Trusting his and Benkei's life to the old man, Jack carried his friend into the recess. The panel slid shut with a click. Almost immediately, Jack heard furious banging on the gate. After a pause, the old man hollered, 'Patience! My door isn't a drum!'

The old man crunched down the gravel path back to the gate. Jack strained to listen to what was happening, but the alcove dampened the noise outside. He wondered who the old man was and why he'd come to their rescue ... if indeed he had. They were now trapped inside a stranger's house, and for all Jack knew the old man was claiming the credit as well as the reward for capturing them.

23.

Shiryu Without warning, the panel shot open. Prepared to face a gloating Kazuki, Jack was surprised to discover the old man alone.

'They're gone,' he declared.

Almost unable to believe their good fortune, Jack's sense of relief was cut short when Benkei slumped unconscious to the floor.

'Let's tend to his wound, then we can talk,' said the old man.

He helped Jack carry Benkei into an adjacent room and settle him on a futon. With great care, the old man cleansed and re-dressed the spear wound, applying a potent-smelling paste. Reviving him with smelling salts, he then gave Benkei a herbal concoction to drink. The medicine eased Benkei's pain and his shallow breathing soon turned to one of deep sleep.

With Benkei out of immediate danger, the old man showed Jack through to the reception room of his house.

'You must be hungry,' said the old man, disappearing into the kitchen.

While he waited in the reception room, Jack's eyes were drawn to a large scroll hanging upon the wall. Two black kanji characters were inked on the paper's surface as if the calligrapher had attacked it in a fit of fury. Raging and brimming with intense energy, the scroll was one of only two pieces of decoration in the tatami-matted room the other being a single white lily displayed in an alcove.

'Fierce Frog,' said the old man from behind, translating the kanji.

Jack looked over his shoulder to see that the old man had returned with a bowl of fresh noodles and a pot of steaming green tea. He knelt and handed Jack the bowl and a pair of chopsticks. With a grateful bow, Jack tucked into the simple yet welcome meal.

Pouring the tea, the old man explained the meaning of the scroll. 'Many years ago, a daimyo was leading his troops to battle when he noticed a tiny frog on the road puff up in readiness to attack the intruders on his territory. Impressed by the frog's fighting spirit against such odds, the daimyo urged his men to display similar courage in facing their foes. That same determination and strength is represented in the brushstrokes of this calligraphy.'

Jack took the tea that was offered to him. 'That's one brave frog,' he agreed.

'Brave as you are,' stated the old man, toasting him with his own cup. 'My name is Shiryu and you're welcome in my home.'

Jack bowed. 'I can't thank you enough for saving us, Shiryu. My injured friend is Benkei and I'm '

'I know who you are,' he said with a kindly smile. 'The shouts of your pursuers made that clear enough. Jack Fletcher, the gaijin samurai. Why do you think I opened the gate in the first place?'

Jack was taken aback. 'So you know by sheltering me you're defying the Shogun?'

Shiryu nodded without concern. 'I owe the Shogun no allegiance. Not since the death of my wife.'

'I'm sorry to hear of your loss,' said Jack. He put down his tea, wondering how many more lives the Shogun's rule would destroy. 'What happened?'

Shiryu's gaze fell upon the white lily in the alcove. 'My precious Yuri was burned at the stake for her Christian beliefs,' he explained, his voice subdued with sorrow. 'Her spirit lives on, though. And, while I'm not of that faith, I consider it my duty as her husband to help her fellow Christians.'

'I appreciate the risk you're taking,' said Jack, thinking how awful it must have been for Shiryu to watch his wife die in such a gruesome way. 'If we can just rest tonight, we'll move on tomorrow.'

'I won't hear of it,' Shiryu insisted. 'You must stay until your friend is healed.'

'But my enemy doesn't give up that easily. Once Kazuki can't find me in the forest, he'll come back here.'

Shiryu shook his head confidently. 'I sent them north to the caves. In that region, there are many ways you could have escaped. Besides, I'm well known and respected in these parts. No one will question my word.'

Shiryu finished his tea, then showed Jack to a spare room.

'Sleep soundly, Jack Fletcher. You're safe in my house.'

Jack woke to fierce shouting. Fearing the worst, he snatched up his swords and burst from his room to fend off the intruders. The hallway and reception room were deserted. Another battle cry issued forth from the garden. Throwing open the shoji, Jack charged out into the bright morning sunlight. Expecting to confront Kazuki and his Scorpion Gang, he was surprised to discover the garden empty and undisturbed.

Lovingly tended, the walled garden was a miniature landscape of pruned trees, bushes and ornate rocks. A trickling stream flowed into a pond filled with a circulating rainbow of koi carp. In the centre stood an open-sided pavilion with a simple arched roof of green tiles. Only now did Jack spot Shiryu kneeling inside, an ink brush in his hand. With a terrific shout, the old man launched himself at the paper scroll spread over a low table. Black ink flew as high as the ceiling as he wielded the brush like a sword. He moved with grace and fluidity, each stroke executed with complete commitment and certainty. Once finished, Shiryu knelt back to regard his work.

Relieved to discover the old man was the cause of the disturbance, Jack resheathed his swords and made his way over a narrow stone bridge to the pavilion. Shiryu smiled at his approach and held up the finished scroll. A powerful scrawl of ink marked the surface, two energetic kanji characters joined by a single straight line.

'Stillness in motion,' he translated.

The calligraphy looked impressive, but Jack didn't understand the title's contradiction.

'Observe the pond,' said Shiryu, noting his puzzlement. 'The koi are active this morning, yet the surface of the pond remains calm. Dochu no sei. Stillness in motion. The lesson being: no matter how fast the movement, it must originate from a calm and quiet centre. This is the essence of Shodo, the path of writing.'

He laid the scroll back on the table.

'Like the koi-filled pond, the kanji sit in repose on the paper, but appear as if they are moving.'

Jack nodded in agreement. There was a definite dynamism to Shiryu's calligraphy, like the imperceptible stirring of leaves on a tree or the reflection of oneself in the water.

'For an artist to create such work, the brush has to flow in a free and easy manner. As you may already know, each kanji has a set number of strokes that must be inked in a precise order. The brush has to move smoothly from one stroke to the next. This creates a "rhythm" in the calligraphy, a flow of concentration that must not be broken if the character is to take on a dynamic appearance.'

'So what's all the shouting for?' asked Jack. 'I thought Shodo was meant to be meditative.'

'That's to focus my ki,' explained Shiryu. 'Shodo is rooted in the heart. One must let life flow into the brush. By doing so, you produce a vivid movement in the brushstroke that reveals your ki, your inner energy, in the form of the jet-black ink.'

He directed Jack's gaze to two scrolls hanging in the pavilion. One bore a dynamically inked kanji; the other, a more gentle inscription: 'The need for a shout depends entirely upon the subject. Certain words like "Courage" require the additional emphasis of a kiai,' he explained, pointing to the first kanji. 'While others, such as "Harmony", call for a more graceful and balanced approach, the ki generated silently within.'

Shiryu selected a fresh sheet of rice paper and loaded his brush from the inkstone.

'Whatever the subject, an artist must never go back to touch up a character, so the completion of each stroke has to be performed with the full force of one's mind, body and spirit, as if one's very life depended upon it.'

Shiryu held his brush above the paper and, in a single silent sweep, prescribed a large circle 'This is ens. It symbolizes absolute enlightenment, for a circle is empty yet full at the same time. Zen Buddhists believe that the character of the artist is revealed in how they draw an ens. Only a person who is mentally and spiritually complete can create the perfect ens.'

He offered Jack the brush.

'Would you like to try?'

24.

Ens Jack knelt before the table, shaded from the morning sun by the pavilion's roof. A crisp sheet of rice paper lay in front of him, blank as the sky. Beside it was a small rectangular black stick, the solid lump of ink decorated in the form of lotus leaves and flowers. Its end was shiny and wet, having been rubbed and mixed with water in the well of a large square inkstone. Jack picked up the bamboo brush, grasping its shaft midway between his thumb, index and middle fingers. Akiko had taught him how to hold a calligraphy brush and write the most commonly used kanji. But with tens of thousands of characters to master, compared to the mere twenty-six of his own alphabet, Jack was still very much a novice.

'Sit up straight, not too close to the table,' advised Shiryu. 'Arm out, brush perpendicular to the paper. Left hand rests on the table, keeping the paper still. As in Zen meditation, remember to breathe steadily and on the push of the stroke. Your aim is to become one with the brush, ink and paper. Think of yourself as a single wave of motion.'

Heeding Shiryu's advice, Jack dipped the white goat-hair tip of the brush in the inkstone, then boldly drew upon the rice paper in one unbroken movement. The resulting circle was roughly symmetrical but at the end of his stroke he lifted the brush too early and left a gap.

'Wonderful!' proclaimed Shiryu, much to Jack's surprise. 'Many Shodo beginners lack the spiritual strength to paint an ens so decisively. To do so reflects the samurai swordsman in you.'

'But I didn't complete it,' said Jack, considering the praise to be polite rather than truthful.

'That is telling in itself.' Shiryu looked him in the eye as if assessing his soul. 'An ens is the expressive movement of the spirit at a particular moment in time. The opening left in your circle suggests your spirit is not separate but part of something greater. That it requires something, or someone, to complete it.'

Jack felt Shiryu touch upon a truth. His thoughts immediately turned to Akiko ... then Yori, Saburo and Miyuki ... and finally Jess. He realized that without his friends and family, he was like an incomplete ens. Yet that was one circle that could never be whole again unless he managed to get home.

'I should check on Benkei,' said Jack, not wishing the old man to sense his sadness.

Shiryu nodded sagely. 'I understand. We'll continue the lesson later. You show great potential.'

'Please don't cut my leg off,' groaned Benkei, his forehead perspiring and his eyes bulging fearfully. 'I know it smells like rotting fish, but I'm quite attached to it.'

Jack smiled reassuringly and mopped his friend's brow with a cool cloth. 'That's just the medicine that stinks.'

Benkei breathed a sigh of relief. 'For a moment, I thought my dancing days were over!'

Jack helped him drink some soup. 'Shiryu made this especially for you. It contains herbs to reduce the pain.'

'Shiryu!' said Benkei, his eyes widening. 'I've heard of him ... he's the most famous Shodo master in all of Kyushu.'

'Well, he's also a talented herbalist,' replied Jack, lifting the bowl to his friend's lips. 'He says your wound will heal within a week. And you'll be back on your feet the week after.'

'But ... we can't risk staying that long!' spluttered Benkei. 'They're sure to find us.'

'Shiryu says there are many samurai patrols scouring the forest and caves, so lying low is the best plan for now. Besides, I need the time to practise my sword work.'

Benkei managed a laugh. 'You? Need practice? Not from what I've seen!'

Jack put down the empty soup bowl. 'I was lucky to have survived my fight with Kazuki. Before I lost my finger, we were an equal match, but now ...'

He trailed off, the reality biting hard. Kazuki had defeated him with disturbing ease. Unless he could resolve the problem of his weakened grip, their next confrontation would end in death. His death.

That afternoon Jack devoted himself to Two Heavens practice in the garden. As if he was training at the Niten Ichi Ry, he limbered up, stretching his muscles and flexing his joints. Then he worked his way through the different sword kata that Masamoto had taught him. Each prescribed set of moves focused on a particular combat technique: Flint-and-Spark, Lacquer-and-Glue, the strike of Running Water, Monkey's Body, Autumn Leaf strike and so on. The goal was to internalize the movements of each kata so that the techniques could be executed under any circumstance, without thought or hesitation.

Jack had practised these kata so many times they were second nature to him ... at least they should have been.

Rather than flowing in a natural, reflex-like manner, his kata were flawed and uneven. The weakness in his left hand, combined with his diminished grip, unbalanced his moves only marginally, but enough for him to miss his intended target at crucial times. He noticed that the blade of his wakizashi often wavered rather than cutting in a straight line. Much to his annoyance, he even dropped it on two occasions.

With every kata, Jack grew increasingly frustrated. He felt like a beginner again. He'd lost the fine control that he'd spent the past four years honing the control that meant the difference between life and death in a duel. When he lost grip on the wakizashi a third time, Jack wearily turned his back on it and left the sword where it fell, the steel blade mocking him like a silver snake in the grass. Finding a rock beside the edge of the pond, he sat down and gazed at the koi carp gliding past without really looking. He massaged his throbbing left hand. The tip of his little finger itched wildly, although there was nothing there to scratch.

How could the loss of something so small have such an impact on his sword skills?

Jack knew the little finger was crucial for grip on the handle. It also helped him judge the delicate balance of the sword and to execute ten-uchi correctly this was the twisting technique upon the handle, like the wringing of a towel, that caused the blade to strike its target with a sharp snapping force that broke any initial resistance. Without ten-uchi, the attack was only half as powerful. But Jack didn't have a clue where to begin adjusting his overall technique. He desperately needed Masamoto's expert advice. His guardian would know how to compensate for the lack of a fingertip. But with Masamoto banished to a remote Buddhist temple on Mount Iawo there was no hope of gaining his wisdom. Jack was on his own and at a loss for ideas.

'A samurai without belief has lost the battle before it has begun,' said Shiryu, who had been watching Jack's struggle from the pavilion. 'Maybe I can be of assistance?'

'I appreciate your offer,' said Jack, bowing his head. 'But, with respect, what would a Shodo master know about the way of the sword?'

Shiryu smiled. 'Everything.'

25.

Reverse Grip 'The way of the sword and the way of the brush are one and the same,' explained Shiryu, picking up Jack's discarded wakizashi. 'Yuri's priest told me that in the West you say "the pen is mightier than the sword". But in Japan we say bunbu ichi the pen and sword in accord.'

He held the brush beside the blade, uniting the tools of art and war.

'If you think of the paper as your opponent and the brush as your sword, then the connection becomes clear. In Shodo, each stroke must be delivered like the slash of a samurai sword, yet the brush must be held in a relaxed manner and manoeuvred without loss of controlled calmness. The same is true for a warrior and his sword in a duel. Without a focused mind and a complete commitment of spirit, the fight is over before the blade has been drawn.'

He returned Jack his wakizashi.

'Why not grip the sword like one holds the brush?' Shiryu suggested.

Jack stared at the old Shodo master, perplexed at the idea. They were totally opposite techniques. A samurai sword was gripped primarily by the middle, fourth and little fingers, whereas a brush was held between the thumb, fore and middle fingers. The shift, while apparently small, represented a major alteration of technique.

Disheartened though he was, Jack realized it was worth a try. He reminded himself that Kazuki had overcome his own hand injury to return a stronger fighter. If his rival could manage such a feat, then he was determined to do so too.

Jack stood and retook his position in the garden. Holding his katana in his right hand and the wakizashi in his left, using the new grip, he resumed his practice. Working through the first kata, it became immediately apparent that the imbalance of the wakizashi was a problem. He stopped and slid his hand down the handle.

'In Shodo, the little finger is required to do nothing, just lie naturally,' explained Shiryu, helping Jack to position his fingers correctly. 'So don't concern yourself about the missing tip.'

With the sword now evenly weighted, Jack tried again. He understood the new technique would take time to master, but the first few moves passed with surprising fluidity. Gaining confidence from such progress, Jack sped up ... then in the middle of an overhead strike, the wakizashi flew from his grasp. It spun through the air, whipping past Shiryu's startled face to pierce a pillar of the pavilion.

Jack hung his head, both embarrassed and disappointed. 'Sorry, I don't think it's working ...'

'Even when you fall on your face, you're still moving forward,' encouraged Shiryu, retrieving the wakizashi for him.

Persuaded to carry on, Jack started more slowly this time. But, despite his initial success, his kata moves remained stilted, the wakizashi feeling heavy and cumbersome in his altered grasp.

'Let the sword float in your hand,' advised Shiryu with sharp observation. 'Just as with a brush, a gentle grip is required for the precise and pure motions of a samurai.'