Moonshadow (4 page)

'A folk-tale, that's right,' Jiro blurted, 'nobody could live up to
that
reputation! I've heard it said The Deathless is immune to sword cuts! Impossible!'

A deep, confident voice came from inside the cloth hood. 'Not just sword cuts, Little Man.' The fixed stare of The Deathless swept over Jiro before the killer bowed low to Silver Wolf. 'My Lord, may I still these foolish tongues with a demonstration?'

'Why not?' Silver Wolf gave a low chuckle, trying to disguise the fact that even he was unsettled by this man. 'But don't kill anyone . . . this operation is expensive enough already!'

'My Lord.' The Deathless strode, head held high, to the centre of the audience chamber. He smoothly unsheathed his sword then pointed its tip at Jiro.

'Gangster!' He grunted. 'Come, kill me! Show our Lord how you will take down his foes!' He cocked his hooded head to one side. 'You have actually killed someone before, haven't you?'

With an angry snort, Jiro quickly drew three more shuriken from his jacket. He hurled the first at The Deathless's head. The tall assassin bent his knees and bobbed under its flight path. The whirling black star streaked into the wood panelling directly behind him, embedding itself with a loud
thwack
.

'Concentrate, dice-roller!' The Deathless sniggered, 'you just wasted your best chance!'

Jiro cursed and threw the next shuriken at his target's chest, but The Deathless raised his blade at the last possible second and blocked it. A spark flew from the sword. The black throwing knife buzzed skywards to wedge in a ceiling beam.

The two household samurai were openmouthed with awe. The shorter one nudged his partner.

'They say that under that hood,' he whispered, 'he has the head of an otter, but with huge fangs.'

Akira glanced up at the shuriken in the beam and nodded slowly to himself.

'I'll show you!' Jiro growled. He flung the third shuriken, this time at his enemy's stomach, then drew a small dagger from his jacket and rushed The Deathless.

Silver Wolf blinked as the gambler charged. His third shuriken had simply vanished. What magic was this?

The tall assassin let his sword droop as Jiro whistled past, slashing hard into his chest.

Silver Wolf leaned forward, breath held.

The Deathless made no move. Jiro slowed, regained his balance and spun around, raising the dagger and pointing back at The Deathless with it. 'How did you like that then, huh? Does it hurt?'

A low, superior chuckle came from beneath the knotted hood. Silver Wolf studied The Deathless carefully from head to foot, then he too began to laugh.

Jiro's eyes widened as The Deathless held up the third shuriken. He had snatched it from the air itself with his free hand. The tall assassin sheathed his sword on his back, tossed the shuriken at Jiro's feet, then with both hands, stretched the cloth of his jacket tightly over his torso.

'What?' Jiro's head snapped forward. His lips twisted in amazement.

A distinct cut now marred The Deathless's jacket. But beneath it and the slashed white undershirt, his skin could be clearly seen.

There was no blood. There was no cut.

Jiro inspected his dagger. It was dry. He shook his head, stumbling over his words. 'How? How did – I
know
I cut you! For sure! I felt it! Nobody can –'

'It is rumoured,' Akira put in solemnly, 'that The Deathless was trained by the shadow master, Koga Danjo himself!'

'Koga Danjo is said to be three hundred years old,' the short samurai whispered.

'Take note,' Silver Wolf warned the group, 'our invulnerable friend here charges by the kill, not by the day, so I will be holding him in reserve until something worthy of his talent crops up.' He nodded to Akira and Jiro. 'Meanwhile, you pair, supported by my best two swordsmen here, should be able to deal with any
lesser
visitors.'

'Does my Lord expect more than one intruder, then?' Akira folded his arms.

Silver Wolf nodded grimly, patting the floor at his side. 'Momoyama Castle . . .
Peach Mountain
Castle.' He sighed, his stare gliding to the ceiling. 'It is a strong fortress, yes, but built to withstand a different kind of attack to the one now coming. Have no doubt, our land is full of spies and counterspies these days. And there will be other hopeful takers out there, keen to snatch my new prize.'

'Other warlords may vie for the plans?' Akira rubbed his smooth chin.

'Yes. Though sitting atop this keep, secure in my archive room, ringed with loyal steel, the agents of other ambitious men
will
try for them.' He waved his hand along the line of mercenaries. 'But with my guards and you gentlemen ready to intercept them, what should we fear?'

'Exactly,' Jiro stuck out his chest. 'We won't fail.'

'Good.' Silver Wolf smiled, then caught the eye of The Deathless. 'If you do . . .'

The Deathless slowly looked Jiro up and down, then turned back to his master and bowed. The gangster forced a nervous grin.

'Dismissed!' Silver Wolf grunted.

Unseen servants pulled the sliding doors open. As one, the hirelings bowed and turned to go. The two household samurai darted forward and collected the shurikens, using their short swords to prise them from the ceiling beam and wooden wall panelling.

The warlord of Momoyama waited until his audience chamber had been cleared, then hung his head and whispered, 'Who
can
stop us?'

FOUR
Warnings on the
Great Road

Moonshadow grinned as he trudged along the road. The fine spring weather itself was enough to make anyone smile, but a heady feeling of freedom doubled his joy. There was so much to see, smell and hear, all of it totally new. Over the course of his life, he had left the Grey Light Order's base, the monastery in Edo, many times. At first, he had just run shopping errands, designed to help him practise basic good manners and to teach him to handle money responsibly.

Then he'd been made to play games like 'errands in disguise', delivering or collecting coded messages, and later, there had been simple spying missions. Along the way he had seen different kinds of people. But never a variety like
this
, for never had he travelled so far west along this highway, the Tokaido. Around him now were folk from town and country alike, walking, running or limping. Men, women and children of all classes. Just as new and even more interesting, there were girls. Everywhere.

Not long out of Edo, he suddenly found a distant set of large eyes meeting his idle gaze. They belonged to a peasant girl of about his age. She was walking alone with a pack on her back and a staff in one hand. She was beautiful, willowy. Without warning she smiled at him. He felt his cheeks flush. Moonshadow stopped walking and made himself study a tall tree beside the road. A strange, uncomfortable feeling gripped him. No girl so lovely had ever looked directly at him before, let alone smiled that way. He stared at the tree, hoping that by now, she had moved on.

After a while he turned warily and scanned the road ahead. The girl was far away, moving at quite a pace into the distance, obviously trying to catch up with a small group of farmers about to disappear over the rise.

She reached them, and his discomfort eased. Then they were all gone.

Moon chided himself to stop wasting time and to get moving. He glanced back in the direction of Edo, and a pang of emptiness went through him. He abruptly realised that he missed the daily sight of Eagle, Heron, the grumpy Badger, Groundspider, and even Mantis, despite his hard training and endless platitudes. Yes, the Grey Light Order was the closest thing he had to a family. And exciting and new as everything was, out here in the world, part of him already longed for . . . home. The world is a lonely place, he thought, for those who are alone.

Moon recalled the time that he and Heron had talked of loneliness.

Though Groundspider had instructed him in the use of smoke bombs, it was Heron who had schooled the young Nanashi in how to make them. She'd also taught him how to fight with the short naginata, a pole weapon with a single curved blade, and had coached him in the use of disguises, poisons and sleeping drugs.

He remembered an autumn day of warm sun and golden leaves underfoot. Heron had been tutoring him in the monastery's garden, testing his recognition of herbs and flowers whose essences could be extracted to create potions. His repeated failure to identify one common flower ingredient had gradually turned her silken eyes hard and made her deliberate, graceful walk stiffen. Finally she had hissed with irritation. Gesturing for them both to sit on a stone bench, Heron had stared closely into his face.

'Nanashi-Kun,' she had demanded, 'why are you here, yet not here? Where is your mind today?'

'I had a dream,' he had confessed. 'I keep thinking of it. I saw two people. I think they were farmers.' He'd looked up at her with moist eyes. 'And they were my parents.'

Heron's strong, dignified face had softened at once. She had run her long fingers through his hair. 'Poor child. I know something of loneliness too,' she had muttered. With her eyes locked on his, Heron had told Nanashi her own story.

'I think you already knew that I was a warlord's wife,' she'd begun. 'High born, privileged. But few know how I came to serve the Shogun in the Grey Light Order.'

She told of a grand but lonely life in a mighty fortress, of an honourable but distant husband, who lived for training, glory in battle, and little else. Her only companion, who slowly became her trusted friend, was her ageing maid named Toki.

'One summer,' Heron had explained, her face becoming taut, 'my husband led his army out to face our strongest foe. He fell, and his men were routed. Our castle was attacked and during the siege, set ablaze. I took up my naginata, ready to fight to the death, but Toki stopped me, saying there was another choice. She told me that she was not who I thought she was, that I didn't really know her, but that she loved me as one loves a daughter, and could spirit us both away from the fire and the enemy.'

'How?' Nanashi had whispered, 'Was Toki-San a sorceress?'

'No.' Heron had raised a finger. 'But she was no mere maid, either. Toki-San was a shadow clan agent.'

Heron had elaborated. Her old, dear,
only
friend had turned out to be a long-term infiltrator, planted in the castle during Heron's youth by Clan Koga to spy on behalf of her husband's enemies. Yet Toki had not betrayed them to their foes. Having come to love the young noblewoman, she had chosen not to report to her masters for years. Toki believed Clan Koga thought her dead. It was not Toki, but rashness on the part of Heron's husband, and his thirst for glory, that had brought about the destruction of their fiefdom.

'With smoke bombs, disguises, and using the melee of the siege itself, Toki helped me escape,' Heron had said. 'We fled to Miyajima, the island of the deer, where she taught me her secret arts so that this pampered former Lady would not be helpless out in the wide, hard world. We shared many peaceful years. Then I was alone. Terribly alone.'

Heron had swallowed hard before concluding the story. 'As she lay dying of old age, Toki begged me to go to Edo and seek a certain moody, brilliant scholar whom she'd long admired. I honoured her last wishes, and when I finally found him, the scholar had just been accepted into the Shogun's service. You know him as Badger. On hearing my tale, he quickly realised that my training at Toki's hands gave me something to offer the Grey Light Order. Through his kind endorsement, my new life began. I took a new name, and I was never lonely again.'

Back in that sunlit garden, surrounded by flitting sparrows, Nanashi had wiped his cheeks, saying, 'I don't feel so lonely now.'

Smiling, Heron had embraced him, cradling his head and stroking his hair.

Today, on this highway, Nanashi too had a new name but, away from Heron and the others, he again felt loneliness clutching at him.

He sighed, then slowly broke into an awkward smile.
Homesick or not
,
that girl's eyes had brought
on an interesting sensation
. Moon caught himself wondering if he would run into her and the farmers again.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. What was wrong with him? What did a strange peasant girl matter when such an important task awaited? Moon hurried on. A long road and its dangers still lay ahead.

Many called the busy Tokaido 'The Great Road'. It ran from the eastern capital of Edo, the Shogun's home, twisting west and southwest through mountains, along the sea and over many rivers to finally reach Kyoto, where the Emperor lived.

Moon repeatedly checked the lush forest on both sides of the road as he walked. It was well known that many parts of the highway were unsafe, plagued with bandits, cut-purses and tricksters.

These menaces used all kinds of force, lies or clever schemes to relieve travellers of their money and weapons, and sometimes even their clothes.

An old man with one arm stepped into Moon's path. He smelled of plum incense and waved a paper charm above his head shouting, 'For sale! Luckiest luck
ever
! Only three copper coins!' Moon quickly skirted him, head down, pacing twice as fast until the luck salesman gave up.

He had noticed that almost all traffic on the Tokaido moved on foot. Apart from the warrior class, few owned horses and much of the road was too thin, steep or rough for carts. The wealthy and noble were carried in litters or palanquins, fancy boxes suspended between poles that were shouldered by two or four strong bearers. Around each settlement, inns, food and gift shops lined the highway. Moon watched in fascination at one town as a rich merchant was carried in a gold-painted litter up to the porch of a tavern. Leading his litter bearers, the merchant's samurai bodyguard shoved aside a straggly outcast who sat begging for food scraps near the porch.

The Hakone Barrier awaited him ahead and Moon hoped he would pass it without incident. The highway went through over fifty towns or villages between Edo and Kyoto. Where it crossed from one warlord's fiefdom into another, checkpoints were set up. They were guarded by spearmen and samurai. Only those with identification papers could pass. Any caught trying to sneak over or who presented forged papers were executed on the spot.

Moonshadow knew his travel documents were real, approved by the Shogun himself, but he had been warned that arrogant, overbearing samurai had made mistakes at checkpoints before. Cocky barrier guards had been known to take an instant disliking to some travellers. Legitimate messengers and even holy men had been mistakenly executed.

Before leaving Edo, Moon had memorised the monastery's chart of the Tokaido. There was, at least, no danger of becoming lost. He could see the route clearly when he closed his eyes. Well past the forested mountains of Hakone which now rose in his path, he'd turn off the highway to head south, then east, to the town of Fushimi. The lair of Silver Wolf, the lord of Peach Mountain Castle.

He recalled how Badger had described this warlord. A ferocious, battle-tested veteran, outwardly loyal to the Shogun, yet – according to Grey Light Order intelligence – plotting dire rebellion. A ruthless, cunning man, Badger had said.

Moon passed through a village where a new wave of travellers flooded onto the road of packed earth and fine gravel around him. Each person's clothing identified their profession or place in society. Moon studied the unfamiliar uniforms discreetly as he drifted among them, gathering fresh disguise ideas.

There were peasant farmers with baskets or frames on their backs. In these they carried vegetables, sacks of soya beans, drums of rice and grains. He saw teams of porters, burly, sweaty men in matching jackets who were paid to carry other people's luggage. Clerks in 'company' robes, each with an abacus tucked under his arm. Some were only boys, working as record keepers and storemen for wealthy merchants.

Moon followed the rising, winding road into the forest near Hakone. The trees became taller, the scrub denser. The road itself grew shadier. Massive, swaying groves of giant bamboo appeared on both sides of the highway. Close, convenient hiding places for bandits!

The flavour of the travellers around him changed again. He noticed fewer townsfolk on the road now. There were many more farmers, all moving in groups for safety. Moon spotted a few unemployed samurai too, those known as
ronin
or wave men, warriors without a master. Swords for hire!

The highway was also dotted with priests, monks, and most importantly for Moon, pilgrims of all ages. Their presence would help make him invisible on the road, for today, he was just one of them. Most pilgrims, he knew, would be heading for the famous and popular shrine at Ise, where prayers and wishes were said to come true.

To any barrier guards inspecting him, Moonshadow was a typical boy pilgrim off to Ise. On his back hung a reed-matting bedroll, so that like most pilgrims, he could sleep in the grounds of shrines or temples as he travelled. Unlike most pilgrims though, this bedroll hid a sword and a kit full of unusual tools.

Below his holy travelling cloak, which was made from layers of oil-soaked paper, hung two cloth prayer-scroll bags. They held his shuriken. Under the crown of his wide, conical straw sun hat, brightly painted with spiritual slogans, lurked a small percussion-triggered smoke bomb.

He carried more silver and copper coins than a regular pilgrim, too. Money to rent lodgings, buy food and new weapons, or to bribe informers. The coins were buried deep in his belly-binding cloth, which, apart from serving as a money belt, had two other purposes – to hold in the wearer's core warmth during cold nights on the road and, as the writing on it said, to bring him good fortune.