Young Samurai_ The Way of the Sword - Chris Bradford [8]
Looking around, Jack realized that not a single student held a katana. They all carried bokken, their wooden training swords.
‘No, Sensei,’ said Jack, abashed.
At the far end of the line, a regal, darkly handsome boy with a shaved head and hooded eyes smirked at Jack’s error. Jack ignored Kazuki, knowing his rival would be delighting in his loss of face in front of the class.
Despite coming to grips with many of the Japanese customs, like wearing a kimono instead of shirt and breeches, bowing every time he met someone and the etiquette of apologizing for nearly everything, Jack still struggled with the strict ritualized discipline of Japanese life.
He had been late for breakfast that morning, following his nightmare-filled sleep, and had already had to apologize to two of the sensei. It looked like Sensei Hosokawa would be the third.
Jack knew his sensei was a fair but firm teacher who demanded high standards. He expected his students to turn up on time, be dressed smartly and be committed to training hard. Sensei Hosokawa made no allowance for mistakes.
He stood at the centre of the dojo’s training area, a broad honey-coloured rectangle of varnished woodblock, glaring at Jack. ‘So what makes you think you should bear a katana while the others don’t?’
Jack knew whatever answer he gave Sensei Hosokawa would be the wrong one. There was a Japanese saying that went ‘The stake that sticks out gets hammered down’, and Jack was starting to appreciate that living in Japan was a matter of conforming to the rules. No one else in the class carried a sword. Jack, therefore, stuck out and was about to be hammered down.
Yamato, who stood close by, looked as if he was going to speak on his behalf, but Sensei Hosokawa gave him a cautionary glance and he immediately thought better of it.
The silence that had descended upon the dojo was almost deafening. Jack could hear the blood rushing through his ears, his mind turning itself over and over for an appropriate response.
The only answer Jack could think of was the truth. Masamoto himself had presented his own daishō, the two swords that symbolized the power of the samurai, to Jack in recognition of the school’s victory at the Taryu-Jiai contest and for his courage in preventing Dragon Eye from assassinating the daimyo Takatomi.
‘Having won the Taryu-Jiai,’ ventured Jack, ‘I thought I’d earned the right to use them.’
‘The right? Kenjutsu is not a game, Jack-kun. Winning one little competition doesn’t make you a competent kendoka.’
Jack fell silent under Sensei Hosokawa’s glare.
‘I will tell you when you can bring your katana to class. Until then, you will only use bokken. Understand, Jack-kun?’
‘Hai, Sensei,’ submitted Jack. ‘I just hoped I could use a real sword for once.’
‘A real one?’ snorted the sensei. ‘Do you really think you’re ready?’
Jack shrugged uncertainly. ‘I suppose so. Masamotosama gave me his swords, so he must think I am.’
‘You’re not in Masamoto-sama’s class yet,’ said Sensei Hosokawa, tightening his grip on the hilt of his own sword so that his knuckles turned white. ‘Jack-kun, you hold the power of life and death in your hands. Can you handle the consequences of your actions?’
Before Jack could answer, the sensei beckoned him over.
‘Come here! You too, Yamato-kun.’
Jack and a startled Yamato stepped out of line and approached Sensei Hosokawa.
‘Seiza,’ he ordered and the two of them knelt down. ‘Not you, Jack-kun. I need you to understand what it means to carry a katana. Withdraw your sword.’
Jack unsheathed his katana. The blade gleamed, its edge so sharp that it appeared to cut the very air itself.
Uncertain as to what Sensei Hosokawa expected of him, he fell into stance. His sword was stretched out in front of him and he gripped the hilt with both hands. His feet were set wide apart, the kissaki level with the throat of his imaginary enemy.
Masamoto’s sword felt unusually heavy in his hands. Over the course of a year of kenjutsu training, his own bokken had become an extension of his arm. He knew its weight, its