A Time Traveller's Guide To Feudal Japan

Gengyo did not make an attempt to still the man’s nerves as he looked toward him, wondering if he should begin.

"Go whenever you’re ready."

He nocked the arrow unsteadily, and took aim. His form was poor, and his focus was off, but by some miracle the arrow managed to pin itself into the very edge of the 50 pace target.

The man glanced toward him once more, this time smiling, clearly gleeful at securing the first shot.

"Good. One point secured. Next target."

He moved to the 75 pace range, a little more confident than before. He was able to calm his nerves this time, and correct his form.

The arrow flew more purposefully, and secured itself within the soft straw target.

"Two more points. Three points in total. Next target."

The rest of the men watched on, looking tense. They knew that it would be them soon, and whilst they didn’t especially want to see someone be humiliated, they did not want anyone to do well either, for that would lower their own chances of passing.

The same man attempted the hundred pace range – a range that very few of them had trained at – and missed by a good distance, but still he walked away feeling rather pleased with himself.

"Need to get 5 points on the motion one... then I’m in."

His buddy congratulated him with a slap on the shoulder, before stepping up to the line next, feeling the added pressure of his friend doing well and not wanting to be the one to fail.

It was only then that Gengyo realized he’d made an oversight. Whilst he was confident in his memory, it was still a push to record the points of 31 people. That, if simplified to its fullest, was at least 31 digits, and the maximum capacity of the average human’s short term memory was said to be 7.

He did not want to risk it.

He turned to his brother for assistance.

"Brother. Remember this man’s points for a moment. I need to speak with Niwa-san."

Masaatsu nodded without complaint.

He then apologised to the man who was about to fire.

"Sorry, I will be away for a few moments, but you can start whenever you like. Good luck."

He patted him on the shoulder, before turning his back on the events that would unfold behind him, and walked toward the master, who sat idly, fanning himself.

He pretended to be surprised as Gengyo drew near.

"Ah! Young Miura, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I’m assigning the men points. Do you have some spare sheets of paper, and possibly a pot of ink and a brush so that I might keep track of their scores?"

"Hohoh, are you suggesting that you will write their names down, Miura-kun?"

"I am."

"Do you remember when I asked you, on the eve of your father’s grand fight, whether you had a teacher?"

"I do."

"Could it be, that you lied?"

"It’s more complicated than that. My teacher does not exist in this world."

Put off by his curious way of phrasing, Nakatane took it to mean that his teacher had died, and ended the discussion at that.

"Ah, so that is what you meant. Very well, I will fetch you those little utensils. How cruel you are, to interrupt your master’s quiet time in the shade! Alas, life is but a stream of misery."

He ended up soliloquizing alone, for Gengyo had long since thanked him with a bow, and returned back to overseeing the exam.

Nakatane stood up, and briefly watched over the young man’s performance, before heaving a sigh and wandering up to his room.

By the time he returned, they had already gotten through 9 participants. It must be said of the master that when he was inclined to do so, he could move frightfully slowly, even a tortoise would have to tip his shell at his mighty lack of speed.

He hovered quietly behind Gengyo who was in the midst of giving out instructions to the next participant. The man had claimed never to have held a bow like that before, and for some odd reason was having trouble nocking, though the process itself was rather self-evident. Still, the examiner – who was almost 30 years younger than he – dutifully tough him how.

The man stood out from the rest of the participants by the air of calmness he exuded, which was second to only that of Masaatsu.

Even when he could not fathom how to nock the arrow, he did not grow fl.u.s.tered, nor did Gengyo grow impatient.

And as it happens, that was the right choice on the part of the younger man, as the old fellow proceeded to bring the string back with skill, and land a bullseye at both the 50 pace range and the 75 pace range, before hitting the target just short of the centre at 100 paces.

It was then that Nakatane chose to interrupt – though the other participants had long since been staring at him nervously – and offer Gengyo his stationary.

"Here you are, lad. Now I will be sitting in the shade, understood? It would be best not to disturb me."

Gengyo ignored the threat at the end, and quickly thanked him, before turning to the old archer who was still waiting by his side.

"What’s your name friend?"

"Niiro."

"Niiro? 6 points. You shot well."

He wrote the man’s name down on the thin washi paper as he spoke, taking care to keep his characters small. As he could not ask the man what kanji his name was spelt with – since very few peasants were able to read or write – he simply wrote down the names in hiragana.

"And you?"

He asked of the person who had gone before Niiro, who then promptly stated his name. Gengyo had memorised the number of points those few people had gathered, so that was not an issue for him.

The villagers were muttering about him being able to write, but when he glanced toward them they soon silenced.

And then they proceeded on with the testing, with Masaatsu up next.

His older brother shot well, securing one bullseye at the closest range, and hitting both of the targets at the higher ranges.

Of the first test, there was only one other participant that reached the level of Masaatsu and Niiro, and that was the youth from earlier, who had been standing for the last hour – whilst the rest were doing their tests – whispering wildly to himself, as he shivered in apprehension of the exam ahead.

When he grasped the bow however, despite still being nervous, there was a different look in his eye. Or there would have been had he kept them open.

Watching him, Gengyo was a little befuddled. He secured the right aim, but before he shot, he closed his eyes tight shut, before pulling his fingers away from the string. His lips were moving rapidly all the while, as though in prayer.

His prayers were seemingly answered, as the first shot was a perfect bullseye. He looked elated for a split second, before his shoulders drooped once more and he began to scold himself in a fit of pessimism.

"You can proceed to the next shot."

Gengyo encouraged him onwards, a little intrigued by his mannerisms.

He proceeded to the next target, his mad begging to some god or other growing furthermore intense, so much so that Gengyo could almost make out words.

And then the arrow was released, firmly puncturing the centre of the bullseye.

He went to celebrate, before swiftly stopping himself and resuming his muttering, moving on to the last target.

With this, he secured the most spectacular shot of the exam. A centremost bullseye. Even Niiro had to nod his head in respect at such an achievement, whilst the rest of the peasants – especially those that had scored poorly – looked from the target, back to the pale boy in shock.

They had all pegged him as a nonentity due to his self-deprecating mannerisms and sickly appearance. That combined with his maniacal mutterings was more than enough for them to stop paying him any attention.

The one who reacted least was the archer himself. Though, this time, he did not scold himself, so Gengyo supposed that he might be happy with such a result.

And with that young man, the first test was concluded. Gengyo later learned that his name was Kitajo.

After some fiddling with the gong, and moving it out of the way of the striker – so that the striker could swing freely – and affixing a target to the beam, they were ready for the second part of the test.

He had wondered whether the master might complain about his manhandling of the ceremonial gong, but had deemed it inappropriate to ask for permission. After all, Nakatane had expressly told him that he was not be bothered, had he not?

"So, the rules are simple. I’ve set up the three marks for you to stand behind – 50, 75 and 100. I will swing the striker, and from there you have three seconds to shoot. If you take longer than three seconds, then that shot no longer counts. Any questions?"

A thin arm stuck itself into the air.

"Other than what happens if less than ten people make the cut?"

And back down it slowly slithered.

"Good. Well, same order as last time. Let’s get going."

The first man walked up to his mark, nervous. He drew his string, and waited for Gengyo to set the log in motion.

"Go!"

Came the shout as the striker simultaneously started moving. The man – put off by the time limit – released his arrow much too early, before he had a clear grasp for the motion of the device. And as a result, his arrow missed by a good distance.

He cursed aloud, and hurried to the next mark, intent on making up for his mistake.

This time, after the starting shout he spent a second longer, attempting to predict where the swinging log would end up. But he had not looked long enough, for the target sailed away from the path of his freshly released arrow.

And on the third shot, he spent far too long.

"Times up!"

The examiner called, putting a halt to the test.

"F.u.c.k!"

The man cursed, slamming the bow off the floor in his frustration.

’It’s so f.u.c.k.i.n.g unfair! Why this year?’

He thought to himself, before his rage lent him a false confidence and he spoke aloud.

"This is bullshit, kid! This test is f.u.c.k.i.n.g impossible! No one is ever going to be able to hit three of those in a row – especially at 100 paces. Why the f.u.c.k do we need to anyway?"

There were a few murmurs of agreement from amongst the men.

"Pass me the bow."

Gengyo walked forward, undeterred by his words.

"Eh!?"

"Give me the bow."

The man spat at his feet, before handing the bow over, thinking he was about to proceed on with the testing.

But contrary to his expectations he nocked an arrow, and to the man he turned and spoke.

"Go on then, push it."

The man looked at him doubtfully, his face still twisted in a scowl. But still, he did as he said. Who would not want to see the man fail his own test?

’He’s even trying from 100 paces too – what a disgrace.’

He heaved the striker backward as far as he could, before sending it forward with all the strength he could muster. Such a force rocked the frame that was holding it up, but it managed to keep itself from collapsing.

However, the striker was moving at a vicious speed, obviously done out of spite. It was at least three times faster than what the man had to aim at.

But Gengyo did not complain, even as the man counted the seconds loudly, and instead, he narrowed his gaze, and aimed for the middle.