Young Samurai _ The Way Of The Dragon - Chris Bradford [13]
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.
‘Our apologies,’ said Akiko, startled. ‘We didn’t mean to disturb your prayers.’
‘Prayers!’ she croaked. ‘I long since abandoned my faith in Buddha. I was sleeping until you rats scurried in.’
‘We were just going,’ explained Yamato, taking a step away from the foul-looking woman, her face veiled by the lice-ridden