Table of Contents

- Title Page

- Dedication

- Copyright Page

- THE FURUBE SUTRA (the 'Shrugging Off')

- THREE LEVELS of THE EYE OF THE BEAST

- Chapter ONE The brave new Edo

- Chapter TWO Double dealings

- Chapter THREE Summoned by a sage

- Chapter FOUR Heart of ice

- Chapter FIVE A quiet day at the market

- Chapter SIX Enemies old and new

- Chapter SEVEN The kindness of strangers

- Chapter EIGHT Beware of the Kappa

- Chapter NINE Mountain of the White Nun

- Chapter TEN Dangerous friends

- Chapter ELEVEN Sailing with Rokurokubi

- Chapter TWELVE Of one mind

- Chapter THIRTEEN Dreams and thunder

- Chapter FOURTEEN Of two battlefields

- Chapter FIFTEEN A feast for Yamamba?

- Chapter SIXTEEN Turning tides

- Chapter SEVENTEEN Swords and numbers

- Chapter EIGHTEEN The greatest gift

- Chapter NINETEEN A fine parade

- Chapter TWENTY The perfect name

- Glossary

- Author's note and acknowledgements

- About the Author

- MOONSHADOW 3 The Twilight War

MOONSHADOW

The Wrath of Silver Wolf

SIMON HIGGISN

RANDOM HOUSE AUSTRALIA

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Moonshadow 2: The Wrath of Silver Wolf

ePub ISBN 9781864714890

Kindle ISBN 9781864717495

A Random House book

Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

www.randomhouse.com.au

First published by Random House Australia in 2009

Copyright © Simon Higgins 2009

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.

Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices.

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Author: Higgins, Simon, 1958–.

Title: The wrath of Silver Wolf / Simon Higgins.

ISBN: 978 1 74166 405 8 (pbk.)

Series: Higgins, Simon, 1958– Moonshadow; 2.

Target Audience: For primary school age.

Subjects: Secret societies – Juvenile fiction.

Bounty hunters – Juvenile fiction.

Spies – Juvenile fiction.

Dewey Number: A823.4

Cover and internal illustrations by Ari Gibson, except stamp logo by

Design Cherry

Cover design by Design Cherry

Internal design by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Typeset in Goudy by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia

To the memory of my father,

Major Aubrey Higgins,

Royal Engineers, 1914–2007,

the gentle samurai who raised me.

THE FURUBE SUTRA

(the 'Shrugging Off')

Preparation Verse

Gather, tidy and align your doings and

their karma

Facing Self Verse

Cleanse any lies made this day, scatter not one

grain of life

Verse of One Resolved

To end this path in happiness, make still

your mind

THREE LEVELS of THE EYE OF THE BEAST

1. Beast Sight

To link your mind to a creature and use its senses

2. Dual Sight

To see with your own eyes and those of a

linked animal

3. Sight-Control

To both see through and command a beast,

making it your spy or weapon

ONE

The brave new Edo

The midnight temple bell gave a final hum, masking the sound of Moonshadow's landing. Its voice declared the halfway mark of the Hour of the Rat.

He crouched low on the roof, scanned the moonlit horizon ahead and listened. Before the echo of the bell died away, the tiles behind him creaked.

Moonshadow turned without a sound. His tightly bound night cowl showed only his eyes but he offered Snowhawk a smile anyway. Just a dark willowy silhouette, she returned a nod, adjusted the sword on her back, then stretched out to press an ear to the cold, curved tiles.

Snowhawk bobbed up, drawing an iron right-angle and a small crowbar from her backpack. While she silently worked the first large tile loose, Moonshadow rotated slowly on the spot, checking their surroundings for any hint of movement.

His sharp eyes probed the darkness, ears strained to pick up any hint of trouble. Moon felt his mouth turn dry. It wasn't due to anything he saw or heard. He always grew tense just around this point in a mission. The cloth covering his nose and mouth trapped a taut sigh. Tension and fear, though never pleasant, were actually friends. They kept a spy sharp, cautious, attentive to detail, improving the chances of surviving a mission.

Slowly Moonshadow began a second circle. He and Snowhawk might not be that far from home, but ambush and death could swoop as quickly here as in any far-off valley or castle. There was only one place in all the world he could relax: the walled monastery of the Grey Light Order.

But that lay on the opposite side of this massive, fast-growing city.

He studied the jagged Edo skyline as he turned. So many new, unfamiliar buildings. Thanks to the rising foreign influence, a few even had flat roofs, the way men made houses at the far end of the world. Everywhere were the beams and poles of new construction. No wonder Brother Badger's charts of the city were never quite up-to-date.

A minor lord, Akechi, owned the mansion they were breaking into tonight. It stood in the centre of the aristocratic quarter of Tsukiji. It was a whole new district, perched on reclaimed land that had once been the lowland marshes of the Sumida River delta. Moon shook his head at the breadth of the Shogun's capital. Under this crescent moon, the great whale that was Edo sprawled in every direction, striped with grey and silver shadows.

To the north-west, past the palaces and man– sions of the high-born, lay mighty Edo Castle, home and eastern garrison of the Shogun, the man who had finally brought peace to Japan. It rose, stark in the moonlight, the keep's whitewashed walls shining. Moonshadow knew that it was earth taken from the Shogun's extensive canal and moat excavations that had filled in the marshes along the river, forming new land for the city to sprawl across.

What a twist! The Shogun himself had created Tsukiji and now here, beneath Moon's very feet – if their intelligence was right – a nobleman plotted treason against their ruler.

Moonshadow braced himself. They would stop him.

Around Edo Castle – beyond its huge grounds, high stone walls and complex system of moats – the densely packed homes of commoners stretched to the horizon. There, black mountains carved the wide sky and beyond them, the distant snowy cap of Mount Fuji glowed like an upturned white bowl, small and faint in the moonlight.

He stared south-east to the wide, dark sweep of Edo Bay. Tiny soft lights bobbed in the harbour where fishermen cast night nets or samurai guarded their lords' coastal ships.

Moonshadow heard no sounds but the usual: cats fighting here and there; far off, the short-lived barking of a startled dog, quickly followed by its owner's rebuke; a shrill seabird, calling its mate to the northern fork of the bay.

A gentle breeze swept the roof. Moon pulled down the edge of his cowl's face-bindings, cooling the sweat on his upper lip as he drew in the zephyr's salty tang.

A tap on his shoulder made him turn. Snowhawk had finished lifting tiles and it was time to descend. They had recited the furube sutra together just before this mission, but its mind-clearing effect, at least for Moonshadow, was proving shortlived. That tension was rising, gradually knotting his stomach. His thoughts were speeding up too.

Once inside the attic, they would be especially vulnerable to ambush. A spy's worst nightmare was being cornered in a small space. There, swords were nearly useless and most tricks and illusions wouldn't work. Shuriken throws could be hampered by roofing beams. Any light at all, and eye-tricking night suits lost their power.

Growing up, Moon had heard many awful stories from his trainers about agents who were detected and then trapped in cellars, drains or attics. Attics just like this one.

The nastiest tales all involved an enemy retaliating with fire.

Moonshadow glanced down at their square black entry point and tried not to picture flames roaring below. He had just fought off the image when a muffled sound made him shudder. His eyes darted to the left.

What was that? Movement across tiles. Very faint, but close. Up on the next roof? Whoever it was had an incredibly light step. That meant a high level of stealth training.

His hand glided to the grip of his back-mounted sword.

Snowhawk saw the motion and instantly slid backwards into a band of shadow, her long fingers creeping between the lapels of her jacket.

Moon pointed up at the next roof's visible face, its gentle slope looming over them. The roof capped a mansion one storey higher than the one they were entering. The pale wall under its dark tiles was bland and, luckily, windowless.

He listened intently. More sounds. Someone was definitely moving up the roof's opposite slope, heading for that nobbled ridge-cap at the apex. Their erratic footfall grew a little louder. Snowhawk drew a shuriken from a concealed pouch in her jacket. Moon knew that like him and unlike normal folk, she too could hear the sounds – but only now that they'd intensified. There was often a vast difference between their audio abilities.

Her hearing was sharp from a lifelong special shinobi diet, sensory focus training and years of listening for the accelerating mutter of a weapon that might slay her.

She and Moonshadow, as orphans raised by separate spy houses, shared that training back ground. But at times, his hearing was also un naturally enhanced. It came and went, a heightening that his brother agent Groundspider called 'residue'. Which it was.

One of Moonshadow's more unique abilities was the Old Country science called the Eye of the Beast. It enabled him to mentally join with a nearby animal, seeing through its eyes or even taking control of it. An animal-quality sense such as hearing or smell would often linger in Moonshadow after he had joined his mind with that of a bird or beast. It could fade, then return unpredictably. Sometimes these random heightenings were so intense they became overwhelming, even making him feel sick. But not tonight. For now, a manageable audio residue, sharp but not too strong, was serving him well.

Moon inclined his head, opening his mouth to help stretch that enhanced hearing even further. They needed more information, and fast. Whoever approached was high on the roof's hidden face now, about to peep – or plunge – over that bumpy apex.

Once that unknown individual let themselves be seen, they would attack fast.

'Get ready to throw,' he whispered to Snowhawk.

With a short, crisp nod, she brought her right hand up, in line with one high cheekbone. The curved blades of a Clan Fuma shuriken peeped between her fingers. Moonshadow frowned at it then looked back up to the next roof's apex.

How strange. Despite being given a pouch of Grey Light Order throwing stars with the classic straight-bladed Iga-Koga design, she was still using her old supply.

Why use a style favoured by the very clan she had fled? Was it just familiarity?

They both recoiled as movement broke the next roof's skyline. A head appeared.

Snowhawk's hand dropped. She and Moonshadow sighed heavily, their shoulders relaxing. Above them bobbed a tiny head with pointy ears.

A cat. Though not just any passing cat. The temple cat that lived with them.

'What are you doing here?' Moon whispered to it. 'Have you tailed us all night?'

The temple cat strolled up and down the high roof line, flicking its tail but not making a sound. Moonshadow never ceased to marvel at the animal's oddity. Like any other temple or 'kimono' cat, it had been born with rare markings that were considered sacred. They resembled an image of a woman in a kimono, and by tradition, such cats lived in the grounds of temples or shrines. But regular temple cats had stumpy, triangular tails. This one's tail was long, thick and expressive.

Smiling with relief, Moon looked up at the eccentric creature that had adopted him two months ago. It had been during the first real mission of his life, where he had also met Snowhawk. The beautiful, skilful Snowhawk.

Moon glanced at her with furtive admiration. He still wasn't sure if he'd rescued her, she him, or they each other. Whatever the case, it had been one crazy, dangerous mission. He'd been wounded and made himself a powerful enemy, but it had all ended in success.

Above, the cat turned suddenly on the apex, drawing his eye.

Snowhawk moved noiselessly to his side. 'This is getting ridiculous,' she whispered. 'It's sweet the way she's so crazy about you, but she's going to get us detected.'

He nodded, squinting up at the animal. What was the cat's game? Now she was leaning sharply towards Edo Castle, tail swishing around fast. She turned and glared down at Moonshadow then resumed the same antics. Thankfully, without a single meow.

'Wait,' he muttered. 'She's signalling something.' But what? A warning?

Great timing! Both he and Snowhawk needed to enter this attic, and now. But perhaps there was good cause to have somebody keep watch. Moon shadow scratched his cheek, reasoning it through. He could do both at once, but it would cost him precious life force, ki energy, temporarily draining his strength. That always increased the risk factor during a mission. If he failed to rest properly afterwards, or sight-joined again too quickly, total exhaustion – and disaster – would follow.

Yet what choice did he have? If this was a warning and he simply ignored it . . .

He glanced to one side. Snowhawk was staring at him. She leaned in close.

'You're planning to link with it, aren't you?' she whispered quickly. He nodded. 'We've covered a lot of ground tonight, and there's more to come when we move on to that fishing village, Yokohama, before sunrise.' She gripped his arm. 'Have you enough energy for all this? Controlling a sentry cat and helping me memorise whatever we hear?'

'I think so. Anyway –' Moonshadow gestured down at the square opening she had created in the tiles – 'we can't waste time weighing it up. The conspirators arranged to gather once the midnight bell had sounded. So we need to get into place. If our information's right, their meeting will start at any moment, if it hasn't already.'

'You're right.' She gave a relenting sigh. 'I'll go in first, check for chime traps and find us a good spot, right above them.'

'Be careful,' Moon said, letting his hand brush her arm. An unexpected wave of anxious, protective feelings rolled over him. He summoned up his will to push them off. This was no time to turn all slushy, as Groundspider called it. It'd get them both killed.

Snowhawk gave him a warm glance and then, head-first, warily entered the attic.

He turned away to stare up at the temple cat. Moon concentrated on the animal and for a few seconds his hands trembled. The cat looked down at him and, as their gazes met, a subtle green hue sheened its eyes. Moonshadow knew the same unnatural colour was sparkling around his pupils too. His nostrils flared and twitched as he began to share the cat's powerful sense of smell.

The barrage of new odours threatened to overwhelm him. The smell of old incense from a house below. Freshly caught fish and pork roasting somewhere in the distance. A sandalwood scent from the damp laundry drying on a pole nearby. And another aroma, sweet, almost sickly, coming from so far off he couldn't identify it.

Focusing his will, Moon accessed the second level of the Eye of the Beast craft. Abruptly he saw through both the cat's eyes and his own.

With his human vision, he saw the temple cat standing motionless, leaning once more from the higher roof's apex, a dark Edo skyline behind it.

Superimposed over that sight, he saw what the cat saw: the opposite skyline, with Edo Castle at its centre. The animal vision rippled through what looked like a thin layer of water, a side-effect he was used to. Distant movement in the vista caught his attention. A tiny figure, hard for even the cat's eyes to make out, was cautiously hopping roofs, bobbing as if searching, gradually approaching from the direction of the Shogun's castle.

That explained the sweet, near-sickly odour. The cat smelled far-off man-sweat.

Moon cursed. It was hard to see the flitting figure at all, let alone make out any features like his weaponry. This fellow was most likely wearing a blue-purple night suit of the kind he and Snowhawk wore. Its unique colour was harder to distinguish in half-light or shadow than plain black.

Only shinobi had such equipment and this man certainly moved like one. Moon shook his head. An agent then, for sure.

One of theirs, or an enemy?

TWO

Double dealings

Moonshadow concentrated hard, taking complete control of the cat. Up on the apex, it stiffened slightly.

As he settled into the third and highest level of the Eye of the Beast, Moon felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. It warned of increased drain on his ki.

Stay where you are, he ordered the cat, watch that man.

Moving slowly, with the cat's watery vision dancing over the top of his own, Moonshadow dangled his head through the opening Snowhawk had made. His eyes quickly found her, stretched out face-down, a few paces to the left. His heart skipped a beat. Was she all right? Then he saw the pile of junk on the attic floor behind her. He exhaled slowly with relief. Its components told their own tale.

A tangle of cut, knotted ropes, several small iron eye-hooks and three large cylinders of bamboo with carved wooden clappers on cords, all of them now severed. He grinned. The attic had been defended with chime traps, but their darkened, hidden ropes were no match for a professional like Snowhawk.

Moonshadow crept to her side and she pointed with a special gimlet, indicating where she had already bored a line of small listening or watching holes. He nodded and carefully stretched out next to her. Moon held his breath, brushing aside the one tiny pile of sawdust Snowhawk's drilling had left, in case a flake or two fell through the hole and gave them away. He turned his head to lower one ear over a hole.

Immediately he heard breathing and smelled men and liquor in the room below. Angling his head, Moon lined up one eye with the peephole, a move made harder by the constant, wobbling view of the Edo skyline he was seeing through the cat.

Through the cat's vision, Moon saw that the man outside was steadily approaching, though his advance had slowed. Now he seemed to be inspecting certain roofs with meticulous care. Why? Was he uncertain of where he was? Was he hunting for them, or did he have a totally different objective here in Tsukiji? What if he was actually a rooftop guard for the conspirators' meeting, and was arriving a little late after being delayed somehow?

Moonshadow concentrated. Enough. Stay calm, do the job. There may still be time.

He studied the men below, clustered so tightly around a low eating table that, thanks to the room's high ceiling, he could see all three of them at once. If they, however, looked up, the same ceiling's high band of shadow would hide the spy holes drilled in its thin wooden plates.

The conspirators knelt on the tatami floor, feet folded under them. On the table lay sake cups, chopsticks, small empty rice bowls and a tall clay beaker. It looked as if they had already shared a snack and a midnight drink at the outset of their meeting. Good: that had probably bought him and Snowhawk some time. And besides, sake generally loosened men's tongues. He peered through a different spy-hole and found their weapons. A sword sitting in an elegant rack and on the reed matting beside it, laid in neat lines, two tantostyle daggers. One of them was highly ornate, the kind rich traders wore.

Snowhawk slid closer. 'I sense shinobi energy,' she whispered. 'It's distant, but getting stronger.'

He tapped her arm in acknowledgement. This was one of her strengths that he couldn't match, the ability to feel the presence of another spy. She was very good at it, he quite inconsistent. At least tonight he could rely on her prowess with that skill, should any other uninvited guests turn up.

'I can see him. One man, very agile,' he murmured softly. 'Looks big. Bigger than Groundspider. Coming this way, searching roofs hard. There's still some time.'

As they turned their attention to the conspirators, one began to speak.

Judging by his golden leaf-patterned robes and nobleman's hair queue, the man had to be Lord Akechi. He sipped a cup of sake between his sentences. The two facing him, one man bearded, the other clean-shaven and bald, nodded keenly as he talked.

The bearded one wore the thin green indoor kimono of a house guest; the bald fellow, the bland grey street robes common to merchants. A silver prosperity charm from the shrine of the money god was stitched to one dark lapel.

'Something big is in the wind,' Akechi said confidently. 'It grows clearer by the day that not every noble wants this new peace to last. They know that war means opportunities. The chance for those denied power to seize it.'

The bearded man in the guest robe raised his cup and spoke in a soft Kyoto accent. 'And for those of us consorting with barbarian traders, a chance to make instant fortunes through importing their most wanted commodity . . . the latest firearms.'

Moon grimaced under his face-bindings. So much for oaths of loyalty. Right here, within sight of the Shogun's home, two very different worlds were sneakily scheming revolt together. The nobles, the families of old wealth with lands, titles and mastery over the warrior class. And the merchants, the new rich, that rising modern caste of money-men with vast ambitions and, occasionally, illegal foreign allies. No wonder these eavesdropping missions were becoming more common. Something big was in the wind.

Akechi's bald guest folded his arms. He spoke fast and firmly, in the manner of many Edodwellers. 'My lord, a hundred pardons but I have been wondering how our investment proceeds. Would it be rude for me to humbly ask for an update at this time?'

The bearded one nodded eagerly as if he'd wanted to raise the same thing.

'Not rude at all.' Akechi smiled. 'As long as plain language is fittingly avoided.'

The bald one gestured. 'So, my lord, our determined friend to the west – how exactly does he propose to . . . to soften the ground before replanting the main garden?'

Snowhawk nudged Moon. 'That has to be the cutest code for mass slaughter I've ever heard. Which noble lord is it this time? Who wants to reverse the outcome of the Battle of Sekigahara, crush their old enemies, make themselves Shogun?' Though she had only whispered, he'd felt the outrage in her words.

'Take your pick,' he whispered back. 'But I know who tops my list of names.'

He grimly refocused on the figure the cat was watching. Much closer now, the man appeared to be checking every rooftop in this part of Tsukiji.

'We're almost out of time,' he breathed. Snowhawk nodded.

'My friend,' Akechi said below, 'waits on new "kitchen help" that his favourite organiser has been recruiting. That big-hearted fellow with the staff left Edo recently, but not before contacting some fine new helpers, who chanced to be labouring in these parts.' He leaned forward. 'My friend hopes that with the aid of such a skilful team, their restaurant will put the nearby competition out of business. Then, he will feel confident to . . . open for trading himself.' Akechi paused. 'At which time, I will have to ask you to commit even more . . . soil and seeds.'

The two merchants grunted supportively. The bearded one half-bowed.

Moonshadow scowled. These three men each owned so much, but because of their greed and opportunism, and the ambition of their 'friend to the west', a new civil war might break out within the year, in which tens of thousands could die. As Brother Badger had always said, and a little bitterly, the world's history was a centipede of gluttony wars. Moon clenched his teeth. Not this time; he, Snowhawk and all the Grey Light Order, the Shogun's eyes and ears, would stop them. He stilled himself, etching their words into his mind so he could later recall them verbatim. As trained, he and Snowhawk would each write a version of what they had heard, then the two accounts would be used to check each other's accuracy.

Movement in the beast sight made his heart start pounding. The agent outside was five roofs away. Snowhawk slid back from the holes she had made in the attic floor.

'I know,' she whispered. 'Time to go. I can feel him. He's almost on us, right?'

Moon nodded and quickly but silently followed her from the attic. He kept watch through the cat as Snowhawk carefully replaced the tiles. The moment the last one had muttered softly back into place, he gave the cat a final command.

Go home, now. Moon broke the beast-link and he and Snowhawk turned to run.

Side by side they scuttled low across Lord Akechi's roof and then jumped to the next frozen tsunami of tiles that arched in the moonlight. Snowhawk glanced over her shoulder. She clicked her tongue.

Moonshadow stopped and hung his head knowingly. 'The cat's following us, isn't it?'

She nodded with a sigh. 'Then let's outrun them both,' he mumbled with irritation.

They tore off, springing up and down over a long series of identical rooftops that formed a dappled, rolling road in the moonlight. As they ran and jumped, Moon smelled his own streaming sweat.

After travelling the distance a bow-shot could cover, they paused on the roof of a temple and looked back. The cat had dropped out of the race, but the unknown spy was still coming, closely following their path. Now there was no doubt: he was after them.

'Over there,' Snowhawk pointed at a line of homes. Two among them appeared brand new. Perhaps they had replaced buildings that had recently burnt down. They were new and different. 'See the two flat roofs, one close, one far?' She patted her pack. 'They look ideal for traps.'

'Let's do it!' he hissed. They began house-hopping towards the first roof.

On arrival Moonshadow looked down at it, his eyebrows knitting. So these fashionable new flat roofs weren't truly flat, their angle was just very subtle. He glanced about. Clothes-drying poles. A wooden ladder fixed to the outside of the building. Moon padded across the tiles of foreign design to take up a sentry point in the darkest corner.

He watched the skyline behind Snowhawk as she quickly pulled two blackened trip-wires from her pack. She worked fast, using the bamboo drying poles at each end of the roof, and tied one wire at throat height in a long shadow, the next at ankle height in another dark patch two strides from the edge. Moon nodded approvingly at her cunning; if their pursuer sensed and ducked the first wire, he just might then relax enough to trip over the second and plunge from the roof. It was no certainty, but worth a try for sure.

The first traps set, they resumed roof-hopping, both panting hard now but increasing their speed until they vaulted, side by side, onto the second flat roof. Moon rubbed his burning thighs as he looked around.

This roof's entire surface was bathed in the shadow of the mansion next door.

The higher rooftop was undergoing alteration. A thick cedar beam, drilled clean through with large holes at regular intervals, was roped along its apex.

His eyes locked on the beam. It was high enough to offer a ready hiding place from which they could observe both roofs. The big holes made it a ready duck blind.

Snowhawk saw the same potential. 'I say we get behind that,' she gestured up at the beam, 'wait, then ambush him.'

Moon nodded agreement, and as he jumped for the next roof, she half-turned and scooped something from her pack. Before following Moon, Snowhawk turned back, carefully giving the roof a single, wide wave.

Low skittering sounds told Moonshadow that she had strewn tetsubishi across the rooftop. A wise move. Tetsubishi were tiny caltrops designed to pierce the sandals – and feet – of anyone following in a shinobi's wake. Some agents used cast metal or twisted-wire tetsubishi, but Snowhawk preferred the natural kind: the spiky dried seedpods of a certain water plant. Unlike their man-made relatives, they often broke when stepped on, which actually made them even more effective. Usually, at least one of their four rather nasty curved prongs wound up lodged deep beneath a howling victim's skin.

'Where is he?' Moon peered warily through a hole in the beam. 'There! He keeps stopping. Must be having trouble tracking us. Hope he doesn't notice your –'

Snowhawk cut him off. 'Say he does. Say he dodges all my traps. Do we try to take him alive?' She gripped the sword strapped beside her backpack. 'You're the senior on this mission. The decision is yours.' She slowly unsheathed her blade, keeping it low, out of the moonlight. 'I'm happy to go either way . . . unless he's a Fuma agent.'

Moonshadow frowned. 'You mean because they raised you, if he's of Clan Fuma you're reluctant to kill him?'

'No,' she said lightly, 'the opposite. If he's Fuma . . .' She gestured making a cut with her weapon.

He stared at her, his concealed mouth open in surprise. Snowhawk leaned close. Even in the moonlight he could see that deep anger filled her lovely eyes.

'Raised me?' She gave a low hiss. 'They trained me well, but as for how they raised me . . .' She found another hole and checked on their pursuer before going on. 'My mentors were beyond harsh. I saw friends our age put to death or abandoned to the enemy for failing one mission. It's why I defected; why I'd never go back.'

'I'd never let anyone send you back,' he said quickly.

'I know,' she said with a nod. 'Look, I told you before: both Fuma and your order train suitable orphans, but the Grey Light treat theirs like human beings.' She shrugged. 'So don't worry about this fellow. Leave him to me. He comes, I'll happily take care of it.'

While Moonshadow watched the unknown agent approach the first flat roof, he started weighing his decision at feverish speed. His it was! Young or not, he was the senior agent tonight.

Which meant he had to make that hardest choice of all: to kill or not to kill.

What would his mentors have him do? The dignified, graceful Heron was usually the first to suggest caution. Throughout years of teaching him naginata fighting, the art of disguises, and the science of potions, she had repeatedly called him impulsive, over-eager, too reckless. He had been; that was all true.

But since he was now actually thinking this through, she must have succeeded. She must have trained him to be cautious. What if sparing the stranger was over-cautious?

'He's poised before the first roof now, looking it over,' Snowhawk said quickly, 'about to jump for the side where my throat wire is. Don't like how long he's taking.'

Moon nodded, a little absently. If one of those trip-wires worked, he might escape this decision. This big decision! Badger, the Order's irritable archivist, battlefield history tutor and devoted monkey owner, would simply snap, 'Always review the mission rules.'

So he did, quickly. Their orders this morning were to memorise the intelligence, collect a message from the nearby village of Yokohama and then return home. No special limits on the use of force had been mentioned. That left things up in the air. He could slay a skilled pursuer and be neither dishonourable nor disobedient. He could, but should he? Sorry Badger, he sighed, this time your approach is of absolutely no help.

'Curse it!' Snowhawk clenched a fist. 'He just dodged both trip-wires. He's on the move again.' She shrugged. 'Oh well. Might not do as well against my tetsubishi.'

If Groundspider were here, Moon decided, he'd advocate cutting down the pursuer without hesitation. Groundspider had been Moon's sparring partner during his apprenticeship and his trainer in the use of throwing knives and smoke bombs. The young, often whimsical agent had a dark, ferocious side. He considered himself a true follower of Lord Hachiman, the god of war, patron entity of all samurai and many shinobi.

No, he was the if in doubt, kill it anyway type. Not a voice to listen to right now.

'Look,' Snowhawk whispered, elbowing him gently. 'He's almost here, see, far edge of the second flat roof. Damn it. His head's turning slowly. I think he's seen the tetsubishi.'

A heavy feeling of responsibility gripped Moonshadow. At any moment he'd have to make this decision. His mind raced even faster. What about Brother Mantis? He'd take the opposite line to Groundspider, of course. Once a famous, bloodthirsty duellist, now a sword teacher who never stopped going on about mercy and compassion, Mantis would say just don't kill, unless you have no choice.

Being a fine strategist, he'd also, quite wisely, advocate gaining a prisoner – and potentially all he knows – rather than simply notching up a kill. Moon shook his head. So this was leadership. It was all so confusing. Was that only because he lived daily with advisors of opposite natures, constantly giving him conflicting advice?

He finished his reasoning at a desperate pace. Speaking of leadership and its decisions, how would Brother Eagle, head of the order, call this one? Eagle had been born and raised samurai but later trained in Iga ninjutsu and the Eye of the Beast, which he had taught Moon. Perhaps because Eagle had lived in two different worlds, his constant counsel was for Moon to trust his own instincts. Fine, then! What were they saying?

Snowhawk gave a soft gasp. 'He's balancing on the edge, sneaking over the tetsubishi. This fellow is sharp.' She patted Moon's arm and raised her sword. 'Better not take any chances. I'll just slay him then, neh?'

Moonshadow swallowed hard. Where was the instant wisdom he needed? Then he thought of one of Mantis's obsessions: the real meaning of part of their furube sutra, the shrugging-off rite intoned each dawn, sunset and before every mission.

Scatter not one grain of life. Since it was the sutra of spies and assassins, it meant, surely, one unnecessary grain. At least his instincts about that message were clear. It was, in itself, a code to follow whenever in doubt. A reminder too: where possible, walk the highest path, always winning yet doing no needless harm.

'He's heading for this roof.' Snowhawk started to rise.

'Alive,' Moon whispered quickly. 'That's my decision. We take him al–'

He heard a minute grunt of disappointment from Snowhawk but there was no time for debate. With a soft whump the pursuer landed on their roof and began hurrying up its slope for the apex and the cedar beam. Snowhawk sheathed her sword, irritation in her eyes. Moonshadow turned from her and squinted through one of the beam's holes.

The man was bigger than Groundspider and easily as agile. They were in for a tough, ugly fight. What if it spun out of control? It might be him doing the slaying.

The stranger reached the beam and one of his large hands slid across the top of it, fingers probing for a sound grip. Snowhawk launched up, grabbed his wrist and twisted it quickly into a nerve-stretching lock. From beside her Moon vaulted over the beam, clamping a headlock on their pursuer. The man gave a snarl then pushed off hard with his feet, somersaulting over the beam, dragging his attackers with him until all three of them were upside down. The bold manoeuvre broke their grips and with a muffled clatter the trio tumbled apart down the sloping roof behind the cedar beam.

Just before the edge all three scrambled to their feet. The stranger rounded on Snowhawk, hastily grunting something. But before he could complete even a word, Moonshadow darted in to swing a hard back-fist strike into his jaw. The man's head shuddered, but he recovered fast, hurling Moon away with a flashing sidekick. Impulsively Snowhawk reached for her sword. Seeing that, the big man aimed a powerful front kick at her, forcing her to abandon the draw. Snowhawk sidestepped his blurring foot then snapped a firm hold on his ankle with both hands. The stranger tried to speak once more, but his jaw appeared numbed by Moonshadow's blow and he succeeded only in stuttering. Moon closed with the man again, clawing for his back-mounted straight sword, but the large spy volleyed himself into a powerful, one-legged backflip. The sheer force of his fast, high turn propelled Moon clear. The stranger's free foot whipped Snowhawk in the head. She reeled backwards and teetered on the roof's edge, arms wide and circling, trying to regain her balance. Moon gasped.

If she dropped, her great agility and many climbing tricks might enable her to cut short the fall but how would he capture this powerful spy on his own? With a determined forward sway, Snowhawk reclaimed her balance and thrust away from the edge.

Bounding up from the crouch he had landed in, the stranger stood tall, working his jaw painfully at desperate speed, but still unable to speak. Moon slid on his side, his body flowing with the angle of the tiles, right up to the man's feet. He quickly swung a leg each side of the spy's ankles, trapping his legs. Moon closed the scissors tightly then twisted his hips with force. The agent pitched forwards, snatching wildly for Moonshadow. He missed and fell. Snowhawk rocketed onto the man from behind, wrenching on a forearm choke. Arching his spine, the agent threw his head back and head-butted her in the face, the force of the blow breaking her hold. He rolled down the roof, flicking Snowhawk from his back, and dragged Moon right to the edge.

Moonshadow and the stranger disentangled speedily as they ran out of roof.

Each slid over the edge but managed to claw a grip. They dangled, less than a man's length apart, scrambling to haul themselves up. Snowhawk, shaking her head as if stunned, launched across the tiles and stamped on one of the big agent's hands. He let out a muffled groan. Grinding his teeth, Moon pulled himself up and stood on the roof.

Snowhawk's hand flashed into her jacket. She dropped to one knee, her opposite foot still pinning the man's hand as she pushed a Fuma shuriken to the side of his neck. A curved black blade-point hovered in line with his vital neck artery.

'Here's poetic justice! This is the fitting way for one of you to die!' Snowhawk growled. 'By a shuriken of your own design, in the hand of one you mistreated!'

'Stop,' Moonshadow gasped, his chest heaving. Even in the limited light he could see the manic rage in her every movement. 'This is vengeance! This is wrong!'

'Hah!' Snowhawk snapped at him. 'I need a better reason than that to stop!'

'I'm not Fuma,' the dangling agent said hoarsely, 'I serve the Grey Light!'

Snowhawk and Moonshadow, both stooped now and wheezing, traded startled looks.

'Prove it,' she demanded. 'But if I think you're lying –'

'I can, I can,' the man spluttered, trying to get too many words out fast. 'I'm a freelance agent, but I run messages for the order, so I know the trust-codes.'

'Two butterflies tied by impossible dreams,' Moonshadow said quickly.

'Are like the cold water,' the spy panted, 'that can't brew fragrant tea.'

Again Moon and Snowhawk exchanged glances. 'Test him again,' she snarled.

Moonshadow nodded. 'At the festival of the dead, a paper lantern bursts –'

'And goblins and shape-shifters scurry out,' the man replied without pause.

'Forgive me.' Snowhawk pulled the shuriken away from the fellow's neck, slid her foot off his hand and stood up. 'By all the gods,' she muttered, looking at Moon. 'What has happened to me? I almost murdered one of our own.'

Moonshadow offered his hand to the stranger, leaning backwards hard to offset the big man's weight as he helped him regain the roof.

'Our apologies, Sir. We . . .' He fired a sideways look at Snowhawk. 'We were startled. Your presence was unexpected.'

The large spy sat down heavily on the tiles. 'No harm done.' He blew out a long breath. 'That kind of reception greets us freelance despatch runners from time to time. All shinobi are wary while on the job.' He rubbed his wrist. 'Which is as it should be. I tried to utter a trust-code on arrival –' he half-grinned, nursing his jaw – 'but your skilled blow numbed me awhile, neh?'

Moonshadow hung his head. 'I was impulsive. Please excuse me.'

'Not at all.' The freelance agent waved a hand. 'Resources are stretched thin, out-of-town faces like me have been brought in to help . . . it all makes people jumpy.' He thumbed over his shoulder at the Edo skyline. 'The Grey Light has been steadily forced to deploy so many of its senior agents to distant provinces. And why? To investigate these infernal conspiracies! Rumours of new plots against the Shogun appear with each passing week –'

Snowhawk and Moonshadow looked at one another thoughfully. Moon shook his head. No wonder they were getting so many of these eavesdropping missions! By the sound of it, everybody who served the Order was out lifting tiles on lords and merchants' roofs across the length and breadth of the land.

Something very big and very dangerous was in the wind. Was one man behind it all, Akechi's friend from the west? Moon scowled. Fushimi, the lair of Silver Wolf, lay to the west. Who else's ambitions could send such far-flung ripples through the nation's pond?

It seemed that the need to closely monitor those ripples had now made everything riskier. So a wide web of conspirators was tying up agents to the point where independent spies-for-hire had to make up the manpower shortage. Such things had happened before, from time to time, but never on the scale this man spoke of.

Moonshadow sighed. Brother Eagle, the wise and diplomatic, had ties to certain Iga ninja masters and was highly respected among most of the Clan Koga families. But if those shadow houses were now sending Eagle hirelings that he didn't personally know, could all of them be trusted?

That was the hazard with freelancers; the more of them you had to use, the greater the risk that one would turn out to be an infiltrator . . . a double agent, in this case, perhaps actually serving the conspirators – or worse, the Order's ancient enemy, the House of Fuma.

The agent seemed to read Moonshadow's thoughts. 'These are doubly uncertain times.' He shrugged. 'But every warrior class has its mercenaries, neh? I can be relied upon. I bought my independence from my clan because I wished to marry a non-shinobi. But I honour the furube sutra daily, and live by stringent oaths of service to whomever hires me. Master Eagle can vouch for my character.' His black eyes flicked over the pair. 'And I know who you are. Master Eagle sent me in all haste. I bring word.'

'Master Eagle?' Moon grinned. He hadn't called Eagle that for a long time.

'His formal title, bestowed by the Iga as a mark of respect.' The agent laughed softly. 'But of course, I see you well know how humble he is. He prefers Brother.'

'Clan Iga trained you?' Snowhawk eyed him. That's where you met Eagle?'

'Indeed,' the man said. 'Many years ago.' He stared at Moonshadow. 'I too am schooled in the Eye of the Beast, though I sense I'm far less gifted than you.' He glanced over one shoulder. 'As I hunted for Lord Akechi's roof – not easy for a man from out of town, mind you – I saw a strange cat watching my approach. Its markings suggested a kimono cat, yet it had a long tail! I tried to link with it, but it proved impervious to all attempts. Were you already controlling it? At the third level?' Moonshadow nodded and the spy shook his head. 'Impressive. You are so young.'

'Thank you, sir. Now that we're done trying to kill you –' Moon cast a cynical glance at Snowhawk – 'what is your message from Brother Eagle?'

'Have you already achieved your primary objective?' the agent asked. He watched the duo nod. 'Good. There has been a change of plan regarding the rest.'

Snowhawk gave Moon a suspicious look. 'Now what?'

'Master Eagle bids you abandon your visit to Yokohama. I will take over that assignment. He further instructs as follows: since agent Snowhawk has shown herself a particularly skilled and fast rider, you must steal a horse and return to the monastery at once.'

'Why?' they blurted in unison.

'Master Eagle needs you debriefed, briefed and on the road north before dawn.'

'This is unheard of,' Moon frowned. 'What's going on?'

'On the road to where?' Snowhawk asked. 'What is this urgent new mission?'

'Please,' the messenger wearily raised a hand. 'I brought an urgent dispatch to Edo that came through a chain of country agents, by what path exactly, I know not, though I knew the man who handed it to me. Master Eagle took it from my hand, read it, then ordered me to forget my night's sleep and find you quickly.' His eyes flicked earnestly between the young spies. 'I know nothing beyond that already said. I swear it before Lord Hachiman!' Moonshadow gave the freelancer an appreciative nod, but as they made ready to leave, he found himself studying the big stranger warily.

A disturbing question nagged at Moon.

Is this man really known to Eagle, or should I have let Snowhawk kill him?

THREE

Summoned by a sage

It was just before dawn, that time of the human body's lowest ebb when assassins preferred to strike. Reactions were slower, minds more easily confused at this hour.

Snowhawk sat in the monastery's shadowy briefing chamber, part of a circle of agents. A map lay between them, surrounded by candles that cast long shadows up the paper-screen walls. The silent group stared down at the map.

The hand-brushed document had been unrolled on the tatami matting and pinned at the corners and centre with square brass weights. Each weight was stamped with a different character: water, earth, wind, fire, heaven. The map centred on a road meandering north from Edo. It snaked over farmlands, through hills and two remote towns, the second on a river, before climbing into the mountains.

Despite her sleepless night, Snowhawk's mind was as clear as a high country stream, though not solely due to her exceptional fitness and lifelong training. Fear that Moonshadow would report her shameful rage and bad discipline had filled her with dread. But throughout their debriefing, he hadn't said a word about it.

She glanced to where he too sat staring. What did he think of her now?

Hopefully he'd be as forgiving as the rest of the Grey Light Order seemed to be. At each stage of her induction, Snowhawk had compared her new trainers with the brutal instructors back at Clan Fuma. The contrast was like night and day.

Fuma developed their child agents using fear and threats, instilling a cold, arrogant sense of elite pride. The Grey Light Order, despite their varied shinobi backgrounds, behaved somewhat like a family. They encouraged, rewarded and tried to cultivate an earnest pride and the joy of noble service, in their young spies.

What had surprised her most was how often they joked and laughed. Such behaviour earned beatings among the Fuma. The GLO not only acknowledged flaws in a most unthreatened way, but good-naturedly teased each other about them. She had never seen that kind of banter among those of the shadows. So it was possible to be both shinobi and a person. Snowhawk bitterly recalled a saying one of her Fuma coaches had made child agents recite. A punch for cheek, a kick for laziness. She closed her eyes. The oldest of the great shadow clans were nothing more than a pack of bullies.

She sensed Moonshadow turn to watch her. Sooner or later, they would have to discuss these nasty, brooding feelings of hers. It was unavoidable, now that they had started to escape her control. Snowhawk prayed the others would never learn of her fury. These people were strong and kind but she didn't want to test the limits of that kindness.

It was no surprise that Moon had protected her yet again. Young or not, he was as noble-hearted as he was handsome. It hurt to think that she had just failed him with her rooftop outburst.

Feeling his persistent gaze, Snowhawk blushed. Before that discomfort could turn to squirming, she opened her eyes and doggedly stared again at the large map on the floor. An instinct made her look up sharply.

Eagle, Mantis and Groundspider sat mutely on their heels around the map, legs folded in the traditional seiza position. The three stared at her.

Were they just waiting? She hoped none of them could read minds.

Behind the trio, though uninvited, the temple cat lounged and groomed herself.

'Has everyone now memorised this map?' Brother Eagle flicked his long single plait of hair over one shoulder. The circle nodded. 'Good.' Moon, Snow, thank you for so quickly reporting what you heard at Lord Akechi's palace and for answering all my questions. You have served the Shogun well. I am proud.'

Along with Moonshadow, Snowhawk replied with a deep, seated bow.

'I am pleased, Snowhawk, that you feel you've also taken this map in properly. I know our way called passive recall is still somewhat new to you, but I am confident of you mastering it quickly.' He looked around the room, drawing nods from the other teachers. 'We have trusted this Old Country technique many times and found it most reliable. To stare at a diagram or scene until the information sinks deep into the mind, making that knowledge the fly, your will the spider, and your deepest memory the web. I'm sure you'll find this way of ours ensures the strongest recall later.'

Snowhawk nodded humbly. Just after their return journey on horseback, she and Moonshadow had spoken of a web of a different kind, the one the conspirators were weaving, perhaps right across the empire. But who were they about to be sent to eavesdrop on now? There were no castles, garrisons or lords' seasonal palaces on that map!

Eagle sighed, running one hand over his shiny bald head. 'Now let us speak of the reason you cannot yet rest. A message has been received, in verified code, from the White Nun. She has foreseen an imminent attack on her mountain shrine home.'

'Then we must get there in force, now.' Groundspider shook his fist. 'As many –'

'No. Her message says that wise spirits whisper on the wind that the GLO's two youngest agents must be sent to lead her to safety. Only them. It is destined, she says.'

Mantis turned his solemn eyes to Snowhawk. 'Arriving undetected is every bit as important as arriving fast, for she believes this attack will not be instant. Nonetheless, her instructions are that you start out at once. On foot. No horses or litters.'

'It's never straightforward with the White Nun, is it?' Groundspider's face creased. Eagle and Mantis each turned to the young agent.

'Do I sense a complaint coming?' Mantis half-smiled at Groundspider.

The powerfully built spy held up a hand. 'I mean no disrespect. It's just the wording of her order.' He gave Snowhawk a glib ghost of a bow. 'Now don't take offence, Snowy, but you're still on probation, learning our ways with Moon there.'

'None taken.' She smiled coolly. 'But if you ever call me Snowy again, I'll shove Saru-San through the door next time you're in the bathhouse.'

Mantis quickly dropped his chin and covered the bottom half of his face with one hand. His eyes flicked up at Snowhawk. They were warm; he liked her feisty spirit.

Groundspider waved his other hand. It was bandaged. 'You keep that insane monkey away from me.' He turned to Eagle. 'What I mean is, technically, since Snowhawk is still in training, Moon and I are actually the GLO's youngest agents.'

'He has a point.' Mantis folded his arms quickly, robes swishing. 'The White Nun was instrumental in our decision to train Moonshadow, but she has yet to meet Snowhawk and officially approve her.' Mantis raised his eyebrows at Brother Eagle. 'Having said that, I do think that she and Moon are the ones to send.'

'Nnng.' Eagle gave a thoughtful frown. 'The sage's insight is powerful and accurate, but often hard to fathom. The challenge is always in the details.' He caught Snowhawk's eye. 'Whenever her wishes appear cryptic, I adopt the same stand: go with the most obvious meaning. If there are no hints by which to judge, then take her literally.'

'Fine then.' Groundspider pouted, gesturing at his bandage. 'Leave me here to get ripped apart.' He stared at Moonshadow. 'I don't hear you supporting me. That monkey wants my head, only the gods know why, but Badger protects it.'

Snowhawk stole a look at Moon. His eyes held a glint of . . . slyness? Had he been using his powers to set the monkey on Groundspider? She forced herself not to smile.

Groundspider rounded on Eagle and gave it a final try. 'Maybe she meant the two youngest agents must go, but others could go with them? Like me, for instance?'

'Dear Brother Groundspider,' Eagle said gently. 'Shut up.' Groundspider hung his big head. 'Moonshadow and Snowhawk will go. That is my decision.'

Snowhawk grinned. Despite the way Groundspider often baited her, she liked him. He bragged, told ridiculous lies about his missions, and ate as much as any sumo wrestler. His balance was also imperfect, but his sword cuts so powerful she believed he could cleave a horse in two. His twisted sense of humour was irresistible. She recalled a fine burst of it, only a few days back, out in one of the monastery gardens.

'Oi, you two,' Groundspider had accosted her and Moon excitedly. 'I've been working on my own Old Country mind powers. I can read thoughts now.'

'Liar,' Moon had said instantly.

'Yeah? Watch this! Think of something. I'll tell you what it is.'

'Go ahead.' Moonshadow had rolled his eyes sceptically. 'What am I thinking?'

'Stop. Anything but that,' Groundspider had wagged a finger with mock gravity. 'That's the one thought I can't read.' So it had gone on. And on. 'Nor that one,' he had said at the next try, then, 'or that one.'

His large face had stayed so serious. Eventually, she had collapsed into laughter.

Moonshadow's voice broke her reverie.

'Brother Eagle, could you please lock the cat in the maps room until we have left? It keeps following me on missions, and I fear it will inevitably come to harm.' He glanced fondly at the animal. 'After all, cats are everywhere,' Moon said, a little wistfully, 'should I need to sight-join with one.'

'So many animals here now,' Groundspider mumbled, 'let's import a panda next.'

A wicked glow lit Moonshadow's face.

'Per haps while I'm gone, Brother Badger could look after . . .'

Groundspider suppressed a chuckle.

'Not Badger,' Brother Eagle said firmly. 'Your cat's already at war with Badger's flea-ridden Saru. If they had to share a room –' a tiny shudder registered in Eagle's shoulders. He looked over at the cat. 'No, that conjures up a vision of unspeakable horror.' Eagle turned back to Moonshadow. 'And say, when are you going to name this creature? I'm weary of saying the cat.'

Moon bowed humbly. 'I'll . . . come up with something suitable.'

'What about a shinobi-sounding name for her?' Groundspider enthused. 'How about Stink Bomb?' Eagle silenced him with a sidelong glance. He hung his head again.

Abruptly every face turned to the closed sliding door. Snowhawk also heard it; two sets of feet, approaching down the corridor. One very soft, the other loud.

The paper screen door glided open. Heron and Badger entered, bowing to the circle. Eagle and Mantis nodded back. The three younger agents bowed low.

Brother Badger rubbed one eye, cocking his bald, randomly scratched head to one side. Snowhawk saw a neatly folded piece of paper in his hand.

Badger held it up and shook it hard. 'I hope this one gets filed in its proper place when everyone's finished arguing over it,' he grumbled.

Snowhawk avoided his gaze. Being woken early didn't agree with Badger.

Heron flashed one of her patient, coaxing looks and patted the archivist's shoulder. 'I'll see to that, I've already promised. But you speak up now, tell the others what you just told me. What niggled at you, made you get up?' She gestured invitingly.

Everyone watched Badger, the circle of faces now curious. Becoming the centre of attention while half-asleep seemed to provoke him even more. 'Ah!' he snapped. 'I can't be certain so what's the point? I'm going back to bed. You tell them, Heron!'

'My opinion,' Heron said softly, lowering her eyes, 'carries less authority than yours. Please, in this matter, we need your wisdom above all else . . .' She bowed meekly.

'Oh?' Badger blinked, stretching his neck. 'Is that so?' He glanced around, then raised his chin with renewed self-importance. 'Very well then.'

Snowhawk hid her amusement. Heron was a skilled manipulator; those wiles of womancraft were useful for gaining trust and cooperation at home as well as in the field.

'I'm uneasy about this urgent message,' Badger admitted. 'Its code is current, the wording familiar, but something about it doesn't feel right. I can't say what, however.'

'Could it be real yet incomplete?' Mantis speculated. 'Was something removed?'

Eagle rubbed his short, greying beard. 'Such things have been done. Or perhaps, though a genuine despatch, its text has been minutely altered in some way.'

'I told you, I don't know.' Badger yawned. 'But if you wish, I'll go on examining it. I warn you though, I might be wrong. There! Are we done? Can I go now?'

'Please stay,' Heron said warmly. 'We may need more of your vast knowledge.'

Badger stretched, working his shoulders loose. 'Oh, all right, if you put it like that.'

'Here's the problem,' said Eagle, frowning. 'We must act quickly. Even if your fears are later confirmed, we cannot delay sending our juniors. The White Nun is this order's oldest and greatest advisor, trainer and . . . secret asset. No risks can be taken with her life.'

Mantis looked from Moonshadow to Snowhawk and back. 'Expect the unexpected. And serious opposition. Whoever dares to go after the White Nun must also expect to face her bodyguards before taking her. So there will be no half-measures.'

'Does she even have bodyguards?' Groundspider put in. 'If not, I could –'

Heron's glance shut him up properly. She sat down opposite Snowhawk. 'I once heard, years ago, that apart from her many Old Country powers, a giant bear protects her. The ancient shrine in which she lives is here, on this mountain.' She leaned forward, slender fingers brushing the map.

Eagle's face tightened. 'Forget the bear. The forest below that mountain has quite a reputation. I think that in itself would keep most people away.'

Moonshadow tensed. 'Why? Is it haunted? What happened there?'

'Shh! Bad luck to speak of it,' Badger snapped. 'I may be a scholar, but even I heed the old taboos. As everyone civilised should!' He yawned again and sat down.

'Forget about luck,' Mantis sighed. 'Discussing the place could bring bad karma.'

'Let us not speak of it,' Eagle said sombrely, 'simply out of respect for the dead.'

Snowhawk said nothing, but flashed Moon her reliable tell-you-later look. He replied with a hint of a nod.

'A final question, before they leave.' Mantis cleared his throat. 'Few even know of the White Nun's existence, less of her service to the GLO. Those who do, the other shadow clans, also know the extent of her unearthly powers. Surely none of them would presume to move against her?'

'Mighty or not, she's no warrior,' Heron said. 'A healer and teacher, not a fighter. She has reminded me of that during our lessons together. No, despite her great powers, the White Nun has no taste for blood. And I think our enemies know that too.'

'Please excuse me,' Snowhawk said, bowing. 'Why is she called the White Nun?'

Heads turned her way, a circle of knowing looks – except for Moonshadow. He had met the sage once, as a young boy, but had no memory of her. Eagle broke into his secretive smile.

'You'll soon find out for yourself,' Badger muttered. 'Just . . . be patient!'

'Has Heron not raised the real issue?' Eagle addressed them all grimly. 'Who is the enemy? Who would dare try to kill or capture such a saint?'

'Who indeed,' Mantis sniffed, 'could be this reckless?'

Everyone fell silent. Snowhawk knew why.

Nobody wanted to say his name. Mentioning a traitor was also bad luck.

FOUR

Heart of ice

Silver Wolf heard the birdsong stop, the trees behind the roadside inn grow silent.

Good, he nodded, they were here, and on time. Silver Wolf drew in the cool air. The overnight rain had eased, the sun had now risen on a fresh, dripping green land and once this final meeting was over, he could go home. Sitting alone at one end of the inn's largest room, he drummed his fingers on the tatami mat beside his generous cushion.

As always these days, his sword lay within easy reach. His hand brushed it and he sighed, impatient to get back on the road. There was much to do on his return to Momoyama Castle in his fiefdom's capital, Fushimi. As long as the weapon-makers did their part, he could look forward to a busy few days. He eyed his lacquered scabbard.

They wouldn't fail him. He'd made it clear: if anyone did, he'd execute them.

Silver Wolf stared down at his family's crest on the sleeve of his opulent silk jacket. One day soon, it would adorn public buildings everywhere.

He traced the long scar on his left cheek. It reminded him to keep his resolve. His face has been slashed by an enemy's spear-tip during the cavalry charge he had led in the Battle of Sekigahara. A daring charge into a narrow, misty valley that had turned the tide and handed the Shogun his throne.

A throne the Shogun had proved he no longer deserved.

The warlord scowled. Three things were required to free a nation. Noble blood. Sharp steel. And a heart of ice that knew no flinching.

Silver Wolf filled his chest proudly. He had all of that; he was the man for the job. The one who would rescue his country from the Shogun's folly.

'Peace,' he said scathingly. 'Making art, going to the theatre.' His hands balled into fists. 'That life will burn away in the purging to come and, in time, none will remember it.'

He heard the horses outside shift and whinny. Horses often reacted to shinobi, sensing their hidden power more acutely than humans did. Silver Wolf dragged his sword closer. His visitors had better be the right shinobi.

This inn, on the great road called the Tokaido, lay between Edo and Kyoto, near the turn-off to Fushimi. He had just completed a huge circuit, travelling under full escort in an armoured palanquin to the Hakone Barrier, the north-eastern edge of his domain, and back again. Officially, the journey was a routine inspection of his lands, including the remote fringes, a duty every lord had to fulfil from time to time.

In reality, the trip was to a series of secret meetings. This morning's was the last.

He listened for voices outside. His entire retinue had fallen silent: spearmen, archers and his elite, proven cavalry unit. Fine warriors all, they had guarded him on his long journey.

Today, in another fine formation around his litter, they would march him home. Along the way, every soul the procession passed would kneel, bowing in humble salute.

A sound made his eyes flick to the door. Manpower was no guarantee of safety. The ten best shinobi in Japan could engage a hundred average samurai, maybe even defeat them. But if all had gone well, one such shadow warrior was now just outside that door, about to confirm temporary fealty to him, the master of Peach Mountain Castle.

The wooden sliding door was decorated with a landscape of mountains rising from mist. As he studied it, the door slid open. Out in the corridor stood the stooped, lined innkeeper, looking as frightened as he had the night before. Two of Silver Wolf's twitchy samurai bodyguards hovered either side of him, watching his every move.

'Great lord,' the little man dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the cherry planks in the corridor. They shone, smooth from years of daily buffing with damp rags. The innkeeper nervously looked up. 'I trust your breakfast was satisfactory?'

'Nnng.' Silver Wolf gestured vaguely for him to rise. 'Adequate. The rice porridge could have been warmer. The sliced and pickled vegetables, fine. Good variety.'

'I treasure my lord's kind words. Our poor establishment is so far beneath you.'

'Yes,' Silver Wolf yawned, 'but you did your best. Now, are they here?'

The innkeeper cringed as he answered. 'Yes, great lord. And as you instructed, from dawn onwards, I confined my family and staff to the kitchens.' He winced fearfully. 'Other than your men, only I have seen your visitors. As you ordered, all other guests were made to leave last night, for my lord's privacy.'

Silver Wolf fixed him with a cool stare. 'Then send them in, and remember: if you ever speak of this, or record it in any way, I will not fail to return for your head.'

With terrified glances at the swords flanking him, the innkeeper bowed and fled.

The warlord's new personal bodyguards entered the room first, taking up positions either side of the door. Their hands never left the grips of their swords.

His chief samurai was middle-aged, scarred through the lips, with darting, shrewd eyes. He had fought beside Silver Wolf at Sekigahara. His loyalty, horsemanship and speed with a blade were all beyond question.

The junior guard serving with him was his son, a strapping, bull-shouldered young fellow – smart, eager to please and full of potential. Silver Wolf had appointed the pair for two reasons. Talent ran in their family and he was confident they'd both die to protect him without hesitation. His face darkened as he remembered the injuries his last two personal guards had suffered – in a skirmish with a young Grey Light Order spy.

A big-boned man in town robes appeared in the corridor, bowing low to Silver Wolf before entering the room. He carefully laid his long hardwood staff on the matting just inside the door, eyes steadily moving between the ever-watchful bodyguards.

'My master.' He gave the warlord a second bow. 'I trust we're on time.'

'Of course you are,' Silver Wolf chuckled. 'Why would you be late, Katsu? You have no desire to annoy me and die for it, do you?' He slapped his thigh, enjoying Katsu's startled expression. 'Relax, my loyal hound, I jest! Again you have pleased me!'

Katsu's face lit up. He dared a half-grin, relief swamping his eyes. 'My lord.'

A useful fellow, this Katsu, Silver Wolf thought to himself. Versatile. Once a sumo wrestler and now officially a private investigator, the diplomatic Katsu had proven himself a reliable all-purpose hireling. He dug up information, delivered sensitive messages, even secretly escorted people others feared.

Such as shadow assassins of the ancient House of Fuma.

'Great Lord Silver Wolf.' Katsu gestured formally to the door. 'It is my honour to introduce Chikuma-San. The Chikuma of Fuma.' A tiny hint of fear crossed his face.

The youngest bodyguard stifled a grin. Silver Wolf knew what amused the lad. Chikuma of Fuma, it sounded so harmless. A bit cute, in fact, almost funny. But the man behind the name, himself not much older than the guard reacting to it, was no joke.

Only last year he had served a certain minor lord, Lord Akechi, in Edo. The Shogun had planted infiltrators in a Tsukiji trading house that Akechi dealt with. Gradually, they all vanished.

Not long afterwards, Lord Akechi had paid a visit to Silver Wolf's castle. A secret alliance had been forged between them, and while celebrating it with fine quality sake, Akechi had summed up Chikuma's work: 'He's a one-man slaughterhouse who generally leaves no mark on his victims.'

Silver Wolf had been instantly fascinated. Now he felt his breakfast of green tea, lukewarm porridge and interesting vegetables gurgling in his stomach. Yes, he was already getting excited about putting this young man to the big task.

Chikuma entered, bowing in the doorway with a slow, unruffled elegance. He straightened up and stepped softly into the room. He eyed Silver Wolf, almost too boldly, then his face broke into a charming, meek smile. Chikuma bowed again, this time lower.

'Great lord,' he said quietly. His deep voice was as soft as his step.

The warlord looked him up and down, openly intrigued. What kind of warrior was this? A true samurai, on meeting anyone, noted their weaponry first, a survival habit drummed in through out child hood. This Chikuma wore only a small dagger. One-man slaughterhouse? Had Akechi been drunker than he looked when saying that?

Chikuma of Fuma wore his hair long in one of those untied, girlish styles growing fashionable in the cities. He was a handsome youth, with an intelligent face, high cheekbones and a smooth, strong jawline. Silver Wolf noticed Chikuma's eyes: he wore dark make-up to emphasise them. Like his brightly coloured kimono, make-up on men was all the rage these days in Osaka. Silver Wolf had already banned his samurai from wearing it.

Outlandish fashions were another sad byproduct of this ridiculous age of peace. When given too many choices, people became fools. Ironic, Silver Wolf decided. Here stood a man, himself drenched in the silly trends of this age, who would help Japan return to its warrior heritage. Make-up! When Silver Wolf finally reigned, only geishas and courtesans would wear it. The warlord paused. What about actors? He sighed. Keep things simple. Those strutting peacocks irritated him . . . so they could all die too, when he took power.

And take power he would, but he would take it the right way, hard and costly as that was. The traditional way – it was always best!

First, however, this interesting fellow and his kind would help clear Silver Wolf's path of its greatest hidden obstacle.

Silver Wolf motioned for his special guest to sit. Chikuma fastidiously stretched his kimono under his legs with quick little twitches as he sank to the reed mat. Straightening his back, he tossed his hair and gave an excited nasal snigger.

'I stand ready to head north at my lord's order.' Chikuma flashed an eccentric, remote smile. Silver Wolf studied his manner. Despite the fashionable hair and clothing, peculiar and other-worldly were the words that came to mind. He'd seen quite a few of these people of the shadows before and trusted none of them. So far, this pretty youngster was the most disconcerting hired killer he had met. Why? He just didn't look right. But there was more to it than that. The warlord smiled. A simple test might be enlightening.

'A mutual friend,' Silver Wolf gently baited him, 'says you are quite deadly.'

A lick of wild excitement tainted Chikuma's eyes. Then he appeared to swiftly take control of himself. Interesting. Silver Wolf frowned. The man was a mix of outlandishness and tight discipline. So how did he kill? Perhaps he was the kind that put you to sleep with a gaze, then cut your throat. It was said that shinobi women in particular excelled at that dark art, and this young fellow certainly had a feminine style.

'Would my lord enjoy a simple demonstration?' Chikuma asked amiably. 'As you know, we shinobi are quite accustomed to showing an employer what we can do.'

Seasoned instincts told Silver Wolf to be careful. 'Perhaps just before we go our ways.' The warlord grinned, creasing his scar. 'Using the little innkeeper, maybe?'

A tiny hint of that crazed anticipation lit Chikuma's eyes again. He nodded.

It was a necessary evil, hiring these weird agents, Silver Wolf reminded himself. But as long as the Shogun had his own wolf pack of warrior-wizards in the form of the Grey Light Order, he too needed killers with special powers. Harmless-looking or not.

A demonstration of dark shinobi arts that he had once watched in his castle came back to him in vivid detail. Silver Wolf glanced at the corridor. Forget the mousy innkeeper. A more practical – and entertaining – idea was forming.

But there were other matters to deal with first if the mission was to be launched on time.

'Katsu!' the warlord demanded. 'What of the support for this man that I charged you with organising? Before we call in the other . . . help . . . brief me on that!'

'At once, my lord.' Katsu bowed. 'On his way north, Chikuma-San will be met by Wada, an old sumo training partner of mine who now works as a very successful bounty hunter. Put simply, the fellow is special. He feels virtually no pain. No one knows why.'

'No pain at all? Is that a good thing?' Chikuma narrowed his eyes.

Katsu gestured expansively. 'It is if you're a fearless human battering ram.'

'Good.' Silver Wolf folded his arms. 'Inventive, I like it. But, detective, what of my requested candidate? Did you find her?'

'Yes indeed, great lord. As you bade, I sought out the lady . . . Kagero.'

The two samurai guards tensed at the mention of her name.

'As a freelance assassin and bounty hunter,' Katsu said, 'her reputation is second to none.'

'True!' Chikuma volunteered. 'Though she's an "independent" these days, the lady Kagero is well regarded by we of the House of Fuma. Originally she was a Fuma agent. But after arranging a lucrative ongoing contract for our masters, she successfully negotiated . . . leaving us. Such arrangements are rare, and offered only to the best.'

Silver Wolf nodded. He had learned something new: shadow clan members could buy their freedom! Even their proud, ancient houses were swayed by money in the end. But only the elite could hope for that; deserters and failures . . . Well, everyone knew what happened to them at the hands of the very people who had trained and often raised them.

Katsu blinked delicately. 'She was expensive, lord.'

Silver Wolf nodded, staring mildly back at Katsu. He had expected that.

At their meeting last year, Lord Akechi had told Silver Wolf of her. 'Kagero is some kind of sorceress,' Lord Akechi had said, eager to impress with his recently acquired knowledge of contract killers and catchers. 'And middle-aged or not, she slew the great Kaiho Shundai of Edo. Without a sword. She never uses one.'

'How then?' Silver Wolf had asked, lowering his sake cup. 'Kaiho was strong.'

'No one knows,' Akechi had answered. 'The swordsman's wounds – and there were many – were unique.'

Silver Wolf's mind returned to the present, and the order of business. He sneered. Business. A real age of peace word. Now even preparing for war had become business, a series of barter-and-promise meetings. Help me do this . . . I'll later give you that. Some wanted money. Others land. A few simply craved vengeance. But the old ways were the best, for they were the ways of the true warrior; of pride and courage, of sword and bow and horse! That was how disputes were settled and rulers decided, and he had to steer this country back to that while it still had a soul.

When all his alliances were in place, when this temporary, foolish Shogun's spies – the real tetsubishi in his sandal – had been swept aside, then he would take this land. And with it, his birthright to power. He would take it the old way. Through a forest of spears, on a mountain of corpses, down a river of blood if necessary, he would hack and smash and capture his way to the real throne of the empire. It was his destiny!

Akechi and the greedy merchants were either soft, or lost in the era's pathetic new school of thought – business, money – but they were still proving keen allies.

True, they didn't care about destroying the Grey Light Order as much as he did; for them, that little war wasn't personal. But they were happy to help him remove all who stood with the Shogun, convinced that once in office, Silver Wolf would indeed reward them with land and titles, money and payback, just as he had promised. He half-smiled. When the time arrived, maybe he would. And maybe he'd simply have his huge, unified army destroy them. After all, if they'd betray one Shogun, they might later betray him. For the future stability of his empire, they might all be better off dead . . .

'Well, Katsu, we shall speak of the price of Kagero's help later.' The warlord gave his hireling a shallow nod. 'For now at least, everything else seems to be in place. I am particularly pleased with how you handled our grand opportunity – the one that brought us such pivotal, rare information.'

'It was nothing I did, lord.' Katsu averted his eyes. 'He was an old travelling monk, in the process of losing his mind to age. Plying him with sake and tricking him into revealing such a vital secret was no feat of skill on my part. Verifying his information was actually more taxing! In all truth, my master, we were simply lucky!'

'Perhaps so,' Silver Wolf smiled malevolently. 'But what you chanced upon through him now helps me strike down the dogs who guard my enemy's gate!'

He drew in a deep breath. Katsu thought it mere luck, but the detective's chance encounter with an ancient, half-mad pilgrim up north had proved no idle twist of fate. It all confirmed that Silver Wolf's path was, in the end, a glorious destiny. He thrust out his full chest. Yes, he had been born to save Japan, to purge her, wash her clean – in blood.

Katsu dipped his chin, revelling in his master's favour. 'Thank you, lord. Those violators of your privacy will soon be as hapless as your other sworn enemies.'

'Well said!' The warlord rubbed his hands together. 'Now, a final matter.' He looked around commandingly. 'I have funded one more specialist to support this mission. This one I included for several reasons. He is totally disposable. He is not samurai and therefore brings no house into disrepute if captured then disowned. And he has relentlessly petitioned me to re-employ him – at very low rates – owing to his personal vendetta with an agent of the Grey Light Order. With which, of course,' he grinned, 'I heartily sympathise. And don't mention the limp.'

Silver Wolf gestured to his younger bodyguard. The samurai gave a sharp whistle.

From down the corridor came the innkeeper's voice. 'Sir, they call for you!'

A familiar scruffy man limped into view in the doorway. Silver Wolf took in the fellow's wily eyes and long, unkempt hair. Jiro, gangster and throwing-knife expert. He hadn't changed much. Still that same thick, untidy beard and loud patterned jacket denoting an urban gang member. The warlord squinted. Something was different. Jiro's neck and forearms had always been covered in red and green tattoos of textured dragons and carps. Now the artwork had spread to his face. Calligraphy ran down one cheek.

'Great lord.' Jiro bowed, a little awkwardly. 'An honour to serve you again.'

'Welcome.' Silver Wolf eyed him. 'What is that writing on your face?'

Jiro straightened up. A wince implied his bad knee was bothering him today. 'It reads, pledged to avenge.' Fire filled his eyes as he added, 'It's a lifelong commitment.'

Silver Wolf smiled. Perfect! Jiro had changed, and not just in appearance either.

When first in the warlord's service, Jiro had been injured during an encounter with the Grey Light Order agent called Moonshadow. Silver Wolf knew only that Jiro held this Moonshadow responsible for his ruined leg.

Perhaps he'd been stewing on it throughout his recovery. There was a new sense of steel to Jiro now, a single-minded determination. Had the urge to get even driven him to develop as a killer? Maybe, the lord nodded. He'd seen that process before in men, many times. Hate was a powerful poison. It helped drive him too.

His eyes flicked left and right and Silver Wolf caught his bodyguards scowling. That was to be expected. Samurai despised gangsters, took offence at sharing the same air as them. These two were no doubt disgusted by the prospect of serving alongside one.

Chikuma turned and examined Jiro, then caught Silver Wolf's attention.

'Yes?' the warlord inclined his head. 'What is it? You may speak freely.'

'Great lord, a gangster with a gammy leg? In a small strike force, the potency of every member is crucial. I seek no trouble here, but . . . what can he contribute?'

Silver Wolf glanced at Jiro. So much for don't mention the limp. Chikuma obviously cared little for diplomacy and already the gambler was simmering with anger. This could prove very entertaining. He just needed to keep a rein on things, set limits so that nobody died or was maimed. Hirelings were expensive; it was frivolous to waste their peculiar talents by making them fight like dogs on some whim. Tempting, though.

No, he sighed. Nobody here could die yet. There was work to do, people to kill.

'Call the innkeeper!' he ordered his samurai. The strapping youngster bowed neatly. As before, a hasty summons was issued in the form of a whistle.

The small man quickly appeared, hunching in the doorway with eyebrows raised.

'Bring me two plain, cheap fans. Run out and buy them if you must. Hurry!'

'My lord,' the innkeeper swooped into a low bow, 'I think I have just what you need.' He turned and scuttled away down the corridor's cherry wood floorboards.

'Jiro,' Silver Wolf said. 'When he returns with the fans, I propose a demonstration. Chikuma-San here will open each fan, then throw them into the air without warning. Bring them down, without leaving a mark anywhere in this room.'

Chikuma's face contorted with surprise. 'Is he really that good?'

'You'll see, pretty boy,' Jiro mumbled.

'So you accept this challenge?' Silver Wolf asked. 'Think you can do it?'

The gangster gave a half-nod, half-bow. 'Yes, lord.' His wrists crossed, both hands disappearing between the lapels of his bright, loose jacket. Along with the bodyguards, Silver Wolf flinched involuntarily. The oldest samurai took a short step towards Jiro.

'As you will see,' Jiro sniffed, 'I have taken my craft to a new level.'

Jiro drew out a bo-shuriken in each hand, apparently from twin concealed holsters. The warlord stared at the uncommon straight throwing knives. Each was black, cast from iron, about the length of a man's hand, fingertip to wrist. A tapering grip lay between the double-edged spear-like blade at one end and the small ring at the other.

Silver Wolf scratched his jaw thoughtfully. Jiro had formerly used circular, star-shaped shuriken. Converting to this very different design was no small accomplishment.

Bo-shuriken were the hardest kind to use; they were bladed at one end only, so if the spinning throw was mistimed, the ring end hit the target and the knife merely bounced off it. Their advantages? Bo-shuriken had a proper grip, so if used deftly, were ideal for stabbing in a close-range fight. The ring on the end could be used as a tiny club. It was also a tying point when securing the black knives in spring-loaded or rope traps.

The innkeeper slid into view in the corridor, a plain folding fan open in each hand. Silver Wolf stared at them: oiled, unmarked white paper and dark wooden spokes. Simple and light. Ideal. Holding the fans up, the innkeeper smiled warily.

'Well done!' Silver Wolf nodded. 'Now, close the fans and give them to him.' He gestured at Chikuma.

The innkeeper shut the fans and bowed low, then approached Chikuma like a crab, shuffling in a series of tight little sidesteps, avoiding eye contact with the shinobi. Keeping his face turned away, the innkeeper leaned, his outstretched hand trembling as he passed Chikuma the fans. The agent took them with a wry, knowing smile. After shuffling back to the door, the little man bowed hurriedly and made his escape.

Remarkable, the warlord observed. Even a lowly, untrained peasant sensed something fearful in Chikuma of Fuma. He couldn't wait to find out what it was. Soon!

'Are you both ready?' Silver Wolf looked from Jiro to Chikuma and back. Each man nodded. 'Good. One fan at a time, I think. Begin!'

Chikuma flashed Jiro a sceptical glance, then opened the first fan and threw it up.

It wheeled and fluttered unevenly into the centre of the room at about head-height. There was a sharp hiss, startling Katsu, Silver Wolf and his guards, as a dark blur streaked across the room from Jiro's hand into the white, tumbling triangle. The bo-shuriken's impact swept the fan across the room. It flailed to the matting like a wounded bird. The warlord stared down at it. That black iron throwing knife had pierced paper and wood, buckling the fan while bringing it down. So these bo-shuriken had another advantage: they were heavier than the circular kind, striking harder, cutting deeper.

Most impressive!

The guards blinked at Jiro, their faces betraying a new, reluctant respect. Katsu stared at the fan, his nose creasing. Even Chikuma of Fuma nodded admiringly.

Jiro's eyes gleamed. He turned and stared at the shinobi. It wasn't a friendly look. 'Oi, pretty boy! I'm warmed up now, see? Throw the second one up – closed.'

Silver Wolf inclined his head. Now the gangster was getting carried away. Hit a closed fan tumbling in mid-air with a bo-shuriken? Surely an impossible challenge.

Chikuma held up the second fan, closed, patiently watching Silver Wolf's face.

'Do it,' the warlord said. The instant he spoke, Chikuma threw the fan.

Jiro's hand whip-cracked the air. This time the hiss was closely followed by a dull impact sound. The merged fan and knife streaked across the room, a spinning black and white flash that ended with a whump on the tatami near the door. Again, it left no mark.

Silver Wolf craned forward, examining the fan. Everyone else in the room did the same. Everyone but Jiro. He folded his arms with a superior smile, looking away, refusing to check the result.

Taking it in, the warlord's mouth fell open. The bo-shuriken had skewered the fan at a perfect ninety-degree angle, going through both its outer wooden spokes and every paper fold in-between. He shook his head. A good thing he has seen it with his own eyes.

'Two months of constant, all-day practice, my lord, under a brilliant tutor,' Jiro said bitterly. 'The only way to spend one's . . . rehabilitation.' His eyes, bright with the flame of his all-consuming vendetta, flicked down at his ruined knee. Then he rounded on Chikuma. 'Anyway, so much for me. Now I want to know what you can contribute.'

Silver Wolf hid a smile behind one hand. Motivated by anger and revenge, Jiro had trained fanatically until he really had ascended to a whole new skill level. As a hired killer, he was a different commodity now – in fact, great value for the money. But as a man, it was clear that he was still a reckless hothead who, even now, stepped blindly on a tiger's tail. This was going to be great fun, as long as it stayed within limits.

'How about it then, Chikuma?' Jiro put his hands on his hips.

'Chikuma-San.' The shinobi's voice was soft but firm. His eyes grew dark as they moved to Silver Wolf. The look in them was easy to interpret: let me destroy him now.

Jiro went on, taking a step towards Chikuma. 'You're kind of . . . pretty, I guess, but you're wearing only that short tanto dagger. I guess we'll just hope that whoever you fight is happy to come that close. While they admire your nice new clothes, maybe? Oh, and better pray they don't carry anything as long as a sword! Might mess you up!'

Chikuma of Fuma let out a long, weary sigh. 'Lord?' He waited.

'As long as nobody dies or is made useless,' Silver Wolf said, 'you may forget the innkeeper and show me . . . on him.' He pointed at Jiro. Full of bravado, Jiro shrugged.

After bowing low to his new employer, Chikuma broke into a grateful smile. He rose to his feet, twitching and primping his clothes and hair, then he turned and glared at Jiro. Black, silent fury built in his eyes but his face, curiously, became expressionless.

'What art is this?' Jiro gave a mocking cackle. 'What? You stare them to death?'

Silver Wolf held his breath. At last he would see for himself what Chikuma could do. Which strange killing science of the Old Country, the Japan before recorded history, had this fellow mastered? Might it be some form of paralysis? Did Chikuma induce weakness, strip the strength from a man's limbs, before knifing him? Whatever it was, if all went well, he would soon unleash it on the likes of Moonshadow and the Grey Light Order.

The shinobi closed his eyes, body motionless, hands dangling at his sides.

Silver Wolf watched Jiro's face intently. No sign of sleepiness or paralysis yet.

'No,' the gambler laughed, 'whatever it is you do, it's just not working today –'

Abruptly his head jerked up, eyes darting to a spot in the air as high as a horse's bridle. With a frown, Silver Wolf tracked along Jiro's stare. What did he look at? There was nothing there! The warlord's gaze returned to Jiro just in time to see the colour drain from the gangster's features. He gasped, took a step back. His hands rose, shaking.

'Run, r-run,' he stammered, eyes wide with terror. 'Run! Lord Amida save us all!'

Everyone in the room but Chikuma looked back and forth between Jiro and the empty space that now terrified him.

Silver Wolf felt a rush of exhilaration tinged with fear. He gripped his sword.

Looking up as if something tall was slowly advancing on him, Jiro stumbled backwards. He gave a high-pitched scream and collapsed to his knees, covering his face.

'Make it go away,' he whimpered. 'I . . . I . . . apologise.'

Jiro fell onto his side and curled into a trembling ball.

Chikuma blinked and raised his eyebrows slightly. He smiled secretively.

Jiro snarled a curse and sat up, blinking quickly, looking around as if searching.

'Wasn't really there,' he mumbled. He checked the room again. 'Wasn't . . . there.'

The warlord gaped in astonishment. Alarmed and confused, his guards had half-drawn their swords, but Jiro, the actual subject of the attack, had been so disturbed he hadn't managed to pull one shuriken. Against such dark wizardry, who could stand?

'Magnificent!' Silver Wolf raised his hands and clapped enthusiastically.

The father and son samurai sheathed their blades and joined in, smiling with relief that whatever had just happened was now over. Katsu shook his head and clapped slowly.

Chikuma bowed, gave a nasal giggle and flicked his hair. The warlord nodded back at him thoughtfully. What manner of man was this? His entire appearance was camouflage; his powers were incredible. Silver Wolf beamed. This team could not fail.

'Any other questions,' Chikuma softly asked Jiro, 'about what I can contribute?'

'Never,' Jiro snatched a deep, trembling breath, 'Chikuma-San.'

FIVE

A quiet day at the market

On their fourth day on the road, the weather turned humid. High, thin clouds formed a prism that trapped the sun in a silk curtain of white glare.

A pre-dawn conversation on the day they left Edo came back to Moon as he pounded along a dusty hill road beside Snowhawk.

Perhaps feeling the need for a bold gesture, Brother Eagle had recommended what he called 'fitting disguises' for Moonshadow and Snowhawk's journey to the White Nun.

As a result, they now wore identical rough hemp jackets, dark blue and wadded, with matching loose pants. Under their backpacks, flattened sleeping rolls hid their swords. He felt a little self-conscious about the bold white characters running down his sleeves.

'Edo Golden Future Traders,' each column read, 'a highly sincere Company.'

'Would it not be poetic,' Eagle had suggested after their briefing, 'for the two of you to travel as merchants' labourers? Brother Badger tells me that he happens to have two uniforms of about the right size among his stores. Heron's skills would make short work of adjusting them for you.'

After accepting, Moonshadow had spoken solemnly. 'I've been thinking. Merchants and their companies, men who are not warriors, men with no code but profit, now number among our mortal enemies. That's strange. I would never have expected –'

Eagle had cut him off. 'The one you go to rescue did.' The leader of the Grey Light Order had sighed. 'The White Nun once told me that she had seen the distant future. One day, merchants will rule the world, their companies, like the warlords of today: a few doing good, but many . . . unspeakable evil. The empire, we shinobi, even the samurai . . . the White Nun told me that all would be gone by then, echoes lost in time.'

Moonshadow laughed at the outlandish pre diction as he walked. Ridiculous. So even the White Nun could make mistakes. A world run by traders? It sounded like some crazy Kyogen play! No, they'd knock this rise of the merchants on the head within the next few years. In the meantime, it felt somewhat odd dressing up as a servant of one.

Their cover story was simple: they were orphans, brother and sister, experienced in managing storerooms, seeking lives and jobs in the country after a year in hectic Edo.

The road north had been lonely and dull, just the odd group of farmers passing by, with much of the terrain – oceans of rice paddies and islands of trees – almost identical. So they had talked themselves hoarse all through the farmlands and into these foothills, covering a surprisingly wide range of topics.

Their favourite things. Earliest memories. Theories about who their parents might have been. Best friends or kindest helpers during their hardest times in life. Funniest moments during missions. Who they'd each like to be, if they could live a different life.

Snowhawk asked many probing questions. She had wanted to know in detail what Moon experienced when he linked to an animal. One cold night, lying back-to-back for warmth on the porch of a deserted temple, she had asked him if he was scared of dying. They had then talked for hours about their dangerous lives and the often short life-span of agents. Three or four times during the journey so far, bantering and laughing together, they had glanced at each other and – for some reason – felt compelled to look away.

Moonshadow watched Snowhawk now as they strode on. Getting to know her was exciting. And scary. The one subject they could never quite manage to talk about was how much they liked each other. He sighed. Stuff like that was just too hard to speak about. It was creepy. It made him squirm, gave him goose flesh.

Moon frowned. Given a choice, he'd rather dodge shurikens than talk about it.

Now the road grew steeper, widening as it approached the first hill town. A breeze picked up, cooling them, bringing the aromas of pine needles and late spring flowers. Peasants trickled from gullies on both sides of the road, forming an ever-growing swell that moved towards the distant buildings. Many carried vegetables or fruit in back-mounted woven baskets. Some hauled rice sacks or lugged strings of dried mushrooms.

'Look at this.' Snowhawk gestured at a man shouldering chickens in a bamboo cage. 'It must be market day in this town. That'll make a nice change, things to look at. If the place is quiet, we should rest there, enjoy the market and take rooms overnight.'

'As long as it is quiet and stays that way.' Moon studied the people around them suspiciously. He saw nothing to alert him and Snowhawk obviously sensed no shinobi energy. But all that could change in a moment. 'Remember, if it doesn't work out here, the second town is not that far away.'

She gave a faint sigh, flashing him a look that said stop worrying so much.

They neared the little town and Moonshadow smiled at the beauty of the way ahead. Distant snow-capped mountains peeped over green hills framing the settlement. Cherry trees lined the road, their petals wafting in the breeze like white and pink snow.

'It's all so lovely, isn't it?' Snowhawk stopped walking. She clicked her tongue. 'Except for some of the local brats.'

'What do you mean?' He followed her stare. Ahead, a group of boys stood in a half-circle around one boy. He was smaller than the rest, softer faced, too.

Snowhawk had sensed their aggression first. Now Moonshadow could feel it.

As the pair approached, the oldest looking boy in the group shoved the small lad in the chest. He staggered backwards. Moon stared narrowly. So that was the leader.

'Everyone in our town can fight,' the older boy snarled from under a mop of tangled hair. 'You want to live here, prove you can too. Get it? Or are you stupid?'

'He is stupid,' another boy with a squeaky voice put in. 'Stupid and . . . dumb!'

'It's fighting that's stupid,' the small boy said, struggling to hold back tears.

'We shouldn't get involved,' Snowhawk warned, sounding like she wanted to.

Moon strode ahead of her. 'I must. Or Mantis has wasted all his words on me.'

He walked confidently up to the biggest boy and pushed past him, turned and put his back to the group's intended victim, facing the half-circle of his persecutors. Moonshadow's eyes glided left to right, assessing his unworthy new foes. The oldest lad and two others were tall, brawny country kids and each roughly matched Moonshadow's bodyweight. None of that trio appeared armed or moved as if trained. The rest were the typical cowardly runts that loved following bullies around like a stream of goldfish dung.

'Who are you?' The oldest lad looked Moon up and down. 'What do you want?'

'For you to get on your way and stop picking on my friend.' Moon scowled.

The three hefty boys read his jacket sleeves then exchanged frowns.

'You're from Edo,' the leader sneered. 'He is not your friend!'

Moonshadow looked over his shoulder at the boy and winked. The gang's target, realising that he was being rescued, half-smiled. Moon turned back to face the leader.

'He is today.' He raised one eyebrow. 'So if you want him, you fight me first.'

The leader brandished his fists. 'You'll be sorry! My father was a samurai!'

'He doesn't know which one,' the squeaky fellow added, 'but it's true!'

'This'll teach you to mind your own business!' With that, the leader attacked.

To Moonshadow, the boy's angry punch for his jaw appeared to approach in slow motion. He dodged it lazily, sidestepped, then thrust one leg out, confident that such an overdone blow would surely drag its sender behind it.

It did. Off balance, the lunging bully tripped over Moon's ankle and plunged to the dusty road, landing hard and winding himself. He spat dust and gave a reflexive sob.

His two biggest friends darted at Moon, the first remarkably hefty for his age, the other more long-legged and gangly. Moonshadow's eyes flicked from one to the next. The first had power, the second one reach. Their movements said neither had any skill.

The more solid boy swung a crazed, open backhand strike, aiming for Moon's face. Moonshadow swayed backwards and felt the close rush of air as it missed him. With a thwack the wild blow met the face of the skinny lad who let out a howl and crumpled, cupping his nose. The stocky boy turned back, growled, then shot his best punch at Moon's stomach, throwing his shoulders behind it. Again, from Moonshadow's point of view, the fist approached slowly.

He had time to weigh up what to do next. At lightning speed, he reasoned it out.

Why not startle them all into quitting? It'd be easy: just show them something they couldn't explain, without going too far. After all, Overt Combat – using one's skills in public – was forbidden unless there was no choice. Yes . . . a little bluff to frighten them.

An instant before impact, Moonshadow locked up his stomach muscles, rock-hard from a special diet and a lifetime of hard training. The bully's fist struck home.

Along with the thump of impact came a nasty clicking sound. Squealing with pain, the boy sagged to the road, nursing his hand. Moonshadow gave a detached sigh. It served him right. Bad technique and broken fingers went together like rice and fish.

The former group of pack-hunters stared at Moon, each frozen to the spot with awe and fear. Moonshadow grabbed their leader and dragged him to his feet. Red-faced, the boy clutched his belly, gasping for breath. Moon went nose-to-nose with him.

'Don't you know the gods secretly roam the land in many forms, watching for cruelty?' The bully's eyes grew large. He looked at Moonshadow in a whole new way. 'Do you think they are giving you a chance to change? All of you?' Moon looked round the group. 'Well, ignore them at your peril! Now, go, live good lives or else!'

The terrified gang ran.

Moon turned and bowed to the boy they had picked on. The child gave him a humble bow back. He was speechless, wonder sparkling in his eyes. Moonshadow could read his thoughts: why have the gods been so kind to me? The idea filled him with pride. He fished deep inside his jacket then handed the boy a few copper coins.

'Run home now, share this with your whole family. Live your life to the fullest, but always keep the law, honouring the old and the gods. All of them!'

'Thank you, I will, sir.' The boy backed away, bowing again, glancing between Moon and the coins in his own hand. 'I promise!' He turned and ran, his face glowing.

Thrusting his chest out, Moonshadow wagged his head side-to-side as Snowhawk walked up to him. Her first words made his head stop moving, his shoulders fall.

'You look like Groundspider when you do that,' she muttered.

Snowhawk cupped one hand above her eyes and watched the last of the children disappear from sight. 'That was kind and reasonably subtle, too. I'm proud of you. But should you really be impersonating a justice kami? What if a real god curses us both for the insult, did you ever stop to think about that?'

'Aw.' He hung his head. 'Don't be so hard on me. Heron would have said that was performed well.' Moon glanced away. 'Besides, I thought of just the right way to put it, before I said each bit,' he lied. 'I never said I was one of those roving sheriff-spirits. I just warned them to change before a real one got them.' He finished with an unconvincing nod.

'You're quite sneaky.' Snowhawk creased her nose. 'I'll remember that.'

They stared at each other. Her eyes grew softer. He felt his stomach flutter, his face blush. Snowhawk blinked suddenly and turned away, fussing with her hair. Gesturing once for Moon to follow, she paced off quickly into the town.

He trailed her, shaking his head. Girls. So strange. Hard to figure out, because they seemed to say one thing but feel another. Snowhawk had said she was proud of him, but the way she'd acted also made him feel like a reckless showoff. Why else mention Groundspider? It was confusing. So did she admire what he had just done, or not?

As he caught up to her, a droning temple bell from the far end of town announced that it was midday, halfway through the Hour of the Horse.

Closely packed buildings lined the main street all the way to the heart of the town, where the road flared into a central square around a circular stone well. Rows of folding booths, partially covered stalls, were arranged along the outer lines of the square. Most displayed a string of coloured flags above the counter or table of their selling area. The flags were marked with large characters describing what they sold, what was on special.

Between the stalls and the well, more vendors had set up banks of trestle tables or rugs on the square's packed gravel floor. Along each, their products were neatly laid out.

Local peasant farmers and townsfolk were pouring into the square now, a few selling produce, most just shopping. Hearing an Edo accent, Moon's head turned sharply.

He and Snowhawk followed the voice to a table selling winter quilts shaped like giant kimonos. A stodgy, one-eyed man haggled energetically with a young woman carrying a baby in a sling on her chest. They watched him, then traded frowns. No, probably harmless. Not everybody up here from Edo was a spy. Moon smiled. Just them.

A set of flags read 'Doctor Fish can make you young'. Moon and Snowhawk exchanged curious grins then approached the stall. Below the flags, it contained only a skinny, open-faced peasant behind his counter, a large iron pot filled with water, and a hanging abacus for calculating payment rates. While they looked on, an elderly lady used the stall's services. She bowed and paid Doctor Fish. He smiled and gestured. She plunged her hands into the pot. Moonshadow shuffled closer, watching intently.

Something teemed in the cloudy water in a frenzy of tiny bubbles.

The lady flinched twice, then, urged by the vendor, withdrew her hands. They gleamed in places, pink and shiny. Doctor Fish can make you young? It was sort of true; the woman's hands no longer matched the rest of her skin. They looked . . . younger.

'Thousands of tiny fish.' Snowhawk shook her head. 'They eat the dead skin off.'

Moon grinned in fascination, then moved to the stall next door, where two soft-eyed women, a mother and daughter perhaps, were selling handmade water containers fashioned from cells of giant bamboo. A dense little crowd surrounded their table.

Somebody pushed Moon from behind, quite a hard shove. Moon hung his head and hissed with irritation. Were those stupid bullies trying for a rematch? Or was Snowhawk playing a prank on him? If so, now she was acting like Groundspider!

He whirled around, his eyes lining up with the biggest chest he had ever seen in his life. Moonshadow gasped. After blinking with astonishment, he took in its owner.

A mighty fellow, obviously a sumo wrestler, loomed over him. His great arms looked impossible, thicker than any human limbs should be. His massive body had the girth of a young cedar tree. The giant wore a sky-blue jacket and matching pants that were tied at the knees. Moon stared up at the man's face. Clean-shaven and dull-eyed, his features were as meek as his form was powerful. Moon glanced down at his sandals. They held enormous, ogre-like feet the size of water barrels. Like his forearms, the man's ankles and shins were covered in bruises and scars. Some looked to be very recent.

He seemed to have no weapons. But why would he need one? He was one.

The wrestler shoved Moon again, his massive fingers digging into one shoulder. Moonshadow stepped back and found himself trapped against the stall's table. He gripped the instant throbbing in his shoulder, glowering up at the sumo.

'What's the idea, high-pockets?' he sneered. 'That hurt! You ought to think about your size compared with others before you go doing that. What's the matter? Did I push in front of you?' Moon gave a wary bow, keeping his eyes on the man. 'Forgive me.'

'No. No forgiving,' the wrestler said slowly. 'You are my enemy.' He brought his hands together in front of Moonshadow's face and loudly cracked his sizeable knuckles.

The crowd around Moon and the sumo quickly broke up. Whispers filled the air.

'Do you give up?' the wrestler asked patiently. 'You should give up.'

Moon couldn't stop his mouth falling open. This was too bizarre. He was being threatened, challenged in fact, in the mildest, flattest, least angry voice he'd ever heard.

'Give up now,' the sumo persisted nonchalantly. 'You will be my prisoner.'

The man's entire manner was ridiculously calm, almost lethargic, which provoked Moonshadow to laugh. He fleetingly took his eyes from the sumo to hunt for Snowhawk. Where was she? Before that first shove she'd been right –

As he glanced back at the wrestler, a high-pitched scream broke the even gaggle of marketplace voices. Moon's head snapped in its direction. Between jagged ranks of fleeing peasants, he saw Snowhawk ducking low. Then he saw a man with his arm extended. He'd just thrown something at her.

A scruffy man . . . who he recognised at once.

'Jiro,' Moon breathed. 'The shuriken gangster.' So he was still alive.

He let out a startled cry as huge hands clamped his ribs, and his feet left the ground. The sumo wrestler yanked his victim up to his own eye level, holding Moon out at arm's length as if he was unclean. It appeared to be absolutely no effort for him.

'Will you give up then?' the giant asked placidly. Moon snarled and shook his head. The sumo wrestler sighed. 'Very well, then. It's your fault.'

Moon opened his mouth to retort but the wrestler, moving with blinding speed, hoisted him overhead.

'Stop! Wait!' Moonshadow roared, looking down at the top of the fellow's head.

He felt a nauseous rush and suddenly he was flying, tumbling head over heels.

SIX

Enemies old and new

Moonshadow landed on a fleeing group of farmers, banging heads with a man in a conical straw hat before dropping to the ground, stunned.

Despite his insulating bedroll, the hand guard of his hidden sword ground into his spine. Moon groaned, sat up, shook himself hard. People rushed away in all directions. Vendors unwilling to leave their stock behind were cowering inside their stalls. One man, desperate to protect his exquisite white pottery, was stubbornly kneeling in front of his rug of wares.

With a wince Moon realised that his ribs were badly bruised from the giant's grip. He clambered to his feet, looking about for Snowhawk. He could neither see her nor sense her presence nearby. Gravel crunched. Sharp, closing strides made him turn.

Side by side, they came towards him: the slight, limping Jiro, and dwarfing him, the bull-necked, towering wrestler. Frightened locals dodged past them, then ran.

Moonshadow's head was still light from becoming a human cannonball. He couldn't let that happen again. He stared at the approaching sumo's enormous hands. Nor fall into those bone-grinders once more.

If he was grabbed, nothing less than his sword would stop the giant tearing him apart. In a place this public, drawing any blade was out of the question. Moon cursed under his breath. Even if his enemies did. He tracked Jiro, watching the gambler's hands.

The wrestler and Jiro stopped, about ten paces away. They glanced at each other. The huge sumo motioned for Jiro to do the talking.

Jiro greeted Moon with a cackle. 'I love reunions! Remember me, kid? We have unfinished business, you and me. Don't bother looking for your little girlfriend. Sweet that she's stuck with you.' He gave a cruel sneer. 'But I just stuck her with one of these!'

His hand flashed in and out of his jacket. He held up something black. A bo-shuriken. What a nasty surprise. So since their last encounter, Jiro had upgraded to this oldest style of shuriken, the classical straight design with a grip.

They were the hardest of all to throw. But they did the most damage.

The crook was lying about Snowhawk, Moon decided. She was no easy kill. She'd gone to ground, that's all. He swallowed – hopefully.

Jiro waved his new weapon. 'Oh, don't look so amazed.' The gangster sniffed. 'Think it's just you cockroaches of the shadows who train to better your crafts?' He thumped his chest so hard the wrestler flinched and looked at him. 'Well even the likes of me can want that!'

Moon felt daunted. Jiro had changed. A darker fire drove him now. 'Congratulations,' he told the gambler, concealing his reaction. 'So what do you want?'

'Can you guess, kid?' Jiro's mouth quirked to one side. He limped a step, pointing down. 'I'm not blaming you for this, not any more. People say I do, but I'm over it.'

'No blade of mine did that to you,' Moon replied coolly. 'As well you know.' He looked Jiro up and down with open disdain. 'I even left money for them to get you fixed.'

'Sweet of you, kid, but it must have been spent on someone more valuable. Anyway, forget my bad knee. Know why I'm still riled at you? You ruined my record. You and the girl were the only targets ever to escape me! Let's fix that, shall we?'

The sumo patted Jiro's shoulder with one finger. 'Who is he again?' he asked.

Jiro made an irritated sound. 'Moonshadow, they call him, just like the sword move.' He rolled his eyes. 'You see, kid, my large friend here, for some reason, is a stickler for manners. So he wants introductions before he crushes you into the dust.'

'You should just give up,' the giant said slowly, 'be my prisoner. Then you won't get hurt, just tied with rope. I am Wada. Once sumo, now bounty hunter. Just, uh . . .'

'Just give up,' Moon prompted impatiently. Wada returned a slow, earnest nod.

With one hand on his hip, Jiro eyed the giant. 'Happy now? Good. Then get him!'

At once Wada leaned forward, lowered his head and broke into a fast, accelerating charge. Moon shadow felt each impact of the wrestler's feet through the small stretch of ground that separated them. In two or three seconds Wada closed the gap.

Moon bent his knees and swung his arms hard at his sides, pushing off into a leap, straight up. Once airborne he curled his spine and raised both knees to his chest.

Wada's scalp of closely cropped hair brushed the soles of his sandals. The sumo thundered below him, moving too fast now for a controlled stop. As Moon's feet hit the ground there was a commotion behind him: a terrified scream, the shouts of bystanders, splintering wood and tearing fabric. Wada was ploughing into a stall like a runaway bull.

Moonshadow looked over one shoulder. What had been a little folding shopfront, trading in charms for safety and good luck, was now a tangle of broken planks, torn flags and snapped cords. Tiny charm packets were scattered far and wide. An ashen-faced, middle-aged lady was being hauled from the rubble by the back of her pink kimono. By Wada.

With one hand, he set the shocked woman down next to her destroyed stall.

'Uh. Sorry,' Wada said sluggishly. Moon squinted. Wada's shoulder bled, but he appeared not to know it. He thumbed in Moon's direction. 'His fault,' Wada murmured.

Moonshadow was turning back to face the gangster when he heard the sound. A sharper hiss than circular GLO shuriken made, growing ever-louder. He twisted, evading quickly. The whirling bo-shuriken passed so close to his eyes that its wake stung them. Moon cursed. That was a good throw! An accident, or had Jiro markedly improved?

A warning tremor shook the ground behind him. Moon cartwheeled to one side and Wada tore past, head and shoulders down, grunting, flicking up grit and stones. Jiro had to scramble out of his way. The wrestler changed course just in time to avoid trampling the terrified man relentlessly guarding his clay cups and jugs with his own body.

Jiro let out a shriek and grabbed the back of his own head. A small rock danced across the ground behind the gangster's feet. Snowhawk, another rock in her palm, stalked up behind him. Moon noticed that she held something behind her back. But what?

'Oi! Jiro! See what happens when you throw things?' Her tone and eyes were icy.

The gangster turned around, blurting a startled curse. 'So I missed you!' He chuckled. 'Never mind. Let's try again!'

He drew a pair of bo-shuriken from his jacket with alarming speed. The remaining onlookers and vendors cringed at the sight of the twin throwing knives. A young girl started screaming. Taking a short step forward, Jiro let fly at Snowhawk.

A blurring circle of death hissed sharply across the marketplace. Moon opened his mouth to shout a warning but out of the corner of one eye he saw Wada charging at him. This time there was a little more distance between them; thus more time to think.

Wada the bounty hunter was extraordinarily tough, but once he hit full speed, controlled stops seemed hard for him. That was something to work with.

Moonshadow turned and ran, a town watchman and a pair of woodcutters scattering out of his way. The giant followed, pounding up behind him, gaining at a scary pace. Moon glanced to his side to check on Snowhawk. She was running in a zigzag near the well, a tin-lined tea-serving tray in one hand. It was pierced through the centre with Jiro's knife and now he was lining up for another throw. Moon changed course and led Wada, right behind him now, straight between Jiro and his flitting target.

'Madness!' shouted an old man with a stick as Moonshadow tore past him. 'Lunatics! You wreck our town!'

Jiro swore as Wada's thunderous passing blocked his field of fire. Moon heard heavy breathing at his back and knew that the giant had closed the distance between them. He changed direction sharply and vaulted for the centre of a wide stall table.

It was strewn with farming implements such as hand sickles and rice-bale chains, the kind shinobi clans often converted into weapons. No licence to grab one today, however.

Moon plunged for the tabletop. As soon as his feet struck it, he launched himself again, aiming for the roof of the tent-stall next door.

He landed against its angled fabric on his side, rolled off before his weight could tear it and dropped to the ground in a crouch as the stall next door was noisily destroyed.

Wada's headlong impact snapped the table in half, flinging tools into the air. Moon glanced up. A scattered shower of blades and hooks was about to fall. He skipped instinctively to one side. A spinning sickle dug into the earth beside his foot. A young farmer let out a strangled croak on the other side of the wrecked stall. Moon saw him struggling to free a chain that had been flung, whirling, and wrapped around his neck.

The sumo wrestler picked himself up out of the debris, mangled planks and a narrow digging tool sliding off his vast back. Blood ran down one of his cheeks and there was a nasty tear in his left ear. As before, he didn't seem aware that he'd taken damage.

Wada shook his head several times as if waking, then mumbled, 'Sorry . . . sorry.'

Moon looked about. Snowhawk was backing up to the well, brandishing the tea tray's flat tin base between her hands. Jiro faced her. Two throwing knives now stuck from the tray. No wonder she disappeared earlier, Moon thought. She'd quickly hunted down the right counter-device for the job, one offering protection without disclosing shinobi skills. She was amazing! He ran to her side. Jiro drew two more shuriken from his clothes. Jiro! He'd forgotten that this gangster always brought so much ammunition.

The four faced off. Moonshadow locked his gaze on Wada, who stood hunched, panting as he stared back, blood dripping from his chin. He was not going to quit.

Snowhawk's eyes were bright with challenge as she held up the tray, baiting Jiro with a teasing smile. He loosened his wrists and squeezed the bo-shuriken's grips.

Moon tensed. What if Jiro could throw two at once with the same accuracy?

Jiro lunged forward and hurled the first knife. Simultaneously, Wada dropped his huge head and accelerated at Moonshadow.

Moon cursed the timing. What if Snowhawk took a hit? He glanced sideways fast. She snapped the tray up in front of her face just as the bo-shuriken slammed into it with a thunk. His eyes flicked back. Already, Wada was only a breath away, coming at him with amazing speed, his huge body low to the ground.

With a growl of effort, Moon somersaulted backwards up onto the lip of the well. As he landed, a tremor shook the stones under his feet. Moonshadow caught his balance and looked down.

The stones were cut and fitted but not mortared and the well wall had come apart. Wada's head and shoulders were wedged between two sections that had held. Moon heard dislodged stones tumble into the inky funnel, clicking off the walls until loud splashes echoed from far below. The pinned sumo let out a strange groan. Surely he had felt that?

Moonshadow looked up quickly at Jiro. Someone was approaching behind him. Another attacker? A woman, one of the locals, so probably not. She was middle-aged and wore a pink kimono. Just as Snowhawk had, she was hiding something behind her back.

Jiro cackled, tapping his second bo-shuriken on the palm of one hand. 'Aw . . . Moonshadow.' He grinned, displaying yellowed teeth. 'You have no shield!'

The gambler drew back his arm. At the same time, the lady behind him heaved something long and black around her body. Moon glanced at it. With white knuckles the woman raised a heavy, cone-shaped iron saucepan. A sickening, nearly hollow clunk quickly followed. Jiro's head lolled on his shoulders. His arm sagged, eyes became slits.

'Who did that?' Jiro asked quickly. He sank to his knees. With a moan he fell forward, his face hitting the ground hard. Moon scanned him carefully. Unconscious.

'Here's my good luck charm for you!' The lady dropped her weapon, leaned over Jiro and spat. 'Swine! Filthy gangster beast! Ten curses on every part of your painted corpse!' She kicked one of Jiro's legs. He twitched. 'Monster! Get gut worms and die! Mindless wrecker! May the next dice you roll . . . poke out your eyes!'

Moonshadow jumped down from the lip of the well. 'Aw.' He elbowed Snowhawk. 'I'm glad she's on our side.'

'That lady is pretty mad,' Snowhawk panted, 'and she won't be the only one. Let's get out of here before people turn on us. That next town's looking better and better.'

They crept around the well, stepping over the motionless giant fused up to his great shoulder-blades into its wall. Moon leaned over Wada, checking him. Semiconscious but, somehow, alive. Badly hurt, whether he felt it or not. How did he feel no pain? Surely it wasn't a shinobi science? Whatever the cause, it hadn't helped him win the day. Snowhawk passed a knowing look over Wada. Moon knew what she was thinking.

Pain was good, important. It alerted you that you weren't winning. Warned that your tactics had failed. Told you to quit so you could live to fight again later. Operating without it had not helped this mountain of a man defeat a slender opponent like Moon.

He shook his head at Wada. Here lay a lesson worth discussing with Mantis and Eagle. A weird truth: pain was a warrior's valuable friend.

All around them, the locals were slowly starting to move, glancing blankly at each other and the devastated stalls. Their drawn expressions implied mass shock. Perhaps this town didn't see much trouble. Good! Then maybe they didn't even have –

Snowhawk grabbed his wrist and pointed. Moonshadow looked along her arm to the incoming road. He groaned. He'd hoped in vain. They did have a policeman.

A purposeful-looking inspector in official robes, flanked by two burly samurai, approached along the road. His eyes were already locked on the chaos in the marketplace.

Moonshadow and Snowhawk darted away from Wada and into a tight little crowd huddling in the least damaged corner of the square. Stunned faces turned to look at them as they pushed past, heading for a narrow lane between two buildings.

One person in the crowd had a singular demeanour. Snowhawk paced right by him but he caught Moon's attention with his stare. It was constant, bold almost to the point of arrogance. This fellow was young, perhaps just a few years older than Snowhawk or Moon. He wore a dagger, eye-catching clothes and a fancy city hairstyle, long but untied. Make-up, too, so he obviously followed all the latest urban fashions.

The youth was so remote and confident, he might have been a shinobi, but for one factor. Snowhawk hadn't sensed him, nor had Moon himself felt a thing. So that was that.

He caught up with Snowhawk in the lane. 'Wait! You feel any shinobi energy?'

She grinned widely. 'None, just a vague sense of being unpopular around here.'

He laughed with relief. It made her giggle as she turned to move on.

'They went down that lane!' A man's deep voice called from out in the square.

'You know what?' Moon started to run. 'You're right. Let's not stay in this town.'

SEVEN

The kindness of strangers

The middle-aged innkeeper smiled back at Snowhawk as she led her to the room.

It was at the end of a long corridor on the river side of the inn. Snowhawk counted the doors they passed on the way there. Ten, which meant that every room in this place was as tiny as that booth Moonshadow had just been given. She shrugged to herself. It didn't matter. They were both exhausted, he covered in bruises and nursing aching ribs. If her room was big enough for a bedroll, it would do. She sighed wearily. Besides, though it looked oddly deserted tonight, this was the only inn in town.

After travelling across country from the market town, moving parallel to the north road, they'd crept into this place just after sunset. Built on a teeming river, it was a pretty, serene-looking town, smaller than its neighbour. White-blossomed cherry trees ran along the entire main street and a great wooden millwheel turned beyond the last building.

While hiding between narrow, thatched-roofed cottages they'd overheard the locals excitedly trading gossip. The market town's inspector and his men had paid them a visit, searching for a gang of deranged vandals responsible for disrupting Market Day. Finding no unfamiliar faces or new information in this town, they had given up and returned south.

Patting the bun of grey-streaked hair on the crown of her head, the lady stopped outside the last door. She turned to Snowhawk and bowed, sliding it open with one hand. The creases around her soft eyes multiplied as she smiled warmly.

'There you are, dear. The quietest end of the inn. You'll get a good night's sleep here.' She covered her mouth and gave an eccentric little titter. 'Your poor brother looked like he would sleep anywhere, on a peak under thunderclouds, maybe?' The innkeeper tittered again. 'So young to be tramping so far, but I envy you both. What freedom!'

Snowhawk bowed and stepped into the room. It was tiny, lit by a single wall-mounted lamp, but she was surprised to see that it wasn't empty. A thick duck-down quilt lay folded in one corner. Snowhawk's mouth twisted. She hadn't paid an extra copper to add a quilt to the room rental. But the spring nights were cold in these hills, especially in places near water. That quilt would be a welcome extra. She grinned at the thought of it, deep and soft, above and below her.

The lady's eyes batted as they moved from the quilt to Snowhawk.

'A little gift, no extra charge,' the woman sighed. 'I'm a sentimental old thing.'

'Good lady, you are far from old.' Snowhawk gave a grateful bow. 'Thank you for this wonderful kindness, but why me? How do I make you feel sentimental?'

The innkeeper looked wistful as she stepped inside the room and closed the door.

'You look just like me when I was your age. That's all.' She dropped her eyes humbly. 'Though I never went travelling, looking for work at my brother's side, like you. I've never left this village. I was born here, and here I will die. No doubt, in this inn.'

A lump rose in Snowhawk's throat. This poor woman was lonely. She probably had been all her life. Snowhawk looked about, avoiding the lady's eyes while she weighed a decision. Why not? What harm could come from repaying a kindness?

'Would you like to stay a while?' Snowhawk offered gently. 'Talk with me?'

The lady's face lit up. 'You're very sweet, child. But are you not also weary?'

'Yes, but I'd love some company. Just for a while.' Snowhawk sank into the seiza position, gesturing for the woman to also sit.

The innkeeper studied her with probing maternal eyes. 'May I be very forward, Miss?' Snowhawk frowned at the question but nodded slowly. 'When you and that lad parted outside his room, I saw each of you give the other a certain glance . . .' She tittered. 'Forgive me. He's not really your brother, is he?'

'Why do you ask?' Snowhawk felt a twinge of irritation. This was too personal!

Staring down at the reed mat in front of her knees, the lady shrugged. 'It's none of my business, I know. But if the two of you happened to be in some sort of trouble, on the run even . . .' She looked up, tears in her eyes. 'I would let you both hide here.'

Snowhawk met the woman's gaze and her own chin began to tremble as she sensed the depth of feeling behind this remarkable offer. This lady, a total stranger, was reliving her unhappy life – or at least trying to – through Snowhawk. How generous – and how sad. Her vision swam as she fought off tears of her own.

At once Snowhawk felt that she could guess the woman's history intuitively.

Perhaps this lady and a youth she had loved had tried to flee disapproving families. Maybe one was peasant, the other samurai by birth, and none in this small town would tolerate a match that mixed castes. Whatever the reasons, they hadn't escaped; this gentle soul had lost her match. Almost as tragically, she had wound up a prisoner . . . to this inn.

No wonder she had said so vehemently, 'What freedom!' She had never known it.

It was time to take a little chance. Snowhawk wiped her eyes and nodded. Since joining the Grey Light Order she'd had two very satisfying girl-talks with Heron. But they had left her hungry for more. This gracious lady, perhaps a stand-in parent the kami had sent her way, might also give great motherly advice. Snowhawk sniffed. Yes, though in seeking it, she would have to be careful what she revealed. No details.

'You are so very kind.' Snowhawk touched her forehead to the matting. As she straightened up she saw the lady blush at the deep bow, normally given only to warlords or highly respected teachers. 'In fact, we need no haven, but I would still be grateful to talk.' She waved vaguely at the door. 'About him, I suppose. Him and me and things.'

'And I would be honoured to listen.' The lady wiped her eyes. 'Perhaps even to offer advice.' She looked demurely through her wet lashes. 'If only an old fool's advice.'

Snowhawk hung her head with shyness as she began. 'It's true, he's not my brother but we did . . . we do . . . work together.' The innkeeper nodded patiently. 'When we first met, he really helped me out. There was . . . anyway, I was in danger, and he came to my aid when I needed it. Since then, we've worked closely . . .' She looked away, suddenly too self-conscious to go on.

'You have a crush on him, don't you?' The innkeeper gave a cheeky wink. 'He's a handsome little squirrel, I'll give you that. A handsome but strong face, I'd say.'

Covering her blushing cheeks, Snowhawk nodded. 'But lately, I feel that I've failed him, failed our friendship. Failed even the –' she caught herself – 'the people we've been working for.' Her stare fell into her lap. 'I've been angry. Over things done to me.'

The woman folded her arms slowly. 'So either the boy or those you both worked for saw your anger.' She watched Snowhawk nod. 'Did you lose control?'

'To my shame, yes. But only he saw it.' Snowhawk looked up quickly, her voice breaking. 'And he covered for me. Kept it a secret. He hasn't even said a word to me about it yet, but I know I've disappointed him. Betrayed him!'

The first tear rolled down her cheek. She forced herself to sit stiffly, breathe more slowly, regain control. Suddenly it all felt crazy. Why was she turning to a total stranger?

'Poor girl.' The innkeeper shook her head. 'This will make you feel better . . . a little truth, a little straight talk between women, neh?' Her expression grew firm. 'If he's said nothing, he's still watching out for you, caring for you. Nobody continues to do that when someone has really let them down. They back off. No, for now at least, I wouldn't worry about things with him. What you do have to work on, is this anger you speak of.'

'You're so right,' Snowhawk said. 'I know it in my heart, even as you say it.'

'Good, then listen to this and remember it.' The lady thumbed over her shoulder. 'Hear the river? It flows, fed by springs and snow melting up in the mountains, no matter what the season. No matter what the weather. It's like ki, the life force itself, neh?'

'True,' Snowhawk murmured, wiping a cheek. Since she spoke of ki, the lady had to be a healer. That would fit. No wonder she was skilled at helping others to open up.

'The river also teaches us something of how to live life, too. It always flows on. It accepts the rocks it was born in, the ones it was thrown against, then moves on.' The innkeeper pointed directly at the spot between Snowhawk's eyes. 'It's natural to get angry if you are wronged. But not to trap black energy in there. So don't. Forgive who you need to: yourself, them, the dog that bit you, the gods themselves. And be like the river. Find a way to just flow on.'

Snowhawk filled her chest and slowly blew out a long breath. 'That's the wisest advice I've ever heard. Thank you so much. For everything. Forgive me if now, I'm . . .'

'Trying not to yawn?' The lady gave her gentle titter. 'Come, come, I can see you need to sleep now.' She hesitated. 'May I ask you a small favour, sweet child?'

'I'm hardly sweet.' Snowhawk beamed at her. 'But ask. What can I do for you?'

The innkeeper squirmed. 'May I . . . tuck you in? As if you were my daughter?'

After forcing a new lump back down her throat, Snowhawk nodded warmly.

The lady lovingly prepared her bed. She positioned, folded and then fluffed the quilt into a big, puffy envelope that almost reached to the edges of the little room. Snowhawk smiled with anticipation. This just might be her best night's sleep in years.

Travelling as lightly as possible, she had brought no sleeping clothes. Snowhawk took off her pack and roll, keeping the sword hidden, and turned in, wearing her uniform to bed for extra warmth. Once she was snuggled inside the quilt, the kindly innkeeper literally tucked her in, smoothing its top edge into a perfect line that ran under her chin. Snowhawk grinned up at her. This was like being a child again. No, not again. Childhood had never been like this. Her face grew solemn. It was like being a child for the first time.

'One last thing,' the woman said earnestly. 'And I want you to remember this too, for as long as you live.' Snowhawk nodded keenly. The lady smiled. 'Despite what I do for a living, you should really listen to my advice. Take it on its own merits, neh?'

'Yes, of course. I promise I always will,' Snowhawk pledged.

'Good.' The innkeeper stood up and looked down at her. 'That's settled then.'

Without warning she bounded nimbly onto the quilt. As her feet landed, each perfectly on target, they stretched the quilt's top edge tight across Snowhawk's throat.

Wide-eyed with shock, heart pounding in terror, Snowhawk thrashed around and tried to kick upwards through the quilt. It was impossible to raise her knees anywhere near enough. She tried to raise her arms. Immediately they became tangled. In seconds she realised that the quilt had been folded ingeniously. It was a restful-looking trap.

Looming above her, the woman maintained balance effortlessly, riding the tiny waves of each struggle with ease. Abruptly she thrust both hands into her kimono.

As Snowhawk spluttered and bucked, already gasping for air, the innkeeper's face changed. All traces of kindliness left it and every soft line became harsh. The streaks of grey vanished from the lady's hair and her eyes grew larger.

A completely different woman stood over her now, still middle-aged but aglow with a frightening vigour. Her appearance was more youthful, her stare bright . . . and filled with ruthless aggression. Snowhawk stopped struggling. She had to save her strength.

Think! And do it fast. Brute force was not going to get her out of this.

She always kept a tiny flat blade in a sheath deep inside her belly-wrap. It was an old habit, instilled by her former clan. If cornered and disarmed, a Fuma agent was expected to take their own life, the unwavering penalty for failing a mission.

If she could only get to it now, it might serve the opposite purpose. She could cut her way out of this quilt. Then, once free, she'd stand a very good chance because whoever this mystery shinobi attacker was, the scheming hag appeared not to be armed.

Hah! Snowhawk summoned up her resolve. No weapon, eh? This agent didn't know who she was dealing with! That insulting underestimation was going to cost her.

The hovering woman raised one eyebrow. 'Look what I have for you.'

After sliding her feet out to stretch the fabric tighter across Snowhawk's throat, the stranger carefully drew twin war fans from her kimono. They instantly popped open, bright green with black iron spokes. Each spoke tapered into a sharp point.

Fixing her victim with a superior smile, the attacker flexed her fans.

'Don't resist me, child. Cuts from these fan spikes are very fine, very shallow, they won't kill you . . . just make you sleep for your journey home to Fuma . . . with Kagero.'

Moonshadow yawned again and turned over on his bedroll. His room was tiny, its cool air still, the light dim now that most of the corridor lamps were also out. He stretched. Why, despite feeling wrung-out, couldn't he sleep?

Was Snowhawk asleep yet?

It felt like an hour since the innkeeper had led her away to her room. He sighed. Snowhawk! It was probably just as well they hadn't been roomed next door to each other. Exhausted or not, they might have ended up talking for half the night. Again.

He couldn't always follow how her mind worked, but he loved their conversations, the many random topics, Snowhawk's particular way of looking at things. Moon rolled over and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling's pool of black shadow.

Life was strange. In just a matter of weeks she had turned into the best friend he had ever had. Despite their occasional awkward moments, he never wanted to stop talking with her. Or looking at her. Whenever she laughed, which grew more frequent as time passed, a little light came on in her eyes. The very idea that he had triggered it made him feel important and powerful in a whole new way, every single time.

He didn't understand it. But that didn't matter. It felt right.

One nagging concern made him frown. What would happen when the White Nun met her? Would the great seer validate Snowhawk as the latest member of the Grey Light Order? She had to! But what if instead –

His residue-enhanced hearing picked up a distant, muffled sound.

What was that? Moonshadow rose up on one elbow, hanging his mouth open to stretch his hearing even further. Over the background mutter of the river came a sound of impact. Moon flinched. It came from the direction Snowhawk and the innkeeper had gone!

He vaulted from his bedroll to his feet.

So that was why they had been roomed so far apart in an empty inn. He snarled.

An ambush!

Quickly he slid open the door. Louder sounds now, again from the river side of the inn, pierced the thin walls and paper screens. Multiple strong impacts, the unmistakable signs of a violent struggle in progress.

Moonshadow ran down the corridor, ever louder thuds and whacks leading him.

At the end of the passage lay two sliding doors, one to the right, one to the left.

The right-hand door was made up of strips of cedar framing opaque waxed paper. Through it came the diffused glow of a wall-lamp and across its squares ran wild, shifting shadows. His heart began pounding. Snowhawk was under attack.

Opposite her room, the left-hand door – made of solid, dark wood – led outside.

It leads to the river. With that thought, an intense wave of light-headedness rolled over him. Moon's legs turned weak and he sank to one knee in the corridor, just paces from Snowhawk's room.

Go outside, a voice in his head echoed. It was his own voice, but not his thoughts.

Moonshadow grunted and shook his head hard, trying to make it disappear.

See what's outside, the voice said firmly. You know you want to.

'No I don't,' he said aloud through gritted teeth, 'Snowhawk –'

Suddenly he did want to go outside. Leaning on the corridor wall, Moon struggled back to his feet. With each breath, the irrational urge to use the door on the left expanded like a smoke bomb's cloud, attacking his reason, willing him to obey.

No! Moonshadow argued with the compulsion. I-will-not. He cursed, hanging his head. He would force himself to stride, one grinding step at a time, to her door.

Moon looked up at the end of the corridor. His face creased with horror.

Now there was only one door: the door that led outside. Opposite it, where Snowhawk's paper-squared door had been, stood a solid wall of heavy-looking dark timber reinforced with vertical beams.

Moonshadow blinked, reeling with confusion. What was happening?

Go outside now, the voice urged. To the river. Then you will understand.

His feet began to move of their own accord. Moonshadow looked down at them, his mouth twisting. Another wave of light-headedness struck him, stronger than the last.

He staggered forward and fell against the door leading outside, to the river.

'Snowhawk,' Moon murmured. His hands gripped the solid sliding door. He had no say in it; he was going outside, though with all his heart and mind he didn't want to.

A dreadful awareness dawned on him. Where it came from, he had no idea.

He was going down to the river. It was simply meant to be. It was his fate.

There, something ancient, inhuman and nasty would be waiting for him.

Moonshadow tried to say her name again, but instead, he opened the door.

A sound broke the lull: like a person blowing hard through pressed lips.

Kagero's eyes flared with surprise. The tip of a small, flat blade flashed along a perfectly straight line towards her feet, the quilt peeling open behind it. Kagero hunched closer and peered.

Grunting, sweaty and red-cheeked, Snowhawk drove the knife up in line with her own shoulder, cutting the taut band of fabric pinning her throat.

Its last bundle of threads gave way with a snap. Snowhawk hissed and glared up at Kagero, anticipation glazing her eyes. The bounty hunter hesitated, as if in disbelief, as her former victim dropped the knife.

Snowhawk arched her back, brought her knees to her chest and planted her palms at her sides. With a roar she swung her feet up and then thrust backwards, rolling into a handstand that quickly became a double back-kick.

One foot glanced off Kagero's wrist, ramming her fans together and off to one side. The other foot connected hard directly under her chin. Kagero stumbled backwards, snatched at her upper throat and coughed. Her eyes narrowed furiously.

'I hope that hurt!' Snowhawk landed on both feet, snatched up the knife and skipped side – ways to her pack and unused bedroll. Watching Kagero warily, she sank to one knee and thrust a hand into the mouth of the rolled-up reed traveller's mat.

'Stop! You are full of surprises, child.' The bounty hunter grimaced hard and raised her fans, blocking the door in a warlike stance. 'But don't you dare try drawing that sword.' Deftly snagging the edge of her lapel with one fan, Kagero pulled her kimono top open a finger's length.

Snowhawk saw a pouch inside, bristling with curve-bladed Fuma shurikens.

'Let's not escalate the weapons.' Kagero winked. 'You're worth more alive.'

'Slimy old dragon,' Snowhawk shouted, 'I trusted you! I let you give me advice!'

'Aw, so now I'm old, you insincere little squirrel!' Kagero curled her lip. 'And don't disrespect my advice. On the road home to the Fuma's mountain fortress, I'll give you some more if you like. What? Don't pull that face! Even people I've later killed have said I give excellent advice. I once helped one of my employers with his marriage!'

'And later slew his wife, I bet!' Snowhawk felt herself erupt with fury. It was beyond her control, again. 'May death find all the Fuma! Don't you ever call those rat-hole caves home! You want to go home? I'll send you!' She heard her own voice arc into an explosive, nerve-stretching shriek. Its intensity disturbed her, yet the rage plumed on. 'I'll send you on your final journey! Across the River Sai to the land of the dead!'

Kagero's face again betrayed surprise as Snowhawk leapt at her, flying fast and high, slashing wildly with her tiny knife. The bounty hunter closed the fans and ducked, turning sideways and rolling along the reed mat into the heap of slashed quilting.

Snowhawk hurtled over her, crashing into the door of cedar planks and paper.

It tore and splintered apart, debris whirling around Snowhawk as she burst through it and landed in the corridor. She cartwheeled down the passageway, flicking small broken sticks of wood into the air. Using only one arm as she wheeled, Snowhawk slashed behind her with the knife in case Kagero was pursuing closely. She landed and turned. Her attacker had not followed. Why?

Panting, eyes on the doorway, Snowhawk waited for her nemesis to appear.

Still nothing. Instinctively, she backed away down the corridor, knees bent, feet gliding slowly without making a sound.

Her heart had already skipped several beats. Now the full realisation of her plight made it pound like a distant war drum. Unless her attacker was telling a pointless lie, she was facing the infamous Kagero. Long ago, among the Fuma, she'd heard of this veteran shinobi, raised and trained by her former clan, now a man-catcher and killer for hire. Kagero had been one of only a handful of agents to attain elite status, so respected by their masters, it was said, that they were permitted – for an almost impossible sum – to buy their own independence from the clan. On hearing such tales, Snowhawk had wondered whether agents that powerful were truly allowed to buy their freedom out of respect. Or was it that even their masters came to fear them? This Kagero was certainly a frightening opponent, and one with a unique approach to the art of ambush!

Why had she not sensed the presence of shinobi energy when her disguised attacker first appeared? Why wasn't she feeling it now? Snowhawk ground her teeth together. And what in all the floating worlds made Kagero think she could be a stalking predator and a roving wise-woman at the same time?

Give your prey advice? That was as insulting as it was mad!

What was that? Snowhawk's head inclined quickly. Her eyes flicked up.

The white wooden ceiling panel directly above her rose. It flashed to one side, vanishing. For an instant blackness replaced it, then she saw the soles of white cotton tabi boots and the ripple of a silk kimono's hem. Out of the dark ceiling Kagero plunged, feet aimed for Snowhawk's shoulders, trying for the oldest shinobi take-down in the scrolls.

Diving into a forward roll, Snowhawk just avoided it. As she regained her feet, Kagero landed heavily in the passageway behind her. The bounty hunter straightened her knees and bounded forward with uncanny speed, snapping one of her fans downward, eyes slitting at her target. Snowhawk howled as the closed war fan struck from behind, rapping her knuckles so hard that she was forced to release her knife.

It twirled to the passageway floor, sticking in the wood with a dull thok.

Snowhawk gyrated around, tensing her hands into blades, fingers locked together. Kagero started to whirl, arms extended, twin fans flashing as she turned. Like a human top she advanced on Snowhawk, the revolving iron fan tips just missing the walls. Snowhawk scrambled back, crouched low and scuttled at Kagero. Building up speed, she threw herself onto her side and slid along the floorboards feet-first. With a determined roar, Snowhawk crashed into Kagero's turning ankles, knocking her off balance.

The bounty hunter's spin broke and slowed into a turning stumble. Snowhawk leapt up and made for the tiny knife. But Kagero regained her footing with astonishing speed and ran backwards, cutting her opponent off.

Gasping for each breath, Snowhawk took her eyes from Kagero to glance at the imbedded blade. Was it dug in deep? Could it be snatched out?

The glance lasted a second too long.

Kagero took a quick, nimble stride then jumped high into the air. A mighty double-footed kick broke Snowhawk's half-formed block, slamming into her chest.

Snowhawk's head snapped forward as she was flung along the corridor. She skidded on her back, through broken sticks and torn paper, up to her room's doorway.

Her neck throbbed, her head went light. Snowhawk knew at once that she was badly stunned. She opened her eyes, groaning loudly as Kagero landed on her chest, settling down heavily, weight spread to pin her to the floor. The iron-spoked fans hovered at her throat. Kagero smiled down at her, as if daring her to move, even to flinch.

Where was Moonshadow? He would have easily heard the noise of this fight. Since he hadn't come to her aid, did that mean he was already dead? A pang of distress clawed at her. She fought it off; Moon might just be drugged or otherwise delayed. Might someone else come to investigate the din and break this up?

'Did you kill the real innkeeper?' Snowhawk scowled up at her attacker.

The bounty hunter panted heavily. 'She's sleeping off the tea I gave her.' Kagero huffed and tossed her head with mock indignation. 'You think I'd kill anybody for free?'

Kagero's eyes were momentarily off her. Snowhawk saw her chance and took it. Her hands flashed up, each grabbing a wrist and pushing hard, forcing the fans and their drug-coated tips back, away from her throat. Kagero grunted, leaning forward, trying to return them to Snowhawk's neck.

As the two pushed and shoved, each grunting and sucking in air, Kagero's eyes, filled with black menace and determination, lingered on Snowhawk's.

Your biggest mistake, Snowhawk smiled, as she forced her next breath steady. Her stomach turned hot. Her heart was already pounding, but now it thrummed even more intensely as she activated her most specialised skill. Kagero had forgotten who she was dealing with.

Snowhawk felt familiar invisible energy surge from her eyes to Kagero's.

'Kunoichi hypnosis, eh? Pah!' Kagero leered. 'Don't you try that kids' stuff on me!' Her face was full of confidence but abruptly, one eyelid twitched then sagged.

Snowhawk felt herself losing physical strength fast. Unleashing her special power always had that effect. The fans, trembling now in Kagero's hands, moved closer.

She doggedly fired a second bolt of energy into her foe's eyes.

'It won't work!' Kagero snorted, forcing one fan right up to her throat. Iron spoke-tips danced a fingernail's width from Snowhawk's skin.

Gulping in a desperate breath, her mind frenzied and heart racing, Snowhawk loosed a third bolt. At once she felt her stomach cool. That was all she had.

If it worked at all, would it work in time?

EIGHT

Beware of the Kappa

Moonshadow stood on the riverbank, rushing water at his feet. Green-tinged starlight lit the nightscape around him, drenching everything with its peculiar colour.

The river flickered constantly with splashes of emerald-silver as if a vast school of fish teemed in it. Beyond its banks, a thickly wooded hillside climbed away from the town, tiger-striped with the shadows of tall trees. Moon's eyes hunted for movement.

No, not there, the voice was back in his head, down here, look down.

As he did, the water at his feet erupted in all directions and a manlike form hurtled up from the river at him. He caught a glimpse of mottled skin, tangled hair, claws.

Moonshadow tried evading to his left but the unknown creature moved too quickly. For a split second his view of the riverbank was upside down, then, in a flash of bubbles, he was underwater. It had him by one leg and was dragging him to the bottom.

Looking down, Moon flinched as he saw what gripped him: a Kappa!

The most infamous of water-spirits, Kappas were known for mischief and murder. At times they were content just to startle those crossing rivers or wading as they fished. But, quite randomly, they also attacked and drowned people. There had been many sightings, all with similar descriptions – but none quite as terrifying as this beast.

He watched it swim strenuously, towing him down into the river's black depths. The Kappa had a shell on its back very much like a turtle's, and long, seaweed-like hair streamed behind its head as it powered downwards.

The crown of its head was hollow, a transparent bowl. It trapped iridescent white bubbles that bobbed in a sea of black brain fluid. The deeper they went, the more the bubbles roiled and multiplied, as if the increasing pressure of the depth stimulated them. The Kappa's sinewy grey-green arms and legs were spotted with patches of what looked like algae, and its fingers and toes, tipped with long pale claws, were heavily webbed.

Moon raised his free foot and stamped down at the creature's wrist. Would it have a release-nerve there, like humans? Thwarted by the drag of the water, he missed it, striking instead the clawed hand that gripped his ankle. The Kappa slowed its descent and looked up at him. Moonshadow gaped at his first clear glimpse of the water monster's face. It had a turtle-like beak, a tiny two-holed stump of a nose and large eyes similar to a frog's. Each eye was divided by a silvery slit for a pupil. As he stared, its turtle beak peeled open and between the gummy folds of its mouth, Moon saw the flash of rows of concealed teeth. Every tiny, dagger-sharp tooth slanted backwards.

He stamped at the Kappa's wrist again. This time his foot found its mark. The Kappa's grip broke and Moonshadow kicked wildly for the surface. Rising fast, he sensed the creature close behind him. He drove himself on, faster, up for the green light.

Moon burst from the water in a spray of foam and scrambled up the river bank, sliding and snatching at the muddy grass. Why was he not gasping for air? He touched his clothing, then his head. He was completely dry. How? And where was his attacker?

As he looked around warily, the surface of the river erupted again. The Kappa soared from the water and Moonshadow stumbled backwards as it landed right in front of him with a soggy flop.

The creature loomed, its silvery pupils dilating as they focused on Moon's face.

'Cucumbers,' the Kappa said, its voice low, wet and sludgy. 'Do you have any?'

'What?' Such a crazy question! Moon shook his head. 'No, why would I?'

The Kappa's head swayed to one side as if conceding his point. 'Then you die.'

It lunged at him, beak splaying open impossibly wide, each row of teeth snapping. Moon hurtled back but the Kappa darted after him and seized him by the shoulders. With overwhelming strength it pinned him to the riverbank. Its head angled, lank hair swishing, as it prepared to bite into his neck. The beak stretched, rows of teeth inside it working busily, gleaming as they came closer. Strangely weak and struggling vainly, Moonshadow closed his eyes. There was no escape. It had him; this was it!

He threw back his head and gave in to panic, shrieking long and loud.

The green-tinged starlight and everything under it was swallowed by black curtains that flutter ed in from all directions. Moon felt as though he was tumbling inside one of them, wrapped in its dark folds. With a bump something solid met his back.

Warily he forced an eye open. For a few seconds, he could make no sense of what he saw. Then suddenly he knew it was real. Moonshadow let out a moan of intense relief.

The Kappa attack had been a nightmare, that was all. He was lying safely on the floor of his own room. Snowhawk was hunched over him, shaking his shoulders. Her face was red, clothes dark with sweat, but she appeared unharmed. Moon turned his head, chest still heaving with emotion. Snowhawk had re-lit the lamp in his room. Had she been here for some time? He peered around. Her pack and bedroll lay on the matting.

She released Moon's shoulders and he sat up. Pain stabbed his temples.

'Thank the gods.' She sighed with relief. 'I thought I might have been too late.'

'What . . . what just happened?' Moonshadow rubbed his eyes.

'We were both attacked, in very different ways. As soon as you can walk, we must get out of here.' Snowhawk wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. 'While the woman who attacked me is still asleep in the corridor outside my room.'

He stared at her. 'That sweet old innkeeper attacked you?'

Snowhawk's face darkened. 'What you saw was an Old Country disguise . . . a trick. Underneath it was the shinobi who attacked me. She called herself . . . Kagero.'

'The Kagero?' Moon frowned. 'Not the infamous freelance shinobi who –'

'I don't know.' Snowhawk began dragging him to his feet. 'I still can't believe she was the real Kagero, the same agent I used to hear Fuma trainers brag about.'

'Why not?' He looked around vaguely, massaging his temples.

'Because I'm still breathing,' Snowhawk said. 'Come on, get your stuff.'

They fled the inn and Snowhawk led him north out of town, keeping to the shadows of the roadside trees. She looked and sounded a little haggard, but still moved with her usual flitting agility. Moon struggled to keep up with her and felt that now he moved clumsily, making as much noise as an ordinary man. When Snowhawk finally slowed her pace, a good bowshot from town, he told her how he felt.

'That feeling will pass.' She pointed to his forehead. 'It's called The Haze. It's a side-effect of the attack.' Snowhawk gave a marvelling sigh. 'When you let out that cry I realised what was going on. It looked close. If I had tried waking you a moment later . . .'

He grabbed her arm. 'What was going on? What just happened to me?'

Snowhawk hung her head as if choosing her next words carefully. 'Have you ever heard of the Fuma Death Dream skill?' He shook his head. 'I'll bet your GLO trainers have. It's a very rare Old Country science. I only know about it because Clan Fuma once tried to teach it to me.'

'Tried?' Moon glanced back along the road, checking for signs of pursuit.

'Yes. Tried, and failed. Or rather I did,' she shrugged. 'They said my temperament made me unsuitable. So they switched me to learning shinobi hypnosis, which I picked up easily.' Snowhawk's mouth twitched into a half-smile. 'Strong natures usually do.'

'The Fuma Death Dream? How does it work?'

'It's a mind attack that comes at you in the form of a dream. Actually, it's a certain kind of trance your attacker forces upon you and then guides. It can be used in daylight on a conscious subject as well as on a sleeper. The rules are simple: if you cannot defeat the nightmare creature sent to attack you and nobody wakes you in time, your heart stops beating while you're in the trance-dream.'

'What?' Remembering the fury of the Kappa's attack, Moon wrapped his arms around himself. 'You mean it winds up fatal? It's not just to frighten or distract?'

Snowhawk shook her head. 'No, but to master it, you need a high degree of deep-mind stillness . . . great control over your thoughts. Perhaps that's why I wasn't a good candidate.' She gave a low, hollow laugh. 'After proving unsuitable for that science, many of the Fuma told me I was useless, only good for running errands down to the nearest village. But that kind of talk stopped smartly when I tried out my Kunoichi hypnosis for the first time . . . on one of my trainers.' She glowered. 'That shut them up.'

'Yes, well,' Moon nodded wearily. 'I myself know just how good at it you are.' They exchanged knowing glances and Snowhawk grinned. Moon rolled his eyes. 'First time you and I were alone in daylight,' he grumbled, 'do you realise how long I slept?'

'We weren't on the same side back then, that morning in the stable.' She took his arm and even in the scant light he could see her face tense with worry. 'I'm afraid there's one other piece of bad news about the Fuma Death Dream skill.'

'Oh, great,' Moonshadow checked the road again then stared at her. 'Now what? Even if you do get woken up in time, your head eventually explodes?'

'Worse,' she replied humourlessly. 'You know how I can sense the presence of other shinobi better than you can?'

He nodded. 'Much better than I can.'

'Well, those trained as dream assassins also learn a related skill. A very difficult but useful one. Again, only the still of mind can develop it.' Snowhawk took a deep breath. 'They neutralise the sensing powers of all nearby shinobi before they attack.'

'Are you serious?' A deep shudder went through him. 'That's actually possible?'

'As tonight proves. A dream assassin went after you and in the process stopped me sensing that the innkeeper was really a shinobi in disguise.'

'A dream assassin? Don't you mean Kagero?'

'No, because your nightmare continued even after I had left her unconscious. That means somebody else, someone we didn't even see, used their Death Dream skill on you.'

'If that's the case . . . if we've an unknown enemy who can stop you sensing them . . .' Moon shook his head slowly. 'We might as well be deaf.'

'We are deaf now. And we'll stay deaf on this mission.' Snowhawk raised a fist. 'Unless we find that dream killer and kill them.'

Moonshadow gave a bitter chuckle as they turned to go on. 'Why work so hard? Isn't it obvious? No matter what we do, he or she is going to find us.'

A rooster crowed three times in the distance, then the first bird warbled sweetly.

Brother Badger's eyes opened wide. He sat up sharply on his bedroll. It was still dark but the cold air held that tang of promise; a fresh morning would soon be born.

Saru-San jumped from his basket at the foot of Badger's bed, snorting, looking in all directions. Scratching one armpit, its face screwed-up, the monkey turned a circle.

Badger grunted. 'Calm down, there's nothing. It was just me.'

The monkey stared at him, head sagging to one side. Saru-San lifted his tail and passed gas with a long wheezing sound that ended with a dull futt. Then he lowered his tail, sighed very much the way Badger did, and fell sideways back into his basket.

Badger clambered to his feet with his nose pinched, his mind clearing fast.

He hated these moments. He would go to bed while working on some problem, be it tactical, historical or a matter of translation. Falling asleep, the riddle still unsolved, he'd look forward to an unbroken night of deep, dreamless slumber.

Instead, this phenomenon would occur. And here it was again. He had woken up because some other layer of his mind had been working on the problem while he had slept. Its solution had now reached the outer layer of the fruit, the conscious Badger. He wasn't sure how it worked. Had he borne the answer from some already forgotten dream? He grunted again. No matter. Wherever this idea came from, it was going to be tested.

Badger released his nostrils, tightened the light sleeping kimono around him and prepared a paper lantern on a stick. He lit its candle and hoisted the lantern high. Muttering absently, Badger crossed the corridor from his room into the archives.

There was not a stir from the rest of the Grey Light Order's Edo monastery. That won't keep for long, Badger told himself. He knew that when living among those who were shinobi-trained, even stone and wooden walls might as well be paper. Someone, or all of them, would hear him. At least they knew his step and they weren't the throw shuriken first, ask questions later types. Though Japan had its share of them, for sure.

He glided past the door to the map-drying room and between tall rows of shelves, the glow of his lantern stroking the banks of scrolls and wooden trays of flip-books.

A gleam caught Badger's attention. He stopped and reached for its source. Filling his chest, he held the prized possession up to one eye. His brand new foreign magnifying glass, a personal gift from the Shogun. Gripping it possessively, he paced quickly into a different aisle of the archives, lamp high again, eyes hunting.

There: the lunar month's incoming despatches. He locked the lantern into a ringed holder set between the shelves, then raised the stitched wad of handmade papers in front of his eyes. With a flourish, Badger swept the magnifying glass over the topmost paper. Through its lens, the message's characters leapt forward, instantly vivid. Badger smiled wistfully. This surely was how he would see them if his eyes were still young and strong.

Badger pressed the magnifying glass to his chest. 'These modern days,' he murmured. 'Another wondrous device. Doubtful it could ever be improved upon.'

The wondrous device would enable close scrutiny of the wad's uppermost message. That was the last despatch they had received, the one that had sent the juniors on their way. Badger took the wad of papers and his eye-glass up to the lamp, carefully examining the top paper itself. He flipped to the next message, then more quickly to the one after it. Badger looked up, muttering a scholarly curse. His hunch was right. If only he'd seen this earlier! Before Moonshadow and Snowhawk had departed. But now –

Pacing quickly through a doorway to the base's main corridor, Badger came face-to-face with Eagle and Heron. Heron shielded her sensitive eyes from his lantern's light.

'Aw, not really invading pandas then,' Eagle said coolly, squinting at him. 'How can a brain that can speak and read so many languages simply not comprehend stealth?'

Badger bowed, his papers and glass under one arm, lantern stick under the other. 'I'm sorry I alarmed you. However, the matter is serious. I was coming to call a meeting.'

Eagle dismissed his apology with a wave. 'We're all half-asleep and grumpy . . .'

'Speak for yourself,' Heron said softly. 'Brother Badger. What's happened?'

'It's our controversial last message.' Badger raised the stitched wad of papers. 'I examined the document yet again, this time comparing the paper itself with that of the earlier despatches. It's different.' Heron and Eagle exchanged looks.

'That paper,' Heron said thoughtfully, 'is handmade . . .'

Badger thrust his magnifying glass and the messages forward.

'Handmade, high quality and quite distinctive, with tiny white pulp threads in it,' he said excitedly. He saw Heron cringe at his escalating volume. Badger winced and inwardly vowed to restrain himself, then continued, keeping his voice low. 'Our last incoming wasn't written on the paper I supplied our network with. Whoever wrote it used a similar type of paper, but look for yourself, through this device: they are different.'

Eagle turned his head a quarter. 'Brother Mantis approaches,' he smiled.

Badger could hear nothing but he was used to that. He sighed impatiently.

'Groundspider is right behind him,' Heron grinned, her eyes narrow.

'Huh,' Badger clicked his tongue. 'Even I can hear him.' Of course, he couldn't.

Mantis and Groundspider materialised out of the gloom behind Eagle.

As always, Brother Mantis appeared focused, alert. Groundspider was the opposite. His eyes were red, watery, his hair a small mountain of knots. He stared listlessly.

Eagle quickly outlined Badger's discovery while Badger nodded proudly. His leader's next words, however, proved a little deflating. Badger scowled at them.

'Unfortunately,' Eagle yawned, 'this is all still somewhat inconclusive.' Disagreement flooded Heron's face. Evidently sensing it, Eagle looked around at the whole group. 'Come now, consider: its explanation may prove quite innocent.'

'Or tactical.' Mantis folded his arms. 'I say a cunning enemy – I think we can safely guess which one – has found a weak point in one of our lines of communication. Somehow, somewhere, they have replaced one of our messages with this . . . substitute.'

Heron nodded quickly. 'And so deftly our chain of runners didn't know it.'

Mantis tapered his stare. 'Strategically, it makes great sense. If I was going to assail a shadow force like the Grey Light Order, I would start by isolating and slaying the least experienced. After that, work my way up. Wouldn't you, Brother Eagle?'

'Yes, of course I would, but . . . ah!' Eagle threw up his hands. 'What you say does make great sense, but before I can act on it decisively, I need more. Anything more!'

Groundspider was finally waking up. 'You mean nobody's really after the White Nun?' He scratched his head. 'They're after us?'

Heron gestured at Badger's wad of papers. 'Separate the latest one.' She turned to Eagle. 'I'm not the White Nun, but it's she who has been teaching me this technique. Just as you and Moon can experience animal residues after a joining, so can the White Nun read residues left on paper, garments, even weapons, by the hands of men. Residues that betray much about the owner, or at least, the strongest one to touch that thing.'

'So I don't know all your secrets.' Eagle beamed. Badger frowned uncomfortably.

'And since I am a woman,' said Heron with the hint of a smile, 'you never will.'

Mantis looked away with a knowing grin. Badger rolled his eyes. He had never grown accustomed to Heron and Eagle's relationship. It was all too revoltingly . . . sweet.

Heron took the paper from Badger, folded it into a star-like pattern, then pressed it to her forehead. 'I am not skilled yet. In fact, I wouldn't even have offered to try this but for the grave situation . . .' She went quiet, closing her eyes. Everyone waited, watching intently. Her hand dropped. The folded message fell and she caught it. 'I can discern but one thing.' Heron looked around with a shrug. 'It's not much. A feeling. An emotion.'

'Which emotion?' Mantis asked quickly.

Heron scowled. 'Gloating.'

'Gloating?' Eagle repeated, a tiny glow of anger in his eyes.

'I can tell you no more,' she said. 'I know only that this feeling was left in the paper, a residue so strong it probably came from the very hand that brushed the message.'

'It is enough for a start.' Eagle thatched his fingers. 'Enough for me to act on.'

Badger joined in the collective sigh of relief. Heron broke into a wide smile.

'Who was gloating?' Groundspider murmured, rubbing his eyes. He was ignored.

Eagle held up a hand. 'But I want more, mind you! I must confirm our course of action even as we take it. Heron, please seek one of your prescient dreams.' His eyes twinkled. 'Seeing as I do know of your training in that Old Country science.'

She nodded demurely. 'Again, I am immature in the art, but I will try my best.'

A flash of great uncertainty crossed her dignified face. 'You know the problem. At this stage of my development, I foresee true nonsense: facts and lies, haphazardly mixed. It's of limited value, as are the riddle-phrases that pass through my mind on waking.'

'Muddled and weird or not,' Badger pointed out, 'they've already served us well.'

'Indeed,' Mantis said. 'So do go after them too, we'll unravel the meanings later.'

Eagle looked to Groundspider and flinched theatrically. 'By the gods, you spoke before . . . I heard you myself, and you appear to stand unaided, but . . . are you even awake?'

Groundspider attempted a keen nod. A bundle of matted hair fell over one glazed eye. Mantis let out a soft groan and turned away as if personally embarrassed.

'Brother Groundspider,' Eagle whispered, 'I need your very best. And now.'

Badger marvelled at Eagle's power to motivate as Groundspider snapped to attention and bowed, his eyes quickly brightening. So the junior oaf could sharpen up fast when he really needed to. Badger sighed. Astounding, given the nature of young people.

'Muster reinforcements,' Eagle told Groundspider, 'every available, experienced agent currently in Edo. Even reliable freelancers if you must. Then hurry north.'

'If we go after them,' Groundspider said slowly, 'moving so as not to be noticed, will we get there in time to do any good?'

'Find a way,' Eagle said firmly. Groundspider bowed and turned to go.

Heron intercepted him, snatching his arm. 'Don't let the task daunt you,' she whispered in Groundspider's ear. 'Just use everybody's greatest untapped gift.' He frowned back at her. 'Imagination,' Heron added with a smile.

Groundspider nodded guardedly, his eyebrows coming together. He appeared to think awhile, then he rounded on Badger with a secretive grin on his face.

Badger examined it. Like most things about Groundspider, it was irritating.

'What?' the archivist sneered. 'Why do you give me that stupid look?'

NINE

Mountain of the White Nun

Snowhawk and Moonshadow stood side by side, studying the small forest in their path.

A steep green incline rose behind it, sprouting rocky outcrops and scattered stands of trees as it climbed into a ceiling of patchy white cloud.

They had followed the winding road north from the river town until an hour after dawn. Then, exhausted, they had crawled behind a natural hedge of bamboo covering the mouth of a nearby gully. Snowhawk had slept deeply, but Moon had been fitful and restless. Twice he had woken after dreaming of being drawn to the riverbank beneath green-tinged stars. In each dream, though he had seen no terrifying Kappa, he'd sensed its sinister, lurking presence just before waking with a gasp.

When Snowhawk finally roused him at noon, two things amazed Moonshadow: that he'd eventually gone to sleep at all and that he had slept for so long in daylight.

Now, after another two hours of tramping, they had finally reached the end of the road. It petered out at the base of the very mountain on which the White Nun lived.

'This is a strange place,' Snowhawk said, looking up the slope behind the trees. 'Have you ever seen morning mist hang around until midafternoon?' She squinted. 'Or is it actually a low cloud bank? Weird! At least it's breaking up.'

'Whichever it is, it's odd,' he agreed. 'Something else is, too. When I was learning all about poisons and sleeping drugs from Heron, she also taught me about trees.' Moonshadow pointed at the forest ahead. 'Look, see how rocky the ground is? And the soil looks poor too, all leached out. So tree and shrub growth should be poor.'

He waved his hand towards the closest band of forest. There stood strong oaks, beeches, firs and spruces. Scattered between them, red and black pines. Hinoki cypress too. And even a mighty red cedar, pushing lesser trees aside in the forest's centre.

'So many varieties,' Moon frowned, 'and each so healthy. If there's a lot of rock in the ground and the soil's bad, then why does this forest grow so well?'

A wary look crossed Snowhawk's face. 'Let's just move away from the road, get the haunted forest behind us, and push up this mountain a bit. Then we can breathe easier; take a break and talk about it.'

Moonshadow sensed at once that she was holding something back. He was about to probe into it when a strong instinct told him No. Just flow with her suggestion. Moon stared at the trees and swallowed. He'd forgotten that this forest was supposed to be haunted. Snowhawk knew about the place and she certainly hadn't. Not a good sign.

A natural corridor broke the green wall. Peering into it, Moonshadow could see there was a chain of clearings from the lip of the forest to the rise of the slope.

'That way. And we should run till we clear it,' he said quickly. Snowhawk's sharp turn made him add, 'because of the risk of ambush.' She frowned. He grinned self-consciously. 'I mean, just look at the path through there, dense cover both left and right.'

Snowhawk half-smiled, hesitated, then said quietly, 'Of course. Wise precaution.'

Walking behind her towards the cleft in the wall of trees, Moon sighed gratefully. He was glad that one had been settled fast. He glanced warmly at Snowhawk. She knew he was afraid. She was just unwilling – may all the gods bless her – to humiliate him. That gentle but shrewd understanding reminded him of Heron. Maybe Snowhawk would grow up to be just like her. Moon sighed again, this time heavily. If she lived that long.

'What are you dreaming about?' Snowhawk shoved his arm, creasing her nose. 'You ready to run?' He nodded and her face snapped into a grim, wary mask. 'Then be ready for anything!' She pointed ahead and sprinted for the opening in the forest.

Moon followed a few strides behind her. Snowhawk zigzagged between tree stumps and high banks of ferns, vaulted over rocks and pits in the ground, even ducked low branches to come up running. Moonshadow closed the gap between them, glancing uneasily left and right whenever he could. Snowhawk dodged a branch, thick with folds of bright red fungus. Moon looked up as he cleared it. That overhead cloud was breaking up quickly now, wisps sinking into the forest to drift on tiny eddies through the trees.

His nostrils flared at strong odours, the must of plant decay, the spike of pine.

They passed the great red cedar and one by one hurdled a jagged tangle of fallen trees and hollow logs. As Moon landed just behind Snowhawk, something brittle imploded under his foot in a puff of white powder. He grunted, making her turn.

Moonshadow froze on the spot. 'What am I on? Is it a trap?' he whispered.

She glanced down. 'No. It's a skull, that's all. Let's go!'

Thinking she meant a wolf or bear skull, he looked down. The shattered remains of a human skull splayed from under his sandal. He looked up. Bones everywhere, poking from the forest's carpet of damp pine needles and rotting leaves. He made out ribs, a smaller skull, a complete spine. His stomach began knotting.

A sudden impulse made him peer to his left.

Between clumps of soaring trees, a narrow natural corridor stretched into the distance. It vanished into a sliver of drifting cloud. A figure stood out against the white curtain. Moon blinked and hunched forward, staring compulsively. Not one figure. Two.

The distant pair slowly came into focus. A very old woman in a mud-stained white burial kimono leaned on a stick, beckoning to him slowly with one hand. Beside her stood a small girl in dark rags, waving him closer. Neither of them smiled, but their gestures were definitely an earnest summons. He should go! He blithely took a step.

'Moonshadow!' Snowhawk's hands on his shoulders made him jump. 'Moonshadow!' she shouted, 'look at me! No, don't look there, at me!' She shook him.

He fixed his eyes on hers. Was she angry? No, just determined.

'Let's go!' Snowhawk said. 'Look at nothing but the back of my head, do you hear me?'

She wheeled around and broke into a sprint, faster than before. He tore after her.

They cleared the forest without further incident. After pressing on hard at Snowhawk's insistence, they finally collapsed at the foot of a gnarled pine tree a hundred paces up the mountainside. Moon scanned uphill as he gulped in lungfuls of air.

'I think there's a small plateau, jutting out of the slope up there.'

Snowhawk nodded, her chest heaving. 'Once we're above that, if I read the map's contours right, it's not too steep a climb, through sparse forest, up to the old shrine.'

He stared downhill. 'I saw something in there, you know. I saw two people.'

'Very old, or very young?' Snowhawk eyed him earnestly.

Moon scrambled closer to her. 'One of each. How did you know that?'

Snowhawk's eyes filmed with sorrow. 'Those two towns we passed through. During the last great famine, their very old and very young were brought here.'

'Why?' Moon felt a chill enter his bones.

'They were abandoned, left to die, to help the rest survive on the meagre food that remained. The forest we just crossed is said to be filled with angry, bitter ghosts.' Snowhawk saw his questioning look. 'I know this because Fuma lost an agent in there.'

'Lost?' He gestured expansively. 'What do you mean lost?'

'When I was a little girl,' Snowhawk said, 'it was the talk of the Fuma base. An agent chased in there by mounted samurai simply vanished. Never heard from again.'

Moonshadow glanced at the forest below and stood up quickly. 'I feel rested now!' He knew his face was red, chest still rising and falling. 'Shall we be on our way?'

Snowhawk's eyes were closed. Moon waited until she opened them and rose.

'What were you doing? The furube sutra? Because we forgot it this morning?'

'I was praying –' her eyes flicked at the trees downhill – 'for them to find peace.'

'It won't happen while they stay angry,' Moon muttered.

They started uphill once more and he wondered if Snowhawk was also still angry. Her blood had been boiling since the rooftop fight in Edo. When would they finally talk about that?

Angry or not, her memory of the map's contours proved accurate. After making a low ridge that cut across the mountainside to flare into a plateau at one end, they reached easier ground. As Snowhawk had predicted, the forest became sparser, the uphill slope gentler. Most of the scattered trees they passed through now were young maples. At intervals, badly stunted pines appeared, some charred as if recently struck by lightning.

Moon looked back over his shoulder, marvelling that the White Nun, said to be so old, could somehow still climb that first and hardest stretch of her own mountain.

'Did I see something on that plateau we pushed past?' He pointed downhill.

'Just ruins.' Snowhawk was looking in all directions. 'Ruins, and stands of black-green bamboo.' She sounded preoccupied. 'You should have read the notes at the base of the map more carefully. There was a small castle on that plateau. It was surrounded and burnt down during the long civil war. I think everybody in it was either massacred, or they jumped.'

Moonshadow threw up his hands. 'This must be the happiest place in the world!'

'Quiet.' Snowhawk sank into a crouch and slowly turned a circle. 'Hear that?'

He bobbed low, listening with his mouth open. 'Footfall? Coming from uphill?'

'Better read it properly.' She turned, offering her pack to him. Moon fished deep inside it and carefully drew out a tapering brass rod with a tiny polished cup at one end. He dropped to his knees, pushing the rod's thin tip into the soil. He felt it stop, meeting rock beneath the surface.

'You sure this thing works better than a dagger?' Moon turned his head and lowered one ear over the polished brass cup. He closed both eyes, mouth twisting.

'What is it?' Snowhawk peered between the trees ahead. 'What do you hear?'

He sprang up and yanked the listening device from the ground. 'Four legs!' he hissed. 'Striking ground hard. How could anybody get a horse up here?'

She stared uphill, her mouth open. 'It's not a horse.' He turned sharply.

Galloping downhill towards them, weaving in and out of trees, was a long-haired animal that appeared to be half-dog, half-wolf. Its head and back were broad, its chest deep.

'Akita Matagi!' Moonshadow flinched. 'A bear hunting dog!'

He stared in awe at the impressive creature closing on them. Before now he had seen only one other, caged during transport along the Tokaido. They were bred by the Satake Clan in the Akita region, just north-west of this mountain range. The one he had seen in a cage had been brindle-striped, but this animal had a pale, uniform coat. Moon and Snowhawk exchanged alarmed looks. What hurtled at them now, already growling, was as fearless as the warriors who had bred it. This beast was clearly afraid of nothing.

'Into the trees!' Snowhawk shouted. 'They're young, but they should hold us!'

She ran for one. Moon hunted desperately for another that could take his weight. They couldn't risk a mid-air collision while jumping for the same haven.

His eyes found a young maple with high-enough branches. Moonshadow managed three strides towards it before teeth snapped a hand span from his backside. He grunted and leapt. Would he make that solid branch? It loomed closer; he clawed for it.

Securing a hold, Moon swung himself up and into the maple. The young tree swayed. He turned, bracing his legs in a slim fork, eyes sweeping to the base of the trunk. His pursuer gazed keenly back up at him. 'Snowhawk . . .?' he called without looking.

'I'm clear,' she shouted from her tree. 'But we're not going anywhere, are we?'

'This is crazy. It's . . . just a dog,' Moonshadow said. Who was he kidding? It was no ordinary dog. The Akita Matagi circled the tree, panting but determined. It looked up at him with icy blue eyes as it skipped sideways into a hunch, as if expecting him to leap down that way and make a run for it. Its unblinking stare was cold, ferocious, yet shone with intelligence. The animal's thick coat failed to hide its great muscularity.

Moon licked dry lips and studied his new nemesis. This beast had big, thickly clawed feet but narrow hips. It was built for speed, power and agility.

He had heard that these dogs wrestled bears to the ground on command. His eyes flicked uphill. Were there more of them? Or was somebody watching, ready to give this animal orders? Such possibilities meant that wounding the dog might be a bad idea. He sneered. Besides, how could he hurl shurikens at such a magnificent creature? The very idea felt cowardly. But they had to get on with the mission. He ran a hand over his pack.

That was it! The main ingredient of shinobi blinding powder was pepper. If he could explode a blinding bomb under that Akita Matagi's snout, it would flee in wild irritation – like any dog – but recover unharmed. Preferably elsewhere, he thought with a grin.

Moonshadow unshouldered the pack and dug out his tiny box of pepper bombs.

'That's a good idea,' Snowhawk called from her tree. 'Just don't get its eyes.'

'Don't worry.' He raised a small, pepper-stuffed bird's egg in one hand. 'I want it to be able to see its way home as it runs off – sneezing!'

The bear hunting dog stared up at the black-painted sphere in his grasp. Without a sound, it peeled back its lips and showed Moon a gleaming set of fangs. He faked a throw to see if it would flinch. The dog didn't move. Moonshadow prepared to hurl the blinding bomb for the spot between its big front paws. But once the loaded egg left his hand, the Akita Matagi scuttled backwards, turned fast and ran to the foot of Snowhawk's tree.

The egg tore and crumpled on the forest floor. A small puff of red dust escaped it. The big animal watched Moonshadow impassively, avoiding the bombed area as it trotted back to the foot of his tree. It glanced at the ruined egg, then up at him attentively.

'You're pretty smart,' Moonshadow told his adversary. 'I'd better make you run before you whip out an axe and really surprise me.' With a fast whip-cracking motion he threw a second pepper bomb. This time the dog bolted forward with astounding acceleration. The bomb puffed at nothing two paces behind its flicking tail. The Akita Matagi trotted to the base of Snowhawk's tree, waiting for the pepper cloud to disperse.

'I have only one more,' Moonshadow grumbled. 'What happens if I miss?'

'Don't know,' Snowhawk said wearily. 'Don't miss!'

He lurched forward in the fork, made a misleading feint with his hand, then tossed the last bomb hard, aiming where he thought the dog would go as it took evasive action. But the animal simply held its ground, turning its large head mildly to watch the pepper bomb fly past. Once the egg struck the ground, the dog calmly padded the opposite way.

'Damn you!' Moonshadow pointed at it. 'At least you can't get us up here!'

The Akita Matagi tilted its head, eyes moving between its two perched targets. It spun on the spot and then broke into a charge, straight for Snowhawk's tree. As it closed with the trunk, it reared up on its hind legs and planted both paws hard against the bark.

With an unsettling creak, the young tree lurched. Snowhawk scrambled and braced herself in its branches. The dog dropped back onto all fours then turned and galloped for Moonshadow's tree. It reared up and struck it in exactly the same way, shaking its branches hard. Then, taking a few steps backwards, the beast turned its great head left and right, eerie blue eyes flicking between the occupied trees. It grinned and panted, wagged its long tail, then ran at Snowhawk's tree again. It liked this game.

'Now what?' Snowhawk huffed as her perch was shaken. 'We just dangle here? Until our teeth come loose and our enemies catch up?'

'No,' Moonshadow said decisively. 'There is another way.' He caught his breath as he wondered at his own stupidity. He could link his mind to that of any complex animal. Thrown off balance by the Akita Matagi's abrupt and sustained attack, the most obvious solution had escaped him. Link with it, control it, then – his eyes lit up as a plan came to him – send the creature downhill with orders to attack any shinobi it found.

He filled his chest proudly. A masterful strategy. Using one problem to fix another. Eagle and Mantis were going to be impressed. They'd call it clever, elegant.

'Watch this.' Moon signalled Snowhawk. 'It will roll on its back, any moment . . .'

He locked gazes with the dog. It narrowed its eyes back at him. Moonshadow concentrated, waiting for the tremors in his hands that told him a link was being forged.

The dog's head flew back, muzzle creasing, eyes rolling upwards. Its nose twitched violently. Moon peered with knitted eyebrows. An unusually strong reaction!

'There,' Moonshadow said, but he knew at once that something was wrong.

With a splutter the beast threw its huge head forward. It hunched, muscles in spasm, sneezing hard. A clod of green mucus landed between its paws. Snorting, the dog shook its ears, saliva flicking from its jowls. It sneezed again.

'And that's the legendary Eye of the Beast.' Snowhawk clapped. 'What an amazing science. The power to make an animal catch a cold. Aw, will you teach me?'

'Shut up,' he snapped. 'How can it be immune? Something's not right here.'

'Something? We're being held hostage in trees by a magical dog and all kinds of murderous foes are trailing us. Oh, and it looks like we're going to fail our mission too,' Snowhawk's voice rose into a growl as she shook her tree angrily, 'and die for it!'

Moon blinked at her writhing face and pity snatched away all other feelings. He broke into a tender smile. 'We're GLO, remember? If we mess up, we get retrained. You're not Fuma any more. You can fail and live. And people are supposed to do both.'

'I hate being stuck!' She hung her head and thumped the nearest branch in frustration. Moonshadow nodded. He knew the real problem: she hated her own anger.

A shadow crossed his face. Moon looked up. A small falcon spiralled between the canopies, a dead mouse in its claws. It dropped the rodent into the crook of a nearby tree, then perched beside it, hunching low, closely eyeing its intended meal.

'Let's try that again,' Moonshadow muttered, staring at the falcon.

His hands trembled immediately. The bird snapped around to gaze back at him.

As if sensing trouble, the Akita Matagi slowly looked from Moon to the falcon.

Pushing straight to sight-control, the third level of the Eye of the Beast, Moonshadow willed the falcon to swoop the dog.

He closed his eyes and relaxed in the tree perch, taking in only what the bird saw. Through the usual shimmering water-like lens he watched the dog stiffen warily on the forest floor. Its image lurched to one side then another, quickly drawing closer as the falcon descended on it. He saw the dog skip backwards a few steps. It was intimidated.

Moonshadow opened one eye to check the Akita Matagi with his human sight.

It ducked and cowered, belly in the leaves, as the streak of feathered fury narrowly missed its head. Pursue and harrow, Moon mentally urged the falcon.

Snowhawk's relieved laughter raised his spirits. They exchanged encouraging looks and sat back to enjoy the show. The great dog broke into a run between the trees, weaving and tacking, glancing up every few strides to see where the falcon was.

The bird of prey whooshed past the dog's head, making it cringe, then soared into a tight vertical back-roll before descending in a power glide behind its fleeing target. The dog looked back and accelerated, cleverly ducking under low tree branches to shield its back and tail as it made its escape.

Powering into the distance, the beast quickly shrank into a small, erratically turning black figure, the pursuing falcon a tiny flying smudge above it. As they disappeared around the curve of the mountainside, Moon heard a sharp yelp. It echoed through the forest. Despite its size and strength, the Akita Matagi was starting to panic.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the falcon's vision. The bird relentlessly swooped the distressed dog, herding it downhill into the ruins. Moonshadow nodded to himself as the Akita Matagi ran through a glade of bamboo, then ducked behind a low, crumbling stone wall. Just its ears showed.

Moon released the falcon from his control and swung himself out of his perch. As he dropped to the ground, Snowhawk leapt down from her tree and ran to him.

'I can't afford to keep it up,' he told her, already feeling the drain to his life force. 'Any long level-three joining wears me out. For now, that dog's spooked. It's gone to ground, so we've bought ourselves some time. Enough, I hope, to throw it off our trail.'

Snowhawk immediately turned and started running uphill. 'Let's not waste it then!' She glanced back as he followed. 'We need to find streams and cross them, so it can't pick up our scent again!'

They dashed uphill through the scattered trees, the jagged rocky outcrops multiplying as they climbed higher. On the crest of a small ridge, Moonshadow's residual beast hearing detected running water. He stopped and signalled its direction to Snowhawk. She skipped along a low, uneven wall of dark granite, leaping rock to rock, eyes searching.

'Here!' Snowhawk shouted, pointing down. Moon caught up to her. A thin, bright stream bubbled downhill, cutting through the rocks in a series of little waterfalls. They drank greedily, soaked their aching feet in its icy melt water, then walked uphill in the stream as far as its surrounding rocks would allow them.

Moonshadow and Snowhawk staggered from the refreshing brook. Doggedly they paced up the mountainside until they came to the mouth of a narrow rocky gully. Its floor was flat, covered with a layer of dried leaves. Slanting granite horns rose each side of it.

'We could rest in there,' he ventured wearily. 'It's hard to spot from most angles.'

'I'm so tired.' She stumbled into the gully, sagging to the bed of leaves. 'We must rest.'

Moon nodded, flopping to the ground beside her. He groaned. He felt as wrung out as she looked and the temptation to steal a small nap felt awfully strong.

He forced himself to resist the idea. He had to stay at least half-awake.

Quiet minutes passed as they rested, the only sounds their laboured breathing and the occasional far-off bird call. Despite himself, Moonshadow began to nod off.

Until he felt Snowhawk grip his hand. Tightly.

'What is it?' He turned his head and looked at her.

'I don't believe this,' Snowhawk whispered. She motioned. 'Look. There.'

Moon rose up onto one elbow and followed her gaze. His heart skipped a beat.

The Akita Matagi stood blocking the mouth of the narrow gully, watching them.

The dog's chest heaved, but otherwise it appear ed to have come through its falcon encounter unscathed. Its head was low to the ground, big paws spread, back tensed in a ready stance. From what he'd already seen, if it charged, it could probably reach them before they escaped the gully . . . especially in their current depleted condition.

Moonshadow focused on the beast's icy blue eyes. He grabbed Snowhawk's arm. 'Look at that,' he muttered. 'I don't like the look of that.'

Lips peeling back, the dog showed its massive canine teeth. They were dripping.

'Know what you mean,' Snowhawk whispered. 'Those teeth are huge.'

'Not the teeth,' he said quickly. 'The eyes.' He sensed her look, felt her shudder.

The Akita Matagi's eyes were glowing, lit from within by some strange energy, their blue far brighter than before. The dog relaxed its lips, hiding the drippy canines, but its cold stare never left its cornered targets.

'That's why I couldn't take control of it.' Moonshadow started reaching for his hidden sword.

Snowhawk shook her head. 'Because somebody else already has.'

She flinched as the mighty animal began trotting into the gully.

TEN

Dangerous friends

Private Investigator Katsu trudged up the third flight of narrow, dark-wood stairs, his big frame just squeezing between the posts at the top.

Samurai escorts led and followed him. Katsu stepped through a dim porch with a tiled roof and stone walls and out onto the battlements of Momoyama Castle.

A gorgeous spring sunset, pink and apricot shades, splashed the waning sky. The sun was be – hind the high hills, its diffused light still strong and faintly tinged with orange.

'Sunset,' the samurai behind Katsu said, 'is a precious time of day. It reminds us that every glory must fade and that all things, cruel or sweet, come to an end.'

The man leading him grunted in agreement.

'You, sirs, are wise warriors indeed,' Katsu said, smiling. He turned his head, admiring the vista. Across the wide moat, the town of Fushimi sprawled over low hills. He nodded at its greatest landmarks. The tori gate near the entrance to town, its modest shrine nearby, the poor street on low ground that always flooded, Fushimi's main temple . . . wait. He glanced back sharply to the left. There were changes he hadn't noticed before. They had moved the sake brewery. And that old cable-and-winch system over the moat had been dismantled. Security was tightening. Did Silver Wolf expect a siege?

The samurai ahead stopped, moved to one side and bowed. 'My lord awaits you there, among his archers.'

Katsu bowed back. When he straightened up he saw Silver Wolf motioning to him.

He met the warlord where a high parapet flared out from the castle wall. Along it, samurai archers were undertaking sunset target practice, their proud master looking on.

'I know that detective face!' Silver Wolf laughed as Katsu approached. 'Always questions, ever the probing mind, neh?' He slapped his visitor's back. 'You're wondering what their target is, aren't you? You're curious if I'm bloodthirsty enough to take pot shots at my own town.'

'Oh, no, great lord.' Katsu lowered his head meekly, relying on his skills as a liar. 'Simply curious,' he chuckled. 'While assuming nothing.'

Katsu studied Silver Wolf's twinkling eyes and breezy manner. Why was he in such a good mood? For some reason, Katsu found it just as disquieting as the warlord's more frequent states: dark brooding, drunken rage. He wasn't sure why. Katsu forced a smile.

His news was going to shatter this contented little atmosphere, that was for sure. He glanced at the nearest archer, then the others beyond him. Once he ruined Silver Wolf's tranquil evening, would they be taking pot shots at him?

'Go ahead, push between those two fellows, see what they shoot at.' The warlord bundled Katsu to the edge of the parapet. He felt his broad back muscles stiffen. A big drop. So far down. Katsu broke out into a sweat. 'Not that close, you'll pitch over,' Silver Wolf sniggered, dragging him back. Katsu sighed, steadied himself and looked down.

A rice-straw dummy, in the shape of a slender man, bobbed in the centre of the moat. It was pincushioned with arrows. More arrows floated around it, along with three bloated dead carp the archers had accidentally killed. Katsu squinted hard. That dummy rose from a single circular wooden float. He frowned at the unfamiliar design.

'I didn't have it made,' Silver Wolf smiled, his eyes bright. 'It was a gift. From our Fuma allies. A training toy they use, to help shinobi learn to kill shinobi. On water!'

The warlord took Katsu's wrist and drew him clear of the archers.

'Show this sticky-eye what you can do!' Silver Wolf held his head up. 'Begin!'

The archers nocked arrows as one, drew in perfect synchronisation and fired a tight cluster of arrows. It hissed high into the air at a sharp angle. Katsu frowned.

That vector looked all wrong. They'd miss! Why not shoot directly at the dummy, using line of sight? He watched the arrows soar until they became invisible. Katsu blinked, picking them up again on their way down. Steadily their hiss grew louder.

The arrows fell straight at the dummy. It bucked as they made impact. Katsu gaped. Unless he was mistaken, every projectile had found its mark.

Silver Wolf rounded on his hireling. 'Each unit in my command is receiving special training, based on Clan Fuma advice. We will be ready and when this is all over, I will be cleaning my claws!' He held up his hands, fingers curled to represent talons.

'My lord will prove invincible.' Katsu bowed low. 'You are the wind of destiny. Japan will be returned to the Way of the Warrior. I am proud to serve the future Shogun.'

'Yes, yes, smooth-tongue.' The warlord looked him up and down, eyes narrowing. 'I know you are . . . but what brings you back to me now? Your visit is a day early.'

Katsu quickly scratched his chin so that Silver Wolf didn't see him swallow. 'I have news, master.' This was it. He filled his chest, raised his chin high. Dignity mattered, even if death came soon after. Katsu spoke slowly, his tone formal. 'I was contacted on the Tokaido, by an exhausted rider. As he had already done, he bade me memorise this despatch to you. It comes from your task force in the north.'

'Might this be . . . bad news?' The warlord's eyes glowed as if that idea excited him. Katsu nodded, trying to glean his master's motive. He felt sweat run down his back.

Was this an act, a cruel trick or prank that would soon turn to more honest fury?

Did he want to hear of defeat, for some perverse reason?

Or was he hoping for an excuse to explode with rage and launch an open war?

Katsu grinned sheepishly. He feared this man and often wondered if, despite his castle, army and noble rank, he would live long enough to seize power. He was too easy to hate. Then Katsu reminded himself that for all his failings, Silver Wolf paid well. Better, in fact, than any daimyo he had previously served. So what if he was slightly mad? Half his kind were, and at least a third of them dreamed of becoming a military dictator amidst showers of each other's blood.

Silver Wolf examined Katsu's face and sighed. 'Speak your news; you are safe.'

'Yes, lord. There was a skirmish, fought against a young male and a young female agent of the Grey Light Order, identified by Jiro as Moonshadow and Snowhawk. It took place in a market, in a town north of Edo. One of our bounty hunters, my friend, the former sumo wrestler –' Katsu hung his head – 'was badly injured.'

'How?' The warlord folded his arms. 'A sword cut? Shuriken? Witchcraft?'

'A collision with a stone well, incited by the youth called Moonshadow.'

'Whose head,' Silver Wolf said with relish, 'will be on show here one day soon.'

'Both GLO agents escaped, heading north. Your task force is in pursuit. More may have already happened, but no further word has reached me as yet.'

'Ah, yes. Heading north, to that mountain. How fitting that once again, so unexpectedly, blood must be spilled there for my honour to be satisfied.' The warlord drew a folded paper from his jacket and held it out to Katsu, who eyed it uneasily. 'Here, take it. In the light of such an early loss, I now order you to transmit this to our Fuma friends in the usual way. But with all haste; take a horse, ride to their inn. I prepared this despatch in case just such news arrived. It's my personal request for them to send immediate reinforcements. It's brief. Go ahead, read it . . .'

Katsu unfolded and read the message. 'My lord . . . that many? Does not the evidence suggest that merely two hostile agents are on their way to the White Nun?'

'My good fellow,' Silver Wolf squeezed Katsu's shoulder with an iron grip. 'I've underestimated a Grey Light Order brat before. Not again. This time, we win.'

Behind the warlord, his archers launched a final precision volley. Katsu heard it hiss into the darkening sky. There was no need to check the results. He trusted their uncanny accuracy. Right now, little else in his world deserved trust.

Not his master, nor his master's new allies, the Fuma. Never trust a shinobi.

Did this obsessed, ambitious daimyo really understand what he was starting? Katsu had helped his master plot and scheme so much that he could now predict the three steps of Silver Wolf's grand vision, the last step of which the warlord had only hinted at.

Strip the Shogun of protection, eyes and ears, by crushing the Grey Light Order.

Replace the Shogun the traditional way: defeating, then absorbing his allies.

Finally, with an enormous army, invade the Korean Peninsula and begin expanding the empire . . . and go on expanding it, until it covered the very world.

What an arrogant, frightening dream to possess one mere man!

Silver Wolf dismissed him with a nod. Katsu bowed and turned from his employer. Before leaving the battlements, he glanced one last time to the hills.

All trace of the sumptuous sunset was gone, replaced by the dull haze of twilight.

Those escorts had been so right, Katsu mused. Nothing lasted forever. Especially not peace.

Iron lanterns burned at even intervals along the dark wooden walls of the old shrine. Shadows danced across exposed beams on its ceiling.

Its windows were boarded up, the badly worn matting floor smelled of time.

The building was hundreds of years old and though it kept out the weather, it was cold and draughty. How could anyone so old live here willingly? How did food supplies get up here? Surely no one from those towns would cross the haunted forest?

Moonshadow looked up from his bowl of ramen noodles and stared at the White Nun hunched opposite him. At his side, Snowhawk ate fast with an almost impolite amount of noise.

Beside the sage sat the Akita Matagi that had virtually captured them and marched them up here. Motionless, the dog stared at Moonshadow, its weird blue eyes boring into him.

Moon looked back to the White Nun. Her appearance was so distinctive: snow white hair peeping from the pointy quilted hood she wore, impossibly pale skin and red eyes. It was said that one of Japan's long-dead emperors had been born with such rare features and he had proved a good, wise ruler. Moon had never seen a human being like the White Nun. Nor one that could – it appeared – stay linked to an animal indefinitely. How did she do that? Why did such a prolonged joining not suck the very life from her?

At their sunset arrival, the pair had made another startling discovery. The White Nun could read minds, or so it seemed. It was disconcerting to say the least, the way she finished sentences each of them began. Moon eyed her uneasily. Could she pick up everything that flickered through his mind? He hoped not. Moonshadow forced himself to concentrate on the generous and satisfying meal she had prepared them.

'Yes, the noodles are filling, are they not?' The White Nun smiled. Her voice was soft, remote.

He grinned back. She had done it again. Moon scooped up a last thick noodle between his chopsticks, fed it between his lips, then lowered the bowl to the stained matting at his side.

He sighed. Since she knew his thoughts, there seemed no point in holding back.

As he met her peculiar red stare, she smiled again. 'You want to ask about Motto.' She gestured at the beast beside her. 'I call him that because motto of course means more and he's more all right: bigger, stronger, faster, smarter than any dog or wolf I've seen. He's . . . simply motto.'

Covering her mouth with a heavily wrinkled hand, she giggled at her own joke.

Moonshadow chuckled and leaned forward, offering the back of his hand to the dog. 'Good evening, Motto-San,' he said warmly. 'You sure scared us back there.'

The wolf-dog stared at him without expression, then its lips peeled open. The flash of teeth made Moon snatch his hand back. Motto relaxed his mouth again.

'That's unusual,' Snowhawk said thoughtfully. 'Animals generally take to Moon, not just the ones he links with, either. Maybe we don't smell so –'

'Oh no, dear.' The White Nun glanced at her only permanent companion. 'It's not about you. He's like this because I'm here. He can be much friendlier. But while we're linked and I'm present, I'm afraid Motto-San is single-minded to the point of rudeness.'

Staring at the wolf-like beast, Moonshadow slowly shook his head in wonder.

'Come now, dear,' the sage said gently. 'Don't be so amazed that I could control Motto-San over such a distance, call him off you and have him bring you here unharmed.'

Moon blinked, embarrassed. That was exactly what he had been thinking.

The White Nun went on enthusiastically. 'As young Snowhawk here says, you've always had a strong rapport with animals. I felt it the day I encouraged your selection for training in the Order's orphanage. And there's still more to your special skill than you know. One day, you too will extend your Eye of the Beast powers, just as I have. You'll hold a permanent link with a creature over a great distance, maintaining the bond even when you sleep – confident that the beast will carry out your intentions on its own.'

'Great sage,' he bowed, 'thank you for this encouraging word. But how do you –'

'All in good time.' The White Nun held up a finger. 'And yes, as you theorised, it can be al most fatally draining, but once your skills have fully matured . . .' she sighed. 'In any event, it is how I have stayed safe all these years . . . despite my reluctant involvement, at times, in shinobi politics.'

Snowhawk spoke earnestly. 'Your skills are beyond remarkable, great lady. Not even Moon's august teacher, Brother Eagle, appears to share your level of development.'

The White Nun laughed. 'You are so sweet, child. And I know just what you recalled while saying that: Moonshadow here . . . trying to link with my Motto-San.' She looked to Moon. 'The attempt seems to have made him suspicious of you, but don't take offence. His wariness will pass. Motto-San is a particularly loyal beast, and I'd say he simply disliked another trying to usurp my control.'

Moon nodded at her intently. Meeting Motto had been harrowing, all right.

'Of course your attempt to meld with him failed.' She leaned forward. 'Only one set of very unusual circumstances can break or override my link with him. They are so unlikely, they're not worth discussing.'

Motto-San and Moonshadow looked up at the ceiling at the same time. A moment later, a wave of late spring rain began to fall noisily.

'I knew you possessed the Old Country science of Insight,' Moon said, 'but I didn't know you also had this . . . this ultimate mastery of the Eye of the Beast.'

The White Nun smiled sadly. 'Child, if all the powers over which I am custodian were known, the Shogun himself would probably want me dead, though I am neither spy nor warrior. I have only ever used my skills personally in self-defence. Even then, with great loathing and only to the extent required to save my life.'

She thrust a finger at Snowhawk, startling her. 'No, it's not therefore pointless power, child! I was put here to teach, never to do. Let others bear the karma of how they use my training. For good or evil, for glory or destruction. No, I know my destiny. And knowing it, I must honour it. Such is everyone's ideal path. To know and thus to honour.'

'Forgive my ignorant thoughts.' Snowhawk dipped her chin. She paused, then thumbed at the ever-watchful Motto. 'Heron said you were guarded by a bear.'

'I was, and guarded well, for many years. I'd go south each winter and visit a warrior-monk I trained on the southernmost island, while the bear slept in this very shrine. But in the end that magnificent beast died of old age. She's buried close by.'

To Moon's surprise, she raised one hand and wiped her iridescent red eyes.

'Ironic, is it not, the replacement the kami chose for her? A lost or escaped puppy wandering in a forest . . . that turned out to be a bear hunting hound. The Satake Clan are clever breeders. Motto-San too has proved a fine protector, as you found out. I can order him to patrol, then turn my mind to other, more pressing matters. Of course, at such times my awareness is somewhat impaired. Hence I could sense your distant approach but not recognise you, as I normally would.'

Snowhawk inclined her head and frowned.

'No,' the White Nun quickly shook her head. 'Don't wonder what those matters are. Too hard to explain to you at this time.'

'Forgive me prying then, but was one such task summoning us?' Snowhawk gestured at herself and Moon. 'That's why we've come. To evacuate you.'

'To help you escape the coming attack,' Moonshadow put in keenly.

The White Nun sighed. 'Though I was expecting to see you some day soon, I did not summon you.' She eyed their shocked faces. 'But I see that someone did, apparently using me – and this imagined threat – as bait.' She closed her eyes for a few seconds. 'Yes. There is an attack coming. But I am not its target. And had you not come to me, it would have befallen you somewhere else.' She raised one eyebrow. 'Anyone genuinely out to capture or slay me would risk enraging the many shinobi, some of them now clan masters, who I have known, taught, and even healed during . . . well, at least the last fifty years. Warmongers like to be in control of who they upset as much as they can. They delight in acting as puppet masters, using the people of the shadows against their samurai foes or even each other, but they avoid lighting fires no one can control or quench. No, no, in this matter, I was ever but the lure, and you two the tasty fish, to be hooked and fried, each for a different reason.'

Moon and Snowhawk stared at one another. They'd been set up? It was all a ploy?

'So it is now I who must rescue you two.' The White Nun laughed almost bitterly. Beside her, the great dog huffed, threw back its head and let out a single wolfish howl. Though Moon saw it coming, the powerful bay still made him flinch. The sage glanced at her animal guardian. He quickly lay down, stretching out and resting his head on his enormous paws. Despite the more relaxed position, Motto's eyes stayed fixed on Moon.

'Me saving you could be difficult,' the White Nun sighed. 'Given that I will not kill, your safety may be something I cannot guarantee. Do you not sense why you were each trapped? He wanted you, boy, out of Edo that he might take his revenge. They wanted you, girl, far from the Grey Light Order's walls that you may be recaptured.'

'He . . .' Moon's face darkened. 'You mean Silver Wolf? He's behind all this?'

'I'd rather die than go back!' Snowhawk snapped. Motto half-rose, glaring at her.

'I won't let that happen!' Moonshadow growled. The dog's head turned at him.

With a knowing smile, the White Nun waved a finger. Motto sank to the floor.

'Let's discover a thing or two.' She bowed her head and her hands trembled. 'Your enemies indeed approach. Such numbers, for ninja. We should leave at dawn, evade them in the forest, get off this mountain as they ascend it. I cannot let a battle take place in or around this shrine. It is holy ground.'

'Will we escape them? Is it too late?' There was fear in Snowhawk's eyes.

'Only destiny cannot be escaped,' the White Nun said gently. 'And fortunately for mortals, destiny is fluid, pliant, it changes with every decision one makes.' She arched forward to eye Moon closely. 'Mark me then, boy. Some battles, one must win alone. Others, the winning comes by learning to accept help, the right help. Even I have learned to depend, at times, on the strength of others. A network of holy men, old pilgrims, pass this mountain regularly. It is they who bring Motto-San and I much of our food, in exchange for healing and counsel.' The White Nun tapped her chest. 'Oh, I know, it rankles the pride and can confuse the mind, but it's a lesson even the great must learn. Choosing to depend on others can demand as much courage as fighting alone and outnumbered!'

He frowned. What did that mean?

She waved away his imminent question. 'Though you were led here in deception, yet were you meant to come.' The sage gestured for Moon to approach. He shuffled forward on his knees, wary of Motto's jaws as he drew right up to the White Nun.

The Akita Matagi's blue eyes tracked him, but the animal stayed prone.

'I must pass something to you now,' the White Nun said solemnly. 'An anointing. It will rest within you, a planted seed, but in time, it will grow, helping you take the Eye of the Beast to that ultimate level: long distance sight-control. Be very patient. It will take years. It's the most useful of all powers I think, though also the hardest to refine. It is the means by which, for a long time, I've watched over you, both in the field and at home.'

Moonshadow's mouth fell open. 'The cat! The temple cat!'

'My spy.' The White Nun flashed a crafty smile. 'I chose her to be my eyes upon you and my disciple Heron. She is a true cat, not a spirit-creature or a mystic's disguise, but, from time to time, I watch things through her. When I sense your mind reaching for hers, I step back and release her into your control. I felt you reach for Motto too, back down on the mountain. But if I'd stepped back then and let you control him, who would have have herded you up here to me?' She patted her chest. 'Yes, there's her and Motto-San. Linking thus to two creatures can leave me most depleted, in need of . . . sleep for weeks, though I have grown more skilled over time in managing the energies and delaying such rests.'

'But . . .' Snowhawk gaped. 'When you must rest, for weeks, who protects you?'

The White Nun tittered. 'The snows that seal off this mountain. Yes, children, in winter, I sleep like that bear. Long links can cause an exchange of traits. You will see.'

Moonshadow marvelled. So those animal residues were only the beginning. 'Why, great sage,' he asked, 'do you care so much about me?'

She quickly shook her head. 'Not yet, boy. Be patient. It is not yet the time.'

'I don't understand,' Snowhawk blurted, 'the time for what?'

'The time to speak of my debt to his mother.' The White Nun pointed at Moon.

Her words tore through him like a fire arrow. Moonshadow felt himself reel where he sat. A matter of some ten words, and his world was turning inside-out.

Snowhawk gasped. 'His mother?'

The White Nun raised a hand sternly. 'No, stay your tongues, do not probe further. We must not speak of this subject again until I next visit the monastery in Edo, lest a certain destiny be thwarted.' She gazed into Moon's eyes. 'Now. Will you, on trust and in faith, even with so many unanswered questions, accept my anointing?'

Feeling that his brain had just frozen, Moonshadow managed only a scant nod.

'Good boy.' The sage stared, breathing in and out deeply, just once. 'There. It is done. I have just planted in you all that I can. The remainder you must find . . . elsewhere.'

'Forgive my brashness,' Snowhawk said impulsively, 'but there is a certain blessing I would beg for.' Her chin trembled. 'To rid me of a problem, no, a poison –'

'No, no, no, child.' The White Nun sighed heavily. 'You would ask me to sweep away the hate and bitterness that fills your poor heart with anger? Only you can do that.'

'How?' Tears rolled down Snowhawk's face.

Fixing her with a tender look, the sage spoke gently. 'Your enemy told you how.'

Snowhawk wiped her cheek and slowly blinked. 'Be like the river?'

'Be like the river,' the White Nun repeated softly. 'Wisdom, child, is where you find it. The one who counselled you thus, spoke from a natural gift they truly have; one they might have lived to serve, had their life not begun much as yours did, being orphaned by the hand of bandits, then being raised shinobi, made special, made alone . . . made hard as folded steel! Your enemy advised you out of the one place left in her that is not hunter, capturer, killer. So ignore her deeds, be mindful of her sorrow, and heed her words anyway.'

'It's so confusing.' Snowhawk shrugged. 'I know she spoke the truth, but why –'

'Even the she-wolf shows a trace of tenderness at the sight of an orphan cub.' The White Nun ignored the questioning frown on Moon's face and winked at Snowhawk.

Struggling to her feet, the sage turned and made for a thick bedroll under a lantern on the far wall. Motto stood briskly and walked backwards at her side, his eyes moving constantly between the two unexpected guests.

The White Nun stopped at the foot of her bed, looking back at them.

'I am empty now. I must grow truly still, withdraw inside my mind's deepest shield to recover my strength. At such times, my life is in Motto's paws, for while resting thus, I can neither sense nor repel any form of attack. But do not fear: if your enemies arrive, Motto will hear them and raise the alarm. So now, both of you, sleep. I will wake you just before sunrise.'

Snowhawk eyed the dog as it sat down beside the White Nun's bedroll. 'But, apart from Motto- San, you have no maids or servants. Who will first wake you?'

The sage batted her strange red eyes. 'No one needs to. Though all living things require rest, let's just say I do not sleep in the way of men, women and beasts.'

'I once heard,' Snowhawk said, 'that there were people who lived without sleep in the ancient days, the Old Country days, in that time before the first scrolls were written. But that's probably just another legend . . .'

'No,' the White Nun said wearily, 'we . . . they . . . did live that way.'

Moon gaped at Snowhawk. We? Could it be true? Was the White Nun herself actually ancient? Was she – through some powerful lost science – immortal now, perhaps the last of her kind?

The White Nun caught his eye and gave a soft groan. 'If only, boy, that were so.'

The sage stretched out slowly on the bedroll, lying on her side, quickly entering some form of trance. Beside her Motto sat, tireless and vigilant. As they watched, the White Nun's breathing slowed until, finally, it appeared to stop.

The pair looked at one another dumbfounded.

Moon shook his head. 'She can do all that,' he whispered, 'but not guarantee our survival. So much power, yet there are crucial things she refuses to get involved with.' He clicked his tongue.

'Is that not proof,' Snowhawk replied slowly, 'that she truly is a saint?'

He tried to ponder her question as he stretched out on his own bedroll, exhausted and eager to let sleep find him. But one thought alone drove all others from his mind.

The White Nun knows who my mother was.

Before Moonshadow closed his eyes, he felt them fill with tears.

ELEVEN

Sailing with Rokurokubi

Moonshadow awoke with a start, the sting of crisp salt air in his nose. He sat up.

It was daylight. He was no longer in the shrine, nor even on the mountain. How?

How did he get here? This was impossible. It had to be some test the White Nun had miraculously thrown him into. Was Snowhawk being tested in the same way?

Scrambling to his feet, Moon turned a circle as his head cleared.

He stood on the elevated rear deck of a long, single-masted ship that sat low in the ocean. There was no land in sight. The sky was overcast, dark clouds on the horizon.

Beside him, three iron poles rose from the planks. They extended up to meet rigging lines that stretched to the ship's central mast. From the middle pole, two bright, tubular carp flags streamed behind the craft. On the outer two poles, vertical war banners bearing the crest of the Tokugawa Shogun tensed and snapped. A wide, white sail fluttered in the breeze from the mast's crossbeam. An identical crest half-covered it.

Moon ran to the railing. It was a solid wooden lattice, like something built to pen horses. He peered over the side. There were rows of oars, tips trailing and skipping in the water. This ship, a daimyo's if not that of the Shogun himself, was built to be propelled by both wind and samurai rowers. But there were no rowers. He turned again, eyes hunting quickly. No crew either. He tilted his head, listening. All was silent below decks.

'Nobody,' he murmured. Great! Moon hung his head. The ship was deserted. How was he supposed to get home?

'Is it safe to come down now?' The woman's voice came from the direction of the mast. 'Is it over?'

He leapt from the rear to the main deck. 'Where are you?' Moon shouted.

There was a long, slow swishing sound. Then he spotted her, sliding down the mast. A woman in a golden kimono; older than Snowhawk, younger than Heron. Her hair was neatly thatched on the crown of her head in an elaborate high-born lady's style.

Moonshadow stared at her, biting his lip. Was she the wife of a great lord? Or a dignitary perhaps? Maybe the ship had been transporting her. Had an enemy found them?

He ran forward and bowed. The lady gave him a stately nod. She must have been hiding up the mast, hanging onto its rigging.

Why? How? Did her guards help her get up there?

'It was awful.' The woman's pale but youthful face creased. Moon could see terrible memories flickering behind her large brown eyes. 'It went after them, moving systematically through every part of the ship.' She tightened her kimono around herself. 'One by one, they all jumped, or were taken.'

'Taken . . .' Moonshadow repeated, glancing warily over each shoulder. 'What was it? What do you mean taken?' He tipped his head, checking in all directions. No. He heard no lurking entity. He also sensed no shinobi presence.

'It . . . it tore them apart.' She motioned at him. 'That sword on your back won't stop it.' The lady hunched sorrowfully. 'Many brave warriors died trying to fend it off.'

She drew a breath and pointed below the lip of the elevated rear deck.

There, in a dark wood frame, stood a barbarian-made mirror. This imported treasure, the lady's golden kimono, the ship itself, all spoke of money and the highest connections. So this lady was a person of great importance. Moon's heart skipped a beat. What if she was royalty and the White Nun had flung him here to protect her?

Beside the foreign mirror stood what the lady had pointed at: an open sliding panel revealing a narrow flight of wooden stairs.

'Please.' She wrung her hands. 'Go ahead of me, below decks, just in case . . .'

Moon drew his back-mounted shinobi straight sword in a flash of steel. 'A pleasure, my lady. Please follow at least four paces behind me, for safety.'

'Yes of course, brave young sir.' She gestured for him to lead off. Moon took four long strides then motioned for her to follow. He was guarding royalty! Eager, excited, he reached the stairs more than four paces ahead of the lady.

As he raised his sword, ready to descend, movement in the mirror caught his eye.

His gaze flicked to it and his mouth fell open. He was seeing things. Moonshadow jolted back a pace. That was no barbarian mirror. It was bewitched, a haunted mirror!

For in it he saw the lady he protected, but her neck was elongating, hoisting her head a man's length up and forward on an ever-stretching cable of pale flesh.

It was a vision of a Rokurokubi: that sinister yokai that pretended to be human, before it . . . Moon flinched. Pretended to be human. A lady. Royalty, even.

Then he knew. What he saw was no vision, it was a reflection.

He whirled around, bringing his sword up fast. The Rokurokubi's head flew at him, while the neck continued to stretch yet keep its thickness. Its gold-kimonoed body stood rigid in the background. Its womanly face was dark and frightening now, all sharp lines around tiny cold black eyes. That formerly petite mouth had stretched to three times its width. Shining lips opened and a single row of oversized human teeth snapped.

Moonshadow ducked and ran below the lunging head and snaking neck. He hopped to one side and turned fast, raising his sword, ready to cut down hard through it. But before his blade could fall, the head swung back and hurled itself sideways into him. Moon streaked through the air, crashing to the main deck, sliding and finally rolling to the foot of the mast. He forced himself up quickly, nursing a bruised shoulder.

The Rokurokubi's body held its ground but turned as the meandering neck and bobbing head came after him. Moon sheathed his sword and jumped onto the mast, clamping his hands and feet around it and ascending monkey-style. As he rose level with the Tokugawa crest, something pale swished behind him. He turned his head and saw a thick coil of neck curving away. Moonshadow froze, looking about him in abject horror.

Its neck now elongated to perhaps the length of the ship, the Rokurokubi was steadily winding itself round and round both mast and sail. It was keeping each twist out of sword range, patiently forming a fleshy cage that could tighten at any moment.

Just as that thought struck him, the gaps between the coils of neck began to shrink. Moon jumped onto the crossbeam, drawing his sword. With a loud whump, the creature's head struck his from behind. He sagged to one knee, stunned. The sound of snapping teeth rang loud in one ear. He twisted away, flailing with his weapon. Missed!

Whump, it rammed him again. Moonshadow fell forward. The beam went black.

He blinked and turned his head. Everything was now black and he was tumbling, upside down. No, he was still again now, but on his back . . . and just his shoulders moved.

Moon opened his eyes. Lantern light. Ceiling shadows. Snowhawk was shaking him, her face ashen. He lay on his bedroll, in the shrine, on the White Nun's mountain.

Realising what had happened, he let out a low moan. Another dream attack!

'Thank the gods!' Snowhawk released him and sank back wearily. 'The way you were gasping, I thought it was happening again! And it was, wasn't it?'

'Yes! Thank you.' He patted the back of her hand. 'Once more you have saved my life.'

Moon raised his head, touching his neck. He was drenched with sweat. He looked around. The White Nun still lay in her trance, so still she could have been a fallen statue. Motto-San lay beside her, as motionless as if drugged. Yet his ice-blue eyes remained open, their glow half as intense as when he had cornered his visitors in that rocky gully.

'Why didn't they know I was under attack?' Moonshadow frowned hard.

Snowhawk gave a patient sigh. 'Remember what she said? When she rests, she can't sense or repel any kind of attack. As for Motto-San, she said if your enemies arrive, he'll hear them and raise the alarm. The Death Dream shinobi can't be that close, then.' She stared at Moon intently. 'Or maybe she wanted you facing this threat on your own.'

'I hope you're wrong about that.' Sitting up, Moonshadow ran his hands over his face and through his hair. 'Snowhawk,' he whispered haggardly, 'what if this keeps happening? What chance do I have if it happens when we're separated?'

She thought awhile before answering. 'I know enough of this dark art to know there is only one defence during an attack. You must fight, in the nightmare, as you would in real life. Fight, and win.'

'How?' His mouth quirked to one side at the impractical notion. 'When these evil yokai invade my mind, I don't even know it's a dream. I'm confused, I think it's real. Anyway, just now, I tried to put up a fight. I was nothing against the creature's powers.'

'Did you try using yours?' Snowhawk indicated Motto. 'The Eye of the Beast?'

'Hah!' Moon rolled bloodshot eyes. 'And duel the Rokurokubi with what? Irritable seagulls? How about dolphins? I could have watched myself die up on that mast through dolphin eyes.' He shook his head. 'Because that's all they could have done. Watched!'

Her nose creased. She squinted at him. 'Rokurokubi? Dolphins?' Snowhawk edged closer and took his face in her hands. Her voice was soft with pity. 'Are you going mad?'

'No.' He grinned awkwardly. 'In the dream I was climbing the mast of a ship.'

'Ah! I see.' She nodded. 'I'm so tired, I can't think straight.' Snowhawk gripped his arm tightly. 'Pray if there's another attack, it happens in daylight.'

'Why?' Moonshadow scowled. 'Can't I just pray there are no more attacks?'

'Listen to me. Though daylight assaults are the most powerful form, they at least begin with the victim knowing they're being dragged into a waking nightmare. That's what the dream assassin sacrifices in order to launch a day attack; the advantage of complete surprise, the confusion a sleeper faces. There's even a reliable giveaway sign.'

Moon read the discomfort on her face. 'What happens? What will alert me?'

Snowhawk swallowed hard. 'As it begins, you'll go blind.'

'Fine then, if you see me go blind during the day, just grab me, snap me out of it, and –' he saw her shake her head quickly. 'What? Why not?'

'Because of why daylight assaults are the most powerful.' Snowhawk took a deep breath. 'If you're shaken out of one by somebody else, you usually stay blind.'

'What? And you think I should pray for a daylight attack?'

His raised voice brought Motto's big head up. The dog stared at him. Moonshadow held his hands up in surrender until the head sagged down again.

Snowhawk shrugged. 'If it happens, Moon, you just have to win! Use your special skill. Find a way! Just remember what I said,' she whispered. 'Fight like it's real life.'

'Real life?' Moon patted his chest, shoulder and the back of his head. 'I feel bruised . . . so can injuries from these dreams follow you back into real life?'

She nodded gravely. 'For both you and your opponent, it can work that way, yes.'

He lay back on the bedroll, hands behind his head, desperate to sleep, desperate not to. Snowhawk went quiet beside him. After a few minutes, she began snoring.

Fight like it's real. Some solution. It was impossible. He was going to die.

TWELVE

Of one mind

The four candles lay in a diamond around the scroll of empowerment sutras. Their dancing light threw misshapen shadows up the walls of the Grey Light Order's briefing room. Eagle, Heron, Mantis and Badger sat facing each of the candles in the seiza position, their folded knees pointing at the document in the diamond's centre.

'Is everyone ready?' Eagle's eyes flicked around the group. His three companions nodded. 'Sister Heron, please tell us exactly what you saw, before we proceed.'

Heron gave a seated bow. 'This was my dream. In light of all the White Nun has taught me, I do humbly call it prescient.' She drew in a breath. 'I saw Moonshadow standing at the top of a tall, primitive stone tower. Lightning flashed all around it. A great, colourful serpent climbed after him, winding itself around the tower on its way up.' She cleared her throat and spoke softly. 'I apologise for the scream that woke you all.'

'What of waking riddle-phrases? Did one come to you?' Eagle's face softened. 'After the scream, perhaps.'

'Yes, Brother Eagle.' Heron smiled and then answered formally. 'As I woke, this formed in my mind: he will presently taste of future strength, or drown in his enemy's poison. His is not the choice.'

'Comments?' Eagle paused. 'Are we all of one mind in what we make of this?'

'His is not the choice: ours is the choice,' Mantis said quickly. 'For a change, the riddle-phrase's meaning seems almost clear. Our actions here will decide Moon's fate.'

Badger nodded. 'It has a logic of its own, which I agree implies that we must act.'

Heron gestured at the document between them. 'I thought of this practice at once.'

Three heads turned towards Eagle.

'Then we are all of one mind,' he said. 'Anticipating this, I had you, Badger, fetch the empowerment sutras. As it has been a while since their last use, let's recall the custom once more. We will each in turn read a full sutra aloud, one hundred times, at a contemplative pace, while the others focus their minds on Moonshadow, far to the north.' Heron, Mantis and Badger replied as one with a seated bow. Eagle nodded. 'Whatever grace or skill from his future he needs to access now, I pray we can trigger it.' A grim light flecked his eyes. 'Before our strength fails.'

'It will not,' Mantis said defiantly. Heron shook her head. Badger grunted.

'Dawn is close. I will take the first reading,' Eagle said confidently. 'We will continue until sunset.' He watched the others. 'Unless that seems too great a burden?'

There was a long silence. Eagle smiled proudly, moved his candle aside and reached for the scroll.

THIRTEEN

Dreams and thunder

Snowhawk had suggested they swap their merchant costumes for their night suits until they had cleared the haunted forest. Moonshadow was grateful – at last, real freedom of movement again! His suit was a light blue-grey, hers green-hued. Both colour schemes were popular choices for countryside and forest stealth operations.

He had left his hood off but tied down his pack and mounted his sword as if about to scale a castle wall or run through a battlefield. Anything could happen now that they had left the shrine. At least it wasn't raining and they were covering ground fast.

Moon's head twitched to one side. What was that? Approaching thunder cloaked the sound. He dropped into a crouch on the forest floor, angling his head. As the ominous muttering in the sky faded, his mouth fell open.

Leaning heavily on her gnarled walking stick, the White Nun watched him. Moon's eyes turned into slits as he listened.

'One man, moving quickly, climbing directly in our path.' He stood. 'A scout, I would say. Our other friends will be right behind him.'

'I can't feel anyone.' Snowhawk watched the ridge below them intently. 'You know what that means.'

'Do not fear him,' the White Nun said firmly. 'And that is all we'll say on the matter.' She indicated a new downhill course with her stick. Motto flitted from behind her to gallop along it. 'Down that way until we meet the ridge. Then turn east, through the ruins.'

Thunder rumbled, closer now. Through gaps in the trees Moon saw the distant peak of a snow-covered mountain. It rose behind spiky green hills and sweeping folds in the land. He jumped as lightning struck the top of a closer hill. Moon smelled no rain, but greenish, thundery clouds converged on the mountain, thick with hail, lightning or both.

His mouth went dry. After that nightmare about the Kappa, green-tinged light bothered him. He blew out a long breath, remembering the equally fearful Rokurokubi dream attack. There was a good chance he'd be avoiding ships from now on. Moon set his teeth. What would the next mind-assault take from him, burden him with –?

He stopped himself. Do not fear him. The sage was right. This game had to end.

'Find me,' Moonshadow whispered. 'I know you can sense me. Come on . . .'

Striding ahead of Moonshadow and Snowhawk with surprising vigour, the White Nun followed her dog downhill, nimbly sidestepping rocks and logs as she wove through the forest to the plateau. Moon's forehead creased as he watched her. Such agility!

By the time Moon reached the ruins with Snowhawk at his side, Motto had stretched out in the shade of a low, crumbling stone wall. Nearby the White Nun sat on a curved, mossy log in the shade of a long, high hedge of black-green bamboo. She was hunched forward, head resting on her stick.

'Let them climb awhile, pass us by.' The sage gestured at scattered flat stones. 'Sit, save your strength. You may yet need it.' She looked away, smiling secretively.

Moonshadow scouted the ruins. So this was once a small castle. Whoever had destroyed it had done a very thorough job; not one wall had been left intact.

He walked to the crumbling, gap-toothed remains of the outermost wall, once the little fortress's battlements. It was perched on the edge of the plateau. Peering over, Moon caught sight of the haunted forest, almost directly below them. He shuddered.

Pacing back among the drizzled lines of rock, stands of bamboo and haphazard forest growth where the others rested, Moon sidestepped a rusty, fragmenting helmet. In it was a skull. Moonshadow shivered and looked up. The overcast green sky seemed to be darkening quickly. Was the air growing colder, or was it the scent of death that chilled his veins?

It was Snowhawk's turn to be a mind-reader. 'This is a most creepy place, even by day.' She indicated a black-and-white tangle in a patch of grass between two stones. 'There's a pile of charred bones right there.'

Moon noticed more signs of a fire-projectile attack. Broken arrows. Boulders and cut stones that were also blackened. Rusting spearheads with cubed charcoal trails behind them. There were even burnt scraps of armour, some riddled with punctures.

The White Nun covered her face with her hands. 'They have a right to be bitter, the spirits in this place.' She looked up, red eyes tearful. 'None were shown the slightest mercy. Not lord, babe nor dog.' Motto stiffened and huffed.

Snowhawk approached the sage. 'You brought us here for a reason, didn't you?'

'Clever child.' The White Nun brushed her eyes with a knuckle. 'Your kind avoids the pages of history, yet in shadow writes them. So remember this place. It was the handiwork of a certain young lord . . . named Silver Wolf.'

Moonshadow's hands balled into fists. 'He did this?'

'Oh yes. And simply to settle a personal matter. I wonder how many died, jumped or, as it ended, were pushed? All over an insult that had passed between two men.'

'But this is far from his domain,' Snowhawk looked around. 'How could he –'

'With the former Shogun's permission.' The sage shrugged. 'A legal feud. He wiped out the noble family, their castle and servants, their samurai, then, his precious honour not yet satisfied, he let his men loot the fiefdom's two villages that lie to the south. They took everything, triggering the famine, and soon the abandonments began, the very old, the very young . . .'

'That man's evil stench is everywhere.' Moon hocked and spat. 'In his honour!'

There was a loud roar of thunder overhead and seconds later, a blinding flash as lightning struck a tree thirty paces uphill from the ruins. The White Nun stood up. Motto ran to her feet. Another bolt of lightning streaked down into the forest, ten paces closer.

As the second flash's glare faded, Moonshadow squinted uphill. A maple sapling had been set on fire. Movement drew his eye. He flinched. Snowhawk grunted a curse.

Twenty strides to the left of the burning tree stood a line of figures.

'I count nine,' Snowhawk said quickly, hurrying to his side. Moon glanced at her. She had already – soundlessly – drawn her blade. He nodded grimly. No more running.

The line of figures strode forward, moving downhill in unison. One limped.

Moon studied them as they advanced. Six were definitely men, hooded, armed with back-mounted straight swords. One wore a compact shinobi bow and a quiver of arrows. None looked familiar, but all six wore matching forest camouflage suits. He recognised the two-tone maple leaf pattern at once.

No wonder Snowhawk had cursed. The design was Clan Fuma's.

The tallest, strongest looking ninja among them also wore a shuko, an iron climbing claw, over his left hand.

Always a hard combination to fight, Moonshadow thought with a frown: curved claw-blades in one hand, a shinobi sword in the other. He'd be a problem.

Moon glanced to the right of the six Fuma ninja. Jiro grinned back at him, hands already gliding into his jacket. Beside the limping gangster walked a young, beautiful woman in a kimono, fanning herself and gazing at Snowhawk with watchful intelligence.

'That's her,' Snowhawk whispered fearfully. 'Ignore the face. That's Kagero.'

At the end of the line walked a young man. His look was distinctive: make-up, fashionable hair worn long but untied, eye-catching clothes. Moonshadow had seen him before. Recently. But where? He wore only a dagger. The youth broke into a remote smile. Yes, Moonshadow nodded, now I remember you.

The market in that first town. The stranger with the bold stare.

'I am Chikuma.' The young man paced directly for Moon, who instantly felt an odd pressure building in his head. 'I come to grant your wish.'

At least now Moon knew his enemy. He set his jaw. 'And I am –'

'Moonshadow of the Grey Light.' Chikuma rubbed his hands together as he approached. 'And shortly, my thirty-fifth kill. What do you think of that?'

'I think,' Moon sneered, 'you talk too much.'

Abruptly everything went black. It had happened: he was blind. Moon felt himself freeze with terror on the spot. He heard fresh thunder, followed by the snicks of swords being drawn. Then his hearing also faded.

Snowhawk bounded up onto a rock, her head quickly turning back and forth.

Was this what it looked like? Moonshadow obviously couldn't hear her now. She called his name again, but he was unresponsive, motionless, staring off into the distance. Chikuma was the same, a mirror to Moon in stance and expression.

Were the two already battling each other in a dreamscape only they could see?

'Remember,' Snowhawk muttered as if Moon could hear her, 'like in real life.'

The White Nun hurried to Moon's side. She stamped her gnarled stick forcefully. 'Protect his body,' the sage said quickly, 'he fights his most dire battle.'

Motto sprang in front of the White Nun and Moonshadow in a menacing stance, blue eyes on the enemy ninja.

Hoisting her blade, Snowhawk pointed it at Kagero. 'I've decided to take your advice!' she shouted.

Kagero, still in youthful disguise, bowed politely. 'Why thank you. A wise decision.' The bounty hunter already held an open fan. Now she produced the other from inside her kimono, flicking it open as she drew it.

'I'll treasure your words,' Snowhawk sneered. 'The last advice you'll ever give!'

'Oh, don't be like that.' Kagero advanced on her. 'We're so much alike.' She raised the fans, adopting an angular, warlike stance. 'People always used to say I was beautiful and bad-tempered. Sounds a lot like you, neh?'

Jiro held up a bo-shuriken in each hand, edging closer with limping half-steps.

The ninja wearing a shuko as his gauntlet pointed with it. 'Don't forget: we take the girl deserter and the old woman alive.' Five suited Fuma agents quickly encircled Snowhawk's rock. Their clawed leader cast an uneasy look at Chikuma.

Like Moon, the youth remained frozen, face blank, eyes perhaps watching events taking place in some other world. The White Nun stood at Moonshadow's side, clutching her stick with her head down, as if praying. Snowhawk briefly considered trying to launch an attack on Chikuma, but decided the risk to Moon was simply too great. The Fuma agents would close in, try to stop her. In the process, Moon would either be wounded by them or jolted out of the dream – blind.

The head ninja turned back, flicking his head at Kagero as if requesting orders.

Kagero pointed at Snowhawk with a fan. 'Go ahead, gentlemen. Wear her down first, then I'll take over.' Her mouth warped into a spiteful smirk. 'It's really my responsibility to get her home alive, but if she won't submit, barely alive is also fine.' She let out a soft chuckle. 'And once we're there, I have so many questions for you, my dear, on behalf of our former clan's leadership! You'll talk to Kagero about your new friends, won't you?' She laughed again, this time with unconcealed malice. 'Submit! You have no choice!'

They all flinched as lightning struck a patch of weeds near the ruin. A puff of smoke rose from the charred circle it left.

'Submit?' Snowhawk gave a menacing laugh of her own. She felt her eyes glaze over with wrath. 'Here's what I say to that, Kagero. I think it a most appropriate answer.'

Snowhawk flung her sword point-first at the ground alongside her rock. As it dug in, she dropped to one knee, wrists crossing as her hands flashed into her jacket. Darting back out, her right hand whip-cracked in the air.

Almost instantly a cloud of smoke plumed at Kagero's feet. Snowhawk's left hand reappeared and whipped forward. A curve-bladed Fuma shuriken whirred through the smokescreen. As the teeming white cloak enveloped Kagero, she gave a loud shriek.

Snatching up the sword, Snowhawk back-flipped off the rock. One of Jiro's black bo-shuriken streaked past her. She landed on balance in time to see the head ninja signalling.

Three of his camouflaged agents ran for the White Nun and Moonshadow.

Motto bolted forward and threw himself at the closest one, rearing up and ramming chest to chest, big paws swiping inwards to trap the man's arms. The other two agents leapt clear as Motto drove their companion into the ground. Swords ready, they advanced on Moon and the White Nun. The sage raised a trembling hand, then made it a fist.

The pair of ninja stopped walking and turned to glare at one another. Both went into defensive stances.

'Who are you?' one shouted. 'What treachery is this?'

'Who am I? You're the infiltrator!' his agitated comrade snapped back.

There was a bright flash of steel between them, the ring of impact as one cut and the other blocked. Hand guards locking together, they began to shove each other back and forth. Behind them, Motto released the ninja he had downed, springing away as the obviously shaken man fumbled drawing his sword. His camouflage suit was torn and he moved as if the dog had badly bruised him head to foot.

Jiro ran around them all, his second bo-shuriken raised, targeting Snowhawk as she scrambled backwards between two piles of crumbling wall stones.

Snowhawk watched her smoke bomb's cloud disperse. Kagero still stood in what had been its centre. Teeth set, she pulled a shuriken from her shoulder. A Fuma shuriken, Snowhawk thought, and smiled. The wound bled fast, staining Kagero's flower-patterned kimono.

The bounty hunter's face shifted, her true appearance breaking through the shinobi illusion. An older, sharply lined countenance locked fiery eyes on Snowhawk.

'Before I am done with you, little squirrel,' Kagero growled, 'you will beg Lord Hachiman for death!'

I must lead them away, thought Snowhawk to herself. Lead them away from Moon so he has a fighting chance against Chikuma. As long as they don't take me alive, I don't care what happens. Grimly, she half-smiled. A simple enough plan. Make the rest of this wolf pack give chase and draw them off the White Nun, too.

She cupped three Fuma shurikens from her holsters, then threw each hard and fast.

The first flew at the claw-handed head ninja who was trying to pacify the two the White Nun had tricked into fighting each other. Missing its mark, the shuriken struck one of the confused fighters in the neck. The ninja shouted in alarm, then crumpled. The man he'd been struggling with flinched, suddenly recognising his leader. The White Nun's influence over them had run its course.

Snowhawk took a pace backwards. Even with one down, the odds remained nasty.

She lobbed the second shuriken at Jiro, forcing him to duck, and shearing off a matted lock of hair near the crown of his head. He straightened up and swore at her.

The third shuriken she thrust at Kagero but the experienced agent, despite her wound, was ready this time and she blocked it with one of her war fans. With a clunk and a flash of iron spokes the throwing star wheeled to the leaf-strewn ground.

Kagero stared at the shuriken she had pulled from her flesh, then looked up. 'You are GLO now, yet use Fuma designed shurikens to battle us?' Her face swam with barely controlled rage. 'I am a professional. You just made this personal. Get her!'

Spinning about, Snowhawk broke into a hard run, her eyes on the area uphill where the lightning struck most often. Hard footfall pounded the ground behind her as she dashed between two gently swaying stands of bamboo and onto open ground.

Be careful what you start, Snowhawk told herself.

She hurdled a log, sidestepped a rain-cut trench and glanced over one shoulder.

The fallen ninja lay curled up, staunching his fast-bleeding neck wound.

But apart from him and Chikuma, every other enemy was now right behind her.

Silver Wolf awoke with a start and propped himself up on one elbow.

He had told his men he was going into his bedchamber to sit and meditate, but he suspected that at least his sharpest guards, the father and son bodyguard team, knew the real reason. He had, yet again, drunk too much sake with his early lunch and had needed to sleep off the dull ache steadily growing in his head.

On entering this, the innermost room of his castle's keep, he had hung a simple, ink-brushed portrait on the wall, one that had been relayed to him on Katsu's orders through a chain of agents in the field. Then, sagging backwards onto his futon, he had fallen asleep at once. He was unsure for how long, but it was still daylight outside.

Now, though awake for only a matter of seconds, he felt oddly free of any effects of liquor, and strangely alert. He found his eyes drawn to the rectangle of handmade paper dangling below the wall lamp's iron bracket.

The warlord stood up and stared at it with a dark, sullen expression. The crude portrait showed a long-faced youth with an ample head of dark hair, tied back in a single tail. The boy's eyes were sharp, purposeful, his nose long, lips thin, chin pointy and face free of scars.

'I have never seen you,' Silver Wolf muttered, his chest immediately heaving with anger, 'but now I know you, Moonshadow of the Grey Light. Do you still live?' He glanced at the diffused glow coming through the oiled paper squares of the sliding screen. 'Or have my allies done their job by now . . .' his voice built into a roar, 'and taken your stinking little head?!'

Silver Wolf dropped to one knee, one hand burrowing between the futon and the tatami beneath it. He sprang back to his feet and his arm streaked forward, fingers aligned, pointing at the picture. Polished steel caught the light as it whirled through the air. A low thud followed. Silver Wolf blinked at the picture, then flashed a maniacal grin. His small samurai-style throwing knife, made from the same folded steel as his swords, stuck from the picture's grim face, right between Moonshadow's eyes.

'Yes!' Silver Wolf's stare narrowed with sustained rage. 'A good start but not enough!' He twisted to the sword rack at the head of his bed, snatched up his long sword and drew it from the scabbard. Hurling the scabbard to his futon, Silver Wolf rushed the picture, hakama trousers rustling as he sped across the room. He swung a blindingly fast cut downwards at the face, stopping his whispering blade's tip a finger's width short of the paper.

The sliding door to his bedchamber flew open. His father and son bodyguard team appeared around it, faces wary, hands ready on their undrawn swords. They glanced around the room, frowned, then stared at the warlord with baffled expressions.

After studying his master's incensed face and drawn blade, the older samurai waved his son away and bowed low. A shrewd light came on in his eyes.

'Forgive the intrusion, my lord. We were overcautious; we did not intend to disturb your practice.'

'Get out!' Silver Wolf stood, hands and sword trembling with fury, his unblinking eyes on the samurai as he bowed again and closed the door.

The warlord looked back at the picture. His eyebrows fell and mouth twisted as he drove the tip of his blade through Moonshadow's cheek and into the wood behind it.

FOURTEEN

Of two battlefields

Moonshadow felt his body start to relax as the silent blackness thinned.

At first he made out only shifting shadows, heard just one sound, a distant owl's call. Then abruptly he found that he could see and hear properly again.

But not, he realised at once, the sights and sounds of his actual life.

He looked around, turning a slow, wary circle. Was he simply turning inside the dream? Or did his body rotate now, out in the real world?

This had to be a dream, a daylight mind attack, forced upon him by Chikuma.

How else could he abruptly find himself alone in the ruins, and under stars?

The night air was cold. The sky through the trees starry and still, with no signs of thunder or lightning. Far up the mountain, a wolf howled, then its whole pack joined in.

Moonshadow paced through the ruins, looking around. Yes, he was alone. An urge came to him. A prompt to go to that wall on the edge of the plateau, to look over as he had before.

'No,' Moonshadow said instinctively, 'I won't.' The urge repeated, more insistent now. He steeled himself against it and felt its strength quickly halve. Then it was gone.

'Well,' he said to himself, 'that wasn't so bad.'

Twigs snapped at the other end of the ruins. Muffled footfall, then a thump. He turned fast, eyes hunting for the source of the noises. Louder snapping, closer. Moon gripped the jacket directly over his heart.

An awful, now-familiar feeling spiralled through him, growing stronger with each passing moment. It made his breathing accelerate, his stomach knot.

Something genuinely terrible was approaching. He had no idea how he knew, but he was utterly certain of it. He stepped up onto a cracked boulder, peering through the stunted trees and scattered rocks in the ruins. There, staying in shadow: a figure. Female?

It was weaving towards him in the dark, approaching with skittish, disturbing bounds and lunges. Every movement was too fast, too sharp, impossible, yet on it came. Moon swallowed. It couldn't be human. Not even a shinobi could move that way.

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.

Now everyone stared, blinked, and licked their lips uncertainly. Badger cleared his throat and glanced around, but didn't resume reading.

Finally Eagle took a deep breath and broke the silence. 'Heron,' he said hoarsely. 'We all saw that, neh?' She gave a haggard nod. He sighed with relief. 'What did it mean?'

Despite her exhaustion, Heron smiled broadly. 'I think it's worked.'

SIXTEEN

Turning tides

Thunder cracked hard overhead and two jagged bolts of lightning lit the forest in quick succession.

With his teeth, Jiro pulled at the last knot on his field dressing until the torn strip of jacket almost hid his mangled hand. He muttered a curse and raised a throwing knife in his good fist.

Snowhawk saw the bo-shuriken rise but knew she couldn't keep her eyes on it. Jiro, as always, was a hazard but Kagero, circling her and swinging wildly with those fans, was the real problem. What other tricks did she have up those loose silk sleeves?

Kagero ran at Snowhawk, bringing the fans close together, peeping through the gap between them. Snowhawk lunged with the tip of her sword between the paper triangles. Kagero changed her footwork, turned her arm and shoulder hard and used one fan's iron spokes to parry the blade aside. She dropped into a crouch and rolled along the ground, slashing with the fan-tips for Snowhawk's ankles. Snowhawk vaulted over the attack and landed on Kagero's shoulders before springing off into a somersault. She hit the ground with well-spaced feet and turned smoothly, raising her sword.

'Nice trick,' Snowhawk panted. 'Pity you weren't just a little fast–' She cried out as an impact from behind drove her chest forward, snapping her head up. Sinking to her knees, she clawed for the arrow in her back with gritted teeth.

'Pity you weren't a little more observant.' Kagero gave her old innkeeper titter.

Snowhawk cursed her own carelessness. She had forgotten a most basic rule of open combat: always know what's going on behind you. The five ninja must have returned! She snorted bitterly. Would she live to receive a well-deserved lecture from Brother Eagle? A penalty she'd happily endure! But the gangster's taunting snigger warned Snowhawk that her beginner's mistake was about to bring far worse upon her.

A bo-shuriken wagged in Jiro's hand. 'Well, why waste this on you now?' he grinned. 'You're already one shot down, Snowhawk, neh?' He guffawed at his own joke.

Snowhawk raised her sword painfully as the Fuma ninja, back from their fools' errand, surrounded her. She peered downhill, eyes frantically hunting for the White Nun. The sage was hunched on a stone, her stick sagging. She appeared exhausted. There was no sign of Motto. Snowhawk swallowed hard. Had the noble beast fallen?

Desperate thoughts assailed her. She knew her own fate; they wanted her alive. She'd have to deal with that later. But if Moon did not somehow rejoin the fight within the next few minutes, he would most certainly be killed or blinded right in front of her. Even if left alive, how long would a blind shinobi last, one that had already made himself at least one vengeful warlord enemy? She ground her teeth. This was it. From so far away, that very foe, the blood-crazed Silver Wolf, was about to get even.

What if she offered to cease fighting, surrendered herself to the Fuma in exchange for them letting her companions go? As if in reply, lightning struck a stunted tree nearby, setting it alight. Exactly, she hung her head, nodding. What mad optimism caused that idea? Had she really needed a sign? Make no deals. They'd still slay Moonshadow. So what to do? Her latest and so-far favourite trainer, Brother Mantis, sung the praises of surprise at every chance. Never underestimate it, he loved to tell her, surprise is the number one tactic for turning the tide during combat. Try to employ it, he'd added earnestly, before you run out of stamina.

Well, she was wounded, demoralised and almost out of stamina, but Snowhawk still felt angry enough to offer the Fuma one last surprise. She rallied herself for a final charge. Springing up with a yelp, she dashed for the ninja between her and the burning tree, scything the air with her sword, forcing the man back until he felt the heat and had to jump away. She tried to accelerate, preparing to leap the fiery tree and lead them off again. Something flashed into the corner of her vision and she raised her sword at it. With a resounding clang the bo-shuriken glanced off her blade, its rounded club-end striking her temple.

Her sword tumbled to the ground beside her as she dropped to her hands and knees. Disoriented, Snowhawk smelled burning pine, heard Jiro's victory howl, saw stars.

What chance did she have now?

A low, powerful form thundered past her. She shook her head hard and looked.

Motto-San, the bo-shuriken flicking up and down in his shoulder, was charging downhill, ignoring the ninja, Jiro and Kagero. The claw-handed Fuma chief signalled quickly and his archer nocked an arrow. Snowhawk scrambled across the ground and snatched up Jiro's last bo-shuriken. The archer drew and took aim at Motto. With a snarl, Snowhawk hurled the black throwing knife at him. The ninja ducked, aborting his shot.

Weaving among the bamboo and the ruins, Motto charged straight for the Fuma dream assassin.

First Jiro, then the five ninja and finally Kagero grew transfixed. Eyes watering with the pain of her arrow wound, exhausted and out of ideas, Snowhawk welcomed the pause.

Just before Motto reached Chikuma, the bo-shuriken came away from the dog's shoulder and fell spinning to the ground.

Snowhawk squinted. Strange, it had looked as if something had plucked it out.

Chikuma's eyes were open and he appeared to remain in his trance as Motto slammed into him. The Fuma assassin reeled, barely keeping his balance on stiff legs, as the Akita Matagi bundled him, one hard shove at a time, to the old battlements.

Ignoring Snowhawk, Kagero and the ninja started running downhill, with Jiro in a limping trot behind them. Snowhawk sneered, wiping her running eyes. They'd reacted too late. That dog would knock their friend off the edge before they could stop him.

With a final growling chest-ram, Motto sent Chikuma flying sideways against the crumbling battlement wall. He struck it hard, making several loose stones tumble over the edge, then flopped helplessly into a gap, limp as a cloth doll.

Turning to face the enemies approaching from uphill, Motto spread his paws and growled. His bared, dripping teeth warned not to advance on him or Chikuma. The dream assassin dangled from the waist up through the gap in the low wall, his head and upper body's weight threatening to drag him over into a plunge all the way to the haunted forest below.

'Stop, all of you!' Kagero ordered. 'Don't try anything. Someone's controlling that beast and if we move on it, it'll nudge him over!' The line of attackers froze.

'The White Nun?' One ninja pointed at the sage, still hunched on her stone.

'It must be her!' Kagero snarled.

The White Nun raised her head and stared at the attackers. 'Indeed?' She gave an enigmatic smirk. 'How little you know!'

Moonshadow swayed on the spot, then let out a loud sigh and covered his face with his hands. He groaned, shook his head and peeped between his fingers. He sighed again.

Snowhawk used her sword to force herself up into a wobbling stand. Despite the pain in her back she grinned. That tide might just turn now. She was almost combat-useless, but they had no plans to kill her anyway. And Moonshadow . . . was back.

Moon lowered his hands, looked around, quickly sized things up and ran to Chikuma. Motto skipped away from his prize but kept glaring at the foes looming uphill.

Shaking his head again as if throwing off the last tendrils of sleep, Moonshadow stood over his unconscious enemy. Snowhawk felt tension surge through her stomach. What was he going to do? Would he push him over? Hold him for ransom? She watched Moon snatch for the back of Chikuma's colourful waistband. She held her breath.

With a strong wrench, Moonshadow dragged Chikuma back from the edge. Once the assassin was safe, Moon dropped him in a crumpled heap and stared uphill.

'Let the karma of his death be yours!' he shouted at his shocked enemies. 'Not mine!'

The White Nun stared at Moon for a lingering moment, then gave a single firm nod.

Snowhawk blew a long breath between her pursed lips. Scatter not one grain of life. It was humbling to see the sutra lived, before her very eyes. She, who had been so eager to kill! Moonshadow had honoured their code admirably. If only Mantis had been here to see that. Snowhawk silently chided herself. She had some work to do to follow Moon's example, but at least now she knew it. That in itself was a healthy sign.

She saw Moon studying her, taking in her injury. Then his eyes tracked along the line of ninja to Jiro and the bounty hunter. Snowhawk gaped. Was he about to –

Drawing his sword deftly, Moonshadow broke into an uphill run.

SEVENTEEN

Swords and numbers

Moon charged at Jiro, who turned and started to run away. He then changed direction suddenly to attack the claw-wielding ninja.

The Fuma warrior drew his sword and he and Moon traded cuts and blocks until Moon was forced to evade the side-swiping shuko claw, its iron prongs missing his arm by a finger's width. Moonshadow broke off his attack and ran sidelong across the mountainside past clumps of black-green bamboo until he was directly between two of the Fuma ninja.

They saw an opportunity and rushed in from both sides at once. Snowhawk broke into a wily smile. Just as Moon had hoped. The ninja had thought they were springing a chance trap, but Moon had set them up, baited them, so he could employ one of his favourite strategies, one that Mantis had developed.

With a steely ring and the flash of a blue spark, Moonshadow caught the descending blade of the ninja in front of him with his own sword, letting his weapon absorb and redirect the incoming strike's force. Like a coiled snake turning, Moon's blade brushed his foe's aside, snapping around to strike the opponent in the centre of his forehead. The man obviously wore a metal guard under his hood, for it thunked as he stumbled back a pace. Turning like the lightning that had strafed the forest around them, Moon surprised his rear opponent, slashing downwards fast and grazing the man from his shoulder to his hip. As the ninja bellowed and collapsed, Moonshadow pivoted back just in time to cut down the stunned enemy in front before the man could recover his poise.

Mantis called that set of moves zengogiri – it had featured in his half-finished duelling manual. Snowhawk nodded with admiration. It was the fastest, fiercest technique one could use to drop two foes converging front and back.

Also the riskiest. Moon had pulled it off.

She squinted at the two downed men as Moonshadow ran for Kagero. Their wounds were long but shallow, intended to immobilise but not to kill.

Again, Snowhawk decided, Mantis would be so proud.

With an angry thunderclap low overhead, the lightning strikes intensified, jabbing the mountainside around the ruin like silver spears. The bamboos seemed to sweat, the humid air suddenly felt thick, hard to breathe. A blinding bolt of lightning clipped the edge of the old battlements.

For the first time, Motto was frightened by it. He cowered, then ran to huddle at the White Nun's feet. Snowhawk bit her lip. Was that a sign that the White Nun was out of power for now? She turned anxiously as Moonshadow engaged the bounty hunter, advancing on Kagero with his sword pointed at her throat.

The remaining ninja and Jiro circled Kagero and Moon, the gangster holding up a bo-shuriken.

'That thing comes anywhere near me,' Kagero snarled out of the side of her mouth, 'and I'll form my own alliance with Moonshadow to take your head, gambler!'

Jiro lowered his shuriken. 'Be like that then,' he grumbled. 'He's all yours!'

Kagero locked her fans out at the ends of her arms. She whirled, advancing on Moon with astonishing balance as she rotated and dodged obstacles on the forest floor at ever-increasing speed. Lightning struck the ground only paces from Moon, making Kagero bound to one side. Seizing on the distraction, Moon cut her off with a speedy leap and then lunged with his sword. Kagero's fans flashed together around the advancing blade and Snowhawk heard a dull clank. She stared, wide-eyed as the two combatants froze.

Moonshadow was leaning forward hard, arms stretched, sword extended between the fans. Was it wedged or frozen by a shinobi blade-paralysing trick?

Did Kagero know that one? She too was immobile now, glowering at Moon.

Kagero let out a long wail that reminded Snowhawk of a kitten mewing. Her fans glided apart, one cut deeply between its iron spokes. Snowhawk's eyes hunted for Moonshadow's sword tip. It had pierced Kagero's arm on the opposite side to her shoulder wound. Moon withdrew the blade and jumped back. Kagero whimpered and sank to her knees. She dropped the fans and cupped her bleeding bicep. Her head flicked up at Moon, then she turned and scowled at Snowhawk.

'You wretched brats!' Kagero spluttered. 'No respect for your elders!' She caught the claw-handed ninja's attention. 'What are you waiting for? Three of you are still standing! Take him! Move, or are you afraid of him now?'

They quickly surrounded Moon. He raised his chin and sword together defiantly.

'I don't mind these odds at all,' he said, smiling. 'Who's going down first?'

Snowhawk heard a twig snap, far off in the forest. Then another. She turned her head, listening carefully. Closing footfall. Someone was ascending the mountain and tacking this way. No. Several of them! They were being openly noisy, so maybe it was a party of samurai. She swallowed. Silver Wolf's men? He was taking no chances with his revenge! What if he was leading them himself? Would she and Moon be thrown from the mountain, like that poor clan he wiped from history? Would they be tortured first?

One by one, the three remaining ninja, Jiro, Moon, then Kagero, all looked. Only the White Nun ignored the sounds. She stood stiffly, head bowed, one hand over Motto's bleeding shoulder.

Figures came into view, weaving quickly through the trees. Snowhawk focused on them and her heart sank. These were not samurai. More ninja. More Fuma ninja.

Six more enemies, armed and hooded, their faces bound, all in the same maple-patterned forest suits. Two were enormous. Three were archers. It was overwhelming; these were hope-less odds.

The enemy reinforcements, seeing combat already underway, fanned out fast into a huge containment circle around everyone but the White Nun and her wounded dog. Snowhawk grunted. She had to get to Moonshadow, help him, stand with him, even if . . .

Leaning on her sword like a crutch, she began taking painful steps in Moon's direction. He saw her coming and launched himself into a high, powerful jump, landing at her side. He looked her over, then she shrieked as he tore the arrow from her back.

Somehow she stayed on her feet, tears of pain running down her cheeks. With a sob of agony she put her throbbing, bleeding back against Moon's. They raised their swords as their foes formed a new inner circle around them: Mr Claw and his two henchmen, the grinning, triumphant Jiro and behind them, Kagero, smiling wickedly.

Further off, six new attackers waited for their opportunity. There was no way out.

Her throat began to close up. This time they had been outwitted and the end was truly upon them. Silver Wolf had proved cunning and hateful enough to cover all the angles. His vengeance would now see Moon's annihilation and her capture, misery and death. Snowhawk glanced downhill at the White Nun with pleading eyes. Sensing it, the sage looked up. An enigmatic smile broke her lined face. Snowhawk tried to read the expression. Was that sorrow? Indifference? Or was she hiding something?

'I . . . I really liked you,' Snowhawk said quickly to Moon, her chin trembling. 'And I wish . . . I wish that instead of . . . never mind.'

'I really liked you too,' Moonshadow replied boldly. 'Maybe, in our next lives –'

A growl came from the storm overhead. Snowhawk's eyes flicked up. The green ceiling of clouds was thinning. No lightning had struck in the last few moments. She cursed. With the storm waning, there'd be no more using its random flashes to advantage. Then she laughed bitterly, long and low. How ridiculous. It was futile to keep grasping for some tactical escape. Nothing could save them now.

It was Jiro who felt compelled to shatter the new silence with a near-hysterical cackle of joy. The gangster held up his bloody, bandaged hand, face glowing as he anticipated his – and Silver Wolf's – imminent revenge.

'Perfect timing! Welcome, gentlemen!' He looked over his shoulder at the reinforcements, beckoning with wounded fingers. 'What a pleasure this is going to be. And why make it hard?' He turned, leering at Moonshadow. 'Everyone! Kill him!'

EIGHTEEN

The greatest gift

Jiro squealed and buckled to the ground, his bandaged fist flailing. Moonshadow gasped at the shuriken that had bitten into the gangster's hand from behind. It was not a Fuma throwing star, but one of the simple, cross-spiked Iga-Koga design.

Clutching his wound, Jiro squealed with pain and distress, rolling in the leaves.

Moon's eyes flashed to the apparent leader of the new arrivals, a big fellow drawing his sword. 'For the Grey Light!' the man shouted and at once Moon knew him.

The other five agents unsheathed their weapons. Groundspider led them forward.

Moonshadow also recognised the strapping fellow beside Groundspider. The freelancer they'd met on the mission to Lord Akechi's secret meeting in Edo!

Kagero's eyes flicked straight to Snowhawk's. 'We'll meet again.' She smiled. 'Your business with the Fuma isn't done . . . nor with me!' She nodded to the claw-wearing ninja, then shouted, 'Jiro, fool! Get over here!'

The real Fuma agents who could still stand scurried into a cluster around Kagero, one of them dragging Jiro behind him.

'What of Chikuma?' said Mr Claw, peering downhill.

'Leave him,' Kagero snapped, 'like the wounded. Let our enemies here save Clan Fuma their work!'

With pained, deliberate movements her hand went into her jacket. The shuko-wearing ninja leader did the same. Groundspider held up a fist and his circle of advancing warriors froze. Kagero and the Fuma around her quickly stroked the air, hands flashing.

A chain of smoke bombs went off before them. Each cloud expanded fast, the staggered white eruptions meshing to form a dense, high wall of smoke.

'Down, everyone!' Moonshadow yelled. 'Beware of shuriken!'

He hunched low, supporting Snowhawk, who ground her teeth and cursed.

'Nobody move!' Groundspider called from somewhere beyond the smoke. 'Defence only!'

With a stubborn hiss, the last smoke bomb gave out and the white cloud quickly thinned and broke apart, wisps drifting through the clumps of bamboo. As the final shreds of it lifted, Moon stared at the spot where Kagero and his other enemies had just stood. Nothing. His eyes narrowed. The Fuma must have helped the bounty hunter and Jiro jump away, then run, well beyond the smokescreen. Still clutching Snowhawk, he turned his head. Where were they hiding? They couldn't have gone far, not yet.

Groundspider ran up to him, sheathing his sword. His men did the same.

'What are you doing?' Moon frowned. 'You're not going after them?'

'No. We're to let them go!' Groundspider signalled to his troops. He pulled down his face-binding and chuckled at Moon. 'Don't stay wound up, kid. This really is a rescue mission! We're not to engage them.' His eyes darted to Snowhawk. 'But I see you already have. Snowy doesn't look too well.' He turned and motioned for the battlefield healer among his men to come and deal with Snowhawk.

She looked up at Groundspider with glazed eyes. 'I'm still strong enough to flatten you if you call me Snowy again.'

Groundspider smiled down at her with genuine concern. 'That's a good sign.'

'How did you get here?' Moonshadow asked as the healer eased Snowhawk from his grip, lowering her gently on her side into the pine needles and leaves.

The big agent shrugged. 'We stole a cavalry unit's best horses. They're all tethered downhill. I have a seventh warrior guarding them. Our fast way home!'

Moonshadow gaped. 'You did what? You robbed a daimyo?'

'Oh, don't worry, he's just some minor lord and anyway, he'll blame the Fuma. We made sure one of his experienced guards saw these.' Groundspider tugged at his uniform. 'Pretty good, neh? Badger had these made a year ago after I captured that Fuma spy in Kyoto, you remember, the one who took poison before we could interrogate him?'

'You told me about it,' Moon nodded, 'but I was a no-name, not an agent then.'

'Yeah, well, I guess that just by wearing his clan's only forest suit design, he gave us precious information after all. I was wondering when we'd get a chance to use these. Badger was originally thinking infiltration, but today they also made for a nice ambush!'

Moon could not disguise his amazement. 'And that . . . that was all your idea?'

'Sure.' Groundspider frowned indignantly. 'Why not?'

'That's . . . brilliant,' Moonshadow grinned. 'They tricked us with a false message, but you turned the tables back on them with false Fuma ninja. And laying blame on them while getting such good horses . . .' He laughed, then gave a massive sigh of relief.

Groundspider shoved him, making him wince from many bruises. 'Quit acting so surprised, kid. It's not like I used an Old Country skill. You want to know the truth? Most people just don't use the greatest gift they've been given. So happens that I do, that's all.'

'Which gift is that?' Snowhawk called sceptically from the forest floor.

'Imagination,' the White Nun's voice answered, her tone emphatic.

Beaming, Moonshadow turned around. The sage looked utterly wrung-out. Nonetheless, she had managed to sneak up on them all.

'Am I not right, Brother Groundspider?' The White Nun smiled knowingly. 'Is the answer not imagination?'

The big shinobi bowed low in deference. 'Yes indeed, great sage.'

Moon shook his head, astonished by it all.

Groundspider straightened up and gave him an even harder shove. Moon groaned.

'See, kid? Imagination. Don't you know anything?'

NINETEEN

A fine parade

Katsu sniffed the air as he was escorted through the immaculate garden to the main courtyard of Momoyama Castle.

A dour-looking samurai who never spoke led him across a small wooden bridge that forded the garden's spring-fed stream. Beyond it, Katsu slowed at a stone lantern under a maple tree. He studied the maple's invigorated leaves, green and flushed with life, before skirting a miniature 'sea' of raked sand. Spring was waning, Katsu thought. The first hint of the coming summer's humidity tinged the air. Soon the last wave of spring rains would give way to the typhoon season. Some said there would be earthquakes this year. Upheavals of a manmade kind concerned him far more. What would his volatile, changeable master do on hearing his latest report? Slay him where he stood? Pay up happily? With Silver Wolf, either was possible.

Gesturing edgily, the silent escort led him through a narrow stone corridor. It opened onto a wide, packed-grit courtyard crowded with samurai. Hundreds of them.

Rows of armoured men stood proud and silent, faces full of resolution. Swords curved from their hips, spear-blades rose in neat gleaming lines from their shoulders. War banners fluttered overhead to identify each of Silver Wolf's units. Katsu smelled sweat and ambition even before he saw the warlord in his brilliant red armour, pacing up and down before his troops, a riding crop under one arm.

Silver Wolf stopped before one stocky samurai whose face was badly scarred. The extensive, ugly wounds looked quite old. Fire? Katsu wondered. Clamping a gauntlet on the man's shoulder, Silver Wolf engaged the surrounding ranks of warriors.

'This fellow once saved my life!' he shouted. 'Are each of you as much a man?'

He paced on, chiding a tall spearman for his passive facial expression. 'I want you to terrify my enemies, not lull them into sleep.' Silver Wolf laughed. 'Work on that face!'

Katsu swallowed, intimidated by the atmosphere of warmongering. Military musters, like mock battles, were supposed to be held only with the Shogun's knowledge and blessing. He couldn't imagine Silver Wolf respecting either. The lavish parade so unsettled Katsu, he failed to see his grumpy escort urging him forward.

Just as he noticed the samurai gesturing and scowling, Silver Wolf himself called Katsu's name. Forcing a breezy look onto his face, he paced quickly to his master. Katsu bowed low and received a loose nod in return.

Silver Wolf led him along the front line of samurai. Each warrior they passed watched Katsu closely, openly disdainful of the commoner beside their lord. No sudden moves, he reminded himself: many overzealous veterans slice first, investigate later.

'Inspiring, are they not?' Silver Wolf watched Katsu's face as he put the question to him.

Fortunately, Katsu was ready with an irresistible lie. 'Breathtaking, my master. On seeing them when I first entered, I was deeply moved. The keenness of their devotion to you struck me at once. These magnificent warriors will not fail you, no matter what.'

The warlord nodded slowly. He flashed a crafty smile. 'But some others have?'

Katsu put his hands behind his back to hide his shaking fingers. 'About that,' he drew in a slow breath, 'it is now my unhappy duty to report.'

Silver Wolf's face betrayed no reaction as Katsu summed up the debacle on the mountain of the White Nun. It was, he admitted, a rather sad damage report and not much more. He told of Jiro, injured worse than last time, taking permanent damage to one hand. The supposedly invincible Chikuma and several other Fuma shinobi, defeated, had been abandoned by their own people, presumably now to be hunted and killed for failure. It seemed that executing such sentences doubled as training exercises for the Fuma's more successful agents.

The warlord shook his head at the account of Kagero's defeat and flight with two wounds. His eyes narrowed as Katsu reluctantly admitted that, to round it all off most miserably, Snowhawk and Moonshadow remained alive and at large.

'Perhaps they are resting now at their GLO base in Edo.' Silver Wolf's voice grew cold with menace. 'Or perhaps they're up on that roof –' he pointed angrily – 'about to hurl a bomb at me!' He watched Katsu sweat and squirm, then threw back his head and laughed. Silver Wolf raised one finger and the whole courtyard of samurai joined in, guffawing along with their master without a clue about what was so funny.

Katsu blinked at the ranks of hardened soldiers, then smiled sheepishly at their warlord. Silver Wolf made a gesture in the air and as one the whole army fell silent.

'That, Katsu,' he said, 'is real power. Years from now, you will tell your children of the awe you felt at seeing it.' He patted his hireling's shoulder amiably. 'Yesterday, I might have been so offended by your news as to have taken your large head. But not today. Not after the letter I just received, which bore an update on what you've told me. An update showing that both my wrath and my money proved well-aimed arrows!'

'An update?' Katsu asked through dry lips. An update had saved his life?

Silver Wolf nodded. 'Before dawn today, a black message arrow, a Fuma trademark, landed right here where we stand. The battlement night watch saw no one.'

'What . . . what did it say, lord?' Katsu asked guardedly, his eyes narrow.

'It seems the Fuma want this Snowhawk back quite badly. Who knows why? They also want their defeat on the mountain avenged. I sense they are enraged at having to hunt and slay one of their most special assassins for failure.' He smiled. 'It's perfect! Come, Katsu, you're a detective. Tell me what this all adds up to.'

'Lord . . .' Katsu faltered, too scared to venture a theory. 'I am not really sure –'

'The Fuma, just as I'd hoped, have at last grown angry enough, the way I had to at the upstart Shogun. My plan has worked! Don't you see? I never intended, of course, to complicate my relations with the shadow clans by actually capturing that weird old crone of a sorceress, the White Nun. Hah! That would be political suicide for one who deals with shinobi so regularly these days. And I didn't care whether the Fuma actually re-took their runaway agent, or killed Moonshadow for me just yet. I was never worried about that for a moment! When it comes to feud and vendetta, in truth, my fury has its patient side.'

Katsu watched Silver Wolf produce a folded letter from his belt. Handmade black paper. The words Great Lord Silver Wolf were brushed on it in white ink.

Holding up the message, the warlord laughed self-importantly. His men watched him, eager for their cue, but this time he didn't signal them so they all remained quiet.

'Behold, proof of the value of patience! Clan Fuma, as I prayed, have declared, according to ancient shinobi custom, Twilight War against the Grey Light Order.'

'Twilight War?' Katsu gaped. 'What does that mean?'

'Secret, but total war, with no possibility of truce.' Silver Wolf sniggered. 'Winner takes all. No mercy. No terms of surrender accepted. I like this tradition!'

'Then, not only Moonshadow but all those with him,' Katsu mused, 'will die at the Fuma's hands. You need do no more for now.'

'Exactly,' the warlord's eyes glowed. 'Mark my words, early in this Twilight War, his young head will go chattering into the dust! I have just pitted two great shadow armies against one another, and made the Fuma the instrument of my rage. Once the Grey Light Order falls, who will save the Shogun from us? There will be no lasting age of peace in my Japan. Not while I live. There will be a revival of the old ways, the settling of some scores, then . . . conquest!'

'A golden age, my master,' Katsu said, forcing a smile and hiding his thundering heart.

Silver Wolf turned to his army. 'What is life without war?' The rows of warriors erupted into cheering, each man hoisting his weapon or shaking a gauntleted fist.

TWENTY

The perfect name

Moonshadow crept slowly behind Snowhawk, watching the bobbing pole-lantern in her hands light the start of the next row of shelves. She stopped, winced, rubbed her back.

As they crept deeper into the Grey Light Order's labyrinthine archives, past musty lines of maps, scrolls and flap-books, he realised he felt vulnerable. They were unarmed apart from these lanterns. They wore only plain indigo kimonos, no armour, and this little mission could turn crazy again at any moment, as it already had twice, out in the gardens. He scowled at the fresh monkey bite on his hand. Saru-San would pay for that later.

'Can you see them?' he whispered.

'No,' she spoke without hushing her voice. 'But I can smell them.' Snowhawk rounded on him. 'Before we go on, what really happened to you back on that mountain?'

'I think the White Nun's anointing was accelerated somehow, just for a moment, by what Heron and the others sent me from back here. In the dreamscape it was a golden ribbon, but it was actually strength or understanding . . . I don't know. Under its influence, I too could suddenly link to beasts over a distance. When I tried to do so in the hostile dream, out in the real world I guess I took control of Motto . . . right when I needed him.'

'The White Nun said only a set of unusual circumstances could break or override her link with him, remember?' Snowhawk frowned. 'I'd say you experienced them.'

'Well, I won't experience such power again for years,' he groaned. 'I've tried since our return but I can't repeat it, that long-distance linking. It was there for a flash, like one of those lightning strikes, then gone again.' Moon stretched. 'Why does the White Nun always have to be so mysterious, dropping clues but withholding so much?'

'Partly just good, cagey spy-practice, I think. May be it's also part of how she teaches us patience –' Snowhawk eyed him meaningfully – 'which any worthwhile art requires.'

'I hate patience,' Moon grumbled. 'It's . . . it's not natural.'

'Like forgivenes.' She looked at him through her lashes. 'It doesn't come easily, not to me. But it is worthwhile, so I'm working on it. An evil killer and an immortal mystic have been helping me learn how.' Snowhawk saw him smile gently and she half-smiled back. 'Be like the river. Let it all go, and flow on. I can do it. I'm trying!'

'And you'll succeed,' he nodded firmly, 'because you can do patience, but I –'

'Wait!' She held up a hand. 'That way! I can smell them . . . on the move again.'

They slunk down an aisle with great vigilance, as if hunting an armed intruder.

'When we parted on the road home,' Moon- shadow whispered, 'where did Groundspider escort the White Nun to? I saw her whisper to him, then they rode off slowly.' He blinked. 'I couldn't believe it when I first saw her clamber up onto that horse's back. She's just incredible.'

'Incredible or not, Heron told me she was hiding out at some temple with a group of warrior monks she trusts.' Snowhawk inclined her head. 'Why did she insist we bring Motto-San back here? His injuries were half-healed by the time we made it home. He could have gone anywhere with her.'

Moonshadow saw her smile at her own use of the word home. It lifted his heart.

'She told me on the road that she's broken her link with him now,' Moonshadow said solemnly. 'He's not here to be her second set of eyes in Edo.'

'Why then?'

'She told me a new animal guardian was being guided to her. Destiny, of course. She also said we needed Motto-San here.'

Snowhawk put one hand over her heart. 'What could that mean?'

'With someone from another world, who can say? The White Nun seems to want him with me. Within an hour of her telling me that her link with him was broken, he nuzzled my hand for the first time. I think she knows something . . . maybe we're really going to need him.' Moon raised his lantern and peered upwards, sniffing the air. 'Still, I wish she hadn't sent for Heron at once. I know she feels some urgency about Heron's further training now, but . . .'

'Thanking Heron a thousand times didn't feel like enough?' Snowhawk grinned.

'Be quiet,' he laughed, 'just help me find this dog before Badger slays us all.'

'I told you.' Snowhawk instantly mimicked Badger's dry, scholarly tone. 'Don't look for the dog. Look for the monkey. The cat is following it, and the dog is trailing the cat. I saw them come in here, in a beast-string, moving just that way.'

Moonshadow sighed. 'If they keep fighting, Motto-San will tear his stitches again.'

'Wait a moment.' Snowhawk prodded his arm. 'The dog is Motto, the monkey is Saru, so when are you going to name the cat?'

'Not you, too!' Moon hung his head, thinking a moment, then said impulsively, 'Fine, from now on, she can be known by what she does. She is the White Nun's Edo banken. So there you are: the cat's name is officially Banken. Ban-ken. A watcher.'

'I like it,' Snowhawk giggled, 'but I can see now that my non-shinobi schooling, whether at cruel hands or not, went further than yours.'

He lowered his lantern, face clouding with suspicion. 'What do you mean?'

Snowhawk wagged a finger. 'I'll tell you only if you promise first not to change your choice. I know how sneaky you can be.' She creased her nose impishly.

Moonshadow hesitated, muttering, then gave her a single, firm nod.

'Banken,' Snowhawk chuckled, 'means watchdog, not watcher.'

Moon turned away, cursing. 'I can't believe I said I liked you,' he muttered.

Snowhawk smirked. 'I can.' She threw back her head and laughed heartily. 'Anyway, I love it! A cat called Watchdog! Only you could have a cat called Watchdog! Perfect!'

'I'm . . . I'm still tired from the road,' he said defensively. 'Tired . . . and preoccupied!'

She saw the look on his face and turned serious at once. 'What's on your mind?'

Moonshadow spoke earnestly. 'It was disturbing, wasn't it, being pursued, town to town, then into the wild? As shinobi, we're not used to that, I guess. It's we who pursue, hunt down objectives, steal or kill and then simply vanish. I think this mission made me realise, for the very first time, why ordinary folk fear us so much . . .' He shrugged.

A look of dread sheened her eyes. 'Get used to it. I know my former clan. I may need to forgive them, but they don't war in time to that drum. What we just survived –' Snowhawk heaved a knowing sigh – 'was but the first caress.'

He suddenly stared at her with wide, excited eyes, tears welling in them.

'Oh, Moon!' Snowhawk gently took his hand. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Moonshadow said softly. 'I just remembered something, something really big! The White Nun knows who my mother was.'

Snowhawk studied him thoughtfully.

'Was?' she asked, hope making her face glow. 'Or is?'

Glossary

Akita Matagi or Akita Pronounced 'ah-key-tah' and 'mah-tah-gee'

A tough, intelligent, wolf-like dog. Originally bred from Japan's ancient Matagi native hunting dog in the Akita region of Japan, according to some historians, by samurai of the Satake Clan. Matagi originally hunted wild boar, elk, antelope, and the huge Yezo bear. Nowadays called simply Akita, these dogs are fast, agile, and despite their gentle temperament, fearless when hunting or defending their human family.

bo-shuriken Pronounced 'boh-shoo-ri-ken'

An iron or steel throwing knife with a double-edged blade at one end, a tapering handle and a circular threading eye – also a miniature club – at the other. Of the many shuriken designs used by shinobi, it is the hardest to throw as it is not 'star' shaped but linear. The threading eye enables it to be incorporated into traps or attached to a rope or chain and then whirled. See also shuriken.

daimyo Pronounced 'die-m'yoh'

A member of the Japanese aristocracy and a powerful feudal lord owning a fiefdom of land. The title can be translated as 'a great name' or 'one who aspires to something better'.

Edo Pronounced 'eh-doh'

The city also once called Yedo and now known as Tokyo. It was the Shogun's chosen capital and is now the capital city of Japan.

Fuji Pronounced 'foo-jee'

Japan's highest mountain, considered sacred.

furube sutra Pronounced 'foo-roo-beh' ('The Shrugging Off' or 'Shaking Off')

An ancient saying or prayer recited by shinobi each dawn and dusk, and just before going into action. It was intended to clear the spy's mind of distractions, calm them and ready their skills.

geisha Pronounced 'gay-shah'

Literally, an 'arts person'. Women trained from their youth to be skilled in social conversation, dancing and singing for the entertainment of male patrons, at first of the ruling class and, later in history, wealthy merchants too. Real geisha still exist today.

hakama Pronounced 'hah-car-mah'

Traditional Japanese clothing which covers the body from the waist down and resembles a wide, pleated and divided skirt, but is actually giant pleated trousers. A traditional samurai garment worn over a kimono, originally by men only.

Hour of the Rat

Prior to the arrival of a western time-keeping system, Japan marked time by dividing each day into two parts: sunrise to sunset, and sunset to sunrise. Each of these two long periods were then broken down into six shorter divisions (each roughly two hours long in modern western time). These twelve sections of the day were identified using the animals of the Chinese zodiac. The Hour of the Rat was approximately 11.00 pm to 1.00 am, kicking off a cycle of two-hour time segments named in this order: Ox, Tiger, Hare, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog and Boar.

Iaido Pronounced 'ee-eye-doh'

The samurai art of sword-drawing and duelling, which features about fifty waza (techniques or sets of skills) and reached the peak of its development around five hundred years ago. Different from Kendo, which is a full-contact sport. Modern students of Iaido use steel swords in wooden scabbards and wear the traditional clothing of medieval samurai. Iaido takes many years to master. To this day, the art's 'world titles' are held in Japan, on a mountain top near Kyoto, before a Japanese prince. Author Simon Higgins has competed in this event as well as in Australia's national Iaido titles. Many such old Japanese arts, including the tea ceremony and ikebana, were not referred to as a 'do' ('the way of . . .') until they became popular and their teaching practices were formalised.

Iga see Koga.

kami Pronounced 'car-mee'

The Japanese term for objects of awe or worship in Shintoism, Japan's oldest (and native) religion. Though sometimes translated as 'deity' or 'gods', this is not strictly accurate and 'spirits' may be a safer way of describing the kami, who can be 'beings' but also simply forces of nature or 'living essences'.

Kappa Pronounced 'kap-pah'

A yokai and water monster featured in Japanese folklore, sometimes depicted with a turtle-like beak. The Kappa is said to love cucumbers. The top of its skull is apparently shaped like a bowl and filled with water. Signs warning children to 'beware of the Kappa' still appear beside many Japanese rivers. See also yokai.

karma Pronounced 'car-ma'

The Buddhist philosophy that states that deeds or actions create cycles of 'cause and effect'. Thus, good thinking and good deeds produce good outcomes, now or at some time in the future.

ki Pronounced 'kee'

The life force common to all living things. The internal or spiritual energy, which in traditional Asian martial arts is harnessed to increase a warrior's power and stamina. Using ancient sciences like sight-joining can quickly deplete a shinobi's ki.

Koga Pronounced 'ko-gah'

Like Iga (pronounced 'ee-gah'), a name associated with a mountain region of Japan in which 'shadow clans' trained highly skilled contract spies and assassins whose powers of stealth and disguise became legendary. Author Simon Higgins visited a preserved 300-year-old Koga ninja house that features a display of weapons and tools and, beneath a trapdoor, an underground escape passage. It stands near Konan railway station in farming country outside the city of Kyoto.

Kunoichi Pronounced 'coo-noh-ee-chee'

Traditional term for a female ninja. See also ninja and shinobi. Certain ninja skills, in particular those associated with using poisons or forcing one's target into a hypnotised state, were associated primarily with female shinobi, though a minority of male spies also excelled at them.

kyogen Pronounced 'k'yo-gen'

A popular Japanese school of theatre which has existed since at least the 14th century. Kyogen plays are usually short, slapstick-type satires that poke fun at religious rites or feudal lords regarded as buffoons, or offer humorous versions of folktales. Human, animal and even 'god' characters do quaint, unexpected or ridiculous things, sometimes reflecting the politics of the time when the play was written.

Moonshadow See tsukikage

ninja Pronounced 'nin-jah'

Alternative term for a shinobi. Some scholars believe this term emphasises their role as assassins whereas 'shinobi' is more general, implying the inclusion of scouting and spying roles. The combined shinobi combat arts were some times called Ninjutsu as 'jutsu' means 'art' or 'technique'. Shadow clans had many methods and weapons in common, but distinctive practices, clothing and gadgets also evolved among specific groups. See also shinobi.

Rokurokubi Pronounced 'roh-coo-roh-coo-bee'

One of the many Japanese yokai. Rokurokubi initially look human and unremarkable, but their necks can magically elongate. They can also disguise their faces, all in order to deceive and frighten or attack mortals. See also yokai.

sake Pronounced 'sah-kay'

Japanese for 'alcoholic beverage', it can refer to alcoholic drinks in general, but usually refers to the traditional Japanese drink made by fermenting polished rice. Though often called 'rice wine', sake is actually brewed, so is really more like beer than wine.

samurai Pronounced 'sah-moo-rye'

A member of the ruling warrior class; a warrior in a warlord's service.

-San The 'a' is pronounced with a slight 'u' sound as in 'sun'. An honorific attached to a person's name to show one is addressing them with respect. It can be taken to mean 'Mr', 'Mrs', 'Miss' or, now-adays, 'Ms'.

Saru Pronounced 'sa-roo'. Japanese for 'monkey'.

seiza Pronounced 'say-zah'

The traditional (floor or mat) sitting position of the Japanese. The legs are folded, back kept straight, palms rested on the thighs and one literally sits on one's heels. Difficult at first, the body adapts to it within a few months. It is likely that seiza was also used in ancient times to refer to the familiar cross-legged seating posture used during meditation.

Sekigahara Pronounced 'seh-key-gah-ha-rah'

A town in the Gifu Prefecture of modern Japan. Back in 1600 it was a village near which Tokugawa forces won a decisive victory against their rivals. Though not the last conflict fought in the period, it is generally held to mark the end of the lengthy civil war era and the birth of the long-lasting Tokugawa Shogunate.

shinobi Pronounced 'shi-no-bee'

Also known as ninja. Those adept at spying or covert scouting. Some shinobi were also hired killers. They were trained in a wide variety of secret and martial arts, said to include combat with and without weapons, acrobatics, the use of explosives, poisons, traps, hypnotism and numerous forms of disguise. Some of the most effective historical ninja were women who went 'undercover' inside well-guarded fortresses, successfully stealing in formation or carrying out assassinations.

Shogun Pronounced 'show-gun'

Abbreviated form of Sei-I-Tai Shogun ('barbarian- subduing general'). The ultimate commander of the Japanese warrior class who, prior to 1867, exercised virtually absolute rule (officially) under the leadership of the Emperor, who was in fact a figurehead only. Many warlords aspired to seize or earn this auspicious rank. In Moonshadow's time a member of the Tokugawa family was the Shogun. See also Sekigahara.

shuko Pronounced 'shoo-koh'

Iron claws worn on the hands to assist climbing. Shuko were used, usually along with ashiko (foot spikes) to scale walls, climb up trees, cross icy surfaces and were even worn during combat.

shuriken Pronounced 'shoo-ri-ken'

Circular or star-shaped throwing knives, usually black and made in ingots or from thin sheets of iron. They could have four, eight, twelve or more points. Each 'shadow clan' or spy group used their own distinctive style or styles of shuriken, though some also adopted designs created by their rivals or enemies. Thrown overarm, they were aimed for soft points such as the throat, eyes or temple. Their tips could be poisoned or flecked with a powerful sedative if the target was to be taken alive. Any shuriken wound disrupted and weakened an enemy. See also bo-shuriken.

sumo Pronounced 'soo-moh'

An ancient Japanese form of competitive wrestling where opponents try to force each other to leave a circular ring or touch the ground with anything other than the soles of their feet. Sumo is steeped in ritual and custom. Wrestlers are selected for size, power and speed and are specially fed and trained. To this day, sumo wrestlers are lauded celebrities in Japan.

sutra Pronounced 'soo-tra'

A 'scripture' of the Buddhist faith; teachings which were sometimes chanted or recited to focus and empower the devotee. See also furube sutra.

tanto Pronounced 'tan-toh'

Perhaps best described as a dagger. Up to 30 cm long, tanto are shorter than both the long and short swords worn by samurai. Samurai women often wore tanto for self-defence.

tatami Pronounced 'tah-tah-mee'

Usually translated as 'folded and piled', tatami are traditional Japanese flooring mats, made of woven soft rush straw and packed with rice straw. Tatami are often bordered by brocade or coloured cloth. Until the 17th century, few non-samurai enjoyed tatami, the lower classes instead placing thin mats over dirt floors.

tetsubishi Pronounced 'tet-soo-bi-she'

Also known as makibishi or (in Europe) caltrops. Sharp, usually triple-spiked foot jacks made from a rare seed pod, iron or twisted wire. The jacks' tips were sometimes flecked with poison. They could be painted to blend in with reed matting or a polished wooden floor. Able to penetrate sandals, tetsubishi caused unexpected injuries, stopping or slowing a pursuer.

tsukikage Pronounced 'skee-car-geh'

A 470-year-old sword waza of the Musou Jikiden Eishin-Ryu school of Iaido, the art of the samurai sword after which, in keeping with shinobi tradition, our hero was named. The technique employs a low, delayed turn, then rising at the attacking foe and executing a crescent strike at their raised forearms. This combination block and cut is followed by a push then a step, after which a fatal single vertical cut is unleashed. The characters making up the technique's name can be translated as 'moonshadow'. See also Iaido.

Yamamba Pronounced 'ya-mam-bah'

In traditional Japanese ghost stories, a witch, living in mountains, who lures men into her hut or cave and eats them. Naturally, Yamamba can disguise themselves but their real appearance is generally terrifying.

yokai Pronounced 'yoh-k'eye'

Apparitions, spirits, imps and demons of Japanese folklore. They vary from terrifying ghostly monsters to cute and amusing sprites who want to be friends or offer help to humans. Most yokai were originally specific to regions, landmarks or particular activities. They are often depicted in art, songs, folk festivals and plays.

zengogiri Pronounced 'zeng-go-gi-ree'

A waza still learned by many schools of Iaido, designed to enable a swordsman to overcome two simultaneous attackers, one coming at him from the front, the other from behind. Though this technique was actually devised and spread much later in Japanese history than the Tokugawa era of Moonshadow, in the story Mantis is identified as the originator of the waza and author of a duelling manual. Zengogiri is regularly displayed in modern Iaido competitions, and author Simon Higgins has performed it in the art's 'world titles' in Japan.

Author's note and acknowledgements

The Moonshadow stories are fantasy tales set in a romanticised historical Japan. Though they reflect certain key events of the early Tokugawa era, and include many facts and details about the sword art of Iaido and Japanese warrior culture in general, they remain adventure yarns, not histories. Despite the many liberties I have taken, I hope these stories inspire readers of all ages to investigate the saga and customs of fascinating Old Japan, a world which still has so much to teach us.

My heartfelt thanks to my multi-talented wife Annie, for her great ideas and fantastic support in developing the Moonshadow tales. My gratitude also to Anita Bell, another creative polymath, for her guidance, business savvy and insight. A very special thanks to the team at Random House Australia, especially Linsay Knight for instantly believing in Moonshadow, Kimberley Bennett for her fabulous, inventive editing, and to Nerrilee Weir for all her hard work. Moon and I are in your debt. My thanks also to Catherine Drayton for her brilliant representation and astute ideas. A warm thanks to my kind friends 'Iron Chef' Hibiki Ito, and to tea person and tokonoma advocate Margaret Price, for all their wonderful support and knowledge. A special tribute to resident of Japan, Doctor Glenn Stockwell, Kancho (Chief Instructor) of Seishinkan Iaido Dojo, for his expert coaching and for so devotedly preserving the beautiful Iaido of his teacher, Kimura-Kancho, in the twenty-first century. My personal gratitude also to Yasuhisa Watanabe, Fuku-Kancho (Deputy Chief Instructor) of Seishinkan Iaido Dojo, for translating the furube sutra and leading me to sites of historical significance to shinobi culture while in Japan. My thanks also to Yasu and to instructors Matt Andrew and Nathan Nilsen, and to my friend Nobutaka Tezuka of our Tokyo dojo, for training me in Iaido. To any readers wishing to learn or know more about this graceful five hundred-year-old art, please visit:

www.seishinkan-iaido.org

About the Author

Simon Higgins's employment history reads like a novel. He's worked as a disc jockey, laboratory assistant, marketing manager and even as a monster on a ghost train. He also spent a decade in law enforcement; as a police officer, state prosecutor and as a licensed private investigator.

Simon is proudly a student of Eishin-Ryu Iaido, a 470-year-old style of swordsmanship which prizes traditional techniques and medieval samurai etiquette and courtesy. He has trained in Japan and participated in Taikai (contests) before His Imperial Highness Prince Munenori Kaya. Simon placed fifth in the 2008 Iaido World Titles and in 2009 he was awarded a black belt by masters from the All Japan Iaido Federation.

As well as conducting professional development sessions for educators, Simon runs writing workshops for kids and adults, in Australia and overseas.

To read more about Simon and Moonshadow, go to: www.simonhiggins.net

MOONSHADOW 3

The Twilight War

Attacked by the powerful Fuma clan, young Moonshadow and the agents of the Grey Light Order fight for their lives. In the heat of battle, Moon's friend Snowhawk, herself once a Fuma ninja, disappears.

Was Snowhawk abducted or did she leave willingly? Was she really a defector to the Shogun's side, or a double agent?

Moonshadow and Groundspider are ordered to the Fuma's mountain fortress, said to be impregnable. Their mission: discover the truth, then act accordingly.

Will their dangerous quest end in

Snowhawk's rescue?

Or will Moonshadow be forced to destroy

his best friend?

Coming soon!