Chapter 4 : A Grain Of Rice

'Why have you brought your sword?' barked Sensei Hosokawa, a severelooking samurai with an intimidating stare and a sharp stub of a beard.

Jack looked down at his katana. The polished black saya gleamed in

the morning light, hinting at the razor-sharp blade within. Thrown by his

sword teacher's unexpected hostility, he thumbed the golden phoenix

kamon embossed near the hilt.

'Because… this is a kenjutsu class, Sensei,' Jack replied, shrugging his

shoulders for lack of a better answer.

'Do any other students carry a katana?'

Jack glanced at the rest of the class lined down one side of the

Butokuden, the dojo where they trained in the Way of the Sword, kenjutsu,

and taijutsu, unarmed combat. The hall was cavernous, its elevated panel

ceiling and immense pillars of dark cypress wood towering over the row of

young trainee samurai.

Jack was once again reminded of how utterly different he was from the

rest of his class. Not yet fourteen, unlike many of the other students, he was

nonetheless the tallest, possessing sky-blue eyes and a mop of hair so blond

it stood out like a gold coin among the black-haired uniformity of his

classmates. To the olive-skinned, almond-eyed Japanese, Jack may have

been training as a samurai warrior, but he would always be a foreigner – a

gaijin as his enemies liked to call him.

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 nightmarefilled 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 honeycoloured 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, Jackkun. 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 feel and how it cut through the air.

But this sword was different. Weightier and more visceral. It had killed

people. Sliced them in half. And Jack suddenly sensed its bloody history in

his hands.

He was starting to regret his rashness in bringing the sword.

The sensei, noting the visible trembling of Jack's katana with grim

satisfaction, proceeded to remove a single grain of rice from his inro, the

small wooden carrying case attached to his obi. He then placed the grain on

top of Yamato's head.

'Cut it in half,' he ordered Jack.

'What?' blurted Yamato, his eyes wide with shock.

'But it's on his head –' protested Jack.

'Do it!' commanded Hosokawa, pointing at the tiny grain of rice.

'But… but… I can't…'

'If you think you're ready for such responsibility, now is your chance

to prove it.'

'But I could kill Yamato!' exclaimed Jack.

'This is what it means to carry a sword. People get killed. Now cut the

grain.'

'I can't,' said Jack, lowering his katana.

'Can't?' exclaimed Hosokawa. 'I command you, as your sensei, to

strike at his head and slice that grain in half.'

Sensei Hosokawa grabbed Jack's hands and brought the sword into

direct line with Yamato's exposed head. The miniscule grain of rice perched

there, a white speck among the mass of black hair.

Jack knew that the blade would slice through Yamato's head as if it

were little more than a watermelon. Jack's arms quivered uncontrollably

and Yamato gave him a despairing look, his face completely drained of

blood.

'DO IT NOW!' commanded Hosokawa, lifting Jack's arms to force

him to strike.

The rest of the students watched with dread fascination.

Akiko looked on fearfully. Beside her, her best friend Kiku, a petite

girl with dark shoulder-length hair and hazelnut-coloured eyes, was almost

on the point of tears. Kazuki, though, was apparently relishing the moment.

He nudged his ally Nobu, a large boy with the build of a mini-Sumo

wrestler, and whispered in his ear, loud enough for Jack to hear.

'I bet you the gaijin chops off Yamato's ear!'

'Or maybe his nose!' chortled Nobu, a fat grin spreading across his

podgy face.

The sword wavered in the air. Jack felt all control over the weapon

drain from his body.

'I… I… can't,' Jack stammered. 'I'll kill him.'

Defeated, he lowered the katana to the floor.

'Then I'll do it for you,' said Sensei Hosokawa.

Yamato, who had let out a sigh of relief, instantly froze.

In the blink of an eye, the sensei withdrew his own sword and cut

down on to Yamato's head. Kiku screamed as the blade buried itself in his

hair. Her cry reverberated throughout the Butokuden.

Yamato fell forward, his head dropping to the ground.

Jack saw the tiny grain of rice peel apart and fall in two separate pieces

on to the dojo floor.

Yamato remained bowed, trembling like a leaf, trying to regain control

of his breathing. Otherwise, he was completely unscathed. The blade had

not even grazed his scalp.

Jack stood motionless, overwhelmed at Sensei Hosokawa's skill. What

a fool he had been to question his sensei's judgement. Now he understood

the responsibility that came with a sword. The choice of life over death was

truly in his hands. This was no game.

'Until you have complete control,' said Sensei Hosokawa, fixing Jack

with a stern look as he resheathed his katana, 'you don't have the skill to

warrant carrying a real blade. You're not ready for the Way of the Sword.'