Red Samurai

by Tiffiny Hall

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to my sister, Bridget

  EPIGRAPH

  AS A NINJA,

  MY BODY IS A WEAPON,

  MY MOVEMENTS ARE MAGICAL,

  MY FOCUS IS LETHAL.

  I AM THE INVISIBLE WARRIOR.

  From the ancient ninja’s Tiger Scrolls

  CONTENTS

  COVER

  DEDICATION

  EPIGRAPH

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GLOSSARY

  NINJA MERINGUES

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY TIFFINY HALL

  COPYRIGHT

  ONE

  Mum stares at me with the kill in her eyes. She folds the black hood of her ninja suit over her blonde hair and draws her sword. It punctures the blue smoke that haloes the graves. ‘Are you ready?’

  I stand in the Cemetery of Warriors no longer just Roxy Ran but the White Warrior. I can still taste the Tiger Scrolls in my mouth. I’ve defeated four ancient warriors and my nemesis Hero … but they were only the warm-up.

  I gulp. ‘Not really.’ I was picking spit darts out of my hair a few weeks ago and now I’m armed with weapons and about to confront an army. Can Poxy Roxy so quickly be replaced by a ninja?

  I fall to my knees within the Circle of Self-defence and pull off my ninja hood so I can breathe. It is an endless night here at the Cemetery of Warriors, but it feels like I’ve been fighting for days. My knees sink into the soft dusty earth, the earth that has consumed bones and flesh and now could devour me if I don’t fight. I wipe my hair out of my face with my sleeve and blink twice.

  ‘Hey, my uniform has changed colour,’ I say.

  ‘You’re the White Warrior now,’ Mum says. ‘It will always become white when you fight.’ She lowers her sword, but keeps her eyes trained on the horizon. She scoops my hair into her hands and begins to tie it off my face like she did when I was a little girl.

  ‘Muuum, don’t,’ I whine.

  ‘You’re going to need to see, to focus,’ she says.

  ‘But it’s no use. I’ve started the Endless Fight. I should never have eaten those scrolls. I really didn’t think this through,’ I say.

  ‘Course not,’ Mum says, pulling me gently to my feet by my shoulders. ‘You can’t fight instinct and yours was to reclaim your powers.’ She shakes her head. ‘I should never have had them extracted in the first place.’

  I turn to face her and take her hand. Her eyes slide down to meet mine. I watch a tear skim her cheek, then glisten in the green moon. I’ve always felt the snarl of the tiger birthmark on my foot roaring towards something more than life as a Gate Two, but now that I have the chance to be awesome, I’m filled with fear. A monster has crawled into my stomach and is thrashing. What if I defeated the four ancient warriors only by fluke? I’ve been the White Warrior for just a few minutes. This is impossible. It won’t be the Endless Fight, it will be the Endless Death, for both of us.

  But this is my chance to unleash my inner ninja. Somewhere deep in the caves of my heart I always knew I was different. I have to be strong. I feel the light of self-belief beam through me and enliven my body, all the way down to my toes. My muscles tense. My senses activate. I know that this fight is the Endless Fight because it foreshadows what is to come. Being the White Warrior is a life sentence.

  The tear evaporates on Mum’s cheek as her eyes widen. In their ebony reflections, I see the army of warriors I woke when I swallowed the Tiger Scrolls. I whip around and gasp. Hundreds sway silently at the edge of the Circle of Self-defence. Their mouths drip blood, eyes skeleton-white, hands decayed around their weapons. I feel like crawling under the back of my sister’s jumper like I used to on scary rides or running into Mum’s bed and pulling the covers over my head. But I have to face this. If I don’t succeed, we’ll be stuck here forever. And Elecktra will move into my room and spill nail polish on my desk — over my dead body!

  I think back to the training lessons with Jackson, dressing in my shinobi shozoku — my ninja uniform — for the first time, learning to fly, kick, flash invisible, find stillness and peace of mind, and the journey that has led me to stand in this circle with nothing but my ninja stars and skills to protect me … along with the power of the Tiger Scrolls. Already I can feel their energy strumming through every vein and muscle.

  ‘As a ninja, my body is …’ Mum prompts me.

  I recite the ancient ninja’s Tiger Scrolls. ‘As a ninja, my body is a weapon, my movements are magical, my focus is lethal. I am the invisible warrior.’ Now that I’ve swallowed the scrolls, the words live in me, absorbed into my spirit, soaked into my bones. I have to believe in myself.

  I sink my bare feet into the earth and feel my tiger grip and growl. I close my eyes and the world slices into sharp darkness. All I can hear is the sound of my heart beating. The rhythm swells the atmosphere so I can breathe easily. I only have to live from one beat to the next.

  I open my eyes. Before me is a pack of dead masters. Beyond them is my future as the White Warrior — strong, invincible and maybe even a little popular at school. The White Warrior would have to be more A list than Roxy Ran. I blush — now is not the time to be thinking of my popularity!

  The warriors blend into a mass of brutality, a cluster of deadly lit eyes and rancid breath. They sway with evil anticipation.

  ‘Roxy, stay focused. Keep your back to me. Your body knows what to do — you just have to trust it,’ Mum instructs, but before I can respond, the warriors descend on us in a crash of arms and legs. Instinctively I summon the wind. Mum and I leap above the army and hover for a second, supported by a wind tunnel. In that brief levitation, I map out my combat. My eyes connect the warriors like laser beams and I know what I must do.

  We land in the centre of the heaving violence. My ninja stars swipe away fingers and noses. Mum’s nunchucks flash light into the warriors’ dead eyes, spurts of silver in the green night. I summon the wind and it speeds up my movements as I slice, thrash and punch my way through the warriors. A cluster of them approaches, led by a four-armed beast with a shark-like mouth. I leap onto his head and use his grotesque horns as a steering wheel to smash him into the others. They are replaced by another group of warriors, their many years of battle etched into their deformed faces. I drop to the ground and scuttle between the legs of the leader. He has bloodied bare arms and a mohawk, and yellow-headed pustules spread from his scalp across his cheeks like a putrid beard. He draws back his leg to kick me, but I am too fast. I hook his ankles with my feet and throw his body into the others. He hits them stiff like a beam and they fall backwards into the forest of warriors.

  I look up and more warriors tower above me. I kneel and push my palms out to the sides like blades. Smiles wisp across the warriors’ faces and I smile back. My powers may be brand-new, but I haven’t been dead for decades. I can outsmart these guys.

  I hear Mum’s sword crashing behind me as I calm my mind so I can think more clearly. I imagine myself at a beach, frothy waves polishing pearly sand, not a cloud smearing the sky. I try to make my heart a kite to sail above the fear. The warriors are in no hurry to capture me. Like the kids at school when they know you are cornered in a game of Tiggy and don’t bother running any more.

  A warrior with long white hair turbaned up to the starless sky and eyes the texture of snakeskin snatches at me. I swoop backwar
ds out of his grasp, then propel forwards with a powerful spear-hand strike to his knee. He folds, paper-weak, as I kneel back into my starting position.

  Another warrior attacks and forces me up onto one knee. I punch his kneecap. As he hunches over, I jump onto his back and, with a triple spinning kick, wipe out the others. I land on my knees as more feet stampede towards me, weapons ready to do damage. I summon the wind to fly me above this latest pack of warriors, then direct it to lower me behind them. Surprise is on my side and I quickly knock them off their feet.

  My next target appears, tall and copper-skinned. He has the head of a fanged sheep and across his face are whiskers made of claw. His muscles writhe like mice trapped inside a cobra and he holds an axe, human teeth forming the blade. I gulp. I try to think of something nice, like the music of an ice-cream truck or the froth on a hot chocolate, but staring at this warrior’s disgusting face drains all happiness from me, water through a sieve.

  ‘Keep your centre of gravity low and remember the weakness target line,’ Mum orders with a glance back.

  As he approaches, I trace the targets of weakness, from his eyes, nose, throat, stomach, groin, knees, down to his ankles. I see the line of attack and that’s where I’ll strike. He tilts his face to the green moon, then bleats. Tribes of warriors howl in reply. I am more nervous now than the first time Jackson spoke to me.

  ‘Remember who you are,’ Mum calls as she blocks another blow. ‘Instinct.’

  The Ram raises his axe. I stare deep into his hollow eyes. The axe plummets between Mum and me, splitting us apart. I leap onto the blade of the axe and spear my foot into his stomach. He doubles over and I poke my fingers into his eyes. There is nothing but air. The warrior grabs me by the neck and lifts me high, my feet dangling. He begins to squeeze tight. The air hisses out of me like a balloon. My nose grows large and the taste of dirt invades my mouth. I see psychedelic stars flash. I’m losing consciousness.

  I listen to my instinct and thoughts of boulders, quicksand and stone plough into my mind. I feel my tiger reach through soil and connect with roots. The warrior’s grip tightens around my neck. The air grows spikes. The world flattens. I’m passing out. I sink my claws deeper into the earth, and summon the power of cliffs and mountains, marble and wood. My eyes slowly close. The warrior’s grip has sucked out all the air. Then thunder erupts. Behind the Ram, heavy slabs of stone and marble rip themselves from the earth and levitate with their jagged edges pointed towards the army. I blink hard, summoning all the headstones in the cemetery to soar through the air like missiles at the warriors’ heads. I blink again and the headstones slice the warriors’ heads off, clean as saws.

  I crash to the ground, my lungs inflate, but there is no time to recover fully — more warriors encroach on us in thick lines, hundreds deep. This looks like a dead end. Many of them. I don’t know what to do.

  ‘Roxy, you have to keep going,’ Mum says, breathing heavily, a slash of blood on her upper arm.

  ‘You weren’t kidding. This is endless,’ I gasp.

  I stretch into a long fighting stance, lifting my ninja star into a guard between my knuckles.

  ‘Roxy! Fire!’ Mum calls as she is engulfed in a brawl of weapons. Her blonde hair slashes the night as she fights, disappearing beneath the warriors.

  The tingling sensation of the Fire Scroll returns to my tongue, followed by the scorching nerve of heat writhing up my throat. I clench my jaw tight as the fire builds near my tonsils and sears my teeth. I surrender to instinct. I suck in oxygen and feel my lungs balloon and my chest inflate until it hurts. Then the fire surges up my throat. The burning is so powerful I open my mouth to scream. But instead of a scream, fire blasts from my mouth like a dragon. The fire sprays the warriors in the first line of battle. They tip backwards, setting alight the row of warriors behind them. They fall like dominos, one flaming row into the next until the entire cemetery is a warrior bonfire. I quickly summon water to rain down on Mum and me in a twinkling cloak of protection. The flaming warriors vanish.

  ‘Darling, you did it! You summoned the elements!’ Mum smiles proudly.

  I smile too, then cough my lungs back into existence. I’m sore, but haven’t felt this good since I beat Elecktra in Lanternwood’s annual dance-off.

  I look around. The hundreds of warriors have disappeared, but in the distance there is a cloaked man, with two men chained to his waist. They look as tall as the mountains. The cloaked man has his arm raised as if commanding the warriors to cease combat, and in his hand is a giant red sword. I cannot see his face.

  Mum draws her nunchucks and I pull out my ninja stars. But just as we’re about to launch an attack, the sky switches to black, the earth heats and we are transported home.

  TWO

  Two black sock feet balance on my pillow when I wake. Mum’s flexible toes are straddling my head as she reaches up to the ceiling. She is wearing ninja pants and a pink slouching T-shirt, her blonde hair braided off her face. Art, Mum’s boyfriend, is standing either side of my feet and they are holding a mattress between them.

  I throw off my blankets and slide through their legs. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I feel the searing aches and pains from last night. It wasn’t a dream. I’m the White Warrior. I’m still wearing my ninja uniform, but it’s back to its original black colour. Art says nothing about my unusual sleepwear — Mum must have filled him in.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  I now see they have attached hooks to the top corners of the room and are hoisting the mattress up with rope. I must have been tired to sleep through Art’s electric screwdriver. Mum is stronger than Art and raises the mattress quickly; he struggles at his end, snagging his finger in the rope. He looks up at the mattress through his shaggy blond hair and sucks the pain out of his finger. Mum laughs at him. Art is such a dork. I refuse to go swimming with him any more. He does laps in a snorkel. If people don’t move out of his way, he’ll orbit them like a shark. To make it worse, he’s just bought a new snorkel that pumps music through the mouthpiece. Embarrassment.

  ‘We’re just preparing the house,’ Mum says.

  ‘For what?’

  Art ties his end of the mattress, then tackles Mum onto the bed. I leap out of the way. Mum locks him into a submission hold. I laugh, then my blood freezes in my veins as I realise I have to face Hero at school today. I beat him at the Cemetery of Warriors and he’ll be angry. I shudder, remembering the power of his axe kick, the swinging of his katana sword, being forced over the cliff. I may be the White Warrior now, with the power to control the elements, but will that change my Gate Two status at school and being bully bait? I hate the Gate system at Hindley Hall. There are two gates: all the cool kids enter through one while the uncool kids go through the other. Gate Twos are often tormented by Gate One kids.

  Art slaps the bed. ‘I’m tapping out,’ he says. Mum releases him and they embrace.

  ‘Just get married already,’ I say. Art has been Mum’s boyfriend for as long as I can remember. My older sister, Elecktra, is always pressuring Art to propose to Mum, but it’s as if he’s scared that she’ll beat him up if he doesn’t do it right. No matter how many ideas Elecktra and I give him — hot-air balloon ride, sand message, romantic dinner, message in steam on the bathroom mirror, YouTube video or radio announcement — they’re never quite right.

  I slip into the bathroom to get ready for school. One of my ninja stars drops to the floor; it was hiding in the lapel of my uniform. I pick up the silver star and caress the orchid symbol in the heart of the blades, then look into the mirror. I don’t look any different now that I’m the White Warrior. I still have the same long black dead-straight hair, the same brown eyes. I’m no taller, that’s for sure. But I do feel different.

  Mum’s always telling us how our surname ‘Ran’ means ‘orchid’. I thought orchids were pretty, but also pretty boring. Flowers don’t do much. I wished my last name meant something cool like ‘eagle’ or ‘dinosaur’. But now that I’ve re
claimed my powers I sort of get what’s so cool about flowers. They’re buried alive and have to fight to grow. In a way, I feel like an orchid. I’ve found my buried powers and I’m beginning to sprout, to blossom even. I slip the ninja star into the pocket of my school blazer.

  I walk downstairs and into the living room. What the? The ceiling is covered with mattresses. I move into the kitchen — it’s padded too.

  Elecktra saunters into the room.

  ‘Nice robe,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t you mean Balinese sarong? It has all the colours of dessert,’ she says. I study the canary-yellow and bubblegum-pink pattern, but see no reference to a banana split or ice-cream sundae.

  Elecktra looks up at the ceiling. ‘Mum!’ she wails. ‘Why are there beds on the roof?’

  Art and Mum join us in the kitchen. Art whips Mum on the leg with a tea towel and Mum giggles.

  ‘A bit of installation art,’ Art says with a cheeky grin.

  ‘In this house, you can never be too careful,’ Mum says. Maybe they’re worried about me flying and hitting my head while I’m getting used to my new powers.

  Mum begins to make breakfast while Art polishes the bench with a sponge. He is wearing a blue T-shirt and shorts with long white socks and — thank heavens — no sandals. I’m no fashion police like Elecktra, but I know socks with sandals are criminal. He carries odd socks in his pockets so he doesn’t lose them and likes to use a small Esky as a man purse because it’s waterproof. Not to forget how he dances, feet stuck to the floor and his fingers twinkling like he’s helping someone to back into a car space. But that’s probably why I like him. We have dorky in common.

  Elecktra parks herself on a stool to flick through a magazine. ‘In this house, you can never be too careful,’ she mimics in a high-pitched voice. ‘Careful of what? Sleep-flying?’ she mumbles.

  I ignore her. I’m dying to tell Jackson and Cinnamon about last night. They won’t believe I defeated all those warriors plus Hero. I can’t help but smile at the muesli box as I pull it out of the pantry and place it on the counter. I retrieve the milk from the fridge and position it next to the muesli in a tidy row, then select a pear from the fruit bowl and line it up with the milk.