Blood Ninja

by Nick Lake

  And if it wasn’t in there, and he told Heiko it might be, then he would look an idiot. All in all, a small lie seemed better. “You can pick locks, can’t you?” he asked. He looked at her hopefully.

  She nodded slowly. “Yes … if I have the right tools. But they’re with my things, back in there.” She pointed back to the weapons room.

  Taro blanched. “If Little Kawabata were to wake up and find us gone …”

  Heiko smiled. “That would be bad,” she said. “But I can be very quiet.”

  She turned and crept back to the weapons room. Taro waited for several anxious moments. At one point he heard something fall to the ground. It made a striking sound like metal on stone.

  He froze.

  Time seemed to hang suspended in the air, like droplets of water on a spider’s web.

  But no one stirred or spoke, at least as far as Taro could hear, and gradually he relaxed again. A moment later Heiko returned, holding a small leather bag. “That was close,” whispered Heiko. “I knocked into something, and I was scared for a moment that someone might wake up.”

  Taro had hidden black cloaks and hakama trousers behind a statue in one of the stone corridors, and now he and Heiko changed into these clothes that would camouflage them against the night. Taro also slid a short-sword into a scabbard concealed at his waist.

  It was as well to be careful.

  He and Heiko tied on their heads the three scarves—the sanjaku tenugui—that made up the ninja mask, leaving only the eyes uncovered. Then they followed the tunnel to the hut on the mountainside. Taro found it far less frightening this time, though it did take longer than he had hoped to negotiate the complicated system of tunnels. They came out of the hut into a clear, crisp night. The moon was dark, and the only light came from the myriad stars sparkling in the sky.

  Heiko suggested descending through the rice paddies, instead of following the walkways that crisscrossed them. It was a good choice, as the deep water kept their profiles low, and anyone on the lookout would have expected them to arrive on the path. Soon their feet and legs were soaked from wading through the terraced plots. Each time they came to a step in the terrace, they lowered themselves down silently, crouching instantly to keep their silhouettes invisible. Once, Taro thought he heard a light rustling noise from behind them, but when he turned, all he could see was the ascending plateaux of the rice paddies, and the moon’s blue light on the water.

  Winter was coming on, and they could see snow glittering on the mountaintops. Their breath misted in the air as they walked, making ghosts that hung in their wake.

  In the space of three or four incense sticks, they had reached the village. Its roofs were visible through the trees ahead, and smoke spiraled into the night sky above the treetops. Taro pointed out a dark shape in the paddy below—someone keeping watch. He signaled to Heiko, who took out a blowpipe. The arrows were anointed with a drug that would cause the recipient to sleep but not to die. She aimed at the man and fired. His body fell down face-first in the paddy.

  The water! The man would drown!

  Taro leaped lightly down into the paddy and crouched by the body. Sure enough, the face was immersed in the water. He turned the body over, checked the breathing. Shallow but regular. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he saw what the man had been holding: a bow and arrow. Nor had he seemed to be hunting. Taro thought he was a guard.

  “They’re keeping watch on the village,” he whispered to Heiko.

  She looked at the bow, then at the man, who was also wearing dark clothes in order to blend into his surroundings. “It would seem so. There was a drought this year. Perhaps their food stocks are low. They wouldn’t want anyone stealing their rice.”

  Taro cursed. “In that case, getting into the rice store might be tricky. We can turn back if you like.” Annoyed, he contemplated the idea of never again seeing his bow—his one link to his true father, Lord Tokugawa, and perhaps the object in which was hidden his destiny.

  No. They had to go on.

  Heiko laughed softly. “This just makes it more interesting,” she said.

  They continued, crossing a little stream and then entering a wood that surrounded the village.

  At this point Taro passed within a body’s length of his mother’s message.

  But he didn’t see it.

  Instead he spotted another guard, standing just behind a tree. He made a series of hand gestures to Heiko. She nodded. He shinned up the nearest tree, a tall pine, and used its regular branches to climb easily to its upper reaches. Then he tensed his muscles and leaped onto the neighboring tree, landing as lightly as a monkey, his small body coming in useful for once. He passed from tree to tree this way, until he was above the guard. Then he shimmied down until he was just above the man’s head. Clinging on with his legs, he allowed his upper body to flop downward, bringing his head to the same level as the guard’s, only upside down. For a second their eyes met and he saw the man’s mouth open to scream, but Taro’s shobo ring had already found a pressure point in the man’s neck, and the guard slumped to the ground.

  There were a couple more guards, but Heiko dealt with them easily, knocking one out with a deft flick of her shobo, and taking down the other with the blowpipe.

  The stone-built rice store was accessible only through one door, and so this was where the two final guards stood. Taro and Heiko climbed up onto the roof, shimmied along, and then dropped silently next to the guards. The men had barely time to turn in alarm before a pair of shobo rings to the neck had knocked them unconscious.

  Heiko knelt by the door and examined the lock. “Traditional Japanese,” she said. “Not Portuguese. That’s good.”

  She explained that a hollow metal bolt slid through two staples, and was held in place by pins that fell down inside one of the staples to fill corresponding holes in the bolt. To spring the lock, a key was inserted down the length of the bolt. Prongs that matched the shape and number of the pins would push these back up into the staple, allowing the bolt to be slid out.

  She took a long key from the bag at her waist, with two prongs at the end like the remaining teeth of an old man. “Most locks in this canton are made by the same blacksmith, and he is too lazy to change the key mold very often,” she whispered.

  She slid the key in, then raised it up. There was a click. Heiko pulled on the bolt and it slid easily out of the staples that held it to the door. She lowered the bolt to the ground. “It’s a good idea to always remove the bolt. The key is not required to lock it. The pins will fall into place as soon as the bolt is returned to its positions, so it can be unwise to leave it in place, in case someone locks you in.”

  They went inside. Piles of rice, like drifts of white snow in the dimness, rose almost to the ceiling. Taro peered around for his bow. There it is! He picked it up and clasped it to his chest. Then he held it out in front of him, gripped either end, and bent it back on itself, against the grain of the wood. It resisted for a moment. Then there was a loud snap and the bow broke in half, the hilt falling to the ground. The broken ends whipped up into the air as the pent energy in the bow was released, and one of them passed fractionally in front of his eye.

  “What—,” began Heiko, but Taro put his finger to his lips. He bent down and picked up the hilt. When the body of the bow had broken, it had cracked open the cylindrical piece of wood that had formed the main of the grip, and only the tape wrapped around it held it together, like a bandaged broken leg. He shook the tube.

  Something fell out.

  He caught the object, and even as he felt its weight hit his fingers, he knew that it could not be what he had hoped. He sighed, lifting it to see what it was.

  A note, rolled up tight and secured with thread.

  He held it out to Heiko. “What does it say?” he whispered, his voice betraying his disappointment.

  She broke the thread and unrolled the little piece of paper. “It says, ‘The boy who bears this bow is Lord Tokugawa’s son.’ We know that already, tho
ugh.”

  He nodded, miserably.

  She handed the note back. “You expected something else?”

  “I thought … It was stupid, but …”

  Understanding lit her features. “Of course. The Buddha ball.”

  He shrugged. “A silly idea. But it would have helped so much. I could have destroyed Kira, and Oda. Made them pay for … well, for everything they have done. My father. The abbess. I should have liked to do something for you and Yukiko.”

  She smiled at him. “I am sure you will do all that, one day. But for now I’d prefer you stayed alive. Revenge has a way of consuming people.”

  Just then there was a sharp bang and Taro whirled round on the spot. Behind him the door had been shut. He pushed against it, but it didn’t yield.

  From the other side of the door came Little Kawabata’s voice, unmistakably reedy and nasal. “I wonder what that upstart Taro could be doing in this rice store,” he said to himself in a stage whisper, “when he’s supposed to be sleeping! I should probably notify my father that Taro and Heiko have crept out of the crater at night.”

  Taro banged on the door. “Little Kawabata, let us out!”

  “Little Kawabata?” said the boy in a silky, dangerous voice. “Are you mocking my weight? Since you insult me, perhaps I’ll wait until daytime before I inform my father of where you are.” His voice moved around to the side of the hut, and then Taro saw fingers appear through a crack in the wood and wiggle up and down. “There’ll be lots of light in there when the sun come up. I hope that doesn’t hurt or anything. But then, being turned early has to have some disadvantages.”

  Taro gazed around the stone store room. Moonlight, filtering through the thin gaps between planks, pierced the air above the rice mounds in shafts that crossed over one another, filling the room with a latticework of dim blue light that shimmered with motes of rice dust.

  Soon that light would not be moonlight.

  It would be bright autumn sunlight.

  “Gods …,” he whispered—not because he was afraid that someone might hear, but because the awfulness of his realization had robbed his speech. “He means to kill me.”

  Heiko’s eyes widened. “Of course … the light. It’ll burn your skin.”

  She too began to bang on the door and shouted to Kawabata to let them out. But to no avail. The boy simply laughed, low and slow, then walked away. “I’ll be back for you when daylight comes, Heiko. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll think about your version of events, in case anyone thinks to question me. I wouldn’t want you having any accidents during your time at the crater.”

  They heard the sound of his footsteps softening and finally disappearing as he walked back up the hill toward the crater.

  Eventually they turned to each other. “The bolt,” said Heiko. “He picked it up and slid it back in. We’re locked in.”

  Taro groaned. “The men we incapacitated will wake up soon. Then they’ll rouse the village. And we have no more than one incense stick of time before dawn.”

  Heiko looked aghast. “But … how can he do this? He’ll kill you!”

  Taro closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Gods, he thought. This is it. This is how you die.

  But when he opened his eyes again, Heiko was looking at him, eyes wide with anxiety, and he knew that he could not simply dissolve into purposeless terror. He didn’t want to die, and his heart was pounding with the fear of the coming daylight, but he would fight to stay alive.

  “We have no time to lose,” he said to Heiko. Tensing, he aimed a hard kick at the door. It barely shivered. He kicked again, then again. Heiko joined in, but the door would not budge. The stone walls, too, were unmovable. Taro even climbed up into the rafters, looking for gaps in the roof that might permit him to climb out. But there was nothing.

  By the time they gave up, slumped against each other, lying against a pile of rice, the light that streamed through the roof was already brightening. One of the shafts moved across the floor toward Taro’s foot. Heiko winced, as Taro yanked his foot away from the light. “We need to get you out of here.”

  Taro nodded. Then a branch cracked outside, and Taro whipped round. He could hear voices approaching, laughing and joking. “It’s a shame to start on the dried rice already,” said one of the villagers.

  “It’s always a shame when harvests are bad,” said another.

  “And when lords raise their taxes at the same time,” grumbled a younger, deeper voice.

  “Shush!” said another, as if it were dangerous even in the middle of nowhere to speak of such things.

  Taro and Heiko glanced at each other nervously. They were about to be discovered!

  Taro knew there was no time to lose. The light might hurt him, though it was not yet full daylight, but at least he would draw attention away from Heiko.

  There came a shout from just outside the door. “The guards! They’ve been overpowered! Hideo, get the key! We have thieves!”

  Taro pointed at the mounds of rice. “Burrow under there,” he said to Heiko. “I’ll be safe. I promise.” He wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

  There was a metallic click, and then the door began to creak open.

  Tensing against the pain he was sure would come with the light, Taro launched himself at the doorway.

  In a flash he saw that one of the men framed there—a village elder, Taro supposed, from the extra body weight the man carried around his soft belly—had a drawstring money pouch on his belt, and that gave Taro an idea. If he took their money, they’d have to follow him.

  And that would leave Heiko safe in the store room.

  He ran straight at the men. They stepped back in surprise, giving Taro the space he needed to duck, grab the money bag, and snap it off the man’s belt. One of the men snatched at Taro as he ran past them, catching at his cloak, but Taro twisted and managed to throw him off. Then he was running down the path and away. He glanced fearfully at the sky. Light was creeping over the treetops, and when he looked down, he saw a glow spreading on the fallen leaves.

  He rubbed at his skin. No pain yet, but he knew it would come.

  If he didn’t get into the shade soon, he was going to die.

  The men turned, shouting, and ran after him. Taro found himself having to slow down in order to let them keep up. He was so much stronger now, so much faster, that it was easy to get carried away. He paused, looking behind him. The men came thundering along, panting heavily. One of them pointed at him. “Ninja!”

  Taro turned and ran, coming off the path and into the woods. He was heading uphill now, and the going was steep. The ground was littered with rocks and roots. Taro hoped to tire the men out; perhaps, if possible, twist an ankle or two. He leaped lightly over the ground, his coordination and reflexes getting better by the day. He felt exhilarated, untouchable—and then there was a glare that he recognized as the sun rising above the trees, and the scene was flooded with light.

  It felt as though everything inside him had turned to rushing water, and he wondered distantly whether the roaring sound he could hear was out in the world—a storm, maybe—or only in his ears. No, he thought. I can’t die before I see my mother again.

  He closed his eyes.

  A moment later he opened them again.

  He frowned down at himself as he realized that there was no pain at all.

  Strange.

  The light flooded the world now, so bright after days and days of night that he had to blink to clear the shapes that flashed and flared in his vision. He stopped and turned his hands in the sunshine. They were completely exposed, and yet nothing was happening. He flexed his fingers.

  Still nothing.

  Had Shusaku lied to him about the light? But why would he do that? And then, Little Kawabata too had thought the light would harm him. He had counted on it, in fact.

  Taro closed his eyes, and the light of the sun was red against his eyelids. Do I always have to be different? he thought.

/>   But then there was a crunch of a foot on leaves behind him, and he turned to run once again, leaping over rocks and ducking under overhanging trees. He glanced back. The men were catching up. A branch was suddenly in front of his face, and then he was lying on his back, all the breath knocked out of his body. Pain flared from what felt like a broken nose—not as intense as when he’d been human, but bad nonetheless. He tried to move but found that his arms and legs would not obey.

  There was a shout, a footfall that snapped a twig.

  “Ah, here you are,” said a voice, somewhat out of breath. A face swam into Taro’s field of vision—one of the men, the youngest in fact. The man grinned in triumph and reached down to grab Taro by the throat. With his other hand he reached for the money bag still gripped in Taro’s fist.

  Taro listened carefully. His hearing too had improved vastly. The other men were far behind, clearly less used than this one to such exertion.

  He made a snap decision, hoping that he could move again. He intercepted the man’s arm, clasping his wrist. He pulled, hard, yanking the man off balance and toward him. At the same time he rolled, letting the man fall face-first onto the ground where a second ago he had lain winded.

  Twisting the man’s arm behind his back, Taro reversed his roll, kicking with his feet so that his body spun in the air to land, knees down, on the man’s back. “I’m sorry,” said Taro. Then he leaned forward and sank his teeth into the back of the man’s neck. He hoped he could stop before he killed him.

  With the fresh blood pumping in his veins, Taro ran easily through the woods, taking a long detour back to the rice store.

  He heard dim cries from behind him, in the woods, where the pursuers had found their companion. Taro was almost certain the man would live; he hadn’t drunk for long. But he hoped that the men would now keep away from the rice store. As far as they were concerned, the thief had got out and was on the run.

  Soon he reached the hut and skidded inside, closing the door behind him. He didn’t want anyone else seeing the open door and deciding to investigate.

  CHAPTER 45