Chapter 9 : Fudoshin

'What's fudoshin anyway?' groaned Jack, rubbing his tender neck as he and

his small group of friends wound their way through the streets of Kyoto

after lunch.

'I'm not sure,' admitted Yamato.

Jack looked to the others for an answer, but Akiko mutely shook her

head, appearing to be equally baffled. Saburo stroked his chin in

contemplation, but he clearly hadn't a clue either, for he quickly went back

to munching on his yakatori, the stick of grilled chicken he'd just bought

from a passing street vendor.

'It means "immovable spirit",' said Kiku.

Yori, who was trailing beside her, nodded in agreement as if that

explained everything.

'But what does it mean to have an "immovable spirit"?' asked Jack.

'My father said fudoshin is about taking control of your emotions,'

replied Kiku. 'A samurai must remain calm at all times – even in the face of

danger.'

'So how do you get fudoshin?'

'I don't know… My father's good at explaining things, but not at

teaching them.'

Kiku gave Jack an apologetic smile, then Yori piped up, 'I think

fudoshin is a bit like being a willow tree.'

'A willow tree?' Jack repeated, his eyebrows wrinkling in puzzlement.

'Yes, like a willow tree you must grow deep roots into the ground to

weather the storm, but also be soft and yielding against the winds that blow

through.'

'That's easier said than done!' laughed Jack. 'You try keeping calm

when you're being strangled and getting told that foreigners are being burnt

alive – and that you're next!'

'You shouldn't listen to Kazuki, Jack,' said Akiko, sighing with

concern. 'He's just making up stories to scare you.'

'Sorry,' interrupted Saburo, a sheepish look on his face as he

swallowed his last bit of chicken, 'but Kazuki's right.'

All eyes fell upon Saburo.

'I didn't want to tell you, Jack, but the daimyo Kamakura supposedly

did kill a Christian priest. There was a sign about it in the street…'

Saburo trailed off as he saw the blood drain from Jack's face.

Listening to his friend's revelation, Jack felt the warmth of the midday

sun disappear, a chill running down his spine like a sliver of ice. So Kazuki

had been telling the truth. Jack had to know more and was about to ask

Saburo when, turning a corner into a large square, he was suddenly

confronted by the gleaming blade of a samurai sword.

Held high in the air by a warrior in a dark-blue kimono with the kamon

of a bamboo shoot, the arc of lethal metal was poised to strike. All thoughts

of Kamakura and the dead priest were wiped from Jack's mind.

But the blade wasn't directed at Jack – rather at a battle-hardened

warrior, dressed in a plain brown kimono with the kamon of a crescent

moon and star, standing motionless three sword lengths from his opponent.

'A duel!' exclaimed Saburo with a yelp of delight, dragging Jack out

of the way. 'Quick, over here!'

A crowd had gathered in the duelling ground. Some of them eyed

Jack's arrival with suspicion, whispering to one another behind their hands.

Even the warrior in blue glanced over, distracted from the impending duel

by the strange spectacle of a blond-haired foreigner dressed in a kimono.

Jack ignored them. He was used to the curiosity he generated wherever

he went.

'Hello, Jack. I didn't expect to see you here.'

Jack turned to see Emi, dressed in an elegant sea-green kimono,

accompanied by her two friends, Cho and Kai, along with an elderly

samurai chaperone. The two groups of students bowed to one another.

'Why are they fighting?' Jack asked Emi as she took up position by his

side.

'The samurai in blue is on his musha shugyo,' replied Emi.

The warrior who had been distracted by Jack's appearance was several

years younger than his opponent, who looked about thirty. His kimono was

dusty and faded in patches and his face weathered by the elements.

'What's a musha shugyo?' asked Jack.

'It's a warrior pilgrimage. When samurai finish their training, they go

on a quest throughout Japan to test their strength and refine their fighting

skills. Warriors challenge one another to prove who is the best.'

'The loser can be knocked out or disabled, and sometimes even

killed!' interrupted Saburo, a little too enthusiastically for Jack's liking.

'Killed? That seems a rather idiotic way to test yourself.'

'Well, how else are they going to know if they're any good or not?'

replied Emi matter-of-factly.

Jack turned his attention to the two contesting samurai. They stared at

one another. Neither seemed willing to make the first move. In the heat of

the midday sun, a bead of sweat ran down the side of the blue-clothed

warrior's face, but he disregarded it.

'Why isn't he attacking?' asked Jack.

'They're trying to hide any weaknesses they may have,' Yamato

answered. 'My father told me that even the smallest movement can reveal a

flaw in your fighting technique, which your opponent can then take

advantage of.'

The crowd, sensing the growing tension, was now motionless too.

Even the children gathered round the edges were quiet. The only sound that

could be heard was the chime of temple bells marking the beginning of

midday prayers.

The samurai in blue shifted uneasily and dust swirled in little eddies

across the ground. His opponent, however, remained perfectly calm, his

sword still sheathed inside its saya.

Then as the last ring of temple bells died away, the older samurai

withdrew his katana in one fluid movement.

The crowd shuffled backwards.

The duel had begun.

The two samurai circled one another warily.

Suddenly the warrior in blue screamed, 'KIAI!'

Brandishing his sword, he advanced on the older samurai. Ignoring

this display of bravado, the older man merely dropped back into a wide

stance, side-on to his enemy. At the same time, he raised his own sword

over his head then dropped it down behind his body, so that his opponent

could no longer see his blade.

The older samurai waited.

'KIAAAIIIIIII!'

The samurai in blue screamed again, summoning all his fighting spirit,

and launched an attack. He cut down with his sword on to the exposed neck

of the warrior, victory assured.

Still the older samurai didn't move and Jack was sure he was as good

as dead.

Then at the last second, the older samurai shifted off-line, avoiding the

lethal arc of the blade, and with a short cry of 'Kiai!' cut his own sword

across the unguarded side of his attacker.

For what seemed an eternity, the two samurai froze, face-to-face.

Neither broke eye contact.

One sword dripped blood.

There was a disturbing absence of sound, as if death itself had muffled

the ears of the world. Not even a temple bell chimed.

Then, with a low groan, the younger samurai leant to one side and

crumpled to the ground, dead. His body threw up clouds of dust that

billowed away as if they were the warrior's fleeing spirit.

The older samurai maintained his focus a moment longer, ensuring the

duel was over. Then he straightened up and flicked the blood from his blade

in a move Jack recognized as chiburi. Resheathing his sword, the samurai

walked away without looking back.

'I suppose that's what Sensei Kyuzo means by fudoshin,' breathed

Saburo in awe. 'That samurai didn't even blink when the sword was going

for his head.'

But Jack wasn't listening. He was transfixed by the blood seeping into

the dusty ground. The duel had reminded him of how brutal and

unforgiving Japan could be. The news that the priest's death was true meant

that daimyo Kamakura's plan to wipe out Christians had to be too. The

question was how long did Jack have left in this violent land?