The Ring of Water - Chris Bradford [7]
‘He was supposed to catch it,’ said the ronin, raising his hands apologetically. He took another long slug of rice wine, then peered down at the dōshin leader who was lying flat out on the ground.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Jack.
‘No, just passed out,’ replied the ronin, staggering away. ‘What’s your excuse for still being on the floor?’
‘I’ve just been …’ began Jack, his body aching from the beating. But the ronin wasn’t listening.
By the time Jack got to his feet, the samurai was already halfway down the road. Jack didn’t know whether the warrior wanted him to follow or not. But, glancing at the four barely conscious dōshin in the mud, Jack realized he couldn’t stay.
Emerging from the tea house, Junko ran up to him. ‘You left this,’ she said, handing him the omamori.
In the confusion of the arrest, Jack had forgotten his only clue. Yet again, he was indebted to her kindness. But now he knew the amulet didn’t belong to her. ‘Thank you – ’ he began.
‘Come on!’ the ronin roared impatiently. ‘No time for girls.’
4
ROBBED OF MEMORIES
At no point did the ronin wait for Jack, even as the rain turned into a downpour and he diverged from the main road into a forest. Ascending a steep track, Jack struggled to keep pace, given his earlier beating by the dōshin. He eventually caught up with the samurai at a secluded Shinto shrine. Constructed in a small clearing at the top of a hill, the shrine consisted of a simple wooden hut, a couple of lichen-covered standing stones and a wooden torii gateway marking the entrance. Jack found the warrior relaxing inside the shrine, sipping from his saké jug.
Careful to remember the appropriate etiquette for entering a place of worship, Jack walked through the torii gateway. He stopped at a stone bowl filled with water and, using the wooden ladle beside it, washed first his left hand and then his right, before rinsing out his mouth and carefully replacing the ladle. Jack didn’t know whether the purification was necessary since he was soaked to the skin anyway, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Although he was a Protestant Christian at heart, his Zen master, Sensei Yamada, had advised him to follow Shinto and Buddhist practices in order to blend in as much as possible. With the Shogun – and now Japan – set against Christians, it was important for Jack not to offend anyone. Moreover, if he could convince locals, like this samurai, he was of their religious persuasion, they might be more willing to help him on his journey.
Jack bowed twice, clapped his hands two times to wake the kami spirits and bowed again. He then clasped his hands together in silent prayer.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ grumbled the samurai. ‘Shrines are good for shelter, but little else.’
Jack looked up, surprised at the man’s lack of faith. The Japanese were a pious race and he hadn’t expected such disrespect from a samurai. Jack entered the shrine and sat down, glad to be out of the torrential rain and to rest his aching limbs.
‘So who are you?’ demanded the warrior. ‘You don’t look like you’re from these parts.’
‘My name’s Jack Fletcher,’ he replied, bowing his head in deference. ‘I’m from England, an island like Japan but on the other side of the world. May I ask who you are?’
‘Ronin.’
‘But I thought that meant “masterless samurai”?’
‘Just call me Ronin,’ he repeated gruffly, quaffing on his saké before offering Jack the jug.
‘No, thank you,’ replied Jack, having tasted rice wine once before and choked on its potency. He didn’t think his stomach could handle it at this moment. ‘But I do have to thank you, Ronin, for saving me back there.’
The samurai grunted indifferently. ‘They were in my way.’
‘But won’t those dōshin be after you now?’
Ronin snorted with laughter. ‘Those excuses for samurai! The new enforcement officers of the Shogun’s new Japan. They’re just trumped-up low-ranking soldiers. They’ll be too ashamed. Besides, you saw for yourself, they attacked one another.’
Thinking back to the fight, Jack realized this was