he’s got to be pleased about. What if there’s another deep hole right in front of the tunnel mouth? Then Gaiya won’t be alone anymore. He’ll have our bones to keep him company.
“I don’t need to see to find my way out,” Taji says. “Follow me.”
As he leads us forward, the soft sound of wings fills the cavern. There’s nothing ghostly about it. I can feel the warmth of Gaiya’s smile on my back. The Golden Bat leads us through the darkness, toward the stars and the tunnel’s end.
“We made it.” Nezume’s voice ricochets across the moonlit mountains.
It’s a short drop to the ground and we’re safe. Even the taunts and teasing of the Games can’t take this victory away from me.
“
Chi!
” Taji yells, grabbing a vine and swinging down to the ground.
“
Jin!
” Yoshi pulls Kyoko and me with him.
“
Yu!
” Mikko bellows as he and Nezume jump together.
We’re muddy, wet, and smelly. It’s a badge of honor, not bright and shiny like a medal, but we wear it like a uniform. One look at us and you can see we’re a team.
Chi, jin, yu.
Wisdom, benevolence, and courage.
And something even more powerful than a samurai sword.
Friendship.
“Wake up, lazybones. It’s lunchtime.”
Yoshi pulls my pack from underneath my head. Dragging my blurry eyes open, I squint into the sun, already high overhead. My stomach immediately complains about missed breakfast.
“Thanks to Nezume’s directions and strong shoulders, we have made good progress,” says Yoshi. “We’ll still be at the Games on time.”
Rat Boy beams. Mud brown, he’s a Cockroach now.
“I know another shortcut,” he announces. Nezume knows the mountain inside out.
We eat lunch fast. If there was a speed-eating event at the Games, we would be sure to win. Mikko is the first to finish. He rises slowly and leans his weight on his injured ankle, a smile spreading across his face.
“I’m two-legged again!” he shouts.
“Good, because we need Nezume to go first.” Yoshi motions Rat Boy to the front of our line. No longer a stranger, he is our friend and guide.
“You never know where you will find a friend,” Sensei told us. “Once I found one under my bed.”
That’s where Sensei discovered the samurai who gave him Uma. The samurai was hiding from three men who wanted to kill him. Our master never told us why.
“You do not need to know everything. Sometimes it is better not to know.”
I looked under my bed every day for a month, but I never found anyone.
“What do you expect to find?” asked Mikko. “Ants for friends?”
“None of your business,” I said. “You do not need to know everything.”
Half an hour later, the temple appears beneath the late afternoon mist. The jewel of Mount Tsurugidake is made of polished white stone. Six gleaming turrets stretch skyward. Directly behind the temple are the tournament rings for wrestling and sword fighting, the river for swimming, and fields where the horses graze.
On the main steps, the four eldest Komusu wait to greet the arriving teams. One hundred priests live and serve at the temple, but only these four are allowed to speak. After the Games are over, they won’t talk again for another year.
Number One, the Master of the Games, stands in front of Number Two, Number Three, and Number Four. The Komusu don’t waste words on names. The Games Master’s curly white beard reaches to the hem of his long pink robe. The other three wear yellow, orange, and red, to symbolize the rising and setting of the sun.
The world is a strange place when the wisest and holiest of priests is an old man in a pink dress. Wisdom must be color-blind, with no fashion sense.
The priests bob and nod their heads in welcome. They say NOTHING. It’s the Zen thing, but it’s probably easier just to nod when you wear a basket from head to shoulder.
“The Komusu are wise beyond speech,” Sensei told us. “It is a privilege to hear their words. You must show great respect.”
The
“I don’t need to see to find my way out,” Taji says. “Follow me.”
As he leads us forward, the soft sound of wings fills the cavern. There’s nothing ghostly about it. I can feel the warmth of Gaiya’s smile on my back. The Golden Bat leads us through the darkness, toward the stars and the tunnel’s end.
“We made it.” Nezume’s voice ricochets across the moonlit mountains.
It’s a short drop to the ground and we’re safe. Even the taunts and teasing of the Games can’t take this victory away from me.
“
Chi!
” Taji yells, grabbing a vine and swinging down to the ground.
“
Jin!
” Yoshi pulls Kyoko and me with him.
“
Yu!
” Mikko bellows as he and Nezume jump together.
We’re muddy, wet, and smelly. It’s a badge of honor, not bright and shiny like a medal, but we wear it like a uniform. One look at us and you can see we’re a team.
Chi, jin, yu.
Wisdom, benevolence, and courage.
And something even more powerful than a samurai sword.
Friendship.
“Wake up, lazybones. It’s lunchtime.”
Yoshi pulls my pack from underneath my head. Dragging my blurry eyes open, I squint into the sun, already high overhead. My stomach immediately complains about missed breakfast.
“Thanks to Nezume’s directions and strong shoulders, we have made good progress,” says Yoshi. “We’ll still be at the Games on time.”
Rat Boy beams. Mud brown, he’s a Cockroach now.
“I know another shortcut,” he announces. Nezume knows the mountain inside out.
We eat lunch fast. If there was a speed-eating event at the Games, we would be sure to win. Mikko is the first to finish. He rises slowly and leans his weight on his injured ankle, a smile spreading across his face.
“I’m two-legged again!” he shouts.
“Good, because we need Nezume to go first.” Yoshi motions Rat Boy to the front of our line. No longer a stranger, he is our friend and guide.
“You never know where you will find a friend,” Sensei told us. “Once I found one under my bed.”
That’s where Sensei discovered the samurai who gave him Uma. The samurai was hiding from three men who wanted to kill him. Our master never told us why.
“You do not need to know everything. Sometimes it is better not to know.”
I looked under my bed every day for a month, but I never found anyone.
“What do you expect to find?” asked Mikko. “Ants for friends?”
“None of your business,” I said. “You do not need to know everything.”
Half an hour later, the temple appears beneath the late afternoon mist. The jewel of Mount Tsurugidake is made of polished white stone. Six gleaming turrets stretch skyward. Directly behind the temple are the tournament rings for wrestling and sword fighting, the river for swimming, and fields where the horses graze.
On the main steps, the four eldest Komusu wait to greet the arriving teams. One hundred priests live and serve at the temple, but only these four are allowed to speak. After the Games are over, they won’t talk again for another year.
Number One, the Master of the Games, stands in front of Number Two, Number Three, and Number Four. The Komusu don’t waste words on names. The Games Master’s curly white beard reaches to the hem of his long pink robe. The other three wear yellow, orange, and red, to symbolize the rising and setting of the sun.
The world is a strange place when the wisest and holiest of priests is an old man in a pink dress. Wisdom must be color-blind, with no fashion sense.
The priests bob and nod their heads in welcome. They say NOTHING. It’s the Zen thing, but it’s probably easier just to nod when you wear a basket from head to shoulder.
“The Komusu are wise beyond speech,” Sensei told us. “It is a privilege to hear their words. You must show great respect.”
The
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