The Wrath of Silver Wolf (7 page)

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.