‘What spirit you have,’ the man said with open admiration. ‘But why make a pointless sacrifice? We’ll slay you all, but only if we must. Be warned, this is no typical Twilight War. Though our noble friend Lord Silver Wolf believes it the traditional kind, my true master, Fuma Kotaro, has seen fit in his wisdom to issue a special edict.’
‘What edict?’ Mantis shouted. ‘You expect us to believe that the most ancient shinobi house of all just changed an unbendable custom?’
The Fuma captain spun around to stare at Mantis. Moonshadow caught a flash of recognition in the man’s unblinking eyes.
‘Believe what you will, great swordsman,’ the ninja said coolly, ‘but nothing is truly unbendable. Yes, we are indeed at war, but our orders for its conduct are specific.’ He looked back to Eagle. ‘Give us the Fuma runaway called Snowhawk and we will leave,’ his voice dropped, ‘killing only who we must to extract her unharmed.’
Moonshadow’s brow furrowed. The same agenda as Kagero! The Fuma were notorious for punishing failures and defectors, but if their current mission was simply one of revenge against Snowhawk, why make it part of a war? Badger had once told him that every Twilight War ended with piles of bodies, fire-gutted buildings and the losers taking decades to regain their strength as a shadow clan. There’d never been negotiations!
Besides, these Fuma were Silver Wolf’s allies, so why would they pass up a chance to rip out the heart of the Shogun’s secret service? True, the Grey Light Order had country bases, so the Fuma couldn’t wipe them out completely in one big attack even if they tried. But they were still letting an incredible chance slip by! And why did they need Snowhawk alive and unharmed? To interrogate her, to learn what Fuma secrets she might have told the Grey Light Order? If that was the goal, it seemed an awfully expensive one.
And before taking the Order’s oath of loyalty, the girl had first been obliged to disclose her mission history and answer every question put to her about Clan Fuma. Badger had amassed a weighty volume of notes and diagrams based on Snowhawk’s debriefings with Eagle, Mantis and Heron. There was little point in silencing her now!
‘Well?’ The Fuma leader tilted his head. ‘Will you give us the girl? Save yourselves?’
Brother Eagle heaved a piteous groan, closing his eyes as if rallying his diminished strength. Then he turned and looked defiantly over the arrayed enemy force.
‘Hear me, all of you. You are free to search, at your leisure, for Snowhawk …’ Heron gasped and quickly shook her head at Eagle. Ignoring the gesture, he smiled and added, ‘On one condition.’ Only the crackle of ceiling fires broke the tense pause.
‘Go on,’ his adversary demanded. ‘Name it.’
‘You must first defeat every Grey Light agent in this monastery, starting with me,’ Eagle said solemnly. ‘Only then may you freely hunt her down. She’s ours now.’
‘That’s suicide!’ The Fuma captain pointed at him. ‘You have no chance. We have the upper hand, both in numbers and weaponry.’ He patted his chisai odutsu. ‘Surrender!’
Eagle gave no reply, instead fixing Heron with a meaningful gaze. Moonshadow saw a tiny shift in her posture. The master had just snuck her a wordless message. But about what? Brother Eagle’s face grew more open and earnest. A deep light flared in his eyes and, as everyone watched in quiet curiosity, he broke into a poem.
‘In bays of blue water, mirrors to the sky, I battle the fish to salt for the winter …’
Moonshadow knew at once that Eagle was issuing new orders using a clever, deceptively casual code. Eagle and Heron were very close and plainly knew each other’s minds, so she at least would instantly grasp the poem’s hidden meaning. Wouldn’t she?
‘What’s he doing?’ A Fuma ninja muttered. ‘Is this Grey Light witchcraft?’
‘No you fool, he’s reciting his death poem,’ his leader said flatly. ‘He was raised samurai, remember? It’s their custom.’ He nodded at Eagle. ‘Go on then, man, finish it!’
Looking from Heron to Mantis and back, Eagle pressed on. His voice was steadily growing thin, but a single-minded fire now filled his eyes. ‘Many are their highways, numerous their kin, yet see I just a few, sun-blinded in my nets.’
Heron returned a barely detectable nod. Mantis, his mouth taut, shot Moonshadow a fleeting but significant glance. It was true! Eagle had just delivered secret instructions, and now Mantis was warning him: be prepared, support whatever happens next!
A terrible thought gripped Moonshadow. What if, having now heard the whole poem, the Fuma realised it was a coded message? Despite his pounding heart, he kept a neutral expression on his face.
The enemy captain looked round, hard eyes moving from one Fuma subordinate to the next. ‘Well! I hope you were all listening! Do you know what that was?’
Moonshadow felt his heart skip several beats. Any moment this ninja would say the fatal words a code, and with them, all hope would be dashed.
The Fuma leader waited for an answer that never came, then cleared his throat. ‘I say that was an example, a fine example, to warriors of any creed.’ He snorted, eyeing his silent men. ‘It may not be part of the shinobi way, but I say that such fine, restrained death poetry should be honoured. So … any congratulations, before we slay them all?’
Nobody chose to clap but one ninja turned and addressed Eagle dutifully. ‘A fine poem, samurai.’ He gave an awkward shrug. ‘And spoken well.’
As the Fuma watched Eagle acknowledge the compliment with a crisp nod, Heron’s hand slipped into her kimono. Moonshadow caught the movement with his peripheral vision, but was careful not to follow it lest he betray Heron to their foes. Her hand moved round subtly just inside the fabric, as if gathering several small items.
What was the master’s veiled plan? Many are their highways, numerous their kin.
The fish of the poem had to be their Fuma enemies. They’ve attacked from all directions and completely outnumber us, Eagle was telling his troops. Yet see I just a few. The only solution was to split them up, fight them in small groups or as individuals. Carve up the battlefield, so that their numbers counted for nothing. … sun-blinded in my nets.
Moonshadow’s eyes lit up. So the key to Eagle’s plan was to ‘sun-blind’ the enemy, reduce their field of vision. If that happened, they’d be confused, off balance, since they lacked detailed knowledge of … our territory. Our nets! Sun-blinded in my nets. He looked to the damaged ceiling. It was a daring, inventive ploy, but there was one very big catch. Sunrise was still a long way off, so what could they use to blind –
Heron’s free hand streaked from her kimono and whipped the air. Long fingers flashing, she quickly turned a circle. Moonshadow saw the torinoko, the small percussion activated smoke bombs – a Heron specialty – fly to all points of the compass, into the ranks of the encircling Fuma. As the tiny missiles bounced and rolled they went off, plumes of smoke erupting from each in rapid succession.
The archive speedily filled with twisting banks and surging columns of billowy white smoke that bled into one another at a surprising rate. Heron’s hand cuffed left and right, hurling more torinoko until she and Mantis vanished inside an ever-growing miasma of smoke. The startled Fuma drew their blades, their sense of easy victory swept away. Several began turning quickly in classic shinobi defensive circles.
Through the blinding pale smog, Eagle hoarsely bellowed, ‘Attack!’
Then came a close ring of steel on steel, followed by a grunt of pain and a thud. Loud sword swishes and more impacts quickly followed. Mantis was wasting no time.
Moonshadow raised his own sword. This was it; their final, most frantic gambit. As one, the core of the Edo Grey Light Order would now win. Or perish before dawn.
The great room was obscured, its entrances, aisles and other features swallowed by the enormous, hungry cloud. Moonshadow’s sharp eyes probed the haze. Where were Heron and Mantis? Back to back on the same spot, or had they been forced to move?
Black smoke from the fires merged with the white
smoke cloud of Heron’s torinoko, tinting the cloud with dark, jagged brush strokes. Air currents and breezes from human movement collided, making sections of the battlefield reappear at random, smokeless pockets that bloomed, drifted, then abruptly collapsed.
Moonshadow plunged into a high smoke bank looming before him. The din of combat filled his ears: swords shinged and clanged, unseen shuriken – black, star-shaped iron throwing knives – swished as they flew by. Battle-cries and shouts broke the thick air. Moonshadow could see nothing. Panic snatched at him, but with a snarl he forced it off.
Suddenly he made out the silhouette of Heron inside an air pocket just paces to his left. A ninja burst from the wall of smoke that Heron faced and, with a single lightning stroke of her weapon, she cut him down. As Moonshadow opened his mouth to call her name, he sensed movement in the smoggy air above him. Evade, quickly!
Too late! Feet landed on his shoulders and he staggered to one side, swinging his blade up at whoever was balancing on him. A dull thunk told him his sword was being parried by an iron weapon. The attacker leapt from his shoulders, kicking him in the side of the head on departure. Sent tumbling to the floor, Moonshadow snatched control of his momentum and rolled, desperate to escape his skilful airborne enemy. A vague impression said he was heading for the open shoji that led to the north-south corridor. A far stronger instinct warned that he was also hotly pursued.
Moonshadow tumbled through a thick bank of dirty smog, emerging to crash into the north-south corridor’s shoji doorframe. As he bounded to his feet, a dark shape flashed through the haze behind him. Powerful hands seized his wrist. Twisting his sword arm into a nerve-stretching lock, the opponent elbowed Moonshadow hard in the cheek and tore the blade from his hands. Reversing the weapon with breathtaking speed, the attacker struck with its pommel, hitting Moonshadow between the eyes and driving him into the doorframe. Almost blacking out, he slid to the floor. For an instant, tiny points of light and luminous bubbles popped before his eyes. Fighting off the daze, he looked up.
Kagero stood over him, blood running down her neck from the hastily tied bandage on her ear. The kunoichi’s face glowed with a mix of hatred and fresh satisfaction.
‘A fair trade, don’t you think? My earlobe for your pretty young head.’ Kagero pressed cold steel to his throat. ‘I even get to kill you with your own sword. I like that!’
A heartbeat ahead of her lunge, Kagero tensed her forearm, but at the same instant a powerful figure burst through the smoke wall. Hurtling from the north-south corridor, the mighty form rammed Kagero, hip and shoulder, with a loud thunk. The kunoichi flew sideways through the opposite smoke wall and back into the archive. Moonshadow’s sword spun to the floorboards. He blinked up at his rescuer.
Groundspider loomed over him, a slashed and blood-stained sleeping kimono barely covering his muscular frame. The giant was drenched with sweat, half his bull-neck mottled by dark bruises. A fresh cut on his smooth jawline said he’d survived a very close call. Despite his wrung-out appearance, he grinned and winked flippantly.
‘Thanks!’ Moonshadow smiled. His head was clearing and it was a relief to know that the closest thing he had to a big brother was alive – and had just saved his life.
‘Aw, anytime, kid!’ Groundspider dropped smoothly to one knee, snatching up Moonshadow’s sword. ‘Can I borrow this? Think I left mine sticking in some really slow Fuma back down the corridor. Don’t worry, I’ll return it!’ Without awaiting a response, Groundspider rose, extended the blade and plunged through the smoke bank.
Moonshadow felt a hand touch his shoulder. He flinched and turned.
Snowhawk! She beamed as she gripped his arms and dragged him to his feet.
‘You’re alive!’ He broke into a wide smile. ‘Watch out – it’s you they’re after.’
‘So I gathered,’ she scowled. A gardener’s jacket had been tied over her badly ripped night kimono. A short, straight shinobi sword – not her own – stuck from her belt. Like Groundspider, she’d obviously fought her way here through serious opposition. ‘The Spider and I were pinned down for ages, fighting near our rooms.’ Snowhawk drew her stolen blade, eyeing the wall of smoke across the archive. ‘Now what? Back up Groundspider? Fetch your sword?’
He shook his head. ‘Brother Eagle first. He’s hurt, needs protection.’
Snowhawk huffed with disbelief. ‘Eagle? Hurt? Then take me there!’
Moonshadow led her into the thick, smelly haze. Snowhawk moved at his side, blade outstretched as they crept through the cloud.
‘I stumbled on the surviving boundary guards and household staff – locked in the food cellar. Had to stop and free them!’
Moving in step with her, he frowned. ‘Why? You could have done that later.’
Snowhawk tossed her hair dismissively. ‘Then who’d stop these fires spreading?’
Unseen blades clashed in the fog on either side of them. Together they scrambled low over the last floorboards of the archive, avoiding debris and staying under every nearby combatant’s likely line of sight, desperate to reach the east-west corridor mouth and Eagle without further delays. A strong air current from the corridor split the wall of smog, and there he was, slumped against a doorframe, face ashen, eyes pinpricks. Despite the cruel-looking claw still hanging from his shoulder, Eagle gave them a warm, weak nod. As Moonshadow and Snowhawk huddled protectively around their master, a shuriken thwacked into the doorframe just above Eagle’s head. Snowhawk turned and covered them with her blade while Moonshadow dragged Eagle into the east-west corridor. Several paces in, Moonshadow propped Eagle against the wall, then crouched in front of him, acting as a shield and watching the smoke-filled door to the archives. Snowhawk bobbed down beside Moonshadow to cover another possible angle of attack, her sword raised.
‘I’ll be fine here, Moon-kun,’ Eagle said. ‘Go, fight them. Make me proud.’
‘I’ll make you proud,’ Snowhawk said angrily. ‘By fetching you their heads!’
‘That wouldn’t please Brother Mantis,’ Eagle murmured, his eyelids drooping. ‘Go, children, both of you, support the others, I don’t need pro –’ His eyes flew wide.
Moonshadow’s head snapped round. Like Eagle, he stared in abject horror.
Just inside the archive, the smoke had parted around a hooded figure – and his cannon! The Fuma ninja was down on one knee, hands working at one end of his chisai odutsu. Still strapped to his torso by a wide leather band, the cannon now also rested across his thigh, pointing straight at Brother Eagle. A wisp of grey smoke rose twisting from one end of the wooden gun. The Fuma had just lit his weapon’s fuse!
In seconds it would fire, tearing the three of them apart.
Moonshadow rounded on Eagle, said ‘Forgive me, master!’, then seized the iron shuko sticking out from the back of Eagle’s shoulder.
Eagle ground his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. As the claw was torn from his body, he threw back his head and roared with pain. Moonshadow clutched the bloodied iron shuko to his chest and shoulder-rolled with blinding speed back through the doorway. He flashed up into a crouch, hovering at the cannon’s muzzle. Dodging two strong punches from the Fuma captain, Moonshadow rammed the claw, square grips first, straight into the weapon’s dark mouth. He kicked the cannon’s muzzle upwards, then tumbled away.
With a thunderous, floor-shaking roar and a bright golden flash, the choked cannon exploded near its muzzle end. Swamped by a powerful shock-wave, Moonshadow was flung along the floor, rolling wildly, arms and legs flailing.
His clothing smoked. Peppered with powder burns that stank like festival fireworks, Moonshadow tumbled right through a wall of smog and ploughed into a solid pair of legs. He peered up warily and sagged with relief. It was Groundspider! The giant’s eyes were wild from combat and he held a shinobi straight sword in each hand.
Moonshadow glanced into the corridor. Had it worked? Were Eagle and Snowhawk safe? Through a gap in the smog curtain he caught sight of them. At the last moment, Snowhawk had
thrown herself over Eagle. Both were unharmed!
Sensing heat against his skin, Moonshadow beat his clothes rapidly, putting out several tiny fires. Groundspider clubbed a passing foe with the pommel of one sword, then crouched down and held the other weapon out to Moonshadow.
‘Thanks for the loan,’ the big shinobi grinned. ‘Pretty sure this one’s yours.’
It was, and Moonshadow gratefully snatched his weapon, at last feeling complete again. He gave Groundspider a thankful nod, then spun around and ran back to Eagle and Snowhawk. The fog around them was darkening as smoke from the ceiling fires overwhelmed Heron’s white mist. Moonshadow crouched beside his master, looking back into the archive. He saw the Fuma leader sprawled motionless on the floor, his jacket on fire. His cannon was strewn around him, a wide debris field of mangled, charred oddments of wood. Was he dead or alive?
There was no time to find out. Moonshadow heard Heron call to Mantis and Groundspider, urging them to team up with her. Seconds later ringing steel and war cries came thick and fast from the same area. Then a series of groans and thuds followed. Moonshadow smiled. Fuma bodies meeting the floorboards!
‘Hear that?’ Eagle said proudly. ‘This bundle of arrows makes music.’
Snowhawk nudged Moonshadow. ‘It’s not over yet, though. Look there!’
Out of the smoke a line of hooded figures took shape, stretched across the door to the archive. As the last ninja’s ominous form emerged, one of them growled, ‘That’s Eagle! Slay him, slay their leader!’
Snowhawk and Moonshadow scrambled to form a wall in front of Eagle, swords raised. The skirmish line of five attackers advanced, shoulder-to-shoulder. Moonshadow frowned. Their swords were sheathed – why?
The Twilight War Page 5