by David Parkin
CHAPTER FOUR
The storm clouds cut the starlight short as they eased their way into their usual resting place above the Paoyang horseshoe. The hair on the back of Ping’s neck stood at attention as the familiar smell of rain settled over the streets. The captain pulled a heavy riding cloak over his armor and tied it around his neck as he stood below the glistening cherry and black locust wood of the large mansion at the base of the palace.
The stately home blocking the rain from Ping’s back was one of the most beautiful structures in the country. Traditionally, the stacked pagoda had served as residence for the captain of the guard, however, when Ping received his first command, he vowed to never step foot inside it. He believed a leader shouldn’t live in a station above his men, so he had the mansion converted to a much-needed hospital dedicated to the care of injured and retired guardsmen. As the rain soaked the sleeping town before him, Ping stood beneath the structure, waiting for his men to join him in committing treason against the soldiers living inside it.
Across the road, the entrance of the royal guardsmen’s district cast a dark arch against the lights of the city. Ping spotted three silhouettes beneath the lanterns lining the street, hunched against the weather. He stopped himself from smiling when he recognized the men approaching. Shilo, Gishan, and Signa had been under Ping’s surveillance since the day they enrolled in the Paoyang Academy at four years old.
Mogu, Ping’s old master and still head of the Academy used to say that, “If kung-fu is to properly take hold, it is necessary to start young.” From their first day, students of the mountain began on the reeds, a regiment meant to harden soft bones. The students were beaten up and down each arm and leg in a calculated pattern, cracking their soft bones so they healed back stronger each time. Ping’s joints ached as he remembered the torturous exercises implemented to strengthen the ligaments and tendons in his wrists, ankles, hands, and feet.
“Men,” Ping said as the three soldiers approached, “I must remind you that you are under no obligation to—”
“Forgive me, Captain,” Shilo interrupted, “why you called us is not important, but I imagine leaving Paoyang quickly would be.”
Each man in Ping’s regiment had been awoken minutes earlier to the sound of a knock on his window. It was a code Ping had derived to call his men to arms if ever the government had been compromised.
The men had yet to discover why the call had been sounded, but each knew that it wouldn’t have come unless Ping was forced to act without the guidance of the emperor.
After they rendezvoused with the other men, Ping explained his decision, reminded his regiment they were not ordered to come with him and, without judgment or repercussion, they were free to return home. Unsurprisingly not a single rider turned back. In fact, on the road north of Paoyang, the regiment encountered very little backlash from the palace guard or any other guardsmen who were all well aware of Ping’s treasonous act.
Ping imagined that the emperor must have understood the royal guard’s complete loyalty to their captain and an order for any man to move against him would, more than likely, trigger a rebellion inside his own military.
As soon as Ping mentioned the Ninja, the company fell silent. Unfortunately, he had no answer for them as there was no doubt the Ninja would make good on his promise to kill any who followed.
After only a few days’ ride, their horses had taken them through central Kaito, past Merv, and onto the Salted Wound where they crossed the white sand made from the bones of their fallen enemies. After relative silence from his men, Gishan, who had remained pensive since the mention of the Ninja, finally spoke. “The Tiger’s Arrow,” he said.
“Come again?” Shilo asked, riding behind Ping.
“Sato and the Tiger’s Arrow,” Gishan lamented. “Aww, come on, you don’t know that story?”
Shilo and Signa both shrugged.
“That’s what you get for sleeping through the oral history class on the mountain,” Ping teased.
“It was the first class of the day,” Signa said. “I’m lucky I even know who Sato is.”
Ping smiled as the others laughed, and Gishan cleared his throat to continue. “Sato wasn’t much older than eighteen when he took his oaths as a samurai. His first assignment was to provide security for a Bushanese dignitary traveling though the jungles south of the Backbone’s gate.
“Sato guarded the caravan for months without incident, but after all that time, something happened he never expected: He fell in love with the dignitary’s daughter.
“Ever the keeper of the samurai code, Sato never so much as hinted at his feelings toward the girl the entire time they were together. However, one night, as he escorted the family through a particularly dangerous part of the jungle, a tiger attacked the convoy.
“Sato’s charge was to defend the life of the dignitary, which he did, but unfortunately it came at the cost of the young girl, and she died in the attack.
“Sato was heartbroken. Once his mission was complete, the samurai vowed to turn away from his life as a warrior, and he wandered into the jungle to die.
“As he moved through the trees, however, Sato met an old hunter living in the heart of the rainforest. The man took him in, and Sato explained to him why he had abandoned his post and given himself to the forest. In response, the man stood and showed Sato a target he had painted on the face of a boulder beside his home. He gave the samurai a bow and told him to sink an arrow into the stone. Of course, Sato told the man it was impossible, but the hunter told him that the day Sato was able to penetrate the rock with an arrow, his pain would disappear.
“For days, Sato tried and tried again, shooting hundreds of arrows, each bouncing off the stone without a scratch.
“Then one rainy night he was awakened by sudden screams of terror from outside his hut. It was the old man!
“‘The tiger!’ he shouted. ‘Help me!’ Instantly, Sato leapt from his bedroll and scrambled out the door. In the bewildering darkness, he pulled his bow and moved through the jungle until a flash of lightning revealed the tiger leaping for the samurai! In an instant, he pulled the string and fired.
“As Sato fell to his back, the hunter appeared above him in the rain, smiled, and began to laugh. He helped Sato to his feet and revealed that the samurai had been deceived. The tiger was nothing more than a painting across the very same boulder where the target had been. When Sato looked up, he saw the arrow sunken deep into the stone.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Shilo asked, confused.
“It was his resolve alone that sank the arrow into the rock,” Gishan said. “It wasn’t until after Sato stopped believing it was impossible that he accomplished his goal. Likewise, I believe that if we stop looking at this Ninja as a rock and start seeing him as flesh and blood, we can defeat him, too.”
The men rode through the night until they reached the summit of The Tomb of Glass, an ancient flow of green volcanic crystal, painting the slope of dormant volcano. As his men pitched camp, Ping looked over the flow and the odd shapes sprouting from below the surface.
The Tomb of Glass was once the site of an ancient battle so fierce it was said that the dragon, Rhyolite, who lived at the heart of the volcano, opened the earth to stop it. The liquid-hot bile spilled from the mountain’s mouth so quickly it swallowed both armies whole. Over the years, it cooled slowly and became a river of flowing glass as clear and green as the sea before a storm.
Whether the devastation was caused by a dragon or not, the evidence of the halted siege surrounded them. Bones, swords, and armor scattered the terrain as if a clear river of water had risen beneath their feet and suddenly hardened around them.
As Ping scanned the dangerous terrain, the sudden sound of a loud splash echoed from the cliffs in the distance.
Ping stood and pounded his chest with his fist. Before his next breath, his men fell behind him, quickly and silently, their eyes focused on the source of the sound.
“Him?” Shilo whi
spered, afraid of the answer.
“Something,” Ping whispered, equally concerned. Ping’s hand signals commanded the men toward an outcropping of glass that rose like a pillar at the base of the rising cliff. They moved quickly across the blue landscape, careful to dodge the skulls and weapons protruding from the ground around them.
Seismic activity had pushed a series of rock outcroppings through the surface of the basin ahead, revealing a frozen section of the war caught inside. As Ping and his men passed a tall obelisk, the glass displayed the perfectly preserved battle within. The bodies, helmets, axes, and bones, revealed by the warming horizon, stood frozen like a tapestry of cold and timeless death.
Through more hand signals, Ping ordered his regiment to split up, with half of the team circling around either side of the large outcropping.
Ping stepped softly against the hard ground with Shilo, Signa, and Gishan keeping close behind him. As they eased toward the left side of the gruesome tableau, Ping thought of the night he fist met the Ninja and the promise he made to Shilo. He paused a moment then signaled to the men. Together, they leapt from behind the glass, ready for battle!
Ping’s sword paused, however, as nothing but an empty pond of black water came into view. The men had just enough time to take a breath before a startled boar suddenly leapt from beneath a clattering shield at their feet and ran away with an ear-shattering squeal.
Ping deflated in relief, followed by the men behind him as they watched the swine gallop down the shore of the pond and around the back of the rocks where the rest of their band lay in wait. “It may not be a Ninja,” Signa sighed, “but at least we’ll have a good supper.”
“Take it, men!” Ping shouted with a chuckle. Beside him, Shilo rested his head against the burned helmet of a warrior entombed in the glass, and Signa shook out his arms, relieving the tension that had built up in his shoulders. Together, they waited for the rest of the men to cut the sounds of the boar short. Ping couldn’t help but admit to himself that the idea of pork roasting on a spit would do well for his stomach and the morale of his men.
But after a few long breaths, the swine’s howls continued, fading into the distance well past the other team’s position.
“Men?” Ping called as the tension suddenly returned. Nothing but silence greeted them from the night.
Moving quickly, Ping signaled for the soldiers behind him to stay in their position as he backed up against the outcropping and made his way around the rocks.
“Men?” Ping called again as he moved. Easing his way around the glass obelisk, Ping spotted a wisp of movement, barely visible between the moonlight and the distorted mountain. He advanced, shifted, and caught his breath in the back of his throat as he leapt around the rock and the sight of his greatest fear came into view. The eleven men he sent around the other side lie en masse, cut into pieces.
Ping felt the horror rise in his belly as he fell back against the glass, his terrified heart racing against his own gasping breath. “Ninja!” he yelled, forcing the word through a gulp of air as he turned and rushed back toward the others.
As the captain rounded the outcropping, his blood froze in his veins. The scarlet blood of the men he had trained by his own hand pooled in contrast with the deep blue glass around them. Each man lay slaughtered on the polished ground with opened necks and broken bones, mangled like the remains of their ancestors inside the tomb at his feet.
Ping’s heart scarcely had time to break before a whistle in the distance pulled him from his grief and turned him from the horrible image.
Behind the captain, the shadows moved and a Ninja took form in the darkness, holding a shining blade at the ready.
Ping ducked as the assassin’s sword clanged against the glass above his head. He spun and met the Ninja’s blade with a clash! Through the fuel of desperate vengeance, Ping fought better than he had ever fought before. Despite the tears in his eyes, the grizzled warrior gained the upper hand in a matter of a few blows, threw the Ninja’s stance open, and pierced his opponent’s black garments.
To Ping’s astonishment, however, the edge of his onyx blade passed through the Ninja as if the thief were made of nothing but morning fog.
The force of the empty swing threw Ping’s sword from his hand and sent it clattering against the glass canyon wall. Ping spun, watching in horror as the Ninja dissipated into a thick cloud of black smoke. The shape moved silently and swiftly behind him and, with the element of surprise firmly in the apparition’s hand, it reappeared and took the captain off his feet.
Ping closed his eyes as the Ninja stood over him and moved his blade into a killing position. The captain thought about his beautiful bride and the children he’d never hold again. Did I remember to take one last look at the house before leaving the city? he asked himself. I was in such a hurry, I may have forgotten.
It made no difference now. As Ping waited for the coming strike to release him into the arms of his ancestors, he felt his muscles suddenly loosen and his frame lift into weightlessness. This is what the samurai are always raving about, he thought. This is chi.
The next sound was not that of a sword piercing his armor but another sword deflecting the Ninja’s strike!
Quickly, Ping rolled to his feet behind the shadow of his mysterious savior. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light, Ping saw Ozo, the youngest Son of Sato facing off with the dark assassin. The Ninja attacked but the young samurai deflected his advance, easily forcing the attacker to change position. As it moved to strike again, Ichi and Toji appeared behind their brother, their swords shimmering against the rising sun.
At the sight of the three samurai, the Ninja swept back, struck a pose with his hands and dissipated once again. Without a sound, the black smoke spun like a whirlwind and propelled itself up into the air, disappearing down a narrow canyon of dark glass.
“Ozo, what direction?” Ichi asked, ready to climb the rock surrounding them.
“I don’t know!” Ozo replied, looking as surprised as his brothers to hear those words. Ping watched as Ozo pressed the ball of his foot into the earth and attempt to regain his composure. “He hasn’t touched the ground yet,” Ozo said.
“Toji?” Ichi turned to his second brother who listened intently with closed eyes.
“No sound,” Toji relented, confused.
“What does that mean?” Ping asked as he got to his feet and picked up his sword, humiliated once again.
“We’re dealing with sorcery here,” Ichi said, afraid to admit it.
Ping scanned the black water pool beside the obelisk as his mind raced, trying to imagine what lay ahead.
Together with the Sons of Sato, they slowly turned to face the carnage that was, just moments ago, the captain’s regiment.
“I don’t understand,” Toji pleaded. “Why would he leave all of you alive at the plantation only to kill you now?”
“He made a promise,” Ping said coldly. “And he fulfilled it.”
“Forgive me, Captain,” Ozo offered delicately, standing like a nervous child behind him, “but a Ninja wouldn’t threaten a life he could just as easily take.”
“What are you saying?” Ping asked, striving to keep the sadness from breaking him as it broke the farmer at Pylo Palace.
“We’ve followed a faint trail across the rocks,” Ichi admitted, “heading toward the eastern ridge.”
“That one,” Ozo pointed toward the spot in the sky that the Ninja had, until recently, occupied. “I don’t think that one leaves a trail at all.”
“We’re dealing with more than one Ninja,” Ping concluded, his eyes growing wide. “That explains the reports coming from my men.” Ping rolled this over in his head a moment. “Continue on your trail,” he suggested as he looking toward the maze of glass canyons splitting the cliffs above. “I’ll follow that . . . whatever that was.”
“What about your men?” Ichi asked with a quiet respect that Ping appreciated. Slowly, the captain took one last look at the heartbreaking scene,
picking out the young Shilo’s unkempt hair among the lifeless carnage.
“This was a graveyard for brave men long before we got here,” Ping concluded. “I’m proud to leave my men in such a place.” The captain turned toward the canyon, pausing for a moment to look at black lake by their feet. “Be mindful of the water,” he added. “We had a report. I didn’t believe it until . . .” Ping didn’t want to nor did he need to finish his sentence.
“Be careful,” Ozo called as Ping headed into the canyon, dodging his way through the bones and rusting blades protruding from the walls. “There’s evil that way. I can feel it in the wind.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“I don’t understand it,” Ozo griped as the brothers moved over the soft forest floor, alive with the root systems of the dense green bamboo towering around them. “If there’s two Ninja, why have conflicting agendas? Are they enemies? If so, which one has the worms? Which one have we been following for three days?”
“They’re thieves,” Ichi said as a matter of fact, his eyes scanning the impossibly numerous shades of green surrounding them, “assassins, each one. They’re without honor, with no rules by which to abide. Each question you ask may or may not have an answer at all, brother.”
As the samurai walked in pensive silence, the sounds of the birds and monkeys echoed through the bamboo surrounding them like words spoken in a cathedral. Above their heads, the countless green trees swayed in the merciful wind, softening the light of the sun through their quiet grandeur.
“My question is,” Toji spoke up for the first time in hours, “are we sure there’s only two of them?”