And was I going to trust Saiko’s escape route? Was I going to open this door?
Not without checking first. I lay flat to put my ear next to the crack at the bottom of the door and listened.
For a while I heard nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat against the slimy, muddy stones. And then a sigh. And then a rustle, as of dried grass beneath the feet of a man impatiently shifting his weight. And a grunt, demanding silence. Too late.
Twenty steps down. Hurry through the dank tunnel as quickly as possible while carrying a piece of razor-sharp metal. Twenty steps up. I listened at the other door. No one there, as far as I could tell. When I eased it open, the body of the man I’d defeated was gone. His friends, it seemed, had found him.
No one saw me creep through the gardens and make my way to the stable. No one saw me find a quiet spot in a storeroom full of harness and tack. Plenty of people saw me leave, the next morning, when the gates were open. But none of them remembered a plain servant girl lugging a bundle of laundry to the river. None of them ever saw her again, either.
TWENTY-TWO
Some time later, that same girl sat on a stone by a stretch of empty roadside, looking over fields of rice to the mountains that lay beyond.
It had been a strange feeling, the one that had come over me as I’d slipped unnoticed out of Kashihara Yoshisane’s town. I’d felt something like it before, when I’d been alone with a warlord’s sleeping mansion at my mercy.
During that first mission, I had been giddy, floating on my own excitement. Once I crossed the bridge that led out of the castle town, I felt that same giddiness bubbling up inside my heart—but something serious overlaid it and kept me from laughing.
I was free. I was also alone, unarmed, without so much as a lockpick to my name. I had not even kept the young soldier’s sword, since I’d had nowhere to hide it under the clothes of a skinny young washer-girl. So I’d reluctantly left it behind, thrust deep into a bale of hay where it would be a considerable surprise to a stable boy one day.
No weapons. No food. No money. I had nothing at all, except my clothes, my training, and a choice to make.
I would not be returning to Madame Chiyome. Masako had known, better than I did myself, what I wanted most of all. I’d keep my word to her. Once free, I’d stay free.
The temple would have taken me in, no doubt. Ichiro would have been glad to see me. Tosabo might even have had something to teach me. But his way of fighting—it was not my way.
Ryoichi’s village might have welcomed me. They’d been kind to me, even willing to face armed bandits for my sake. And I’d been born in a place much like that. But Madame had taken me from that world. How could I fit back into it now, after all I had learned and done?
Otani’s bandits, then? I could ride with them, and my pockets would grow heavy with other men’s treasure. I would have comrades, if not exactly friends.
The bushes across the road rustled and the white fox poked her nose out between the leaves. She slipped from the undergrowth and sat on the path, watching me. And then she changed.
“Have you made your choice?” asked the beautiful woman in the snow-white kimono. And I knew she was not speaking of the direction my next step would take me.
I put up a hand to the pin that held back my hair.
My instructors at Madame Chiyome’s school had been right. Your enemies will take your weapons, your lockpicks, even your clothes—but they will not bother with your hair ornaments.
While Saiko had been shopping for her kimono, I’d whiled away the time by making a new hairpin from one of the sticks I’d whittled to a point. I’d used a bit of pine sap, sticky as glue, to attach the pearl. More sap, mixed with dirt, had dulled the milky sheen of the jewel and the glimmer of the gold. The new pin had been in my hair since I’d walked into Kashihara Yoshisane’s castle.
My old hairpin, with its sharp and hidden blade, had been tucked into a pocket of my jacket and had been taken, along with my other tools, when Lord Yoshisane’s men had searched me. But they hadn’t taken the new pin, and they hadn’t taken my necklace.
For that necklace, I’d used a white pebble from the river where I had first met the ghost. It had made an excellent substitute for the pearl. While Saiko had occupied herself with camellia oil and safflower paste, I’d found a jeweler who was willing to take one of Otani’s gold coins for payment and beat a second into a ring to wrap around the white stone.
How long would it be before Saiko yielded to the temptation and tried to make a wish? Until then, she’d have no idea that the pearl I’d handed so reluctantly to her was a fake.
Now, facing the fox woman, I slid the pin from my hair. A soft sound above, like a hundred indrawn breaths, caught my ear, and I looked up to see tengu clustered on the branches overhead, craning their necks and tipping their heads to catch a glimpse of the pearl as I held it in my hand.
“Do you have a knife?” I asked.
Whether I went to a village or a temple or a bandit’s cave, I could not go there with this pearl in my possession, drawing every restless demon and hungry ghost after me.
But I couldn’t simply cast it away. Someone like Hikosane might be the one to pick it up. Or someone like Saiko.
The fox-woman had guided us out of Lord Hikosane’s garden. She’d kept her word in the mountains and saved us from the nue. If she’d done all this merely in order to fool me into handing over the pearl—well, then it had worked.
She was of the spirit world, after all. She knew the ways of gods and ghosts and bakemono. She’d be a better guardian for the pearl than I could ever be.
But she shook her head. She had no knife.
Well, a sharp rock, then. I found one at my feet, picked it up, and held the jagged edge to my palm. It would not take much to reopen the cut I’d made when I’d given Saiko the false pearl.
“No.” The fox-woman reached out and took the rock gently from me.
Startled, I looked up at her. “But I can’t give it to you unless I …”
Her smile this time was kind. It didn’t seem to hide a snarl behind it.
“Don’t give it to me at all,” she said. “It’s yours.”
“But I don’t—I don’t want it.” I held it out to her again. What kind of freedom would that be, if I escaped from Madame Chiyome and Lord Yoshisane and Saiko, but kept a demon in my pocket, hungrily eyeing my soul?
“I know you don’t want it. And that’s why I won’t take it.” It took me a moment to recognize the look in her eyes—it was pity. It had been so long since I had seen that in anyone’s face.
“I was sent to be sure the pearl found its true owner at last,” she went on. “I wasn’t sure about you, so I stayed close to watch. And now I know. You’re the one to hold it, Kata. It must stay with you.”
“Sent?” I asked stupidly, still holding out the hairpin with the pearl attached.
“We all serve some master, no matter how free we may be,” she said softly, and then she changed. A white fox dashed away into the undergrowth, a cloud of dark wings darted off between the trees, and I was left alone, holding a demon’s soul between my fingers.
I was the right one? What did that mean? Who had decided? And more importantly, what was I supposed to do with the pearl? Use it? Destroy it? Keep it safe forever?
I was certain about only one thing: with this burden to carry, I could not find a home in a warlord’s castle or a bandit’s cave, in a temple or a village. So it seemed I’d have to be a ninja after all. And in my pocket I had something that could turn me into the greatest ninja this land had ever seen.
Or that could devour my soul.
Faint and far above, something laughed as I tucked the pearl safely inside my jacket and turned my face toward the mountain peaks.
Author’s Note
Ninjas
In the feudal age of Japan, when most of the power lay with military leaders, the ideal warrior was the samurai—riding into battle without fear, challenging his foes to single
combat, loyal to the death. A samurai would not stoop to spying, wearing a disguise, or killing in secret. But these things can be necessary in a time of war. And so they became the roles of ninjas, who also called themselves shinobi (SHIH-noh-bee).
It’s likely that there were some female ninjas, sometimes called “deadly flowers.” But few records survive of their names, training, or exploits. One exception, however, is Mochizuki Chiyome (or Chiyojo), who, according to legend, organized a secret cadre of female ninjas for the warlord Takeda Shingen during the 1500s. She is said to have taken in girls who were orphaned or abandoned in the chaos of the civil wars that raged through Japan in that century, trained them, and used them to gather information to serve Takeda’s purposes.
For more information on female ninjas and Madame Chiyome, you might enjoy:
Uppity Women of Medieval Times by Vicki León
Ninja: The True Story of Japan’s Secret Warrior Cult by Stephen Turnbull
Ninja Attack! True Tales of Assassins, Samurai, and Outlaws by Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt
Ghosts and Demons
The folklore of Japan is full of yurei (ghosts) and yokai or bakemono (supernatural creatures, monsters, or demons). They range from merely spooky or mischievous to downright terrifying. Kata, Ichiro, and Saiko encounter some well-known creatures on their adventures, including:
Centipede: The centipede that attacks Kata in the kitchen might be a smaller relative of the enormous, multi-legged creature that was said to live under a mountain near Lake Biwa and prey on the children of dragons.
Double-mouthed woman, or futakuchi onna: (FOO-tah-KOO-chee OH-na): Most double-mouthed women are not as ferocious as Okui. One can usually pass for a perfectly ordinary person, even to her close friends and family, keeping the second mouth on the back of her head concealed under her hair. Her true nature shows only at night, when she sneaks into the kitchen and devours all the food she can find. However, she does not usually prey on her guests.
Fox: The Japanese red fox, or kitsune (KEY-tsoo-nay), is a clever trickster, and some are able to transform themselves into human beings (although they tend to keep the tail). They are powerful and unpredictable creatures. Some may play tricks on humans, some may kill, and some may be helpers or guides. White foxes are messengers of Inari, the god of rice, wealth, and the harvest.
Ghosts: Japanese folklore is rich in ghost stories. The spirits of those who were murdered or betrayed might come back as angry ghosts who inflict misfortune on the living. Hungry ghosts are spirits whose descendants do not take proper care of them by bringing prayers and offerings. They can strike their victims with illness or disease. Slain warriors haunt battlefields, and dead mothers sometimes return to be sure their children are well cared for. Not all ghosts are dangerous, but all can be identified by one clue: they have no feet.
Nue (NEW-ay): Nue are particularly hard to describe, because they often travel surrounded by a dense black cloud, and a single glimpse of them brings on serious illness. They seem to be some combination of monkey, tiger, snake, and possibly tanuki (Japanese raccoon), and are best avoided at all cost.
Tengu (TEN-goo): Half-crow and half-man, tengu are known for their skills with weapons. These tricksters and mischief-makers are sometimes said to cause plagues and other natural disasters. They tend to attack travelers who penetrate into their forest homes, but they have also been known to teach the martial arts to a few favored human disciples.
If you are interested in knowing more about Japanese monsters and demons, you might try Yokai Attack! The Japanese Monster Survival Guide by Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt.
An Interview with Sarah L. Thomson
Q. The story of girl ninjas is fascinating—where did you first learn about girl ninjas in feudal Japan?
A. A friend who knew I was interested in women’s history gave me a little book called Uppity Women of Medieval Times. In this book were a few short chapters about a formidable woman by the name of Chiyome, who supposedly ran a school to turn girls into ninjas. Well, obviously, that had to be my next book! Who could resist? I researched all I could find about ninjas, but information about Chiyome and female ninjas was scanty and scarce. Maybe they were only legends; maybe they just kept their secrets well. But they’re real to me, and I hope to my readers too!
Q. In the beginning of the first chapter, the audience is with Kata in the practice yard with a front-seat view of the training. When writing this scene, what did you draw on to make it so authentic? Do you practice martial arts?
A. I’m no martial artist, I’m afraid. In fact, I’m hopelessly uncoordinated. I just did my research. We don’t really know what kind of martial art ninjas might have used. They were practical people (they had to be), so I imagine they would have used whatever techniques and moves would get the job done. That gave me a fair bit of freedom when I wrote the fight sequences. Whatever would work, Kata would do!
Q. The girls’ personalities at Madame Chiyome’s were varied and complex. Who were your role models?
A. Since the girls at Madame Chiyome’s school have no parents, no families, no one to take care of them, I knew they’d have to rely on themselves and each other. I also knew they’d understand each other really, really well. They are not just schoolmates; they are a cross between family and rivals and comrades-in-arms. Since the story is told through Kata’s point-of-view, that made it easy to give each girl a clear personality—Kata knows them all very well, and she has a clear eye for their strengths, and what she regards as their weaknesses. She’s not always right about that, however. For example, she sees Masako’s tendency to take care of the other girls as a weakness, when in fact this is what makes Masako an excellent general, capable of organizing the girls to fight together. I hope the girls can come back in a second book. I think Kata has more to learn about her friends.
Q. There are tengus, changelings, and other demonic creatures—how did you first learn of them?
A. Japanese folklore and urban legends are full of fabulous and terrifying creatures. I’m only sorry that I didn’t get to put in all of my favorites! There are talking fruit that hang on trees and giggle at passersby, a little ghost in a school uniform who haunts girls’ bathrooms, and a really creepy double-tailed cat who may turn up in the second book. The hardest part was picking creatures that would scare Kata (since she’s pretty tough) and pick up on her vulnerabilities (since she doesn’t have many).
Q. Did they haunt your dreams like they did Kata’s as your story unfolded?
A. Well, I have learned not to accept a piece of tofu from a mysterious little boy wandering the streets. (It will make a deadly fungus start to grow inside you.) Honestly, though, the process of writing about these creatures is much less scary than reading about them. Although I must say I’m relieved that the centipedes that occasionally crawl across my bathroom floor are not as big or as ferocious as centipedes from Japanese legends, and I don’t ever want to sleep on the notorious haunted futon of Tottori.
Q. Do you have a favorite demon/creature from the book?
A. They’re all so nifty! But if I had to pick one, it might be the double-mouthed woman, probably because she is the most subtle and scary of the lot. Monsters who seem ordinary are always the most frightening.
Q. Have you always been fascinated with Japanese history or particularly Feudal Japan?
A. I didn’t actually know much about Japan or its feudal days until I came across the legend of Chiyome and her girl ninjas. So I had to do quite a lot of research! That’s one of the things I love about my job; I’m always learning new things. For my books, I’ve had the opportunity to research everything from Japanese architecture to blue whales to Elizabethan curse words.
Q. What was the most surprising thing you learned while doing research for this book?
A. That ninjas weren’t cool, not in medieval Japan. They were looked down on, considered the lowest of the low, because they did their work in secret (that seemed cowardly) and sold their services to the highest bidder
(that seemed greedy and disloyal). It’s hard to believe that people with such skills and dedication to their work could be regarded with scorn, but they were.
Q. Are there parts of Kata’s personality that are part of your personality too?
A. Goodness, no. I’m nothing like Kata! I’m a pushover. I feel bad if I step on an ant. That’s why it was so much fun to write about a character who’s tough, ruthless, and who never worries about hurting anyone’s feelings.
Q. If you could give Kata advice at the end of the story, what would it be?
A. Brace yourself. Worse things are coming.
SARAH L. THOMSON is a ninja with her fingers on a keyboard. She has written more than thirty books—everything from picture books to easy readers to novels and from fiction to non fiction to poetry. Her covert research skills have taught her such things as the best way to walk silently on a bamboo floor and the proper preparation of bear’s paws for a formal banquet. Her novels include Dragon’s Egg, a fantasy that was a Maine Lupine Award winner; and the unrelated The Dragon’s Son, based on the King Arthur story, which was on VOYA’s Best Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror of 2001 list, among other honors. Her Mercy: The Last New England Vampire was selected as one of Barnes and Noble’s Best Young Adult Fiction of 2011. She lives in Portland, Maine. sarahlthomson.com.
boydsmillspress.com
Stay Connected with Highlights!
Deadly Flowers Page 20
