The Twilight War Page 2

  ‘Banken-chan,’ he admonished the cat. ‘Mottokun!’ He gently shoved the dog off. ‘Go back to bed!’

  Looking sorrowful and crushed, Motto padded away, circled the same patch of tatami twice, then collapsed noisily into a muscular, furred hoop. Banken stood defiantly on the very edge of the bedroll, ogling Moonshadow with a determined expression. He cleared his throat at her, his cool stare a reminder that he couldn’t be worn down. After a long delay the cat relented with a scowl. Flicking her tail, she made for the darkest clean corner of the room. Moonshadow watched her glance back at him coldly. Princess Banken had failed to get her way, so retiring alone was her way of lodging a protest.

  Cat nature! She was utterly predictable to him. In fact, he knew exactly how both these animals reasoned, perhaps because he regularly mind-linked with each of them.

  Brother Eagle, the head of the Grey Light Order, had trained Moonshadow in an ancient skill named the Eye of the Beast, an Old Country science lost to most men but preserved among certain shinobi. It enabled Moonshadow to focus his mind on a bird or animal and see through the creature’s eyes, making use of its superior senses. At its highest level, the skill even enabled him, for short periods, to take full control of a beast.

  From the corner, Banken gave him a withering glare. What a pity, Moonshadow reflected, that he couldn’t control her mind permanently.

  Because right now, he’d make her turn and face the wall!

  His stare narrowed. Back to the real problem: Snowhawk. Why was he suddenly doubting her? Because of a stupid dream?

  What if it turned out to be a prophecy? Heron had taught and nurtured him since he was a nanashi, a nameless trainee spy. He trusted her completely, and she was no stranger to prophetic dreams. Moonshadow scratched his jawline and then shook his head. No, that wasn’t it. No instinct whispered from his belly that the dream had been prophetic. This sudden uncertainty about Snowhawk came from elsewhere.

  Perhaps from a hard truth that now haunted him: Snowhawk’s path to the Grey Light Order had involved defection. So there was no denying that she could be turned. And like it or not, because of that, there would always be a niggling doubt about her …

  His tired eyes grew dreamy as he relived his journey with Snowhawk so far. This spring just past, Moonshadow had been sent on his first mission, to Silver Wolf’s castle in Fushimi, to steal the rogue warlord’s plans for a secret weapon of foreign design. There he had been challenged by a young shinobi of the Fuma shadow clan: Snowhawk, as it turned out. Forced together by strong mutual enemies and terrible danger, they had helped one another. On the run, they had learned much about each other’s circumstances.

  Both had been orphans raised as shinobi, though very differently. Snowhawk’s harsh Clan Fuma childhood had left her angry, while his upbringing among the Grey Light Order had been a largely happy one. Yet despite that, they had so much in common. Both desperately needed a friend … just one real friend who truly understood what it meant to live a shinobi’s life. To walk that path unique to phantom warriors, a path of great power. Risk. Loneliness. And every single day and night: fear.

  Fear of being killed on your next mission. Fear of surviving, but failing it. Fear of your foes, the long, ever-growing list of those who burned for revenge against you.

  He had persuaded Snowhawk to defect, to spurn the Fuma and join the Shogun’s secret service. Shadowed by the temple cat that had mysteriously adopted him in Fushimi, the exhausted pair had finally eluded Silver Wolf’s men. Throughout their long, difficult escape, Snowhawk had fought bravely at his side, even when wounded.

  ‘So what is there to doubt?’ Moonshadow asked the air. One of Banken’s ears twitched at his question.

  Snowhawk had continued to earn her place, he reminded himself, during their most harrowing mission together, only three weeks ago. She had accompanied him to rescue the White Nun, a mystic and trainer of shinobi who had been caught up in Silver Wolf’s scheming. That mission had been full of strange surprises.

  Far from the safety of Edo, on a mountain ringed by a haunted forest, the unearthly sage had abruptly spoken of Moonshadow’s origins. She had revealed little, just enough to fill him with hope, speculation and, of course, terrible impatience. He had to learn more. Did he have a living parent out there somewhere, or not? That was the big, nagging question! He grunted at his wandering mind to stop. He’d vowed to let this matter lie – at least for now.

  Motto spluttered hard in his sleep, his large jowls rippling. Moonshadow smiled down at the powerful dog. Motto, meaning more, had been an unexpected gift from the White Nun at the end of that mission. Moonshadow bit his lip. A mission that had rescued the sage, but also triggered – perhaps just as Silver Wolf had hoped – a declaration of war by Clan Fuma against the Grey Light Order. And however that conflict unfolded, it would undoubtedly disrupt the work of the shogun’s secret service, neatly serving the rebel daimyo’s purposes!

  The black message arrow that had landed in the garden one dawn had warned that a traditional, shinobi-style feud was about to begin.

  Twilight War, as it was known. Secret but total war. No mercy, no terms of surrender to be accepted. Winner takes all.

  Had he finally arrived at the real source of his doubt?

  The Grey Light Order was now Clan Fuma’s target, so Snowhawk’s loyalties were about to be tested as never before. Perhaps, he frowned, their first true test. He licked his lips and found them dry. Fuma were coming. Nobody knew when, where or how, but they would attack. They had raised Snowhawk, and when they finally struck, she would have to take a stand. True, she had sworn herself to the Grey Light Order for life, willingly divulged secret Clan Fuma information, and helped save the White Nun.

  Yet Snowhawk might now be forced to cross swords with an enemy she had known intimately. Could she really fight – and if necessary slay – ninja who had once fed, clothed and trained her? She definitely had the courage, and battle-rage flared in those large, bold eyes whenever the Fuma were even mentioned.

  But how would she react when forced to battle a familiar face? Moonshadow wasn’t sure.

  He felt that he knew her better than anyone else, yet even he often found her unpredictable, hard to read, strangely moody at times. Girls, he groaned. They thought so differently about almost everything. Or was that just Snowhawk?

  Snowhawk and he trained together, often read side by side in the archives or out in the gardens together. Every day they talked, joked and ate together, and at least once a week it seemed, talked non-stop for hours. Still, her way of looking at the world often baffled him. For a start, she seemed to base most decisions on mere feelings, convinced that should facts arrive later, they would simply support her choice.

  Heron, the closest thing Moonshadow had known to a mother, would see his bewilderment over Snowhawk and simply turn away with a dignified smile. Did that mean that even she, despite being a lady herself, thought understanding girls was impossible? Brother Badger had once declared that ‘not even Lord Buddha could fathom a woman’.

  Moonshadow blinked wearily at the silent animals. ‘Can you understand girls?’

  Abruptly the beasts raised their heads, instantly alert. Both stared at the door. A moment later, knuckles rapped its frame. Moonshadow rose and slid the door open.

  Brother Eagle stood in the corridor scratching his short, greying beard, his long, single plait of hair draped over one shoulder. Eagle smiled secretively and tilted his balding head towards the kitchen door at the end of the corridor.

  ‘Unscheduled briefing,’ the master said. ‘Urgent news, so we’ll talk over breakfast. Be quick.’ Eagle studied Moonshadow. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘No,’ Moonshadow said awkwardly. ‘A nightmare, that’s all. Everything’s fine.’

  Eagle heaved a deep sigh as he turned away. ‘How I wish that were true.’

  Motto and Banken scrambled out into the corridor and immediately made for the archives, no doubt keen to start the day by play-hunting their mo
nkey friend Saru.

  Rubbing his eyes, Moonshadow turned the opposite way and paced down the corridor, quietly steeling himself as he followed Eagle.

  His master’s words were a clear warning: get ready for disturbing news.

  Eagle knelt down at the head of the long, low table, where Snowhawk and Brother Mantis already waited.

  Moonshadow took his place, dropping into the seiza position, legs folded beneath him. Sitting on his heels like the others, he stretched and looked around.

  Heron was on cooking duty this morning, and she knelt in a corner by the fire pit, ladling thick rice porridge from a suspended iron pot into bowls. As usual, she was dressed in an elegant kimono, her long hair bound carefully, make-up applied, plum-scented perfume on her wrists. Though trained in shinobi ways, Heron had been born and raised a noblewoman, taught from childhood that a lady must always be the essence of beauty, poise and dignity. Throughout years of teaching Moonshadow the art of disguises, the science of potions and even the secrets of naginata fighting – combat with a bladed pole – she had flawlessly maintained that ladylike aura.

  Groundspider crouched behind Heron, and passed out the food. The opposite of Heron in almost every way, he wore a stained jacket and his hair, though tied, was a bundle of tangles and escaping strands. The big-framed shinobi was the closest thing Moonshadow had to an older brother, though his sheer size and muscular build made it plain the two weren’t truly related. Their appetites were in sharp contrast too: Moonshadow ate like a bird, Groundspider like a horse. Watching him eye the food and lick his lips, Moonshadow grinned knowingly. Make that two horses.

  On an iron cooking plate over one corner of the fire pit, thin fillets of eel steamed. Their aroma plumed, drowning the scent of Heron’s perfume and making Moonshadow’s nose twitch and stomach flutter in anticipation. Groundspider sniffed the air and gave a low moan of delight. Eagle and Mantis closed their eyes, quietly savouring the aroma.

  ‘Slept in, Moon?’ Snowhawk called from opposite him. He shrugged and nodded. Her small mouth puckered teasingly. She was already dressed in daytime training clothes, hair combed and tied neatly, large eyes bright. On any other day, he’d retort with friendly jibes of his own. But with the dream still fresh in his mind, he found it oddly hard to look at her, let alone engage in banter. He flashed Snowhawk a vague smile, then looked away.

  Eagle and Brother Mantis bowed gratefully as Heron distributed the strips of eel on tiny plates, along with sets of chopsticks. The meal and implements in place, Heron and Groundspider joined the others at the low wooden table.

  ‘Brother Badger informed me that he’s already eaten,’ Eagle said, adding with a hint of impatience, ‘but of course will join us very shortly for the special briefing.’

  The group bowed their heads in silence to thank the gods for the privilege of once again having food. Then everyone took up their chopsticks and ate with relish. Clicking sounds and murmurs of approval filled the air until the bowls and plates were empty.

  Mantis put down his chopsticks and dabbed his mouth with a soft cloth. His melancholic eyes locked on Moonshadow.

  ‘Well, still no Badger. You made it, but you look a little out of sorts. Were you up half the night again, thanks to those infernal beasts?’ Mantis asked sympathetically.

  Moonshadow nodded, hoping his perceptive duelling coach – and everybody else – would probe no further. But Mantis was as sharp as his sword, so probably wasn’t fooled. Once a ronin, he had duelled for a living in his youth, attaining legendary status but taking many lives. A faded scar on his cheek remained a souvenir of those days. Though his skill was undiminished and he loved to teach what he called ‘scientific duelling’, the mature Mantis followed the Way of the Buddha as many older, more philosophical samurai did. From time to time, he spoke of his many regrets.

  Officially, the Grey Light Order was an independent chapter of warrior monks. In reality, they were mostly shinobi, with a mandate to safeguard the Shogun. But Mantis had practically become a real warrior monk, complete with a shaven head. Now he denounced killing, whether of guards or enemies, unless there was simply no option.

  Brother Mantis himself, Moonshadow decided, also looked a little haggard. That was understandable. A fitful sleeper at the best of times, he often stayed up late, hunched over a writing desk in the archives and worked on his duelling manual, with his sword at his side, so that he could rehearse and document complex moves.

  ‘Where is Badger then?’ Eagle groaned. ‘There are pressing matters to discuss.’

  Along with Eagle, Heron tilted her head on an angle. ‘I can hear him, still fussing around in the archives. I’m sure he’ll come soon.’ Her soft eyes glided to Moonshadow.

  He saw her look and bowed, then grinned warmly.

  ‘While we wait for Badger, I have a question for you, Moon-kun.’ Heron flashed a reassuring smile. ‘About something mentioned in your report of the White Nun rescue mission.’

  Moonshadow hesitated, then gave her a slightly suspicious nod.

  ‘Is your sleep disturbed,’ Heron asked gently, ‘because the White Nun unexpectedly spoke of your mother?’ She sighed. ‘It would weigh heavily on my mind.’

  Snowhawk shifted uneasily on the spot. Groundspider looked a little startled and Mantis, with one eyebrow rising slowly, appeared to hold his breath. Eagle didn’t flinch.

  Moonshadow looked around and swallowed. For three weeks now, he had been expecting either Eagle or Heron to raise this. No doubt they had already discussed it and made a decision that the matter was best brought out into the open. And now, here it was!

  Heron was like a mother to him, but this concerned his real, unknown mother.

  Witnessed by Snowhawk, the White Nun had abruptly spoken of her own personal debt to Moonshadow’s mother. The mystic had then refused to discuss the matter further until she next visited the Grey Light Order in Edo. That was yet to happen.

  ‘The great sage,’ Moonshadow replied slowly, ‘never explained whether my mother is alive or dead. She chose not to tell me, not yet. So I have vowed not to seek out the truth – or, my mother herself, if she lives – until my immediate duty is done and the present threat to our Shogun removed.’ He hung his head. ‘Of course, I still find myself thinking about her. I try not to, but I do.’ Moonshadow straightened up and glanced about, his eyes burning. ‘Since I was young, I’ve had dreams of a man and a woman, dressed like farmers. A vision of my parents, maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  Snowhawk watched him with sad, knowing eyes. Groundspider, his chin in hand and powerful shoulders hunched, appeared to be feeling the moment too. Like Moonshadow, they had both been orphans and knew nothing of their true origins.

  ‘Your resolve is admirable,’ Eagle said. ‘And of course it weighs on your mind. But the White Nun is very wise and must have her reasons. Hard as it is, be patient, eh?’

  ‘I will do my best, master.’ Moonshadow gave him a dutiful, seated bow.

  ‘And feel ever free to speak of it, should you need to –’ Heron swept a hand around the table – ‘with any of us.’ One by one, the whole group nodded, except for Groundspider, who was staring into his lap. Suddenly he looked up, meeting Moonshadow’s gaze.

  Moonshadow smiled, though a little warily. Now what would Groundspider come out with? Level-headed or totally crazy words? One could never tell. The big shinobi had a mad sense of humour, but often missed the cue that it was time to be serious. This was, after all, the man who had once bragged about eating an entire raw goose while out on a mission. All of it, he’d insisted, but the beak. Today however, he did look oddly sombre.

  ‘It’s sad that you have to wait,’ Groundspider said quickly. ‘And I hope … I hope when she tells you more, it’s good news.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘In a way I envy you, in a way I don’t.’ Groundspider scratched his solid jaw, then scanned the group. ‘What? Why do you all look surprised?’

  Snowhawk smirked. ‘I’m in shock. What you said was actually … sen
sible!’

  Groundspider wagged a finger at her, scowling indignantly. ‘Listen Snowy, you and me have bokken sparring tonight, remember? They might be wooden swords, but –’

  Mantis hid a smile behind his hand. Heron gave Moonshadow a comforting look.

  ‘Did I miss anything?’ Badger hurried into the kitchen and bowed to Eagle. ‘Forgive my lateness, but –’ he glanced coolly at Moonshadow – ‘I had a mess to clean up.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Moonshadow gestured expansively. ‘I’ll trap them back in my room.’

  ‘The damage is done,’ Badger frowned, folding his arms. ‘But yes, do that, boy.’

  Moonshadow bowed to the archivist, wondering how angry he really was. Motto and Banken had obviously knocked something valuable over – again. But since Badger was almost always grumpy, it was hard to judge the seriousness of the matter.

  Once a famous writer and teacher, Badger had tutored Moonshadow in battlefield theory and military history. The brilliant archivist could translate books written in foreign languages, design equipment and even crack codes. But despite his many talents, patience and a calm disposition were beyond Badger’s reach.

  ‘Well now that we’re all here,’ said Eagle, giving Badger a suppressing glance, ‘I have news. Notice how quiet the grounds are? That’s because overnight, virtually the entire floating population of the monastery departed for urgent missions. Around fifty agents. As you know, they would normally be training here or using the monastery as a base for short-range assignments, coming and going disguised as monks, pedlars or artisans. Well, it became necessary to send them all off on pressing eavesdropping missions.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Heron murmured. ‘What’s happened? What are they out to verify?’

  ‘All of them? Isn’t that dangerous?’ Mantis gestured at his companions. ‘That leaves only us, the trainers and juniors who live here. If the Fuma should attack –’