11

MITSUKAGE CASTLE ISE PROVINCE

AUTUMN 1572

The archery hall was long and narrow, with a high ceiling supported by two rows of wooden columns. At one end of the hall, small round targets stood in front of bales of straw that had been positioned to catch any stray shots. At the opposite end was a low platform with a rack of bows and a smaller rack of arrows. The afternoon light was already fading, and shadows thickened in the corners of the hall.

Captain Muraki and Jimmu seated themselves on the platform, and Captain Muraki smiled.

“You are a very fortunate young man, Jimmu,” he said. “I congratulate you on your success.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jimmu, thinking that it was skill and not good fortune that had brought him success.

The captain’s smile vanished.

“I’ve seen for myself what kind of swordsman you are, and your spear work is excellent, but you are an incompetent archer,” he said. “Why is that?”

The directness of the question took Jimmu by surprise.

“I—I don’t know, sir,” he said. “I’m just better with a sword than I am with a bow.”

Captain Muraki showed his disapproval by hissing air through his teeth.

“Your previous teacher was negligent!” he exclaimed. “A samurai must be a master of all weapons. Archery is your weak spot. Very well. From now on you will dedicate yourself to overcoming that weakness. String a bow, and let’s begin.”

Jimmu selected a bow and prepared to fire it, painfully aware of the captain’s watchful eyes.

The first shot flew wide to the left of Jimmu’s chosen target.

“Again!” the captain rasped.

The second shot glanced off the target’s edge.

Captain Muraki made no criticism, nor did he offer any helpful suggestions.

“Again!” he commanded.

And again, and again, and again, until Jimmu’s arms and shoulders were sore, and the hall was gloomy with dusk.

“That last shot was your worst effort yet!” the captain scolded. “What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s almost dark,” complained Jimmu. “How can I take aim at a target that I can hardly see?”

“Seeing has nothing to do with it,” Captain Muraki announced. “Pass me the bow and I’ll demonstrate.”

The captain took three arrows from the rack and placed them beside him. For a moment he sat perfectly still with the bow resting across his lap, then he loosed off the arrows in rapid succession.

“I fired at the target on the far right,” he told Jimmu. “Go and see.”

Jimmu stood up and walked the length of the hall.

Captain Muraki’s arrows were clustered tightly in the exact center of the target.

Jimmu was awestruck.

“How did you do that, sir?” he asked.

“Answer me this first,” said the captain. “When you had the bow, what were you trying to do?”

“To hit the target.”

“Sloppy thinking!” said Captain Muraki. “A samurai should aim his arrow at the center of himself. He must wait until his inner world is at one with the outer world, and then his center and the target will coincide. He’ll be able to hit it on foot, on the back of a galloping horse, or in the darkness. Think, Jimmu! Find your center.”