His right hand flew up, fingers stabbing for the grip of the sword on his back. They closed around air. Moonshadow shuddered deeply.
His sword was gone.
Ahead of him, whatever was coming let out a long, slow hiss.
Snowhawk looked back downhill. In the heart of the ruins, Chikuma and Moon faced each other, stock-still as before. The White Nun hovered at Moon's side, eyes closed. What was she doing? And where was Motto-San?
Movement between two of her pursuers drew Snowhawk's eye. She saw the huge animal charging up the hill, teeth bared, and it made her sigh gratefully. The White Nun would not kill with her awesome powers, but nor would she abandon her companions to battle these fiends alone.
Snowhawk's seven attackers encircled her; Mr Claw and the remaining hooded Fuma ninja, the limping Jiro and the relentlessly scowling bounty hunter.
Raising a bo-shuriken, Jiro leered. 'Time you started walking like me!'
He drew back his hand and tensed for a powerful throw but just on the point of release, Motto crashed into him from behind.
The shuriken whizzed wide and stuck in a slim young maple tree. Snowhawk watched Motto trample the gangster and push him along the ground. Ignoring his wild punches, the dog rammed Jiro into a roll with its head and then bit its screaming target.
She marvelled at Motto's enthusiastic attack. So, animals instantly hated Jiro too.
'Get this thing off me!' Jiro wailed as Motto clamped his wrist and started dragging him away along the forest floor. 'Iiiii-eeee . . .' The gangster's screams rose to a high pitch. 'Don't let it eat me!'
'Everyone has their problems,' Kagero sniffed, gripping her bloodied shoulder.
'Enough delays,' the leader snapped at his men. 'Take her now!'
He stood back as his four remaining underlings ran at Snowhawk. They formed a diamond around her and began edging closer, shuffling warily, swords held overhead.
'Help me, White Nun,' Snowhawk whispered. 'This is too many, and too close . . .' If you let me live out this day, she vowed silently, I will cut the hatred from my heart. I will show respect for this second chance that destiny has given me and –
The ninja wearing a bow and arrows flinched and started looking in all directions. 'How?' he addressed his sidekicks. 'She's not supposed to have invisibility skills!'
All four hooded agents began turning twitchy circles, the typical shinobi response to a threat or mystery. Snowhawk inclined her head at their odd behaviour.
What was this? They were acting as if she was no longer there.
'It's a trick! It's that demonic White Nun!' Mr Claw called. 'I can't see the girl either now!' He glanced downhill over his shoulder and then glared at Kagero. 'Are you sure we can't just kill that old hag?'
'That path,' Kagero said coldly, 'you will go down no further. Just do your job!'
Sounds came from the distance: Jiro squealing, Motto's growls and jaw-snaps.
'Close in, then!' the chief ninja commanded. 'Listen for her!'
Snowhawk held her breath. The four encircling Fuma ninja cocked their heads.
'She is gone,' the archer muttered. 'No wait . . . I hear her heartbeat!'
Snowhawk winced, her eyes darting between the men. Which one would attack first? Whoever it was, this was going to hurt.
'Idiot!' Another ninja pointed through the trees. 'There, there she is!'
'So!' the nearest agent said, peering into the forest, 'she's learned eye-trickery!'
Compulsively, Snowhawk turned and looked, along with her enemies. Her mouth twisted in wonder. She saw herself, obviously just as they did, running away through the forest, vaulting fallen trees and rocks. Smiling in awe, she checked downhill.
Beside Moon, facing the immobile Chikuma, the White Nun pointed uphill with her gnarled stick. Thunder rumbled above. Snowhawk held her ground as the four ninja tore past her, one brushing her jacket with his elbow. Their clawed leader followed. The pack weaved away through the forest, accelerating, chasing the second Snowhawk. Unslinging his compact bow as he ran, the archer among them made ready to shoot.
The real Snowhawk quickly glanced around. Flashes of sheet lightning lit the green clouds overhead. Far away downhill, Jiro scaled a maple. Motto circled it ardently.
Only Kagero had stayed where she was. Snowhawk eyed her suspiciously. Could this veteran shinobi see her, the real her? Was the bounty hunter adept enough to neutralise certain of the White Nun's skills? Kagero wasn't even watching the departing ninja team. If she wasn't fooled by the illusion, why had she not alerted the others?
Kagero stopped nursing her shoulder and tensed her war fans. 'There,' she gave Snowhawk a superior glare. 'Let the gullible stretch their legs, believing the old sage's trickery. Not all of us are so easily fooled! Now we can be alone, just you and me. You're my prize and I don't want any disputes about who earns that bonus!'
'In case you hadn't noticed –' Snowhawk gestured downhill – 'I'm hardly alone and at your mercy.'
A wolfish yike came from the foot of Jiro's maple. Kagero and Snowhawk both turned to watch the tree. Jiro slid down its trunk. Motto scampered away, tail between his legs. He hunched his great back, big head turning hard to one side as he snapped at something.
Kagero laughed as the dog fled through bamboo towards the remains of a wall. Then Snowhawk saw the bo-shuriken sticking from the Akita Matagi's shoulder. She covered her mouth with one hand as the sight needled her heart. It felt so wrong that he should be hurt in any way. True, Motto-San was an animal warrior, but he was also an innocent, caught up in a human conflict, controlled by the wills of others.
Whimpering, the mighty beast ran behind the wall and out of view. The White Nun stared after him. Had she lost control of Motto now? Could she heal his wound?
'How sad. I know just how the poor creature feels.' Kagero pouted. 'And I have you to thank for it! Now, what were you saying? You're hardly . . . alone?'
Running forward energetically, as if her shoulder wound suddenly meant nothing, Kagero hacked with her fans in a double slash across the front of her body. Snowhawk bolted clear, springing backwards high into the air, turning as she descended.
The ground rushed up, looking solid and even, but as she landed, one foot struck a pit under the forest's thick carpet of leaves. Snowhawk stumbled and fell.
She twisted quickly onto her back. Kagero, airborne, was coming for her.
Snowhawk dug into her jacket, fingers probing fast into one holster, then the next.
Empty. No more shuriken. Snowhawk cursed.
FIFTEEN
A feast for Yamamba?
Moonshadow crouched, peering over a low wall as the thing came towards him through the starlit ruins. It paused, letting out another long hiss.
Its strange energetic flitting carried it from a patch of shadow into an open expanse between lines of stone. All at once he could discern the creature properly.
Moon shuddered and checked again for his sword. Still missing. He was unarmed.
Unarmed and facing the most malevolent of yokai. A Yamamba.
Yamamba were cannibal witches. They usually dwelled on mountains and lured their victims into caves or huts where they killed and ate them. This one had a rotting half-skull of a face, hawkish talons and long, twig-strewn hair. Its gaunt body was draped in a torn kimono that revealed decomposing flesh over sunken ribs. It was alive, yet not.
Moonshadow struggled with a deep urge to run screaming in terror as the Yamamba approached, peeling back lips to show bright yellow dagger-teeth.
'Teeth,' Moon muttered. 'Why are there always teeth?'
Moving with frenetic, sudden motion, the Yamamba darted at him, avian claws slashing downwards for his head. He hurled himself back from the wall. The talons dug into the stones with a puff of rising white powder. Moonshadow twisted around and sprinted away through the ruins. He looked up for a high tree he could jump at to escape the awful thing, and then glanced back. What if, given those claws, it could climb?
He
resumed scanning the tall trees, then froze, distrusting his eyes. What was that?
A strange golden ribbon, of steam or smoke perhaps, was snaking through the clear night sky from the south, twisting, surging forward like a tentacle above the trees.
Was it all part of the attack? Surely nothing to do with that Rokurokubi and its ever-stretching neck? Moonshadow fought to still his thoughts. A fresh instinct spoke to him. Unlike the earlier impressions, this directive didn't make him afraid.
Go to it. It looks for you.
He heard a scraping noise right behind him. It was all the push he needed. Moon bobbed forward and ran, weaving past rocks and trees, eyes on a bald spot just uphill.
The golden ribbon's tip was descending there; he would meet it head-on.
As Moonshadow closed with the spot, a sharp hiss behind him warned that the mountain witch was in close pursuit. Talons swiped noisily, fanning his back with shockwaves of displaced air. He forced more speed from his legs. It closed in on him.
Grunting with effort, he charged for the tip of the shimmering golden tentacle just as it brushed the forest floor. Stumbling, Moon rolled into the glow's centre, regained his feet and looked back. The Yamamba had stopped. It seethed with malice, cuffing the air wildly with its talons, hissing but coming no further, unwilling to enter the golden light.
Moon felt the ribbon bathe him in a strange, nourishing heat. He opened his hands, closed his eyes, let it wash over and through him. Like the volcanic water in the monastery's bathhouse, this golden glow brought calm and flooded him with awareness.
He blinked. He was suddenly aware of something, but what? Moonshadow stared at the Yamamba. That was it: he could respond, strike back, he didn't have to hide in here, nor run from the creature. But respond how?
'You already know,' Moon said aloud. 'Fight, exactly as in real life.'
A third time he checked for his sword, confirming that it had indeed vanished. Moon patted his clothing for shuriken and smoke bombs. Nothing. He took a deep breath, focusing on the enveloping golden light itself. Show me what I already know.
Immediately a new urge, strong and lucid, told him what to do. He went with it.
'Whatever you gave me,' Moonshadow shouted to the White Nun he couldn't see, 'help me skip ahead with it . . . just this once!'
Moon reached out with his feelings, trying to sense the wolves he had heard earlier. He felt nothing, no impressions, no tremors in his hands. As he persisted, the golden light around him began to fade. Why, Moon wondered desperately. Had it failed? Or was its job already done? Had he received something? Absorbed new knowledge?
As he watched, the last smoky wisps of the golden glow evaporated.
The Yamamba cocked its head sharply and started forward, taloned fingers working excitedly. Moonshadow looked down at his own hands. Tiny tremors shook them. He started to grin. Had he just forged that link? He thought of the wolves and willed his command to them: assemble and defend.
But had they heard it? Would this work?
With a loud hiss, the witch rushed him.
Evading with a fast cartwheel, he watched the Yamamba fly past him, snatching at the air. It roared with fury as he landed on his feet and pushed off into a run downhill.
He wove between the trees and rows of bamboo and charged back down into the ruins, a great weariness now tugging at him from within as he ran. Branches and leaves flicked up behind him as the witch gave chase, closing at phenomenal speed.
Suddenly he was hunched and panting at the edge of the plateau, the crumbling old battlement wall beside him, the black drop yawning beyond.
The Yamamba advanced, holding its arms wide to block his escape, talons outstretched, flicking ominously. Its teeth meshed, then parted and a low crackly voice that didn't sound even remotely female came from its throat.
'Young flesh!' it croaked. 'I gloat, I gloat!' It bounded towards him, rubbing its hands together, teeth chattering as if rehearsing a series of fast, tearing bites.
Moonshadow looked uphill. What had come of his joining? His supposed joining? He was running out of options fast. Full of dread, he glanced over the old battlement wall.
Rather than let the witch eat him, he could choose to jump, but what was down there? In the real world, the haunted forest of the abandoned. In this mindscape, maybe even worse horrors. A powerful urge to leap rolled through him. Then an instinct spoke from within.
You have been helped, it said, but only you can do the rest, only you can find the courage to stand your ground. It is a choice, and lies beyond any magic or science. Courage to stand. To wait, to trust. He swallowed hard, struggling to obey the inner prompts. To take a different kind of leap. A harder leap. Only you . . . if you can find it in you. It was his own voice, the speech of his highest, wisest self, the sum of everything his teachers had imparted to him, and more. But it wasn't the only voice tugging at him.
The conflicting urges battled in Moon. He felt sweat roll down his temples.
Just jump and take your chances, anything has to be better than facing those teeth unarmed.
No! Stand your ground, wait, trust.
Moonshadow stared over the edge, heart pounding. 'Help me, White Nun,' he began, then stopped himself. 'No, I must do this.'
His right hand became a fist topped with white knuckles.
An urge tore through him, almost swamping his will with its power: just jump, now, it said. Moonshadow felt his foot slide forward for the edge. 'No,' he grunted.
Jump. It is your destiny.
He forced himself to recite the words of the furube sutra, the anchor of calm in every shinobi's life. 'Gather, tidy and align your doings and their karma,' Moon wrestled against the dark urge, pushing out the stabilising words, 'cleanse any lies made this day, scatter not . . . one . . . grain of life . . .'
To save lives, save the others, you should jump, the opposing voice nagged.
'To end this path in happiness,' Moonshadow willed himself to say, 'make still your mind . . .'
Only one thing will bring you stillness and peace. You must jump. So jump!
'Never!' He felt a nauseous wrench, then a tearing sensation deep in the pit of his stomach as he hurled off the compulsion like a poisoned cloak. Grinding his teeth, Moonshadow snatched at his courage and pushed himself back from the edge of the abyss. He turned his head, scowling and resolved. This was his choice. He would fight and win, or fight and fall. For glory or destruction!
Moon rounded on the Yamamba as it closed in confidently.
He raised his hands into a combat stance. He was unarmed and even his special skill might have failed, but he would go down fighting.
Darting grey movement broke the stillness of the ruins. From all directions wolves converged on Moonshadow and the witch. Fearlessly the animals surrounded the Yamamba, barking and baying. Moonshadow broke into a wide, hopeful grin. Time for tactical control. But what should he make them do? Mantis's wise words came to him at once: when dealing with a strong enemy whose limits are unknown, play it safe, test their stamina, wear them down.
Harrow and tire! he silently commanded. The animals began taking turns leaping at the witch, jaws snapping. Despite her formidable appearance, the creature appeared immediately intimidated. Two more wolves appeared out of the forest, rushing along the battlement wall to join the fray, shoving Moon aside in the process as if they couldn't see him.
The agitated Yamamba revolved back and forth, talons raised protectively.
Moonshadow stared at his tenacious wild defenders. He had called to them, linked with them, and now ran their coordinated attack. What had that golden ribbon done to him? He narrowed his eyes as the truth struck him. It might have boosted his strength, but it had not made the final leap for him; nothing could. It was his own boldness that was challenging the tide. Moon shook his head at the hissing Yamamba. Would his four-legged allies prove enough? The biggest animal, probably the pack leader, bounded in front of him, growling at the witch. The wolf had suffered an injury
. A small dark length of broken stick hung from its bleeding shoulder.
A dream animal with a wound the witch didn't give it? What could that mean? As Moonshadow stared at the bloodied stick, his conversation with Snowhawk in the shrine came back to him.
'So can injuries from these dreams follow you back into real life?' he had asked.
'It can work that way, yes,' she had answered.
Or the other way round! Moon grinned. Despite being trapped in this daylight dream attack, he was thinking strategically now. What he saw reflected something taking place in the real world. In the real battle! In the field, in action, Eagle had always reminded him, protect your allies at every chance, invest in their safety and the reward may be your own life saved.
Moonshadow scrambled forward and yanked the giant thorn out. It spun to the ground. The powerful animal flinched, then lowered its head and stalked up to the hissing Yamamba.
He bit his bottom lip as the pack leader and the witch squared off, each looking set to spring on the other.
What he had just done should trigger some outcome in reality, out in the real battle.
But what?
The four candles had burnt out around the scroll of empowerment sutras.
It had been a long night. The room was dim now, lit only by diffused daylight.
Eagle, Heron, Mantis and Badger still sat facing the candles in the seiza position. Badger was openmouthed, eyes bulging. The scroll he had been reading from only seconds earlier was trembling slightly in his hands. He had been near the end of his turn at reading a sutra, then a remarkable event had silenced him in mid-sentence.
They were all quiet, stunned into awe and wonder by what had just happened.
A tangible sense of life force, of ki, had steadily built in the room, in the very air itself, over the last hour. At the height of its rise, a spherical glow, golden at first, then green, had lit the centre of the room above their heads, and at its core, a faint image of a wooded mountainside had flickered for half a breath. A jagged bolt of lightning had flashed through the centre of the image and then it had vanished with a sharp crackle, snatching the power from the air as it went.
The Wrath of Silver Wolf Page 15