Deadly Wish: A Ninja’s Journey

by Sarah L. Thomson

  And she was trying again.

  I had a fresh grip on the rope now, and with my lower body still underwater, I kicked and thrashed, trying to fight her off. But it was no use. Tendrils, thin and smooth and muscled, locked around ankles, knees, and waist, and my strength did not match hers. She’d drag me down, smothering me beneath a heavy weight of scaly coils. Salt water would sear my eyes and my throat and my lungs. There was no escape.

  Do not waste one moment on a hopeless battle. Don’t fight unless you can win.

  I let go of the rope and allowed the nure onna to pull me under the water.

  I felt the shock of the cold, the swirl of hair, the slippery coils of snake. But for just a moment, the pressure of her coils slackened. I took advantage of that moment to orient myself in the water and, kicking hard, dove straight at her.

  When most people are drowning, they struggle mightily for air, fighting for every inch closer to the surface. That must have been what the nure onna was expecting. I’d done the opposite, and she had not been prepared. She flinched as I came through the water, slipping between the curves and loops of her body, both arms out before me, my knife in my hand.

  I’d turned myself into a spear, headed straight for the face that looked so much like mine. I heard a howl of pain, and then a fog of bubbles was all around me. Hair as dark as octopus ink swept in. I could not see, but I could feel, and I knew my knife had hit a target. I twisted the blade, drew it back, stabbed again.

  Now there was blood in the water, too, smoky clouds of it, twining and spreading.

  Was she injured? Was she dead? Was she withdrawing to launch another attack? I could not tell. All around me, the water was choked with snaky coils and drifting hair. Which way should I swim?

  I paused, feeling the air inside my lungs tug me up so that I knew where to go. Then I kicked and squirmed and fought my way toward the surface. The snake-woman’s body was slack and loose now, but still capable of drowning me if a loop snagged one of my feet.

  Something hard rammed into my head—the ship’s hull. I followed it up, breath exploding out of my lungs in a puff like a whale’s, loud enough for anyone on the deck to hear me—except that all their attention was concentrated on Jinnai, now hauling himself onto the jetty, and on the coils of snake that were slowly drifting to the surface below him.

  Well, I’d wanted a diversion …

  As quickly as I could, dripping and gasping and shaking wet hair out of my eyes, I climbed the anchor rope, knife gripped between my teeth. I flopped over the railing to lie panting on the deck of the ship.

  But I could not stay there. Already I could hear the captain bellowing impatient orders that enough time had been wasted, and hadn’t they ever seen a sea snake before, and no, he didn’t want to hear superstitious nonsense about bakemono or nure onna and he’d hurl anyone who caused him to miss the tide into the harbor, snakes or no snakes, demons or no demons. Move quickly now!

  The captain was as good a diversion as Jinnai had been. While he bellowed I crawled across the deck to a hatch, left open for the last of the cargo, and slithered inside.

  I nearly fell down a staircase, so steep it was almost a ladder, and found myself in a room with two straight walls and two curved ones, which I realized must be the hull of the ship. Rolled mats and bundles were lined up along one curved wall, telling me I was in the crew’s sleeping quarters.

  Each of the straight walls had an open door cut into it. Through the one that led toward the prow of the ship, I could see barrels stacked chest high from wall to wall, with boxes and bundles wrapped in rough, undyed cotton piled on top. That must be where the cargo was stored, and it was where I did not care to be. From the captain’s shouts, there was more to be loaded.

  It took barely two heartbeats to determine all of this. Before the third, I was running for the other door, the one nearer the ship’s stern, as footsteps started down the ladder above my head.

  I dove through the door and flattened myself against the wall beside it, where I’d be least likely to be seen. Two sailors came grunting and groaning down the stairs with a heavy bundle slung on a pole between them. I could only hope they’d be too occupied with their burden to spot the wet footprints I’d left behind me.

  They didn’t notice. I felt every muscle sag slightly with relief as the sailors lugged the cargo toward the hold. Then I let my eyes range over the space where I found myself.

  Enough dim light came through the open door for me to see that there was one straight wall, the one at my back. Two curving walls came together in a point opposite me, and along one of them was a rack of polearms, all topped with wicked blades or deadly sharp spikes. Beside them hung grappling irons on long chains. Metal spheres were stacked on shelves, each wrapped in paper and with a length of chain attached. They were called horoku, I knew. A man could grip that chain, swing the sphere over his head, and let go, launching the weapon through the air and onto an enemy’s deck. A paper fuse stuck out from each, hinting at the gunpowder and deadly metal shards within.

  On the second curved wall was a rack of swords, polished well to flash light into an enemy’s eyes. There were enough to arm every sailor on this boat.

  My first thought was delight at my luck—I’d found a place where I could rearm myself, replacing the weapons that had been taken from me at Saiko’s mansion.

  My second thought was that no honest merchant needed this amount of weaponry.

  I felt the ship lurch and knew that the captain had gotten his wish. We were under sail at last, and I had stowed away aboard a pirate ship.

  EIGHTEEN

  Bundles of hay had been lined up alongside the swords, against one of the curved walls of the armory. I’d heard why pirates might need such a thing—a small boat or a raft, stacked with hay and set alight, could be sent toward an enemy ship as a floating bomb.

  As far as I was concerned, it was useful for another reason. While the ship made unnerving noises all around me—creaks and groans of wood under strain, sloshing and rushing and slapping of water against the hull—I shifted a few of the bales slightly away from the wall and rearranged some of the hay to make a nest for myself. A few handfuls were also useful to wipe up the wet smears and spots on the floor from my damp feet and dripping clothes.

  When I was sure I’d left no trail, I crawled into my shelter and was fairly comfortable, with enough room to stretch out full length and a cushion between my bones and the hard deck. As long as I didn’t sneeze, it was a safe hiding place, and I settled in to take stock.

  No demons were attacking me at the moment. No ghosts were hovering over me. Perhaps the water all around me had muffled some of the pearl’s power, gentled its tendency to disturb and rouse any bakemono it came near. The fox spirit had hinted that it might, and Ichiro had thought so, too. That was to my benefit. And then, I had access to an entire armory. These were my advantages.

  Weapons would not be enough, though. I had need of both food and water, and I would have to find a way to get them. If this were a properly planned mission, I’d have a pack full of supplies … and, of course, some idea of where I was going.

  As I lay, I could feel every movement of the ship ripple through the long, curved pressure of the hull along my back. Being inside a ship, I realized, was not like being inside a house. I’d crept through a warlord’s mansion once, in the dead of night, alone and alert to any whisper of noise, any tiny vibration in the bamboo floor or quiver of a paper screen in its frame. I’d felt as if I could sense each living thing under that roof, down to a beetle scuttling across a mat or a dragonfly sleepily flexing its wings.

  But here, it felt as if the ship itself were alive, every board singing with tension and speed, every nail tugged to its full length, every line taut and humming like a bowstring at full draw.

  It was hard to keep myself from wondering if the ship knew I was here.

  Well, if it knew, it did not seem to mind. Perhaps to the ship, I was just another sailor at rest, or just another rat
huddled alone in its hole.

  Alone.

  I’d achieved what I’d been struggling to do since I’d sat in Shiburo’s wineshop. I was alone.

  Good. It was better for me, better for my mission, and better for my friends.

  They were all safer far away from me, and from this pearl in my pocket. As long as I was its keeper, I could never again ask for help. I should stay as far as I could from anyone I might be tempted to consider a friend.

  A ninja has no one.

  During my fight with the snake-woman, the briny sea-water must have gotten deeply into my eyes. They stung ferociously, and the inside of my abraded throat ached as well.

  I let my eyelids fall shut. The salt of tears would wash away the salt of the sea. In the darkness behind my eyes, I saw blotches of pink and white, like blossoms spangled along the wiry branches of a cherry tree, like Saiko in her gorgeous kimono, standing by herself before a screen that glowed with opulence and beauty.

  I felt as if her pale and perfect face were staring at me, and the two of us, together, were bound for who knew where. Of all the people I’d left on the shore, why was it Saiko who haunted me as I drifted into sleep, letting the night of battle and terror and no rest at all claim its due? I’d defeated her for the second time. I’d left her behind in her grand mansion, married to her rich husband, without the one thing she wanted most.

  I’d left her alone.

  I slept for hours, stirring now and then in my nest of straw to listen to what was happening around me, and then letting my eyes close again. I woke briefly when I felt the motion of the ship begin to change.

  The door to my small room had been fastened, so I was in total darkness now. My eyes were useless, but my other senses told me what was happening. Shouts rose and bare feet slapped against the deck as sailors ran back and forth above my head. The pitch of the wind had deepened as well, and the ship leaned into it so that I no longer lay flat. Instead, my body was wedged into the corner made by the wall and the floor.

  A storm. There was nothing I could do about that. Either the ship and the sailors would bring us safely through it, or they would not. No actions of mine could help or hinder our survival, so it was best to take no action at all. I slid back into sleep and stayed there, even as the waves heaved the ship higher and higher and then plunged her into troughs that felt deep enough to lead to Ryujin’s underwater palace.

  It was an entirely new sensation that woke me fully, much later, as if the ship itself had whispered to me, tugging me out of sleep to face a new threat.

  The trouble was, I did not know what that threat might be.

  I lay still, trying to gather all of the information my senses (minus my sight) could provide. In a moment I realized what change had awakened me.

  The ship was not moving.

  It no longer leaned into the wind, and the boards no longer quivered with the tug of the sails and the rush of water along the hull. Were we becalmed?

  Moving slowly, to keep noise to a minimum, I crawled out of my hiding place and remained crouched by my bales of hay, envisioning the small armory as I’d last seen it, until I was sure I could take a step without tripping over bombs or bringing a rack of polearms crashing down on my head.

  Then I rose. My bladder was full and my stomach, in contrast, was so empty it felt as if it had wrapped itself twice around my backbone. Time for a little exploration. Perhaps some foraging as well.

  I considered arming myself with some of the weaponry at my disposal, but it was all heavy, crude stuff, for boarding ships or raiding villages—none of it silent or subtle or of much use on a night mission, other than to weigh me down. For now, my knife would do.

  Once I reached the door, I knelt and laid my ear against it. I heard no movement and no words from the other side, so I tried to slide the door open.

  It was locked.

  The latch was simple, though, and easy to lift when I slid the blade of my knife between the door and its frame. Then I could slip out.

  The open hatch overhead let in a dim gray light, and I found myself standing in a room full of sleeping men. They lay on their mats in rows along the floor, breathing heavily, snoring thickly. One mumbled in his sleep. Another turned and pushed at a neighbor who’d rolled too close.

  Cautiously, I began to pick my way over and around sleeping bodies, placing each foot delicately, probing at the floor with my toes before letting my weight ease down. Stepping on a finger or a shin here could be disastrous.

  One man did sleepily curse me as I set my foot down next to his ear. But he didn’t open his eyes, and I made it safely to the stairs and crawled up to the deck.

  I crouched by the hatch for a moment to let my eyes gather in as much moonlight as possible. A fog was rolling in across the flat sea, giving me added protection.

  I noted two masts, one at the bow and one in the center of the boat, with a cabin between them. One sailor leaned against the center mast, but his back was to me. I rose, shook off my furtive crouch, and let myself stride easily across the deck. Figures in the night would all look alike—black and featureless and anonymous. Moving as if I had a right to be there, I’d arouse little suspicion.

  I found a deserted stretch of rail near the stern, checked to be sure that no one was in sight, and emptied my bladder over the side. Then I stood retying my belt and considering my next move.

  And I was afraid.

  It was absurd. Hadn’t I fought ghosts and demons? Hadn’t I guarded the pearl safely for two years? Hadn’t I escaped from Madame Chiyome’s clutches not once, but twice? What was there to be frightened of here?

  Only space.

  The fog hung close to the ship, but it billowed and shifted like shaken curtains. And through every gap and rent, I could see, or rather sense, the ocean all around me. Once I glimpsed a tiny island, not too far away, between two swags of fog. Other than that, there was only water.

  I eased myself down to crouch on the deck and felt a shiver crawl up my spine. One lonely island? That was all? I’d grown up surrounded by green rice fields, ringed by mountains. Then I’d lived two years by the sea, watching ships come and go, learning to judge the time of day by the tides, the weather by the growl of the waves.

  But even then, I’d had solid land under my feet. Now that was gone.

  Water below, sky above, and this ship like a tiny speck between the two. And me an even tinier speck, clinging to its boards, carried wherever it chose.

  Where would this ship take me?

  To one of the places marked on Master Ishikawa’s map? Or somewhere even more remote and bewildering? And what would I do once I got there? How would I safeguard the pearl? How would I safeguard myself, in a land where I knew nothing?

  I craved something solid at my back. When someone climbed out of a hatch and came to join the sailor on watch, handing him a steaming bowl, I seized my chance. As the two men talked in low tones, I slipped behind their backs, moving noiselessly to the cabin. Barrels had been stacked along one side, lashed to pegs to keep them from tumbling about in a storm. I crouched beside them and tried to calm my heart, beating as quickly as a frightened bird’s. Tried to steady my breathing.

  Fear of the future is foolish. Regret of the past is useless. Attention to the present is survival.

  Those old words from an instructor whose name I had never known brought me back to myself. There was no use cowering from empty space, or cringing in fear of what might happen when I had earth under my feet once more. For now, this ship was all I had, and I must turn my senses and my thoughts onto a single question—how could I get from it what I needed? Food, water, and safety?

  First, I would watch and listen.

  The two sailors finished their conversation, and the one who’d brought the food headed toward the prow and the hatch he had come from. The sailor on watch shifted his weight restlessly. He was not ten yards in front of me now, but there was no reason he should notice me as long as I did not stir. Crouched beside the barrels, I was merely
one more black shape among so many others.

  The man looked up at the sail, a mat of finely woven reeds. It hung limply. He sighed, settled his shoulders against the mast, and raised the bowl to his lips.

  A door in the cabin slid open and bare feet stepped out onto the deck. The sailor set down his bowl and straightened up. “Captain Mori?”

  Captain Mori? The same Captain Mori who’d delivered a valuable map to Master Sakuma, one that I had promptly stolen? How surprised he’d be to find his employer’s drudge skulking about on the deck of his ship—if, of course, he had looked at her long enough to recognize her again.

  “No wind stirring?” the captain asked, still in the doorway of his cabin.

  “Not a breath,” the sailor answered.

  “First that storm out of nowhere,” the captain muttered. “Now no wind at all. And what’s brought this fog upon us? Get up there and tell me if you can see anything.”

  The sailor leaped lightly onto the roof of the cabin. The captain took a few steps and turned his head to watch. I seized the opportunity to crawl forward and snatch up the bowl. The warm rice inside was topped by a sliver of fish and a scattering of pickles. I scooped it all into my hand and shoveled it into my mouth, leaving the empty bowl on the deck, then crawled back to my patch of shadow before the sailor could leap down again. Let him think the ship was home to very large and very hungry rats.

  “The fog’s thickening by the second, Captain,” the sailor reported. “I can’t see open water on any side. Should we drop anchor?”

  “Why? To becalm ourselves more? What has old Ryujin done with our wind?” The captain sounded frustrated and impatient, the voice of a man who scorned to make a fuss over nothing, but who can’t shake a sense that things are not as they should be.

  No, they are not, little one.

  I went still and cold as the voice slid like a blade into my ear.

  No, not into my ear. Into my mind.

  I put a hand over the pocket where the pearl lay, as if I could silence it.

  You think you can take me away from my home? I heard a laugh that made me imagine flame licking up oil. When I am so close? So close to freedom?