Young Samurai_ The Way of the Sword - Chris Bradford [97]
A pot rested in the flames, happily boiling away.
‘I’m just brewing some tea. Would you like some?’
Jack didn’t answer. He was still shaken by the appearance of this tiny man whose shadow seemed to have a grotesque life of its own.
‘It’s the finest sencha Japan has to offer,’ insisted the monk, indicating with a wave of his hand for Jack to sit.
‘Who are you?’ asked Jack, warily taking his place on the opposite side of the crackling fire.
‘Who am I? A very good question and one that takes a lifetime to answer,’ he replied, sprinkling tea leaves into the boiling pot. ‘I can tell you what I am. I am Yamabushi.’
Jack looked blankly at the old man.
‘Literally, it means “one who hides in the mountains”,’ he explained, tending the fire, ‘but the villagers call me the Mountain Monk. They occasionally come to me for spiritual healing and divination.’
He lifted the pot from the fire and poured a watery green brew into a plain brown teacup. He handed Jack the steaming sencha.
‘You cannot know who you are, unless you know how you are that person.’
Though he didn’t like green tea, Jack accepted the drink out of courtesy. He took a sip. It tasted bitter. Certainly not the finest sencha Jack had ever tried. Nonetheless, he smiled politely and took another gulp to finish it quickly. Glancing round the cavern, he noticed it was empty apart from a small shrine set into the rock, circled by flickering candles and incense.
‘Are you the Spirit challenge?’ enquired Jack.
‘Me? Of course not,’ the monk chuckled, his laughter rebounding off the cavern walls in eerie mocking echoes.
‘You are.’
47
SPIRIT COMBAT
The cup in Jack’s hand drooped and slowly melted like hot tar to the floor. Jack stared at the gooey mess, then looked up at the Mountain Monk for an explanation.
The skinny monk smiled serenely as if nothing unusual was happening, his saffron robes now an intense orange and his head like a round citrus fruit ripened under the Mediterranean sun. His eyes sparkled as if sprinkled with stardust and his grin was as wide as a crescent moon.
‘What’s happening?’ exclaimed Jack in panic.
‘What’s happening?’ repeated the monk, his words slow and slurred like they were molasses in Jack’s ears. ‘A very good question and one you must ask when you meet your maker.’
Jack’s head swirled. At some point during their conversation, the cavern had expanded to the size of a cathedral and its rock walls now breathed in and out in steady contractions. The circle of candles around the shrine had become a multicoloured rainbow that left tracer lines of light like fireworks exploding inside his eyeballs. The fire between Jack and the monk suddenly roared, flaring into a white-hot furnace too bright to look at.
Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the crazy visions.
When he dared open them again, the fire had died down to glowing embers and the monk had disappeared. Only the teapot remained, lying on its side.
What had just happened? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was it an after-effect of Dragon Eye’s Death Touch?
Jack looked around for the monk, but the cavern was deserted.
Akiko had been right. He had pushed himself too far by taking on this final challenge. He was too drained to cope and now he was seeing things.
Jack picked up the teapot.
It squealed at him and Jack dropped it in shock. The pot suddenly grew hundreds of little black legs like a millipede and scuttled away in a mad panic. Before he could comprehend what he had just seen, he was distracted by a harsh cracking sound behind him.
Jack forced himself to turn his head.
His scream caught in his throat, unable to escape alongside the rush of terror and panic that tried to claw its way out at the same time.
A giant black scorpion, big enough to devour a horse, skittered over the cavern floor towards him. Jack couldn’t move for fear. The creature scuttled closer and examined its prey.
‘It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…’ Jack feverishly repeated to himself.
Then the scorpion raised one of its powerful pincers and swiped at Jack. It struck