Moonshadow (2 page)

They had much in common. Though older, Groundspider too had been abandoned as a baby on the steps of the Grey Light Order's orphanage in Edo. He'd also been raised and trained by the Order. But unlike Nanashi – or anyone else Nanashi knew – Groundspider was unusually tall and big-boned, like the offspring of a wrestler. With a bull-neck and ox-strength shoulders, he had grown up displaying great physical power, but it had taken him most of his life to develop agility and stealth. Nanashi knew he would have found that discouraging, yet somehow Groundspider's long struggle to develop a light step amused the big man.

In fact, it inspired him to tell ludicrous stories about the consequences of his build: how much he weighed, how much he needed to eat. 'When Heron found me, in a rice-sack on the street before our gates,' he had once boasted, 'I was already
so
huge that she hurt her back lifting me, and needed the doctor's hot needles for a month.' More recently, after surviving a tough rural mission in an isolated valley, Groundspider had bragged that while in hiding, his enormous appetite had forced him to consume – in one meal – three salamanders and an entire wild goose. Raw.

'But not the beak,' he'd added solemnly, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Nanashi had called him a liar, and Groundspider had gripped his sword, face instantly fierce as if mortally insulted. Nanashi had flinched, then the big fellow had laughed, clapping him on the back with the words, 'Still skinny
and
gullible!'

But today Groundspider was at least trying to be serious. He hastily composed himself as a lantern's light cut the dark of the next room. Nanashi peered back through the doorway. As the room grew brighter, he heard the sound of a swishing robe. Brother Eagle approached, a shine on his balding head, his long single plait of hair draped on his shoulder as usual. He carried a poleheld paper lantern in one hand, a broom in the other. Eagle stepped carefully, sweeping tetsubishi aside with the broom as he went.

In perfect time with each other, Groundspider and Nanashi bowed. As they straightened up, Groundspider snuck Nanashi a glance that said 'be brave'.

Brother Eagle nodded to the pair with his typical secretive composure. He raised an eyebrow at Groundspider. 'Report.'

'The boy held back detectably,' Groundspider said, showing only his serious, respectful side. 'Heeding our orders, no doubt, to take no life. His technique itself is now virtually flawless.
It
is definitely ready.'

'But not him?' Eagle stroked his short, greying beard. 'Say now, might he possibly have killed you, had no such orders fettered him? Had he been a touch bolder, his strike more confident?'

Groundspider looked thoughtful, then gave a single nod.

'Very well.' Eagle grew solemn. 'Then the
true
final – and first – test should take place in the field.' He saw Nanashi break into a smile. 'Nnng . . .' The long nasal sound told Nanashi that Eagle was thinking hard. 'Your first real assignment. You may
not
be ready. But the world can wait no more. So it is time. You will shine, or you will fall. The fire must come from within. We've done all we can.'

Nanashi dropped to one knee, lowering his head. 'I thank you, Great Teacher, but . . . have I not failed the test?'

'Enough, rise.' Eagle gestured impatiently. 'Failed, no. In fact, you passed. We ordered restraint, tied your hands, as it were. So you concluded that this was a test of skill, didn't you? A skill challenge with a difficult handicap attached. Could you prove adept enough to steal the documents, defend and leave, with half your tricks forbidden by a no killing order? You reasoned it thus, neh?'

The boy stood up slowly and nodded, his eyes on the floor. 'And I was not adept enough. I lacked the required skill.'

'As everyone does,' Groundspider grinned. 'As a skill test, it's impossible. Nobody passes it. Any real mission so difficult would allow the use of equal force against the guards.
Lethal
force, just as they would use.'

'I don't understand.' Nanashi blinked, his eyes moving between his mentors.

'It
is
a test,' Eagle nudged his arm with the broomstick, 'of obedience, not of martial skill. How will this Nanashi react to missions he knows will end in bad wounds or worse? That's why it's always the last test before field trials. A test of character. You restrained yourself, as required. Your "death" is the natural consequence of your obedience. You passed, my boy. The traditional reward, your graduation gift one might say, is something you have never owned. A
real
name.' The two warrior monks exchanged knowing glances. Groundspider laughed behind his large, gloved hand.

'But I have a name,' Nanashi shrugged. 'Don't I?'

'Think back to that great, difficult day,' Groundspider said, 'the day you were moved from our orphanage beside the safe house to your life inside these walls. The day your training began. When we settled you in your little room, we renamed you then too, remember?'

Nanashi nodded slowly. 'Brother Eagle said I could no longer be
Go
, for that was a child's name, and since I had been selected, I'd need a better one.'

Eagle shook his head. 'You were so excited to be chosen, yet sad to leave your friends behind. You knew our decision made you special, but also that the special are forbidden to revisit the ranks from which they came.' He gave a faint sigh. 'The special must walk alone.'

Trying to recall the faces of the other children, Nanashi swallowed.

Eagle went on. 'Hard it may be, but that separation is an old, trusted rule, part of our Veiled Way, and it works for the protection of all. Yet it cuts the heart, so it's no wonder you do not recall my words that day. I never said a
better
name. I spoke of a more
appropriate
one.
Go
, of course,
is
a name, but it also means
number five
. From the day Heron found your basket on our doorstep to the day you were selected for training, you were simply
orphan number five
. Once you were chosen, that name had to be tossed aside.'

'And now,' Groundspider added, 'the time has come for a third and final change, where you take on the name you will keep until you die.'

'We've never told you this,' Eagle allowed himself an open chuckle, 'but Nanashi means
no
name
. From childhood to adolescence, throughout their training, each student we prepare, boy or girl, is called
Nanashi.
Our Order is small, our training intensive, so we develop only one high-quality candidate at a time, making their nameless name an easy secret to keep!'

Nanashi glanced at his teachers. 'I wondered, you know, during certain errands outside the monastery . . . why some people pulled curious faces when I gave my name. Now I understand.'

'A good thing their manners stayed their tongues,' Eagle smiled. 'We would have had to tell you much earlier, and we do like to maintain our little traditions when we can. But it's true: everyone's a Nanashi until this very moment. When their final-test supervisor gives them a truly apt name, a title, really.' He turned and gestured at Groundspider. 'Traditionally, one names a successful pupil after a technique, strategy, or Old Country science they have mastered.'

'Well, he almost had me with his signature sword move,' Groundspider said. 'The tempting angle, that sudden turn and the body's snappy rise, blade flying into a pinning cut across the forearms, then the push, before –'

'Ah yes.' Brother Eagle pointed at Nanashi. The older man's eyes lit up. 'Your trademark sword defence . . .
Tsukikage.
As I write the characters of that word, they also mean
moonshadow.
'

Groundspider placed one gauntleted hand on the youth's shoulder. 'So let it be. Nanashi has been slain. Moonshadow rises in his place.' He stepped back, and, along with Brother Eagle, bowed to the new spy.

'Thank you.' The boy returned their bows. 'So it is, then . . . I am Moonshadow.'

'Moonshadow of the Grey Light,' Eagle spoke softly, 'Mantis, with his zeal for Buddha, tried to teach you compassion as well as the art of duelling. Groundspider here, true follower of Hachiman, laboured hard to school you in the war god's fury. Heed what each has taught you, along with all you've learned from Heron and Badger. But most of all, heed what I say to you now: young or old, it is our hearts that rule our fate.' His face hardened. 'For glory or destruction.'

Moonshadow nodded eagerly. 'I
am
ready, Great Teacher.'

'Indeed?' Brother Eagle looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave Groundspider a slight nod. 'Leave us.' Groundspider bowed and withdrew.

'Well,
Moonshadow
. . .' Eagle smiled as his student beamed at hearing the new name. 'How you've developed! Your skills bring us all great pride.'

At his teacher's praise, the boy felt his eyes grow hot. Eagle paused as if searching for the right words, then went on slowly.

'Soon you face the dangerous world as our outstretched arm; serving our master, the Shogun, among his very enemies. So, as the head of our Order, I will need your reassurance about something.'

'Anything, Master.' Moonshadow began sinking to one knee.

Eagle motioned for him to stand tall. 'Tell me this: when everything turns smoky, and your choices are veiled in dust, which voice will guide you? As I said, each of your teachers has influenced you according to his or her own view of the world. But whose voice will order your steps when chaos reigns?' Eagle watched him carefully. 'Think on this, while I tell you a personal secret.'

Moonshadow listened intently. Not only was he immediately curious – Brother Eagle never spoke about himself – but he was glad to be given time to think. Was this odd question a last, sneaky part of the final test? Perhaps; so he dared not get it wrong!

'I was not born knowing how to see through an animal's eyes,' Eagle said. 'I was born and raised samurai, with little awareness of the ancient shadow arts.'

Moon asked no questions, sensing the looming weight of Eagle's secret.

'As a young warrior I was chosen to serve as a
yojimbo
, a bodyguard, in an escort protecting the somewhat reckless – and unpopular – Lord Yabu as he travelled. He was a cruel man, who treated his peasants shockingly. He'd also made well-born enemies. High on a lonely stretch of mountain road, our rather gaudy procession was attacked by hired assassins from the Iga shadow clan. As was our duty, we fought hard, but Lord Yabu and his entire retinue perished that day . . . save for one youngster, taken prisoner by the Iga.'

'You, Master.' Moonshadow gaped at him.

Eagle nodded. 'They held me in a forest stockade, hoping to learn all about Yabu's allies, but – despite their unkindest efforts – I told them
nothing
. In time, I even began to sense their admiration. Of course, regardless of Yabu's nature, I had failed to protect my liege Lord, so I yearned to die. Then one night, the Iga themselves were attacked, by forces of the oldest shadow clan, the Fuma. In the chaos, I snatched a sword. My samurai upbringing told me to slay my Iga captors.

Instead, I chose to save their lives. It placed them in debt to me. So unforeseen! But it was destiny.'

The boy saw Eagle's stare drift far into the past. 'Then they let you go?'

His teacher smiled sadly. 'There was nowhere
to
go. I learned that during my captivity, my entire home clan had perished in battle, betrayed by Yabu's allies, the very men I'd endured torture to protect. My life as samurai was over. So I lived on among the Iga, became one of them, and even learned their most ancient skill, which I've now passed to
you
. In time, a fateful mission brought me before the Abbot of the Grey Light Order. He was dying, and to my astonishment and disbelief, he bade the Shogun have
me
take his place. Again, most unforeseen, but in hindsight, clearly meant to be.'

'So it all worked out, both times,' Moonshadow looked up at him, 'because no matter what befell you, you listened to yourself. Followed your own instincts.'

'A fine answer,' Eagle patted his shoulder. 'Remember it when you get out there.' He gestured with his shiny head to the world beyond their walls.

In the distance, a lone dog howled.

TWO
The teacup and
the well

Moonshadow woke an hour after sunset. He sat on his heels, legs folded beneath him on his bedroll, rubbing one eye and staring at the drab walls of his tiny room. His pre-dawn test had left him exhausted, though perhaps, he thought, it was really the sleepless nights leading up to it that had worn him out.

Three nights he had lain on his back from the midnight temple bell to dawn, staring at the ceiling, wondering what form his test would take, and if he could pass it. With it finally behind him now, he had obeyed Brother Eagle's last orders with great pleasure.
Return to your room. Rest a full
day and night. Then prepare your tools and clothes for
your first real mission.

In the distance, through thin wooden walls and sliding paper screens, he heard Brother Eagle's voice once more, though the words were muffled. They drifted from the monastery's little kitchen, along with the sizzle of a cooking plate and the smell of spring onions lightly frying on it. Then he heard Heron speak. Her tone was unusually sharp. Moon stood up and stretched, a rumble in his stomach telling him that the evening meal was being prepared just in time.

He glanced up at the narrow window high on one wall of his room. It was already dark outside, so he had missed the chance to intone his second furube for the day. Moon sighed. The shrugging off sutra was supposed to be uttered, its stillness entered into, each dawn and each sunset, as well as just before going into action.

He broke into a sly grin. He'd been warned never to skip it, lest that become a bad habit. But if he skipped it now,
just this once
, dispensed with reciting it late, who would know? Beating Groundspider and his huge appetite to the kitchen was surely more important. Groundspider could out-eat a sumo wrestler, maybe two.

Moon slid open his door, slipped out into the darkened corridor and followed the alluring smells. Now, ginger, pine nuts and sliced radish were hitting the hot plate and the first at that long, low table would surely get the freshest, biggest serve. He was only two strides from the kitchen's sliding door when he heard Heron speak his name. Moonshadow froze, listening, hoping that she and Eagle were too engrossed in their conversation to hear – or sense – him loitering in the corridor.

'You've always been too protective of him,' he heard Eagle say softly. 'Maybe because it was you who found him that morning, thrown on our mercies.'

Moonshadow sank into a crouch, controlling his breath lest their sharp ears pick it up. He turned his head to one side and parted his teeth to increase the range of his own hearing. Heron's reply was calm, but passion put an edge on her words.

'Come now, Eagle, have we not
all
grown fonder of him than perhaps we should? Besides, my concern is not some . . .
motherly
urge, it is professional.'

'You heard Groundspider's report on Moonshadow's final test. Has he also grown confused? True, he treats the boy as a younger brother, but his opinion on such matters has always been sound. Moonshadow's raw talent is exceptional, and now, his skills are honed. Young or not, he'd vex any handful of good samurai and, in single combat, most shinobi for that matter. Don't forget how much extra work we've all put into him. You are wrong. He's our masterpiece, and he is ready.'

'I don't doubt that his
skills
are ready,' Heron said quietly. 'But
he
is not. This may be the one flaw in our training process: he's tasted so little of life, of the world. Known so few people. His prowess is indeed remarkable, I agree, but the inexperienced make awful blunders.
That
is his weakness, and that may –'

'Cause him to fail?' Moon heard Eagle scrape something from the cooking plate into a dish. 'I say he will not fail. He will succeed and return to us alive. For two reasons. First, have you forgotten all the White Nun predicted when she pointed him out among the other orphans, while he was yet small and sickly?'

'No, of course not,' Heron muttered. 'And she's certainly been proved right about his rapport with animals. What's the other reason?'

Moon edged closer to the door, fascinated. The White Nun! Groundspider had spoken of this unusual Buddhist seer, saying that she visited the Order once every few years, and was said to wield that Old Country science called Insight. Those skilled in Insight could discern a stranger's true nature, or glimpse things fate had in store for them. Was
she
the real reason he had been chosen?

Beyond the door, Eagle gave an irritable huff. 'My second reason? I say he will not fail because he
must
not fail. So many dire missions await our agents now. This one, as you know, was never intended for him. It called for a face that our enemies wouldn't recognise, yes, but one more seasoned should be undertaking it. Moon should tackle an easier task first time out. But as you
also
know, our original choice now lies badly wounded and, at last report, may not live to see next week. Our need is desperate, and if all the White Nun said about him proves true . . .'

'You are master of our Order and dear to my heart,' Heron said slowly. 'But please heed my warning. To send him on
this
mission, so inexperienced in all but the shadow crafts themselves, is to set a teacup on the edge of a well.'

Eagle sniffed. 'Then all we can do is hope that –'he stopped abruptly. Moonshadow heard the swish of robes and he turned and scuttled silently back to his room. As he slid his door shut, the kitchen door opened.

'Was that him?' Moon heard Heron whisper. 'How did we not hear him? Were we
that
distracted by our little tussle?'

'I told you he was good,' Eagle mumbled. 'How many could spy on
us
? You see? He
is
ready.'