Free Young Samurai: The Way of Fire (short story) by Chris Bradford

Gasshuku
     
    Koya-san, Japan, October 1612
    ‘RUN!’ bellowed Sensei Hosokawa, directing Jack over a fallen log in the forest.
    Driven on by his swordmaster’s command, Jack sprinted along the narrow log. His feet slid from under him and Jack flung out his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his balance.
    Out of nowhere a thick shaft of bamboo swung straight at his head. Jack ducked, the rock-hard stem barely missing his skull. He stumbled on a few more paces and had almost reached the end of the log, when he was caught in the gut by a second bamboo cane. It sprang out of the forest, knocking him to the ground.
    Reeling from the blow and spitting dirt, Jack struggled to all fours. His right hand grabbed at the log for support, then flared with pain as someone stamped on his fingers. He cried out. Through eyes screwed up in agony, Jack glimpsed the receding figure of his archrival, Kazuki, running across the clearing ahead of him.
    ‘Keep up,
gaijin
!’ shouted Kazuki over his shoulder.
    The throbbing in Jack’s hand was now replaced by a burst of anger at seeing Kazuki’s gloating face disappear among the tall cedar trees in the direction of the next training challenge.
    A dark-haired Japanese girl dropped down beside Jack.
    ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, breathless from just having crossed the log herself. ‘He didn’t break your fingers, did he?’
    ‘I’ll be fine,’ replied Jack through gritted teeth, looking into the face of his best friend Akiko.
    ‘He did that on purpose!’ she exclaimed, her pretty half-moon eyes narrowing in annoyance.
    ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Jack, having spotted Sensei Kyuzo, their
taijutsu
master, emerge from the forest. ‘It looks like I’ve got worse problems than Kazuki.’
    ‘Get up!’ snarled Sensei Kyuzo, his beady eyes boring into Jack. The ill-tempered sensei was smaller than Jack, but as ferocious as an Akita fighting dog. He taught unarmed combat at the
Niten Ichi Ryū
, the samurai school in Kyoto that was governed by Jack’s guardian, the legendary swordmaster Masamoto Takeshi.
    Sensei Kyuzo briefly glanced at Akiko. ‘What are you waiting for? This is a
gasshuku
, not a tea ceremony. Keep moving!’
    Akiko threw Jack an uneasy smile and ran on.
    ‘So you’re a monk for three days then?’ mocked Sensei Kyuzo, glaring down at Jack as if the blond-haired, blue-eyed English boy was something vile he’d just trodden in.
    ‘But I’m not training to be a monk,’ Jack replied, getting to his feet and giving his teacher a bewildered look. ‘I want to be a samurai warrior.’
    Sensei Kyuzo shook his head with disgust. ‘Ignorant foreigners!’ he snorted. ‘“To be a monk for three days” means giving up at the first sign of difficulty. But I shouldn’t be so surprised. I always knew that a
gaijin
like you wouldn’t last long on a
gasshuku
.’
    ‘I’m not giving up!’ Jack countered, annoyed by his teacher’s unfair harassment. ‘How was I to know you’d spring bamboo traps on me?’
    ‘
Zanshin
,’ stated Sensei Kyuzo.
    Jack stared blankly at his
taijutsu
master. He hadn’t yet been taught about
zanshin
at the
Niten Ichi Ryū
.
    Sensei Kyuzo rolled his eyes in irritation. ‘
Zanshin
is a warrior’s awareness of their surroundings and the enemy. It should be instinctive. Give me twenty crescent kicks for failing such a basic training task!’
    Several other students sprinted by while Jack carried out his punishment. Having already hiked up the steep slopes of Mount Koya before dawn as a warm-up to the day’s training, Jack soon felt the burn in the muscles of his legs. Every crescent kick was like fighting with feet made of stone.
    The gruelling exercise caused Jack’s breath to catch in his throat and he thought he was going to throw up. But since he hadn’t been allowed to eat breakfast yet, Jack doubted he would vomit anything more than bile.
    By his fifteenth kick, he was beginning to question his decision to volunteer so