White Crane (12 page)

Maybe. I haven’t got that long to wait for anything. A samurai does his carving with his
katana
.

Inside the mountain smells like rain and moldy old age. Taji likes it here. The Golden Bat is happy in the gloom, but I don’t like being under the earth. I don’t trust it.

We are soon surrounded by stone. With arms only half outstretched, I can touch both sides of the damp walls. Even the sky has turned to rock, hanging low and threatening above my head. Everything is brown and black. The light at the end of this tunnel is hours away.

A cockroach should feel at home here, but I prefer open space and fresh air. If we hurry, we’ll be out of the tunnel by sunset. Kyoko lights a tree-wax candle and hands it to Yoshi. The tunnel will grow darker with each step toward the center.

Quickly, we make our way along the passages and through the caves. For centuries, the samurai and priests of the mountains have traveled this way. The walls are narrow in places and crowd Yoshi’s wide shoulders. Sometimes we have to climb under rocks jutting from the ceiling. But most of the way we can walk side by side.

Suddenly, when we are only halfway through, the tunnel fills with sound. Wet. Roaring. It’s not an earthquake. It’s a new danger.

“Hang on to something. Grab anything. Quick!” Nezume yells over the roar.

There’s not much to choose from. I cling to a straggly plant rooted in the cave wall. Beside me, Mikko grabs a protruding stone. Taji is pinned flat against the rock face.

A river of mud comes sliding down the narrow stretch of tunnel. My foot is knocked from under me, and my hand slips.

“Niya!” I hear Mikko call. Someone else is screaming. Kyoko, I think.

Struggling, the White Crane tries to swim. Mud fills my mouth. I open it to spit out the sludge, but more comes rushing in. It’s freezing cold. Mud pushes into my nostrils. I’m glad when the ooze seeps into my brain and I can’t feel anything anymore.

I dream Kyoko is kissing me. I never thought about that before. It feels good and warm, so I decide to stay asleep and never wake up. But someone won’t let me. Someone is shaking me hard.

When I open my eyes, Yoshi is leaning over me, his face close to mine.

“Yech,” I splutter. I don’t want to kiss Yoshi.

“He’s alive!” Taji whoops, his voice echoing off the cave walls.

Yoshi flips me over like a rag doll and belts me on the back. Spluttering and coughing, I empty the contents of my stomach at his feet.

“We thought you were dead,” Nezume says.

I might be yet. Kyoko threatens to suffocate me with her embrace.

“I wasn’t going to lie there with Yoshi kissing me. Blech,” I croak, my throat dry and sore from swallowing mud.

“We all had a turn.” Mikko laughs. “You’re a terrible kisser.”

Pffut!
Making a face, I blow a raspberry at him, but in my heart the White Crane knows it is lucky to have friends like these.

The candle spits and spatters. I scoop lumps of mud out of my ear and sneeze to clear my nostrils.

“We need to keep moving,” Yoshi says. “We don’t want to miss the Games’ Opening Ceremony.”

Nervously, I look along the tunnel behind me. I’m more worried about the mountain sliding again.

Kyoko rummages in her backpack, a look of panic spreading across her face. “There’re no more candles. They must have fallen out when I slipped in the mud.”

“Then we have to walk faster than one candle,” decides Yoshi. “Are you ready to go, Niya?”

“Don’t worry about me. I could run if I had two legs,” I say, shaking my brain to clear the sludge. My head thumps as if Sensei is banging his drum inside it, and my ear echoes with the
drip, drip
of imaginary water.

But it’s not me we need to worry about. As Mikko rises, his foot slips.
Thwack.
He lands with a wet crunch, the slap of bone against rock.

“Let me try that again,” he says, and grins. His smile fades as he collapses, clutching his ankle.

“Let me have a look.” Taji searches with his fingers, the way Sensei did with Riaze’s leg. This time the news is good. Mikko grunts and groans, but he doesn’t yell.

“It’s only sprained,” Taji says.

With Nezume’s help, Mikko struggles to stand. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk very fast.”

It’s important to heal the spirit, too. I’ve had a lot of practice teasing Mikko, so I know exactly what to say. “Whining won’t get you any sympathy from me. I have to hop around all the time.”

Mikko’s spirit rises to the challenge. “I should get rice bags full of sympathy. Now I’ve got one arm and one leg.” He swings a playful punch, then lunges for Taji instead. Luckily, Taji hears and ducks out of the way, but Mikko lands in the mud again.

I grin. For once I’m not the only one-legged samurai kid in Japan. There’s another one, even clumsier than me.

“Let’s go.” Yoshi moves first. Kyoko puts one hand in his. The other holds onto Nezume, with Mikko leaning on his shoulder. Then Taji. Then me. We stretch out like a row of paper people, the kind we sometimes make in origami class when Sensei’s not looking. Ki-Yaga teaches us that to know a man, you must walk in his shoes, but I think you learn even more when you hold someone’s hand.

Together we slosh and slap through the mud until it rises to suck at our ankles. We wade through knee-deep sludge, kicking aside stones and upended plants in our haste. Lengths of kudzu vine tangle around our legs. In my imagination, mud monsters drag me under again. Their tendril grip tightens across my ankles.

Many years ago, Gaiya, the old Eagle Sensei, walked into the mountain and never came out. Sensei told us the story in the year we first traveled to the Games.

“That’s awful,” Kyoko said.

“What happened?” Taji wanted to know.

“He found peace and decided to stay,” Sensei answered.

But the kids from the Eagle Ryu tell a different story. They say Gaiya’s spirit flies lost in the tunnel and if you listen carefully, you can hear his shadowy wings. I’m not afraid of ghosts, but I rest my hand on my sword. Just in case.

With each step, the air grows colder, the walls move closer, and the ceiling drops to sometimes scrape Yoshi’s head. We’re walking single file now.

“Not much farther.” Nezume’s words of encouragement freeze in the air.

“G-good,” stutters Kyoko. “I’ve got ice-block feet.”

My teeth chatter. “Me, too.”

Suddenly Yoshi stops. I crash into Taji, knocking him against Mikko. One by one, we stumble and fall over. But Yoshi stands firm. He has to. There’s nothing in front of him except a yawning black hole. A great chunk of the path is missing. For three times the length of my crutch, there’s no floor at all.

“What do we do now?” Mikko asks.

“Niya will think of something,” Yoshi says. “He’s good at problem solving.”

I wish I had an answer. With its wings wet and mud-heavy, even the White Crane can’t fly over this chasm. I’m worried, too. This is not our first trip through the tunnel. The way is sometimes narrow, sometimes steep, and often slippery, but it has always been safe. Now the mountain is moving again, shifting and rearranging. How can I find a path through thin air?

Here the tunnel is two kids wide. On one side, the wall drops sheer into the jagged fissure. On the other side is a narrow ledge, just wide enough for one foot. But if we slip . . .

The path has collapsed into such a dark pit, even the White Crane can’t see where it ends.

The vine unwraps itself from my ankle and tugs at my brain. “I’ve got an idea.”

Yoshi doesn’t look surprised. “I knew you would work it out.”

“We could make a rope harness from the kudzu and tie it around our waists,” I suggest. “It won’t stop us from falling, but at least we won’t hit the bottom.”

Yoshi nods. “Excellent. If we feel safe, we’ll take confident steps.”

His praise makes me feel less nervous already.

Kyoko claps her hands. “I’m the best climber. I’ll go first and anchor the rope on the other side. I’ll throw the end back for the next person.”

Kyoko can climb anything, even the
ryu
flagpole. The pole is thin and smooth, taller than Sensei’s cherry trees, but she runs up it faster than the flag.

But there’s still a problem. A safety harness might make us feel better, but it doesn’t make the ledge any easier to cross. If we lose our footing, we’ll plunge into the crevice and swing into the rock face on the other side. Still, being flattened against a rock is better than being broken into pieces at the bottom of a pit.

“I’ll go next,” volunteers Nezume. “I’m not afraid of heights.”

He’s also very brave.

“There comes a time when every life hangs by a thread,” Sensei once said.

“Yes, Master,” I answered, thinking I understood. But I never pictured it like this, tied to the end of a vine.

“Mikko follows Nezume,” says Yoshi, sorting us by weight and strength until we all belong somewhere.

Yoshi goes last because he’s our leader and a good captain steers from behind. Anyone can lead from the front.

Expert at finding things in the dark, Taji quickly pulls vines from under the mud. Kyoko weaves the strands into a thick rope. It’s up to me to calculate the length. Too much will be heavy for Kyoko to carry, and too little won’t reach back to us.

“How long is a piece of string?” Sensei often challenges. I never know. But I know how long a vine harness needs to be.

“We’ve got enough now,” I decide.

Kyoko knots the end and places loops of rope around her waist.

“You are the Snow Monkey,” Yoshi says. “You were born to climb across mountains.”

I wish I were blind like Taji so I didn’t have to look. But Kyoko doesn’t hesitate. She’s climbing the flagpole sideways until with a wet squelch, she lands on the other side.

Our
hurrah
s echo up and down the tunnel.

Kyoko wraps the rope around a large rock and ties it tight. She kicks the rock to check that it holds firm. It’s a good test because Kyoko kicks harder than all of us. I know. I’ve received bruises in the wrestling ring that prove it.

Swish.
Kyoko tosses the rope across. It falls through the air and misses us completely. She tries again.
Swish. Slap.

Holding the candle high, Yoshi tries to help her see. Taji has a better idea.

“Close your eyes,” he calls.

I hold my breath as she stands blind at the edge of the drop.

“Imagine you are roping Uma,” Taji yells. “See how he runs from you. Past Mikko. Past Niya. Quick, he’s getting away. Throw! Throw now!”

Without thinking, Kyoko flings the rope.

“Got it.” Taji raises his hand just in time to stop the end from smacking him in the nose.

“Sorry.” Kyoko giggles. She doesn’t
look
sorry.

The goldfish in my stomach sprout wings and flap against my insides as Nezume ties the rope around his waist. What if he slips and the rope doesn’t hold? But Nezume’s not worried. He scurries across the ledge and throws the rope back.

With one arm and a sprained ankle, it won’t be easy for Mikko. Suddenly the harness rope doesn’t seem safe at all.

Mikko shuffles slowly, but he isn’t afraid. Halfway across, he leans back against the wall and waves. “Look, no hands!”

Everyone laughs. It’s not easy for him, but he’s making it look easy to help us. And it’s working. My goldfish are quiet now.

Taji follows next. Then it’s my turn. I shouldn’t look down, but I can’t help it. Even in the pale and reflected candlelight, I can see it’s a long drop. The White Crane flaps its sodden wings in panic. I knot the rope in place, take a deep breath, and think about my friends on the other side. Braver now, I step onto the narrow ledge and edge my way toward them.

A crowd of hands reaches out for me as I scramble to safety. Now it’s Yoshi’s turn. For once, we get to help him. When Yoshi douses the candle, I can’t see him anymore, but I feel the rope move. When I eventually grasp his hand to help him up, my fingers touch something warm and sticky.

“Blood brothers,” he whispers, reminding me of another night on a different mountain. He shakes his head because he doesn’t want me to tell the others. Yoshi’s more concerned about us. Especially Nezume, who looks tired and pale. Our leader understands what it’s like to walk with a heavy weight on your shoulders.