Yantsu is a karate kata, or form. The name is derived from the characters Yan, meaning safe, and Su, meaning three. Yantsu  also means to keep pure, to strive to maintain the purity of principles and ideals rather than to compromise for appearances.

Yantsu

Chapter One - First Draft

Danny Jordan rolled up onto his knees, still clutching his left shoulder. A low whimper escaped his half open mouth as he tried to rise to his feet. The weight of his arm pulling against his throbbing clavicle seemed to drag him back to the ground. The physical pain of getting up outweighed the fear of staying down and he sank forward, his forehead coming to rest on the fist clenched in his lap.

Sarah Alexander felt the change in atmosphere. She stole a glance at the man beside her. Hunched forward, fists balled, jaw tight; an over wound clock ready to erupt in a hail of flying springs. She shifted slightly in her seat, tension knotting her stomach as she watched the young boy being helped to the side of the room.

Danny sank gratefully onto the bench. The pain had ebbed to a dull ache and he cradled his arm across his chest. He pushed his fingers up under his collarbone and inclined his head to the right, stretching the taut muscles in his neck and shoulder.
     “Are you okay?” asked the woman at his side. “Is it feeling better now?”
     “Osu!” he said, acknowledging her seniority. “Yes, Sempai, it's much better, thank you.”
     Sempai Lisa Appleton smiled at him. “You did so well,” she said. “Sensei will be proud of you.”
     He managed a weak return smile. “Thanks,” he said.
     He looked across the crowded hall and located Sensei Mark Christiansen. He was standing with his back to Danny talking to one of the coaches from out of town. Probably the coach of the kid who had just knocked him out of the tournament.
     Sensei Mark turned and walked towards the bench. As he approached, Danny fixed his eyes on the four gold stripes at the end of his Sensei's black belt.
     “Well done, Danny,” Mark said, reaching out and mussing up his thick dark hair. “How's the shoulder?”
     “Thank you, Sensei,” he replied. Prodding at his collarbone, he added, “It's much better, thanks.”
     Mark sat on the bench next to him. “You fought really well,” he said. “The guy who put you out will probably win the tourney. He's from Durban. I've just been talking to his Sensei.”
     Danny nodded but didn't speak. Mark turned to face him.
     “Cheer up,” he said. “Getting beaten in the semi-finals of a national competition is nothing to be ashamed of. Especially since it was a shodan you were up against.”
     “I know,” said Danny. He sucked in his lower lip and considered adding a but. He changed his mind and looked up to the arena as a voice on the PA announced that the final was about to begin.
     He sighed and watched the two shodan on the mats. Both fighters were from Shihan Dean Stander's Greenview Bushido Kai Dojo in Durban.
     At least there's no chance of a home win, thought Danny. The thought was of little comfort to him, as was his earlier opponent winning the final with a knock down in under 40 seconds.

Danny felt his father's hands close around his upper his arms as Sensei Mark talked about his performance. His father was standing directly behind him so he couldn't see his face, but he knew it would be wreathed with feigned delight.
     “Danny's one of our most dedicated students, Mr Jordan,” said Mark. “You should be very proud of him.”
     “Of course,” said Greg, gripping a little harder. “Daniel knows how I feel about his performance.”
     Danny stared at the knot at his Sensei's waist, only looking up when Mark spoke directly to him.
     “You were great, Danny. Go home and enjoy the rest of the weekend,” Mark said. “You've earned a rest. I'll see you in the dojo on Monday night.”
     “Thank you, Sensei,” said Danny, his smile belying the twist of dread in his gut. He turned and walked away, his father following behind.
     Greg stepped alongside Danny and leaned in close. “You were pathetic!” he hissed. “You should have taken that runt without even breaking a sweat.”
     He swallowed his fear and walked purposefully towards his father's Land Cruiser Station Wagon. He didn't look at his stepsister as he climbed into the back seat. He fastened his safety belt and fixed his gaze on the back of his stepmother's head-rest.
     Greg gunned the engine and skidded out of the loose-surfaced car park. Danny gripped the centre arm rest and closed his eyes. He felt warm fingers enclose his hand as Sarah reached out to him. He opened his eyes and, checking the direction of his father's gaze in the rear-view mirror, stole a glance at his stepsister.
     “I'm sorry, Danny,” she whispered. Her eyes brimming with tears, she gave his hand a squeeze then turned to stare out of the window as the suburbs of Cape Town rolled by.

“Daniel, go to your room,” said Greg, as they filed into the cool, marble tiled entrance hall. Danny closed the heavy oak door quietly behind him.
     “Yes, Dad,” he said. He padded barefoot along the passage and shut himself into the relative sanctuary of his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed for a full half hour before deciding his father wasn't going to come.
     Danny felt his heartbeat slow as he untied the knot at his waist and slipped the green belt from round his middle. He carefully folded it in two and hung it over a coat hanger. Wandering into the bathroom, he shrugged out of the jacket of his dogi and reached into the shower cubicle to turn on the water.
     The warm shower soothed his aching muscles and the comforting scent of shampoo and shower gel eased his taut nerves. He rinsed himself off and examined his shoulder. Deep blue and purple bruising was already beginning to show. He poked gingerly at his collarbone. It was still sore but it wasn't broken. He had broken his collarbone before and he knew this was just badly bruised.
     Danny wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back to his bedroom, rubbing his hair vigorously on another. He dried himself off and pulled on his pyjamas.
     He was hungry. He rooted through his school bag and found half an energy bar. He took it, and Mas Oyama's Essential Karate out of the bag and climbed under the duvet. The alarm clock beside his bed said it was almost seven o'clock. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Julia Jordan looked up from her plate of spaghetti bolognese. She cleared her throat, not sure she could trust her voice.
     “I put some food on a plate for Danny,” she said. “It was a hard day for him. Shouldn't I take him something to eat?”
     Greg placed his fork on his plate and looked long and hard at her. Julia swallowed, regretting her words. She should have waited, like she usually did, and taken Danny something to eat while Greg was watching the late night news. Greg picked up his fork again and began to wind spaghetti onto it.
     “Sarah,” he said, his eyes on his fork. “Would you be an angel and go and tell Daniel to come to the table please?” he said.
     “Yes, okay,” mumbled Sarah, wide eyed. She leapt to her feet and shot from the room. Her fork, neatly balanced on the edge of her plate, wobbled then fell. A thick blob of tomato sauce seeped into the white tablecloth. Julia sighed and got to her feet.
     “I'll fetch Danny's supper,” she said, staring absently at the spreading stain. Greg made no response.

At first Danny thought he had imagined the knock on the door. When it came a second time, a little louder, he jumped up from the bed. He knew it wasn't his father, he never knocked. Danny opened the door a crack and saw Sarah's pale face looking up at him.
     “Hey, Peaches.” Danny had called Sarah Peaches since the day she and Julia had moved in with them. Sarah had disappeared while Julia and Greg were unpacking the van. Danny had found her in the back garden, halfway up the peach tree with a mouthful of fruit, juice matting her fine blond curls and dripping from her elbows.
     He grinned down at her. “What are you doing here?” he whispered, checking the passage and pulling her into the room. At nine years old, Sarah was five years his junior and Danny took his role as big brother very seriously.
     “I don't want you getting into trouble,” he said.
     “I won't,” Sarah replied. “Your dad sent me.”
     Greg had asked Sarah numerous times to call him dad but she could no more bring herself to do so than he could bring himself to call Julia mom.
     Annabelle Jordan's death had effected Danny deeply and he felt that to call another woman mom would be to betray his own mother's memory. He knew Julia understood and, although she would do anything for him, she had never once tried to take the place of his mother. He loved her dearly for that.
     The fact that Sarah still had a father was lost on Greg.
     “He wants you to come and eat,” Sarah said.
     Danny frowned. “Did he say that?”
     She nodded. “He told me to come and fetch you.”
     “Right,” said Danny. He hastily swapped his pyjama top for a t shirt and pulled a pair of jeans over his pyjama pants then followed Sarah down the passage to the dining room.
     Pausing in the doorway, he looked at his father for confirmation that he should be there.
     “Your supper's getting cold,” said Greg. “You'd better sit down and eat it.”
     “Thank you,” said Danny. He ate quickly, partly not to fall too far behind and partly out of fear his father would change his mind.
     Julia ladled fresh fruit salad into three bowls. She took a fourth and looked over at Greg. He nodded and she scooped in a large helping and handed it to Danny.
     “Thanks, Julia,” he said, rewarding her warm smile with a tense one of his own.
     The naturally down-turned mouth and full lower lip gave him a permanently moody look, but even the slightest of smiles transformed his face. He had inherited his father's dark hair and strong jaw but the gentle brown eyes were a legacy from his mother.
     Danny had noticed Julia was becoming more outspoken in defending him against his father's high expectations. He showed his appreciation the best way he could. He was always polite and helpful around the house but he still couldn't bring himself to show her any affection. Nor respond appropriately to the affection she showed him.
     “I was going to drill you on some basics tomorrow,” said Greg, pointing his spoon at Danny. “But you look tired. We'll see how that shoulder is and maybe do some pool work instead.”
     He gaped at his father unsure how to respond.
     “Daniel,” said Greg. “Do you know what you did wrong today?”
     Danny's cheeks coloured pink. He nodded, swallowing a slice of banana without chewing it.
     “I misjudged my opponent,” he said. “The guy had a really good jodan mawashi. I had him tagged as a kicker. I didn't even think about his fists.” His voice tailed off to a whisper. He poked at a grape waiting for the explosion.
     Greg nodded and turned his attention back to his fruit salad.
     “What's a jodan mawashi?” asked Sarah.
     Relieved that Greg hadn't freaked out, Danny smiled at her. “It's a type of kick,” he said. “It's actually jodan mawashi geri and it's a roundhouse kick at head height.” He used two fingers on the table to demonstrate the turn of the kick.
     “Does it hurt?” she asked, her huge blue eyes opening wider than ever.
     “It does if it hits you,” grinned Danny. “But you're supposed to avoid it.”
     “The same could be said about punches,” said Greg.
     Danny flushed again. “Yes,” he mumbled. “I'm sorry, Dad.”
     “Danny,” Greg set his spoon in his empty bowl. The tension left the table and Danny breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as Greg stopped calling him Daniel he knew it was over. There would be nothing more said about the incident. Greg stood and pushed his chair under the table.
     “Your mother would have been proud of you today,” he said.
     Danny blinked back the sudden sting of unexpected emotion and began to collect the dessert dishes. It was the closest his father had ever come to praising a losing performance.