The Wrath of Silver Wolf (18 page)

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?