Young Samurai.

The Ring of Sky.

Chris Bradford.

Acknowledgements.

Chris Bradford likes to fly through the air. He has thrown himself over Victoria Falls on a bungee cord, out of an aeroplane in New Zealand and off a French mountain on a paraglider, but he has always managed to land safely something he learnt from his martial arts ...

Chris joined a judo club aged seven where his love of throwing people over his shoulder, punching the air and bowing lots started. Since those early years, he has trained in karate, kickboxing, samurai swordsmanship and has earned his black belt in taijutsu, the secret fighting art of the ninja.

Before writing the Young Samurai series, Chris was a professional musician and songwriter. He's even performed to HRH Queen Elizabeth II (but he suspects she found his band a bit noisy).

Chris lives in a village on the South Downs with his wife, Sarah, his son, Zach, and two cats called Tigger and Rhubarb.

To discover more about Chris go to www.youngsamurai.com.

Dedicated to all Young Samurai fans, may you follow the Way of the Warrior in life ....

PUFFIN BOOKS.

Praise for the Young Samurai series:.

'A fantastic adventure that floors the reader on page one and keeps them there until the end. The pace is furious and the martial arts detail authentic'

Eoin Colfer, author of the bestselling Artemis Fowl series.

'Fierce fiction ... captivating for young readers'

Daily Telegraph.

'Addictive'

Evening Standard.

'More and more absorbing ... vivid and enjoyable'

The Times.

'Bradford comes out swinging in this fast-paced adventure ... and produces an adventure novel to rank among the genre's best. This book earns the literary equivalent of a black belt'

Publishers Weekly.

'The most exciting fight sequences imaginable on paper!'

Booklist.

Winner of Northern Ireland Book Award 2011.

Shortlisted for Independent Booksellers Book Awards 2011 and 2012.

Shortlisted for Red House Children's Book Award 2009.

School Library Association's Riveting Read 2009.

The Letter.

Japan, 1614.

My dearest Jess.

I hope this letter reaches you one day. You must believe I've been lost at sea all these years. But you'll be glad to know that I am alive and in good health.

Father and I reached the Japans in August 1611, but I am sad to tell you he was killed in an attack upon our ship, the Alexandria. I alone survived.

For these past three years, I've been living in the care of a Japanese warrior, Masamoto Takeshi, at his samurai school in Kyoto. He has been very kind to me, but life has not been easy.

An assassin, a ninja known as Dragon Eye, was hired to steal our father's rutter (you no doubt remember how important this navigational logbook was to our father?). The ninja was successful in his mission. However, with the help of my samurai friends, I've managed to get it back.

This same ninja was the one who murdered our father. And, while it may not bring you much comfort, I can assure you the assassin is now dead. Justice has been delivered. But the ninja's death doesn't bring back our father I miss him so much and could do with his guidance and protection at this time.

Japan has been split by civil war and foreigners like myself are no longer welcome. I am a fugitive. On the run for my life. I now journey south through this strange and exotic land to the port of Nagasaki in the hope that I may find a ship bound for England.

The Tokaido Road upon which I travel, however, is fraught with danger and I have many enemies on my trail. But do not fear for my safety. Masamoto has trained me as a samurai warrior and I will fight to return home to you.

One day I do hope I can tell you about my adventures in person ...

Until then, dear sister, may God keep you safe.

Your brother, Jack.

P.S. Since first writing this letter at the end of spring, I've been kidnapped by ninja. But I discovered that they were not the enemy I thought they were. In fact, they saved my life and taught me about the Five Rings: the five great elements of the universe Earth, Water, Fire, Wind and Sky. I now know ninjutsu skills that go beyond anything I learnt as a samurai. But, because of the circumstances of our father's death, I still struggle to fully embrace the Way of the Ninja ...

1.

Footprints.

JAPAN, SUMMER 1615.

Spluttering and choking, Jack hacked up a lungful of salt water. His fingers gripped the wet sand as another wave broke over him, threatening to drag him back into the chill sea. The constant roll of breakers was like the restless breathing of a great dragon that, having had its fill, spat him out on to the shore.

With the last of his strength, Jack clawed his way up the beach. Once clear of the waves, he rolled on to his back, gasping from the effort, and opened his eyes. The sky was a wide expanse of crystal blue, not a cloud in sight, no trace of the storm that had raged the previous night. The early morning sun shone down in warming golden rays from the east, hinting at the fine summer day to come.

Jack had no idea how long he lay there recovering, but when he opened his eyes again the salt water had cracked his lips and his kimono was bone dry. His mind whirled like the churning ocean and his entire body felt sore and bruised, having been pummelled by waves, rocks and the reef in his desperate bid for land. So far as he could tell no bones were broken, although every muscle ached and there was a painful throb in his left side. But, to his relief, he discovered this was just the hilt of his sword jammed against his ribs.

He sat up groggily. By some miracle, he still possessed both his katana and the shorter wakizashi. A samurai warrior's sword was considered to be his soul. And Jack trained in the ways of the samurai and the ninja was thankful not to have lost his. For in a country that now deemed foreigners and Christians to be the enemy of the state, these weapons were his lifeline.

His pack was also tied round his waist. Bedraggled and misshapen, its contents looked to be in a sorry state. He emptied it on to the sand. A cracked gourd fell out, along with a couple of crushed rice balls and three slim iron shuriken. The ninja throwing stars were followed by the heavy thump of a book his father's rutter, a priceless navigational logbook that offered the only means of safely crossing the world's oceans. Jack was reassured to find the rutter still protected within its waterproof oilskin cover. But the sight of the broken gourd was cause for concern. Having spent much of the night battling for his life, Jack was weakened by hunger and thirst. Snatching up the gourd with a trembling hand, he poured the last dregs of fresh water into his parched mouth. Then, without bothering to brush the sand off, he consumed the cold rice balls in a few ravenous bites. Meagre and salty as they were, the rice revived him enough to clear his head and take stock of his situation.

Glancing round, Jack discovered he'd washed up in a sheltered bay. The beach was bounded by craggy headlands to the north and south, while behind, a small cliff rose westwards to a scrub-lined ridge. On first inspection the bay appeared to be deserted. Then Jack spied a piece of wreckage bobbing at the shoreline. With a sinking heart, he recognized it instantly. Sprawled out like a huge drowned moth was the broken mast of the skiff, its tattered sail rippling in the waves.

Only now did the realization hit Jack that his friends were missing.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran down to the shore and frantically searched for any sign of them. Finding no bodies on the beach or in the shallows, he scanned the bay and horizon for their boat. But the little skiff was nowhere to be seen. With a growing sense of despair, Jack feared Yori, Saburo and Miyuki were lost at sea. Then Jack spotted two sets of footprints in the sand and a spark of hope was rekindled.

Dropping to one knee, he inspected the prints and applied his ninja tracking skills. Grandmaster Soke had taught him how to identify tracks by their size, shape, depth and pattern. Immediately and with a sigh of dismay Jack could tell these didn't belong to any of his friends. They were too large. Made by an adult and facing opposite directions, it was evident that the two sets belonged to the same individual. Both prints possessed a similar uneven pattern, indicating the person either had a limp or an odd gait. Jack also noted the approach had been hurried, but the departure urgent the sand being more heavily displaced and the prints wider apart, signalling a change of pace into a run.

Whoever it was, their presence was unlikely to be favourable for Jack.

He caught the distant sound of voices to the north. Hastily gathering up his belongings, Jack fled the opposite way. He ran along the beach towards the southern headland, all the time keeping his eye out for the slightest proof his friends had survived. Approaching the rocky outcrop, he noticed the opening to a cave and made directly for it. Just as he entered its cool darkness, he heard a shout.

'The gaijin's over here!'

Jack glanced back to see an old fisherman with bandy legs leading a patrol of armed samurai on to the beach. Hiding inside the cave's entrance, Jack observed the fisherman totter over to where the mast lay.

'Where is he then?' demanded the leader of the patrol, a sour-faced man with a topknot of black hair and a thick moustache.

'I promise you,' the fisherman protested, pointing a gnarly finger at the marks in the sand. 'I saw him with my own eyes. A foreigner washed up on this beach and he had samurai swords.'

The leader bent down to examine the evidence. His eyes followed Jack's tracks along the beach.

'He can't have got far,' snarled the man, drawing his katana. 'We'll hunt this gaijin samurai down like a dog!'

2.

Stuck.

Jack plunged deeper into the cave to avoid being spotted. The headland was a honeycomb of rock with passages breaking off in different directions. The cold wet stone closed in around him and the sunlight receded to little more than a reflected gleam. He could hear the sea surging deep within like a primeval heartbeat. Jack took the most obvious route along the widest passage, hoping this would lead to a way out. He stumbled through the darkness and damp. His fingers groped for handholds on the bare rock as he followed the curving wall to his right. But this turned out to be a dead end and he had to double back.

As Jack tried the next passage, a wave boomed, rolling like thunder, and the previous night's storm flashed before his eyes. White lightning and black clouds. Torrential rain and monumental waves. Their boat tossed like a cork from crest to trough. His friends clinging on in sheer terror, their faces pale and drawn. Jack still couldn't fathom how their good fortune had turned ill so quickly. They'd escaped Pirate Island with their lives, and been blessed with a well-stocked boat, an accurate sea chart and a fair wind. It should have been plain sailing to the port of Nagasaki. After no more than two weeks' voyage, he should have been standing upon the deck of an English galleon, preparing to sail home to his sister, Jess.

But the Seto Sea had other plans. During the middle of the third night, a tempest erupted out of nowhere. Taken by surprise, Jack had been unable to avoid its perilous path. His seafaring skills were tested to the limit as he fought to keep their little boat afloat. But the storm worsened. In danger of all being washed overboard, he'd instructed his friends to tie themselves to the skiff. Then suddenly his pack, with its precious cargo, became dislodged. Fearful of losing his father's rutter to the depths, Jack had dived to rescue it. He'd caught hold of its strap just as an almighty wave engulfed the boat. There was a horrendous crack, like a bone breaking, and the mast was snapped in two. The boat keeled over, throwing its young crew into the wild foaming sea.

Jack swam hard to be reunited with his friends, but he was dragged away with the current. Weighed down by his pack and swords, he only managed to keep his head above water by grasping on to the broken mast. His friends, tethered to their capsized skiff, cried out to him. But their shouts were carried away on the howling wind as they drifted further and further apart, until the mountainous waves overwhelmed their little boat.

That was the last time he saw Yori, Saburo and Miyuki alive. Jack had to face the bleak truth his friends had perished in the storm. Drowned. Dead. Gone forever.

But he had no time to grieve their loss as a man's gruff voice echoed through the cave. 'The tracks lead this way.'

Jack fled down another passage. Tighter than the previous ones, he had to keep his head low to avoid hitting the jagged rocks. After twenty or so paces, he noticed a glimmer of light and held out hope that he would escape.

He entered a gloomy cavern. But, everywhere he turned, he met with solid rock. The sunlight he'd spotted was filtering in through a crack high in the ceiling. Jack desperately sought for handholds to pull himself up. But the sea had worn the rock smooth, and even with his climbing skills he had no chance of reaching the tiny gap. Jack had struck another dead end and this time he couldn't turn back.

A voice worryingly close by said, 'Let's try this one.'

'Don't take any chances,' warned the leader. 'Kill the gaijin on sight.'

Jack heard the samurai entering the passage to the cavern. Weakened from the storm, Jack had wished to avoid a fight. But, cornered as he was, he now drew his swords and prepared to make a stand. He felt water slosh over his feet then disappear. Looking down, he discovered a narrow opening in the cavern floor. Jack's luck had finally returned. If the sea was flowing in, there was every chance of a way out.

'I've found him!' cried a samurai.

Dropping to all fours, Jack shoved his swords and pack into the gap and squeezed through after them. Hands grabbed at his ankles and he was yanked backwards. Jack kicked out hard, breaking the samurai's grip. He disappeared down the hole like a rabbit into a warren. The gap widened into a descending passageway. He scrambled along, knees and elbows scraping against the rough rock.

'Don't let him get away!' cried their leader. 'There's a price on his head.'

'It's too narrow,' the samurai protested.

The leader swore in frustration. 'Stay here in case he doubles back. The rest of you come with me. We'll catch him on the other side ... if he gets out alive.'

3.