Yamato demanded, turning on his cousin. ‘You almost died the last time we agreed to help Jack.’

‘More reason for me to want to find the ninja. Besides, weren’t
you
the one who suggested we should try and trap him in the first place? It was your golden opportunity to get revenge on Dragon Eye for your brother’s murder, a chance to restore the family honour.’

‘Yes…’ spluttered Yamato, ‘but… that was before my father found out and dismissed us. He would never forgive me if we tried to capture Dragon Eye ourselves.’

‘We’re not attempting to capture him,’ appeased Akiko. ‘We simply need to locate his camp and tell your father.’

‘I still think it’s a bad idea. What about the mysterious black ninja who saved Jack? That makes no sense.’ Yamato stared gravely at the two of them. ‘Have either of you thought that the reason we’re discovering these clues is that Dragon Eye wants us to find him? That he’s leading us into a trap?’

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the possible truth sank in. Then Akiko dismissed the idea.

‘Ninja don’t just fight samurai. They fight one another too. The black ninja was probably from a rival clan and the green ninja out of their territory. Yamato, you probably turned up just in time to save Jack’s life.’

Yamato looked unconvinced.

‘If we don’t go, what else are we going to do?’ implored Jack. ‘With his dislocated shoulder, Kuma-san said he won’t be fit to travel to Toba for at least another day or so.’

‘He’s right,’ agreed Akiko. ‘If we take the horses, we could get to Shindo and back in a day. Jack can ride with me. Kumasan wouldn’t question us about visiting a nearby temple.’

Yamato remained tight-lipped, turning his attention to the glorious sunset instead. A stillness settled over the tea house as the sun clipped the top of a mountain peak. Golden rays of light fingered into an indigo-blue sky that hung like a silken kimono above the hazy range of mountain ridges and darkening valleys.

As the light began to fade, Jack made one last plea.

‘This is our one and only opportunity to find Dragon Eye before he finds us again.’

‘But he has no reason to return. He’s got your
rutter
,’ countered Yamato.

‘The logbook is encrypted. Only I know how to decipher it,’ Jack revealed. ‘Once Dragon Eye realizes this, he
will
be back.’

Jack knew the ninja was enlisting the help of a Chinese cryptologist, but he doubted the man could easily break a code written in such an unfamiliar language. It would take time. The question was: how long?

Dragon Eye might lose patience and decide to break Jack instead.

‘I’ve a very bad feeling about this place,’ muttered Yamato, his right hand anxiously clasping the shaft of his
bō
staff.

Shindo’s only road was deserted. Dust swirled in lonely eddies and disappeared between a row of rundown shacks that appeared as if they’d been dumped from the sky then forgotten. Though the day was warm and sunny, heat and light seemed to shun the village and the interiors of every abode remained dark and uninviting.

‘It’s a ghost town,’ said Jack, a chill running down his spine as they tethered their two horses and entered the lifeless village.

‘Not quite,’ whispered Akiko. ‘We’re being watched.’

Jack and Yamato exchanged nervous glances.

‘By whom?’ Yamato asked.

‘That little girl for one,’ replied Akiko, nodding towards a thatched hut on their right.

Hidden in darkness, a small dirty face with wide fearful eyes peeked out at them, then disappeared. Akiko headed over to the shack, looking back over her shoulder when Jack and Yamato failed to follow.

‘Come on, you two. I think you can handle a little girl, can’t you?’

Shamed by their lack of nerve, they both hurried after her.

Akiko peered into the darkness beyond the doorway, then called, ‘Hello? Excuse me?’

Inside, they could hear a rattling wheeze of breath like a dying dog’s. Suddenly a man’s hollow-cheeked face appeared at the door.

‘Leave us be,’ he snapped. ‘We’ve nothing to give you.’

The little girl they’d seen earlier was now hiding behind the man’s legs, her eyes fixated on Jack’s blond hair. Jack smiled at her.

‘We’re sorry to disturb you, but we don’t want anything,’ explained Akiko.

‘Where is everyone?’ Yamato asked.

‘They left. You should too.’

The man began to push the flimsy door of his hut closed.

‘But we’ve come to find Kunitome-san,’ Jack insisted.

The man stared at Jack as if noticing his presence for the first time. His face remained blank, the strange sight of a foreigner clearly nothing compared to the horrors he’d already witnessed.

The man snorted.

‘That devil! He’s dead!’

‘What? When did that happen?’ Jack asked. ‘Who killed him?’

The man sighed, the burden of conversation seeming to drain him.

‘He committed suicide. By his own sword,’ spat the man. ‘He’s the reason this village is dead. That swordmaker was a blessing and a curse for Shindo. His skill drew people here from far and wide and we villagers welcomed the money they brought. But his art in devilry, forging evil blades, attracted the worst sort. Now he’s gone, no one comes. But his spirit remains. It casts a dark shadow over Shindo. You should leave. This place is bad karma.’

‘So why haven’t you left?’ Yamato enquired, putting his hand against the door as the man tried to close it.

‘We would, but do you hear that?’ said the man, referring to the rattling wheeze. ‘That’s my sick mother. She refuses to die. And until she passes away, we’re stuck in this death trap. Now goodbye.’

With that, he shut the door in their faces.

They looked at one another, astounded at the man’s story.

‘Seems we’ve come to the end of the trail,’ said Yamato, the relief in his voice apparent. ‘No point in hanging around, we’d better head back before Kuma-san notices we’re gone.’

‘No,’ said Jack, walking in the opposite direction to Yamato. ‘We’ve still got to find the Dragon Temple that Orochi talked about. Look, that must be it.’

The village road ended in a large, eerie temple that sat upon an earthen mound, its red and green paint faded and peeling. Tiles were missing from the roof and two carved dragon finials had fallen from its corners to lie rotting on the ground. The main door to the temple was open and about as tempting as a tomb.

‘You’re not going in there, are you?’ said Yamato, appealing to Akiko for support. ‘It looks as if it’s going to fall down at any moment!’

Akiko smiled apologetically, then followed Jack up the worn stone steps.

Inside, as if all light had been sucked out, the temple appeared an ominous cave of darkness and shadows. Where the smell of incense should have been, only the stink of decay hung in the air.

Jack stepped across the threshold and peered into the gloom.

He almost cried out at the sight of two gargantuan warriors on either side of him, their muscles rippling, their faces contorted. One, who was baring his teeth, wielded a huge thunderbolt club. The other, his mouth tightly shut, swung an immense sword.

Jack stumbled into Akiko.

‘They’re just
Niō
,’ she laughed. ‘Temple guardians.’

‘They’re terrifying!’ exclaimed Jack, gathering his wits at the sight of the gigantic wooden statues.

He followed Akiko warily inside and over to the central altar where a number of smaller effigies encircled a dust-ridden Buddha. ‘What are the warrior statues guarding?’

‘The Buddha, of course. The right statue is Agyō. He symbolizes violence. The statue on the left with the sword is Ungyō. He depicts strength,’ Akiko explained, then pointed to their faces. ‘Do you see the first one has his mouth open and the other has his closed? They form the sounds “ah” and “un”, the first and last characters of the Buddhist language. Together they encompass all knowledge.’

‘History lesson over,’ Yamato butted in. ‘There’s no one here. This is a complete waste of time. Now that Kunitomesan’s committed suicide, we’ve hit a dead end. We’ll never find Dragon Eye, so let’s go.’

As Yamato turned to leave, there was a shuffling noise behind the Buddha.

‘The swordmaker didn’t commit suicide!’ rasped a figure in the darkness.

They all spun round to defend themselves. An old hunched woman, dressed in a ragged cowl and robe, hobbled towards them through the shadows.