Tails High

by Paul Kidd

  The ninja wiped at his eyes, hand trembling. A flat packet muffled in layer after layer of silken cloth was clutched against his chest, gripped in clawed, rigid fingers. Trying to control his breath, he searched the criss-cross of shadow and stark moonlight behind him, watching for the slightest sign of movement on the hill.

  There was nothing. He was safe. The ninja clung against a tree, blinking – still trying to sort his nightmares from the shadows.

  Slowly – horribly – a glistening shape rose out of the darkness at his side. The ninja turned, staring numbly as a nightmare unhurriedly towered overhead.

  The creature was a slice of absolute insanity. Human in shape – half again as tall as a man – it was massively broad across the shoulders. Rippling, knotted muscles gleamed wet and raw, as though somehow flayed free of skin.

  The head had a single huge eye and a mouth crammed with jagged teeth. Another massive maw ran vertically down the monster’s stomach, jutting with interlacing fangs. Its arms ended in long, piercing spears of bone that glistened horribly in the moonlight. The creature flexed, hissing softly, then moved one great step towards the staring ninja.

  The man flung himself backwards, hurtling a throwing blade at the monster’s eye. The giant creature laughed and swatted the knife aside with one long bone claw, and slowly began stalking down its prey. The ninja hurtled another blade and then another, growing wilder with panic. He stumbled backwards, then turned and fled, racing away from the monster and staggering uphill.

  The monster chuckled and came relentlessly on his trail, never hurrying – never breaking stride. It effortlessly strode up the hill. The ninja plunged through a copse of trees, losing sight of the monster behind him. He skipped sideways for a few steps, looking desperately about for landmarks. At the sight of a shattered tree he felt a desperate surge of hope. Running wildly onwards, he was giddy with relief as he saw another ninja step out from behind the tree. He waved and the first ninja ran to him. Both flung themselves down into cover in the grass.

  The first ninja half rose from cover, watching the nearby hill. He flicked a swift glance at the other man.

  “Brother – I have the sacred mirror!”

  The second ninja split apart. Skin and clothing shredded as a vast wet, red form burst into being. The monster plunged two bone spears clean through the ninja and in a single careless move simply ripped the man apart.

  The first monster strode almost idly up the hill to join its companion. They both kicked aside the horrifying ruin of the dead ninja. Long tongues snaked outwards from their gaping stomach-mouths, flinging offal aside as the monsters tugged and searched.

  One monster triumphantly seized the silk package, then both creatures admired their prize, gloating and dripping with gore.

  Soft, almost untraceable sounds came from the woods downhill. The monsters swivelled. Several men were moving towards them, trying to stay silent in the darkness and the grass. Yet more approached from the far side of the hill.

  A distant temple bell gave a low, soft boom. The monsters turned and gazed towards the forest – towards the distant sound. They immediately strode off across the grass and into the black tree line – moving with huge but silent strides.

  In an instant, they were gone. The hillside lay still and silent beneath the gaze of the golden moon.

  For long moments, the hilltop lay abandoned.

  Small stealthy movements flickered in the grass. The black shapes of ninja merged with the shadows, moving silently and swiftly forward in the dark.

  The ninja fanned out across the hill, flicking forward – searching carefully. One man moved towards the broken tree. He suddenly froze, dropping to his knees. The man crept forward, stared, then retreated. He signed to another man, and the signal passed swiftly off into the night.

  Hako, guild leader of the Akai Nami ninja, slowly advanced up the hill. Flanked by two of her best men, she approached the broken tree.

  Men surrounded her, she came to the reeking, bloody patch of grass. She knelt and bared her face, keeping her expression stiff and cold as she examined the bloody ruins of her man.

  The body had been torn in two – an act of horrifying strength. Parts were scattered bloodily about the grass.

  Off to one side were more remains. Ninja clothing had been ripped apart and discarded, but inside the clothing there was a human skin – torn asunder, but apparently complete. Even the face and hair had been preserved.

  The face was that of one of Hako’s best men. She sank down, staring at the wreckage in shock.

  “Impossible!”

  The man who had discovered the bodies looked at his leader in shock.

  “Leader, what manner of enemy is this?”

  A team of men came running quietly from the forest to drop down into the grass beside Hako. One bowed and made his report.

  “Leader! They have not exited the forest! Their tracks lead to the monastery.” The man turned and gestured to the vast, dark wall of trees. “There is a great deal of blood. We believe they may have slain someone on the road leading to the monastery.”

  Hako looked off towards the woods.

  “Were there any bodies?”

  “No, leader. Some bone and gristle. Badly chewed…”

  The ninja leader slowly clenched her fist.

  “They have eaten the bodies.” She lifted the flayed skin at her feet. The monsters were clearly formidable enemies. “They have taken refuge in the monastery. They could be virtually anyone.”

  The leader of the scouts looked at the carnage, at the rags of wet human skin, then turned back to stare off towards the monastery.

  “Leader, how can we prevail against such a foe?”

  “A ninja adapts tactics to circumstances.”

  Hako rose. She stood on the hillside, mind racing with different thoughts. A concept slowly crept to the fore.

  Inspiration came – cold and slick as polished silk. She remembered a few lines from an intelligence report handed to her days before…

  Perfection! Hako almost felt herself smile.

  “We are not beaten yet. In every situation, a ninja uses the best possible tools.”

  Her men looked up at her, still not understanding.

  “Leader?”

  Hako had already turned and signalled to the men.

  “Come. We shall find our tools!” She began to stride downhill. “To hunt evil spirits – one should use Spirit Hunters!”

  The ninja gathered swiftly about her. Orders were given, and men raced off to do their leader’s bidding. Finally Hako and her inner circle sped into the shadows, vanishing silently into the night.

  The hillside was empty once again. Moonlight fell across a few torn strips of black clothing lying in the grass, and all was still…

  A gold-grey autumn morning bloomed across the imperial capital. The hills to the north and west were covered in the glorious red-gold regalia of autumn. Little maple trees lined the roadways, shining brilliantly with leaves of amber, fire and scarlet. Cherry trees were filled with small hard fruit, speckling the branches with green and red. The entire huge, brilliant city seemed to shine like gold.

  The capital was a place of little waterways feeding into a great iron-grey river. Out on the water, barges drifted and riverboats set rail. Families of nomadic river rats swarmed aloft into masts, waving to sea-going junks crewed by northern wolves. Along the shoreline, markets sprang to life as new boats arrived, bringing strange tributes and cargoes to the market stalls.

  From the low, broad hill at the city’s heart, the palace bell tolled, and the Hour of the Dragon officially began. Breakfast had been eaten, messages received and the morning rituals were done. The morning’s serious business could begin at last. Out in the broad streets, palanquins and ox draw carts headed out, bearing nobles, merchants and grandees off on visits to friends, business partners, temples and shrines. Porters bearing all manner of deliveries jogged along the streets. Countless inns and theatres, tea houses, brothels and restaur
ants all turned themselves inside out, with every surface swept and every bit of bedding fluffed out to air in the sunshine.

  The imperial palace itself was an island of absolute, eternal serenity. High walls enclosed the lower gardens, with steep steps heading up towards the inner palace – towards the ‘Serene and Perfect Hall’.

  The central palace was exquisitely manicured. Tall pagodas held ancient Buddhist relics and meditation halls. A dainty lake was fed by springs and streams, with little islands linked by beautifully decorated bridges. Courtiers moved here and there  the women in robes of decorously layered colours, surrounded by swarms of maids. The men were dressed in upright black formality, cruising the walkways with wooden billets of authority in hand. The long trains of their robes trailed behind as they paced the corridors. Every movement was measured – every nicety of etiquette was perfectly formed and judged.

  Behind the main walkways and parades, the imperial apartments had dozens of little side passages of their own: through-ways for servants bustling back and forth on their work. As the hour bell tolled, the young emperor came racing down a passageway that led to his private meditation hall. He wore a rough jute robe and a pair of plain hakama, and carried a wooden training sword.

  He was met by a slender young lady of the court – only a year older than himself. Lady Suzoko raced forward carrying the emperor’s formal robes, while a bevy of maids ran bearing sashes, hats and shoes. Lady Suzuko hastily held out the robes, and a quick change took place in a mad flurry right out in the middle of the corridor.

  The young emperor tried to wriggle into inner robe, sash and socks all at once. He was horribly aware that the hour bell had gone horribly silent.

  “My lesson went late! Suzuko-san, are they here?”

  “They are here, Imperial Majesty!” The girl removed the emperor’s hat so that she could pull his elegant outer suikan robe into place. “They have already entered the Serene and Perfect hall!”

  Lady Suzuko swept back the emperor’s long hair so that she could dress him in his cap of office. She saw a red mark on his forehead, and paled with shock.

  “Your Imperial Majesty! You have been hurt!”

  The young emperor winced, and ruefully touched his new welt.

  “I paid insufficient attention, and received a tap to the head for my pains.”

  Lady Suzuko was utterly incensed. “The old dog! Were I a samurai, I would strike him down!”

  “That is why my lessons are private, Lady Suzuko. My guards would be impelled to rashness! But how else am I to learn?” The emperor clucked his tongue. “I will not turn my back on the ‘old dog’ again.”

  The young noblewoman’s eyes flashed with fire. “He is worse than a dog! He is blasphemous! He looked you directly in the eye when you first met. I saw him do it!”

  “He always looks me in the eye. I am his student! Anyway  you look me in the eye, too!”

  The young lady briskly tugged the emperor’s robes into place. “I am supposed to. One day, I am to be your wife.”

  The emperor tried to peer through a tiny gap between hanging screens as a maid fussed about with the train of his robe. He waved away another maid who had been bearing a tray of makeup for his face.

  “Who is here?”

  Lady Suzuko flicked a glance through the hangings. “It is the inner council. Magistrate Masura, Magistrate Zuniochi, Magistrate Koroda. The Minister of the Right, the Minister of the Left, and your uncle, Prince Horigawa.”

  The emperor made a face of annoyed distaste.

  “Horigawa. It must be important!”

  They moved in a confused rush down the passageway, screeching to a halt as they reached the two imperial guards who knelt on either side of the entrance to the hall. The emperor tried to look serene and unhurried, moving forward towards the guards. He was met by a last flurry of ladies-in-waiting, who all tried to offer him face makeup. The emperor waved them away, dusted his robes, and moved past the bowing guards and into the Serene and Perfect Hall.

  Guards slid open the doors.

  The long hall was lined with delicately painted screens. Great fragrant wooden beams crossed over below the ceiling, and the floor boards gleamed a gorgeous maple red. Sprigs of winter flowers had been thoughtfully arranged in all the alcoves, and screen doors gave a view clean out across the palace lake.

  The inner council was present and waiting, kneeling in the upper hall at the foot of the imperial alcove. The six men pressed their foreheads to the floor, bowing in great formality.

  The emperor was about to move forward, when Lady Suzuko flitted in from one side and handed him his fan. Stiff faced, the boy entered the hall. Although Magistrate Masura’s face was down towards the floor, the emperor was certain that he could see his old friend smile.

  The inner council consisted of three heads of the imperial civic ministries. Prince Horigawa – a great uncle of the emperor - served as Chancellor, the senior minister of the court. Beneath him were the portly Minister of the Left, and his junior, the ancient, rigidly Confucian Minister of the Right.

  The court held many important posts  the chamberlain, the directors of the imperial household and the imperial equerries. But the previous emperor has initiated a new protocol: the inner council now held not only government functionaries, but the commanders of the three great houses of imperial samurai. These men were tasked with law and order, customs and taxes, as well as the security of the realm. They were outside of the system of courtly ranks, owed their position to no favour from the chancellor or ministers. Their inclusion was a constant source of annoyance to Horigawa and the old guard.

  The Minister of the Right – great haired and perfect in his etiquette, rose halfway from his bow. His teeth were blackened in the old court style – a style now quite eschewed by the emperor and the younger generation. The Minister of the Right called forth in a surprisingly powerful, clear voice.

  “Ten thousand years to his Imperial Majesty Yutaakira, child of the great Kami!”

  The emperor’s alcove had a slatted bamboo screen that hung down to protect him from direct contact with lesser mortals. The emperor sat down in his place, and signed to his two guards. The men immediately raised the curtain. The three samurai sagistrates ranked to the left of the hall all straightened their shoulders, appreciating the honour and approving of such directness. The three ministers seemed coolly indifferent – although old Horigawa’s black eyes glowered.

  Magistrates Masura and Koroda must have ridden for days to appear at such a meeting. Embracing all due majesty, the emperor looked over the council and gave a nod.

  “Revered Prince Horigawa. Honoured Minister of the Left. My esteemed Minister of the Right. Honoured magistrates. You are welcome.” The emperor set his fan across his thigh. “What disturbs my inner council?”

  Ladies-in-waiting drifted in from one side of the hall, bearing tea and musical instruments. Magistrate Masura caught their eye and subtly shook his head. The women – discrete above all things – gracefully and silently withdrew.

  Magistrate Masura looked to the two samurai guards that flanked the imperial dais.

  “Secure the room.”

  The guards bowed – first to the council, then more deeply to the emperor. They closed the side doors, inspecting the areas outside, signalling sentries to move several paces back from the doors and take guard. Duties performed, they exited from the furthest door, leaving the inner council alone with the emperor.

  The emperor leaned forward, listening intently.

  “You have news, Magistrate Masura.”

  The magistrate gave a grave, crisp bow.

  “Yes, your Imperial Majesty.”

  Prince Horigawa – Chancellor of the Imperial Council of State - looked over at Masura. Horigawa had a deeply-lined, parched face not unlike a turtle. His eyes were sharp and cold.

  “His Imperial Majesty is only interested in facts, Masura. We hope this is not to be another one of your trips into fantasy.”

 
; “His Imperial Majesty is aware that I do not waste time upon false alarms, Prince Horigawa.” The samurai gazed upon the prince with cool enmity. “Neither do I take fright easily.”

  The Minister of the Left’s round face was like a great round moon floating amongst his black robes. He fussed and dithered with his sleeves.

  “Is it to be more alarmism, Masura? Please, let it not be more alarmism.” The poor man was quite distraught. “With all of your tales and suspicions, his Imperial Majesty cannot decide whether you are serious!”

  The emperor tried to put real authority into his youthful voice.

  “Let Magistrate Masura speak. I am capable of deciding well enough what is serious and what is not.”

  Horigawa was stung – he resented the preferment of lower orders over and above the highest ministers in the land. But he signalled to the Minister of the Left to be silent.

  Magistrate Masura turned to the emperor and delivered his report.

  “Majesty! As you are painfully aware, the old nobility no longer holds sway over the empire. Over the last few centuries, samurai clans have become the true powers of the land. The imperial throne’s influence has withered.

  “The first samurai clans were tied to the throne by blood. Since that time, others have arisen purely by the power of their steel. These clans now dominate the power structure. For generations, they have been locked in a state of struggle.”

  Horigawa made a noise of sour approval.

  “Great clans have now arisen. Mighty powers. With luck, perhaps they will all slaughter one another.”

  The Minister of the Left immediately sat up and waved his fan.

  “Perhaps it is all for the best. It is all in far flung, savage provinces after all!” The man was all a-flutter. “If the clans are too large for the land to live at peace, then perhaps a blind eye should be turned? Instead of penalising raids and forays, we could allow it. Their violent spirits would be exercised!”

  Magistrate Kuroda was a square, blunt man with a deep scar upon his face. He turned and glowered at the minister.