The Twilight War Read online

  Her hatred for the Fuma roiled inside her. Heartless, vicious people! What had they trapped, a bear? What poor helpless creature were they torturing in some deep subterranean pen? She licked dry lips. If she didn’t escape or get rescued soon, she was in line for the same kind of abuse. Snowhawk tested her legs. Her head was fine now, but her body too had been affected by the incense. She was strong enough to stand, maybe even fight. She sighed heavily. But with speed? No, she was too badly drugged.

  Time would have to pass, these side-effects would have to wear off, before she could make a move. She returned her attention to the guards. If she couldn’t fight yet, at least she could, like a true ninja, still gather information. It might even help her escape, and whatever she learned would benefit the Grey Light Order. Did they realise she had been taken against her will? No matter! Once she made it back to Edo with fresh, unexpected intelligence, nobody would doubt her loyalty. She concentrated, listening.

  ‘Lord Kotaro himself believes Silver Wolf will honour his promise to us,’ the stockier of the guards whispered. ‘But he can’t if he’s dead, can he? So it’s very much in our interests to protect him.’

  ‘Let him protect himself.’ The leaner guard wagged his head side-to-side. ‘Momoyama castle is strong, Silver Wolf’s army large and well-trained.’

  ‘True,’ his companion nodded. ‘But this Lord Ukita is a warlord of equal power, the strongest of the western daimyos. They say he made the Bizen fiefdom great again. He’s so wealthy from civil war plunder, he can even afford regular hunting trips to foreign lands. Now that he and Silver Wolf want the same thing, one of them must fall.’

  ‘Fine, then let Ukita of Bizen fall, since he hasn’t made us any promises. But that’s easier said than done, huh? It won’t be an easy task, taking Lord Ukita’s head.’

  ‘The real question is, who could defeat Ukita’s bodyguard Koga Danjo?’

  Both guards glanced her way. Even as her mind sprinted into speculation, Snowhawk took great care to look asleep. So the rumour that Eagle had heard was true! The great Koga ninja master Danjo was alive! Alive, and protecting a rebel warlord.

  Moonshadow’s near-fatal duel with Danjo’s protégé, The Deathless, in a gorge near Fushimi came rushing back to her now in vivid, unsettling detail. She too had been lucky to survive that encounter. And Koga Danjo was said to be even more dangerous.

  Snowhawk marvelled as the pieces fell into place. This was just what Eagle had feared, and it would change everything! Even as Silver Wolf plotted to kill the Shogun and take his power, a second contender for the Shogun’s office was lurking to the west. At least now, thanks to good timing and these talkative Fuma, she had learned their new enemy’s name: Lord Ukita, daimyo of the province of Bizen.

  If this Ukita was wealthy enough to hire the immortal Koga Danjo and fund hunting trips to foreign lands, he would most likely prove a worse foe than Silver Wolf.

  Snowhawk made a noiseless vow. She would take in everything the guards said, and no matter what the Fuma put her through, memorise it. Then she would escape, or Moon would come for her and either way, the Grey Light Order would learn everything.

  All she had to do was stay strong. A lump rose in her throat. Somehow!

  The black arrows flashed at them. Hissing filled the air.

  ‘Evade!’ Groundspider bellowed as he dived forward and went careening along the ice. Moonshadow threw himself into a half-controlled roll to the right. Rikichi darted nimbly to the left and kept his balance, his experience in the icy terrain serving him well.

  The four incoming arrows hit the ice exactly where the mission team had stood.

  Moonshadow’s head snapped up, eyes darting to the line of hunters. He saw two arrows miss them narrowly, then a third – his own belated shot – slam into one of them.

  With Moonshadow’s arrow sticking from his collarbone, the hunter fell heavily. Suddenly the clicking of the ice around the peasant archers peaked into loud snaps. As Moonshadow stared, holding his breath, the lake’s crust came apart beneath their attackers. The hunters broke their line and tried to scatter in all directions to escape its tearing fissures, but wide stripes of freezing water appeared below them. Pointy shards of ice splintered and rose, irregular chunks of white bucked, as the three standing hunters, their leader included, plunged through the crust one by one and vanished.

  ‘A pity we couldn’t just escape them,’ Moonshadow said as the group reunited.

  ‘So I brought Mantis with me after all.’ Groundspider sighed. ‘Kid, we had no choice. That was us or them. And this is war, do you get it?’

  ‘I too had a compassionate teacher,’ Rikichi said gently. ‘But there are times …’

  Moonshadow nodded. What his companions said was all true, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Thanks to Mantis’s influence, he’d avoided killing for so long – never an easy feat for a shinobi. But as of this morning he was also a soldier, fighting in a real war. Lives were going to be lost, probably many, on both sides. He closed his eyes. Scatter not one grain of life. He opened them and sighed. Unless there was no choice. He had always known that one day, he would be forced to slay a foe, but Moonshadow had always imagined a face-to-face duel or a pre-dawn stealth kill, not distant, faceless targets abruptly vanishing into the land itself. He hung his head. There was no glory in this win.

  The cloud was expanding, hiding more of the lake. The light began to wane, the setting sun blocked by Fumayama itself. Moonshadow felt the air’s frosty tang grow stronger, its cold stabbing through his layers of clothing. Time to get underground!

  They hurried across the shadowy ice in silence. Once over the lip of the snowy plateau, finally at the threshold of the mountain, they crept in single file, hunching low as they wound through a snow-mottled field of fallen, cracked rocks.

  ‘Time for leg armour and gauntlets, eh?’ Groundspider whispered. Moonshadow gave a nod and together, behind a white-capped boulder, they broke out the last of their equipment. After tying the scaled gauntlets and leg armour sections in place, they checked the release mechanisms on the pouches that held the rock-trick cloaks. Finally they packed the legging’s pockets with shuriken, smoke bombs, lock-picking kits, and one of Groundspider’s favourite evasion tools: tetsubishi – small iron caltrops.

  As Rikichi slowly fed the bows and quivers into the sack on his back, Moonshadow looked from the armour on Groundspider’s thick leg to the nearest exposed surface of local rock. Even in twilight the two looked similar, so should match each other brilliantly by candle or lantern light! This whole crazy thing might just work.

  Rikichi kept watch, peeping over a nearby boulder. ‘They always post a single guard on this exit … there he is!’ Rikichi smiled coldly. ‘He’s mine.’

  While the pair hid and watched, Rikichi crept along the ground, moving from the cover of one rock to the next, closing on the lone sentry. Moonshadow studied the freelancer’s target. He was a big man, who moved more like a hunter than a ninja. He wore a muffler, a straw hat, and a long, fur-lined, wadded jacket to protect him from the cold. His only visible weapon was a spear.

  Looking very bored, the fellow briefly turned to face a man-sized cleft in the rock face behind him. Inside it, Moonshadow caught sight of a weathered black door. As he looked on, Rikichi flashed up from the ground, tore between two rocks, and leapt onto the huge fellow’s back. With impressive speed the guide covered the sentry’s mouth with one hand, striking hard with the other – a blurring fist – to the side of the guard’s neck.

  As Rikichi slid from the sentry’s back, the big peasant fell forward stiffly into the snow. Despite his size, the impact made only a soft ffft.

  Groundspider and Moonshadow ran from their hiding place. While Groundspider dragged the guard out of sight under an overhanging crag of stone, Moonshadow drew a small, slender iron hook from his leggings. Then he attacked the lock on the black door.

  The mechanism gave a dull click of surrender. The three gathered round the doorframe, hands
ready on their swords. Using his foot, Groundspider gently pushed the door open. It swung inwards, iron hinges faintly creaking. Inside, a narrow tunnel snaked through the rock, lit at intervals by small wooden box lanterns anchored to the walls.

  With Rikichi in the lead they crept into the tunnel and took their first glimpse inside the Fuma base. Moonshadow also took heart. The winding tunnel’s walls, floor and ceiling matched the new Grey Light Order suits and armour splendidly. Muddy-brown and slate-grey strata bled together everywhere, mirroring their suits and leggings.

  Holding up a hand, Rikichi dropped into a crouch. The pair behind him did the same. Rikichi pointed at a protruding rock in line with his face. ‘Here it is,’ he whispered. ‘The only writing I’ve ever seen on the walls here. It’s old, that’s all I know.’

  Groundspider and Moonshadow shuffled forward to look over the kanji they had been briefed to expect. The characters verified that they were indeed just inside the Fuma’s back door. Dark, carved lines formed two words only: hell and lips.

  Moonshadow frowned at them. Hopefully, this was just a silly nickname.

  They followed Rikichi on down the tunnel. It twisted left and right then finally opened on a small gallery with a high ceiling, grey walls glistening in the lantern light as if melted snows filtered through them from above. Apart from the sound of dripping water in the distance, the shadowy cavern was eerily silent. The air smelled of dirt.

  Two distinct tunnels branched off from the gallery, winding away on the same level. In the chamber’s floor was a round, natural hole. Moonshadow peered into the smooth-edged cavity. A chimney, it dropped about fifty paces to another lit chamber.

  ‘So how many guards in this place? On each level?’ Groundspider whispered to Rikichi. ‘At what intervals are they posted?’

  Their guide raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you post guards at intervals inside the Grey Light Order’s Edo monastery?’ Groundspider went to answer, then hesitated. ‘And do you walk around in there, living your life between missions, constantly armed?’

  ‘No,’ Moonshadow said. ‘Though after recent events, we might start doing both.’

  Rikichi shrugged. ‘It’s the same for the Fuma, gentlemen. They consider this place guarded well enough from the outside. By isolation, by nature itself, by their hunter allies and, at the front entrance, by a squad of first-rate ninja. Finally, they’d rely on the roving shinobi that live here to despatch any intruders who did – somehow – make it in.’

  Moonshadow blinked, hoping the Fuma’s confidence was badly misplaced.

  ‘They keep almost every tunnel illuminated, whether it’s busy or not, in case there’s a cave-in from an earthquake. They might need to evacuate fast, carrying their injured, so there are lanterns or candles everywhere. Can’t say how crowded the place will be. Well over a hundred Fuma are stationed here, but of course, agents come and go, at times in large numbers, moving between home base and their missions, or smaller Fuma bases.’

  ‘No internal guards,’ Groundspider was still marvelling. ‘What a gift.’

  ‘I wouldn’t rejoice too much. There are chambers that will still be guarded. Wherever they put your agent, for instance.’ Rikichi gestured at the two tunnel mouths. ‘I suggest we don’t use these upper tunnels. We can descend without the risk of running into anyone.’ He stared down into the cavity at their feet. ‘Let’s make straight for the heart of Fumayama, down its gullet, here. Once there, you can plan your next move with open eyes, so to speak.’ He grinned encouragingly. ‘You’ll see what I mean.’

  Moonshadow leaned out over the pit. ‘It’s a long way down. Too far to jump.’

  Rikichi pulled his sack from his shoulder, unfastened it, and winked. ‘Hence the rope in here.’

  Rikichi felt below the nearest wall lantern until he found its iron fastener, which was hammered into the rock. He deftly tied one end of the rope to it, using a cunning shinobi knot that would hold fast while they descended, but could later be released by shaking the rope’s other end in a certain way.

  Groundspider descended first – at his own insistence – then Moonshadow, and finally their guide. The trio found themselves in a small gallery lit by an iron laver on a tripod. Though rectangular, the room appeared to be another natural cave. Old, rotting tatami mats were piled in one corner, a stack of boxes in another.

  Rikichi rotated the rope skilfully. It fell, coiling haphazardly at his feet. He pointed to one of three openings in the walls of the chamber.

  ‘We head through this, out onto a finger of rock, and then … you’ll see. Stay low, and not a sound.’ Leading Groundspider and Moonshadow, he crept into the tunnel.

  After travelling in single file in the dark for almost thirty paces, they emerged. One by one they moved, low to the stone floor, out onto the finger of rock.

  It was all just as Rikichi had promised. The tunnel had led to a small, natural ledge. Just over its granite lip, Moonshadow caught his first glimpse of a massive single chamber, huge beyond imagining. It stretched above and below their position as well as to the left and right, an enormous cavity in the centre of the mountain.

  Faint voices and the muffled sounds of human activity came from different parts of the great cavern. And something else: the constant, background hiss of running water. Carefully the trio crept to the edge of the granite lip and peeped over.

  Watching the Edo agents’ faces, Rikichi broke into a knowing smile.

  ‘Incredible,’ Groundspider shook his head. ‘Our map doesn’t do the place justice.’

  ‘I hate to say this.’ Moonshadow paused. ‘But it’s beautiful.’

  ‘Glad you like it,’ Rikichi said. ‘Because one mistake and we’ll be staying.’

  Heron gently shook her furui, a box-like wooden sieve, until the last of the powdered leaf mixture fell through its fine mesh into the mortar. Adding hot water, she ground the mixture with her pestle, then decanted a little into each of the clay bowls on the work table.

  One bowl contained a tiny sample of Eagle’s sweat, the other, his spittle. Holding her breath, Heron watched the two test batches slowly change colour. Both turned black. She slammed her fist down onto the table, making the bowls jump and one of them spill.

  In the corner, streaming sweat but shivering in his cradle of blankets, Eagle let out a startled groan. Motto and Banken, who had been nestled up against him since Mantis had brought them in two hours ago, jumped to their feet. The big dog grunted warily.

  Heron looked with earnest eyes at her unconscious patient. The worsening dark lines on Eagle’s face and his now constant hand tremors warned that she had virtually run out of time. The master of the Grey Light Order, once samurai, now shinobi, was dying.

  Heron’s chin twitched as she stared down at the bowls. Their contents remained black like her despair: this combination of herbs was also no antidote. She hung her head.

  Every test had failed. Each clever, innovative approach she tried had yielded an equally useless result. This Fuma poison was an enigma, so complex there appeared no way to counter it. She had worked tirelessly without a break for hours now, but even her vast knowledge was finally exhausted. It was over. A knock at the door made her recoil.

  ‘It’s me,’ Mantis called from the corridor. ‘You should rest now, eat something.’

  ‘I’m fine!’ she snapped, ‘I need nothing!’ Heron covered her face with her hands.

  She shook her head as her sharp ears tracked Mantis’s feet down the corridor. Later, she’d apologise formally to him for her disgusting rudeness. For now, though –

  Heron went to Eagle, sinking to her knees between the curious animals. ‘Who am I fooling?’ She gazed sadly at the fading leader, tears at last running freely down her cheeks. ‘I can’t cure you!’ For a while she sat in silence, back stiff, hands on her thighs, disciplined mind still clawing for an answer. Any answer, even a wild or unlikely one!

  Then Heron raised her head, a stubborn, angry look swamping her eyes. She wiped them, nodded once firml
y and then gently picked up Banken.

  There was one last thing, albeit crazy and impossible, that she could still try …

  The temple cat mewed as Heron positioned her on the edge of the sick bed, cupped the animal’s bristly chin and stared into her eyes.

  ‘Moonshadow told me,’ she said desperately, ‘that the White Nun herself once used you as her eyes and ears, for weeks, even months, at a time. Does she still? Here and there, perhaps, when Moon-kun is not linked with you?’

  The cat tilted its head and stared back at Heron attentively. Encouraged, she went on. ‘If so, then tell her … for me … for Eagle. No, beg her …!’ Heron broke down and sobbed, unable to finish the message.

  Dropping her head, Banken gently licked Heron’s palm with a dry, rough tongue.

  From their high, unseen observation point on the ledge, the mission team scanned the enormous cavern in wonder. Groundspider took Badger’s map from his jacket and smoothed it out on the stony floor at his knees.

  ‘Rikichi-san,’ the big shinobi said quietly, ‘you know this place. Please brief us on everything we’re seeing, while I check this map’s accuracy in the light of your words.’

  Moonshadow narrowed his eyes. Groundspider was cunning; checking the map was a good, logical move, but also an excuse to verify Rikichi’s knowledge of Fumayama. So the big fellow still had his doubts about their guide. Moonshadow raised his eyebrows. He didn’t, and next chance that came, he would tell Groundspider so.

  ‘This giant, central cavern,’ Rikichi began, ‘is called The Sifter. Roughly funnel-shaped, it was blasted out of the rock long ago, and many man-made tunnels and natural ones flow into it. The silver miners made it, but the Fuma have put it to their own use. See there?’ He pointed. ‘An underground stream. It pours from that split high on the chamber’s northern face. Cascades as an indoor waterfall, down to there, among all that rocky debris, where it disappears into that white-foaming hole in the funnel’s floor.’