'Nanashi-Kun,' she had demanded, 'why are you here, yet not here? Where is your mind today?'
'I had a dream,' he had confessed. 'I keep thinking of it. I saw two people. I think they were farmers.' He'd looked up at her with moist eyes. 'And they were my parents.'
Heron's strong, dignified face had softened at once. She had run her long fingers through his hair. 'Poor child. I know something of loneliness too,' she had muttered. With her eyes locked on his, Heron had told Nanashi her own story.
'I think you already knew that I was a warlord's wife,' she'd begun. 'High born, privileged. But few know how I came to serve the Shogun in the Grey Light Order.'
She told of a grand but lonely life in a mighty fortress, of an honourable but distant husband, who lived for training, glory in battle, and little else. Her only companion, who slowly became her trusted friend, was her ageing maid named Toki.
'One summer,' Heron had explained, her face becoming taut, 'my husband led his army out to face our strongest foe. He fell, and his men were routed. Our castle was attacked and during the siege, set ablaze. I took up my naginata, ready to fight to the death, but Toki stopped me, saying there was another choice. She told me that she was not who I thought she was, that I didn't really know her, but that she loved me as one loves a daughter, and could spirit us both away from the fire and the enemy.'
'How?' Nanashi had whispered, 'Was Toki-San a sorceress?'
'No.' Heron had raised a finger. 'But she was no mere maid, either. Toki-San was a shadow clan agent.'
Heron had elaborated. Her old, dear, only friend had turned out to be a long-term infiltrator, planted in the castle during Heron's youth by Clan Koga to spy on behalf of her husband's enemies. Yet Toki had not betrayed them to their foes. Having come to love the young noblewoman, she had chosen not to report to her masters for years. Toki believed Clan Koga thought her dead. It was not Toki, but rashness on the part of Heron's husband, and his thirst for glory, that had brought about the destruction of their fiefdom.
'With smoke bombs, disguises, and using the melee of the siege itself, Toki helped me escape,' Heron had said. 'We fled to Miyajima, the island of the deer, where she taught me her secret arts so that this pampered former Lady would not be helpless out in the wide, hard world. We shared many peaceful years. Then I was alone. Terribly alone.'
Heron had swallowed hard before concluding the story. 'As she lay dying of old age, Toki begged me to go to Edo and seek a certain moody, brilliant scholar whom she'd long admired. I honoured her last wishes, and when I finally found him, the scholar had just been accepted into the Shogun's service. You know him as Badger. On hearing my tale, he quickly realised that my training at Toki's hands gave me something to offer the Grey Light Order. Through his kind endorsement, my new life began. I took a new name, and I was never lonely again.'
Back in that sunlit garden, surrounded by flitting sparrows, Nanashi had wiped his cheeks, saying, 'I don't feel so lonely now.'
Smiling, Heron had embraced him, cradling his head and stroking his hair.
Today, on this highway, Nanashi too had a new name but, away from Heron and the others, he again felt loneliness clutching at him.
He sighed, then slowly broke into an awkward smile. Homesick or not, that girl's eyes had brought on an interesting sensation. Moon caught himself wondering if he would run into her and the farmers again.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. What was wrong with him? What did a strange peasant girl matter when such an important task awaited? Moon hurried on. A long road and its dangers still lay ahead.
Many called the busy Tokaido 'The Great Road'. It ran from the eastern capital of Edo, the Shogun's home, twisting west and southwest through mountains, along the sea and over many rivers to finally reach Kyoto, where the Emperor lived.
Moon repeatedly checked the lush forest on both sides of the road as he walked. It was well known that many parts of the highway were unsafe, plagued with bandits, cut-purses and tricksters.
These menaces used all kinds of force, lies or clever schemes to relieve travellers of their money and weapons, and sometimes even their clothes.
An old man with one arm stepped into Moon's path. He smelled of plum incense and waved a paper charm above his head shouting, 'For sale! Luckiest luck ever! Only three copper coins!' Moon quickly skirted him, head down, pacing twice as fast until the luck salesman gave up.
He had noticed that almost all traffic on the Tokaido moved on foot. Apart from the warrior class, few owned horses and much of the road was too thin, steep or rough for carts. The wealthy and noble were carried in litters or palanquins, fancy boxes suspended between poles that were shouldered by two or four strong bearers. Around each settlement, inns, food and gift shops lined the highway. Moon watched in fascination at one town as a rich merchant was carried in a gold-painted litter up to the porch of a tavern. Leading his litter bearers, the merchant's samurai bodyguard shoved aside a straggly outcast who sat begging for food scraps near the porch.
The Hakone Barrier awaited him ahead and Moon hoped he would pass it without incident. The highway went through over fifty towns or villages between Edo and Kyoto. Where it crossed from one warlord's fiefdom into another, checkpoints were set up. They were guarded by spearmen and samurai. Only those with identification papers could pass. Any caught trying to sneak over or who presented forged papers were executed on the spot.
Moonshadow knew his travel documents were real, approved by the Shogun himself, but he had been warned that arrogant, overbearing samurai had made mistakes at checkpoints before. Cocky barrier guards had been known to take an instant disliking to some travellers. Legitimate messengers and even holy men had been mistakenly executed.
Before leaving Edo, Moon had memorised the monastery's chart of the Tokaido. There was, at least, no danger of becoming lost. He could see the route clearly when he closed his eyes. Well past the forested mountains of Hakone which now rose in his path, he'd turn off the highway to head south, then east, to the town of Fushimi. The lair of Silver Wolf, the lord of Peach Mountain Castle.
He recalled how Badger had described this warlord. A ferocious, battle-tested veteran, outwardly loyal to the Shogun, yet – according to Grey Light Order intelligence – plotting dire rebellion. A ruthless, cunning man, Badger had said.
Moon passed through a village where a new wave of travellers flooded onto the road of packed earth and fine gravel around him. Each person's clothing identified their profession or place in society. Moon studied the unfamiliar uniforms discreetly as he drifted among them, gathering fresh disguise ideas.
There were peasant farmers with baskets or frames on their backs. In these they carried vegetables, sacks of soya beans, drums of rice and grains. He saw teams of porters, burly, sweaty men in matching jackets who were paid to carry other people's luggage. Clerks in 'company' robes, each with an abacus tucked under his arm. Some were only boys, working as record keepers and storemen for wealthy merchants.
Moon followed the rising, winding road into the forest near Hakone. The trees became taller, the scrub denser. The road itself grew shadier. Massive, swaying groves of giant bamboo appeared on both sides of the highway. Close, convenient hiding places for bandits!
The flavour of the travellers around him changed again. He noticed fewer townsfolk on the road now. There were many more farmers, all moving in groups for safety. Moon spotted a few unemployed samurai too, those known as ronin or wave men, warriors without a master. Swords for hire!
The highway was also dotted with priests, monks, and most importantly for Moon, pilgrims of all ages. Their presence would help make him invisible on the road, for today, he was just one of them. Most pilgrims, he knew, would be heading for the famous and popular shrine at Ise, where prayers and wishes were said to come true.
To any barrier guards inspecting him, Moonshadow was a typical boy pilgrim off to Ise. On his back hung a reed-matting bedroll, so that like most pilgrims, he could sleep in the grounds o
f shrines or temples as he travelled. Unlike most pilgrims though, this bedroll hid a sword and a kit full of unusual tools.
Below his holy travelling cloak, which was made from layers of oil-soaked paper, hung two cloth prayer-scroll bags. They held his shuriken. Under the crown of his wide, conical straw sun hat, brightly painted with spiritual slogans, lurked a small percussion-triggered smoke bomb.
He carried more silver and copper coins than a regular pilgrim, too. Money to rent lodgings, buy food and new weapons, or to bribe informers. The coins were buried deep in his belly-binding cloth, which, apart from serving as a money belt, had two other purposes – to hold in the wearer's core warmth during cold nights on the road and, as the writing on it said, to bring him good fortune.
For a moment he caught himself daydreaming, lost in the perfumes of unfamiliar roadside flowers, in the strange accents of passers-by. Then a squirrel caught his eye, scampering between oak trees at the side of the road. Moon stopped and grinned at the flitting smudge of grey fur.
His eyes lit up. These new sights and sounds made him feel bold, the world looked full of wonder and possibilities. It was time to try an experiment.
It had been Brother Eagle who had trained him to 'capture the eye of the beast', to enter an animal's mind and harness its eyes and other senses for a brief time. Eagle had told him that beyond the basic beast sight, there were two higher stages of the ancient science. The second level was dual sight, where one could see through a creature but still use one's own eyes at the same time.
And then there was the third and final level: sight-control. It was the ultimate stage of the craft and could only be employed on complex animals. As the name implied, it went further than the use of their senses. For during sight-control, one could make a beast obey one's wishes, turning them into a deftly controlled weapon. The swooping hawk, the prowling bear.
He stared down at the squirrel, reaching out to it with his mind. It stopped its skittish ambling and blinked back at him, nose twitching. He would use it to try for the second level: seeing through its eyes and his own. Moon had managed this a few times before, though only during supervised practice sessions with Eagle, and only ever in tiny, unstable bursts that fell apart without warning.
Moon hesitated. He was out in the open, and this was perhaps a slightly reckless thing to do, but who would know? What could really go wrong? He closed his eyes and his hands trembled. Immediately, the squirrel's view of the road's edge appeared, distorted through what looked like a quivering layer of water. Then the squirrel-vision shifted to the road ahead. The animal's gaze locked onto the last tea-house before the climb to the great ridge, and Moon smelled tofu cooking in soya sauce. Linking with an animal sometimes caused a heightening of his human senses. Today that side-effect was strong. Moon's nose twitched and his stomach tingled. He smiled. Good, so far it was all working well. Now to try for level two.
The sound of straw sandals crunching grit underfoot came from somewhere off to his left. Moon's instincts warned him to break the link with the squirrel and check the source of this sound with his own eyes. He severed his tie to the animal and started forward for the tea-house, scanning left and right with peripheral vision. His mind felt a little cloudy after the joining and Moon realised that in such a public place, surrounded by so many strangers, his daring experiment had been a bad idea.
A stocky ronin samurai was loping towards him. Did this mean trouble?
Pretending to watch the road ahead, Moon studied the one approaching. The stranger wore a single sword, belted and tied as if he knew how to use it. He was not very tall, but his steps were long, so he was flexible, and there was energy in each stride he took. His hands dangled at his sides, but his fingers were still, as if controlled. The samurai appeared relaxed, yet his eyes were locked on Moonshadow and he moved as if with purpose. A concealed purpose. There were no scars on his face, so either he didn't fight much, or when he did, he won. Was he an enemy agent?
If so, it hadn't taken Grey Light's foes long to make a move!
Wait. Moon set his jaw. What if the fellow was actually harmless? This was a public place and he must not draw attention to himself unless there was no choice.
The samurai quickened his pace towards Moon, then raised one hand and pointed at him. Moon felt his stomach muscles tighten, his body readying itself for attack. At any moment the fellow would be close enough for a sword strike.
Should he snatch out a shuriken and be ready? Moon knew he could not ignore the man for much longer. He would either have to run or stop, find out what he wanted. Or wanted to do.
Duellists and assassins used the element of surprise. Was this the stranger's plan? Get close, launch a sudden fast draw? Then it would be too late to react, wisely or not.
How would his chief mentor have interpreted this man's moves?
Eagle, both tutor and head of the Grey Light Order, had spent hours teaching Moon how to read the actions of others, in what he called his 'awareness class'. As an expert in tactics and himself a former samurai, Eagle had drummed two things into Moonshadow: be observant, be cautious. Brother Eagle's most frequent words came back to him now.
Don't react too fast. Think before you pounce.
It had been easy to repeat such pearls of wisdom while crouching safely on the floor of Eagle's candlelit study, surrounded by books on strategy from foreign lands, each one skilfully translated by Badger. But now he was out here in the real world. An unknown samurai was almost upon him.
Moon stopped walking, carefully taking in the potential threat with sideways glances. The stranger's left hand rose from his side, brushing the scabbard of his sword. Moon felt an urge to bound to the right and draw a shuriken. Eagle's voice rang in his mind, stopping him. Moon's eyes flicked to the samurai. If caution was the wrong response, this man would speed-draw any second now and cut him . . . or kill him. The stranger's left hand scratched his belly hard through his jacket.
'Oi!' he grunted. 'You! Kid!'
Moonshadow held his breath. He now lay within reach of the man's sword. He wanted to spring clear, but instead turned to face the samurai and bowed, hiding his wariness of the fellow's next move.
'Yes, sir?' Moon forced a smile. 'May I help you?'
'Yes! Hire me!' The warrior gestured uphill with one hand, gripping his scabbard with the other. 'Otherwise, they'll kill you! They're waiting just ahead you know!' Moon gasped and looked quickly in all directions. Who was this samurai? Who were these enemies he spoke of?
How had his cover been ruined so quickly?
FIVE
The barrier
Was the man an agent or not? And was he friend or foe? Moonshadow stuck to more of Eagle's training: when uncertain, never admit anything, never assume anything.
'Who would want to kill me?' Moon asked with wide eyes. 'A worthless traveller yearning only to pray for his sick mother at Ise?'
The samurai pointed uphill. 'To get to Ise, first you must get through Hakone. Just over the top of this ridge is the barrier. Past that, the thickest, darkest bit of the forest. That's where pilgrims, young ones especially, go missing all the time. Bandits take them!' He scowled, elbowing Moon. 'But not the ones who hire themselves a yojimbo!'
The man had used the formal word for bodyguard. Moon had last heard it spoken during Brother Eagle's account of his ill-fated service to Lord Yabu. So that was it. The ronin was an out-of-work security officer. His tale about bandits was probably a lie, but this fellow was no servant of Grey Light's enemies. He was all about money!
'Well, I don't know about other pilgrims,' Moon said, 'but I can't afford a bodyguard. Very sorry. I'll have to take my chances.' He bowed and turned to walk on.
'Wait!' The man scuttled into his path. 'Just for you, I'll make an exception. Forget cash if you're hard up! Your bedroll would cover my fees nicely.' His face darkened. 'I insist you accept my generosity!' One hand moved to his sword. He took a half-step forward.
Moon sighed. Here indeed was a neat trick: thi
s slimy fellow's game was to rob people with a kind of polite bullying, using the threat of imaginary robbers lurking over the next hill. A hard first test out in the world! How to get rid of this man without drawing unwanted attention? Moon's eyes darted across the road to the tea-house. Above the little wooden hut flew a banner, reading: Refreshments! Last Chance Before Big Climb.
'I can see you're right, I do need protection,' Moon said carefully. 'And the truth is, I was given some coppers, begging at a shrine a few towns back. But that hill –' He groaned at the steep path rising ahead.
The samurai followed his gaze then frowned. 'What? So it's steep! It's also the only way you'll get to Ise.'
'Yes, of course.' Moon pointed to the tea-house. 'Let's get a chilled tea though, before we tackle the hard part. I'll use those coppers, buy us both one.'
'Now you're talking!' The stranger paused and wagged a finger in his face. 'But it doesn't change our deal about the bedroll.'
'No, no, of course not.' Moonshadow led him to some empty stools on the tiny porch outside the tea-house. As he walked, he carefully fished in his belly-binding for some copper coins, then for a tiny object wedged next to them: a bamboo phial sealed with a cork plug. He smiled secretively.
Over the course of a few years, Heron's lessons had given him a variety of specialised skills. He had always been enthusiastic about naginata fighting sessions with her, and even her course in the art of disguises, which had sometimes turned into lengthy lectures about good grooming. The science of potions, and particularly flower and herb identification, had been somewhat less inspiring. But today, above all else, he felt grateful for Heron's knowledge of chemistry, for the beautiful, dignified woman was now surely the land's greatest expert in poisons of every kind. And she had taught him well.
Moon urged the samurai to sit and relax while he bought their tea. The serving lady filled two clay cups then stooped to clean her wooden ladle in a stone basin. Before turning back to face his unwanted companion, Moon deftly flicked three drops of black liquid into one teacup and returned the phial to its hiding place.
Moonshadow Page 4
