He closed his eyes. Miguel?
Nothing.
He wondered if he should tell Cormac. It might help to talk to someone.
* * *
GHOST FELT LIKE HE HAD only just fallen asleep when the Bear hammered on their door, waking them for their early-morning run. Today was their one and only break in the week from classes, but unfortunately there was no break from the physical training.
After breakfast, the students went back to the cavern gym for more rope climbing.
“You look tired,” said Cormac, pulling his rope from his shōzoku.
Ghost yawned. “Not much sleep.”
“More nightmares?”
Ghost hesitated. “Just … thinking.”
“About what?”
Should I tell him? Surely it couldn’t do any harm? He glanced around to check that no one else was listening. “Every night, I hear voi—”
Don’t tell him, please …
Ghost staggered back. Miguel?
“Ghost,” said Cormac. “Are you all right?”
Miguel, is it really you?
Yes, it’s me. Do you not recognize me?
I do, but …
But what?
You’re …
Dead? That’s right. But it wasn’t your fault.
Cormac squeezed his arm. “Every night you hear what?”
Please don’t tell him.
But he’s my friend …
These people are not your friends. You shouldn’t trust them. Trust nobody here.
“You can tell me,” said Cormac.
Ghost shook his head, though he was desperate to confide in someone.
“C’mon, what were you gonna say? Every night you hear what?”
He pulled out of Cormac’s grip. He wanted to tell, but couldn’t. “Nothing,” he muttered.
He moved farther up the line of kids, away from Cormac. He pulled out his rope and looked back. Kate had taken his spot and was talking to Cormac. She glanced up the line at Ghost, her face pulled into a frown.
They’re talking about you.
“C’mon, Ghostbuster!” shouted the Bear. “Wakey, wakey!”
Ghost grabbed the end of the rope in one hand and the remaining coil in the other. He looked up at the pole above his head.
Miguel?
No answer.
He threw the rope.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, AS GHOST PULLED off his shōzoku and climbed into bed, every muscle ached. But that was nothing compared to the tempest in his head. The same question had whirled around all day inside his skull. Was Miguel really talking to him from the dead? Ghost had never believed in heaven or an afterlife, but maybe …
Cormac came into the room, undressed, and got into bed. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Look, man. If I did something to upset you earlier, I’m sorry.”
Ghost swallowed.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“I’m fine,” said Ghost.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“Thanks.”
Cormac switched off the light. Ghost stared at the sliver of light beneath the door. More than anything, he wanted to talk to Cormac. But Miguel had said not to. All day he’d thought about it, but it was no use, he couldn’t tell anyone about this.
Ghost thought back again to the fire, and afterward—waking up in hospital, crying. He’d cried for Miguel. He’d cried for himself. He’d cried that his brother had died and that he had lived. Days had merged into nights in a feverish, never-ending nightmare. Doctors and nurses had peered at him and poked him and asked him questions, but Ghost had shut his eyes to them all. Each time he fell asleep, he hoped he’d never wake, but he always did.
Cormac looked around the classroom at the other students busily scribbling notes. Ghost sat on his own, as he’d done for the past few days. Even though they hadn’t known each other long, he had been Cormac’s first proper friend and he missed him. But worse than that was not knowing why they’d fallen out. About a week ago Ghost had been about to say something, something about hearing a voice. And it had happened as suddenly as if a switch had been flicked—Ghost had clammed up. He hadn’t really spoken to anyone since.
“You still worried about him?” whispered Kate.
Cormac nodded. “He’s still having nightmares, though he won’t say what they’re about.”
“Maybe he’s homesick? Or wishing he hadn’t joined the Black Lotus?”
The bell rang. “Kyō no jugyō wa koko madedesu,” said the Japanese teacher, bowing and leaving the classroom.
Cormac scratched his head. “She’ll eat us when the purple bird sings?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “She’ll see us tomorrow. I thought Japanese was compulsory in all Empire schools.”
“It is. But I hated it. How come you’ve picked it up so quickly?”
“Hello, I can understand animal languages. Human ones are easy.”
Their next class was with Ami, who seemed to have taken them under her wing. They followed her down a series of unfamiliar passageways. Walls cut from rock replaced reinforced concrete, and the air was cold and musty.
Ami stopped at a heavy wooden door. “This room was in the original part of Renkondo. It contains all our shinobi ancestors’ secret knowledge and equipment.” She glanced back at them sharply. “So don’t touch anything.”
They followed her into an ancient library lined with shelves of leather-bound books and scrolls. Cormac tried to catch Ghost’s eye, but he looked away.
Ami led them to a low wooden table filled with ancient-looking artifacts. She picked up a handful of dark pointed shells. “Shinobi didn’t have the same resources as the samurai, but they knew how to make the most of their environment. Water chestnuts were used as caltrops to be thrown in the path of a pursuer to pierce his feet. Later they made steel tetsubishi, but the principle is the same.”
Something on the wall beside Cormac caught his eye. It was a long horizontal scroll, maybe seven feet in length, covered in glass and framed. More scrolls like it filled the wall.
Ami blew black powder off the palm of her hand. “Pepper was used for blinding adversaries.”
Cormac stepped closer to the nearest scroll, a very old yellowed parchment covered in vertical Japanese writing. At the bottom of each bunch of characters was a brown smudge.
Below the scroll was another he could actually read. They weren’t just words—they were years and signatures. 1736—Takahashi Ichiro, Sasaki Kōbō. 1739—Kikuchi Riku. Each name ended in a bloody fingerprint. This was a list of Black Lotus members, an older version of the one he had signed. He looked along the panels. Could his father’s name be on one of these lists?
Ami continued with her lesson. “Bamboo was used for breathing underwater and as a blowgun.”
Cormac moved to the next panel and found names that weren’t Japanese. 1753—Oliver Crowe, Claudette Laroche, Ivan Zadornov.
He glanced back at Ami, who had slipped two metal-spiked bands over her hands. “Togakure shinobi invented these shuko and ashiko bands for climbing and fighting.”
As his eyes moved from scroll to scroll, the parchment became paper, and the brushstrokes changed to pen. 1886—Harry Houdini. The name rang a bell. Hadn’t he been a famous magician?
Cormac looked at Kate, who was glaring at him as if to say, “What the heck are you doing?” He raised an eyebrow and continued reading. More famous names jumped out at him. 1901—Charlie Chaplin. 1916—Salvador Dalí.
He quickened his pace, scanning the hundreds of names. The final piece of paper was in a hinged frame. Half the paper was blank, and at the bottom of the list of names were three brown thumbprints after his, Ghost’s, and Kate’s names. Cormac hadn’t seen his father’s.
“Cormac.”
He turned around. The rest of the class stared at him.
“Is my lecture boring you, Cormac?”
He swallowed. “No.”
“Can you tell me the purpose o
f the shuko and ashiko bands?”
Cormac racked his brain. Shuko and ashiko bands? “Something to do with music?”
Kate sniggered.
“Ghost.” Ami turned to him. “Can you tell your roommate the correct answer?”
“They were used to climb and fight.”
“Very good, Ghost. If you hope to keep your name on that list, Cormac, I suggest you try to be more like your roommate.”
Cormac rejoined the group, his face flushed.
Near the end of the lesson, Ami handed each of them a tiny pair of binoculars. “These binocs have a night-vision setting and a zoom-range magnification of three hundred times. They fit in a pocket on the sleeve of your shōzoku.”
While everyone experimented with the binoculars, Ami set up a display on the table using a section of a door, complete with a bolt and small padlock. She then produced what looked like a roll of clear tape.
“Our labs developed this. We call it Acid Wrap.”
She tore off a piece and wrapped it around the shackle of the padlock. Almost immediately a tendril of smoke rose from beneath the tape.
“Upon contact with metal, the tape releases a super-corrosive acid. Watch carefully.”
A few seconds later, the piece of tape fell to the ground, leaving the area underneath almost completely eaten away. She snapped the lock in half and gave them each a roll of the tape.
“Remember, this is not a Band-Aid!”
The next day, Cormac found Kate waiting for him at the dining room door. She nodded to where Ghost sat alone, staring at his breakfast. He looked so different from the boy who’d come with them to Renkondo.
“Let’s do it now,” she said.
Cormac led the way. “Can we sit with you?”
Ghost looked up and shrugged.
Cormac cleared his throat. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
Kate put down her chopsticks. “Look, Ghost. We’re worried about you. We miss hanging out. Have we done something wrong?”
Ghost tilted his head as if he were trying to hear some distant sound. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked at Kate, and then Cormac, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I am sorry for not being a good friend. But I am hearing a—”
His body suddenly stiffened, his eyes bulging in his head. For a split second he was frozen. Then his whole body bucked as if he’d been electrocuted. He fell backward off his bench, cracking his head on the floor.
“Help!” Cormac shouted, and he raced around to where Ghost lay writhing violently on the floor, teeth clamped together, fingernails clawing at his skull.
Cormac put his hands under Ghost’s head, which was banging against the floor. His friend’s dark skin felt cold and clammy. More students gathered around, eyes wide with worry, hands over mouths.
Cormac felt Ghost stop moving. “Quickly!” he shouted, as a group of teachers pushed through the crowd.
“Everyone back to their seats!” barked the Bear. He lifted the inert body off the floor. Ami watched with concern.
“Take him to the sick bay,” ordered Makoto.
Ghost hung limply in the Bear’s powerful arms as he ran from the dining room.
“You heard the Bear!” shouted Makoto to the lingering onlookers. “Back to your seats!”
“What happened?” asked Ami quietly.
“It was weird,” said Cormac, trying to stand. But his legs were weak with shock, so he sat on the bench. “He was about to tell us something. Then he just collapsed.”
“Something about what?” asked Ami.
“Don’t know. But he’s been acting weird. He doesn’t talk to us anymore.”
Ami placed her hand on his shoulder. “Try not to worry. He’ll be given a full physical and psychiatric assessment. We’ll soon find out.”
GHOST WOKE UP IN WHAT looked very much like a regular hospital ward, except the walls were the roughly hewn rock walls of Renkondo. Medical equipment surrounded him.
His nostrils tingled with the smell of vanilla before Ami appeared at his bedside.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice soft.
“OK,” said Ghost, propping himself up on a pillow. “What happened?”
“You blacked out.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. Of all the teachers, she’d always been the friendliest. Maybe he could talk to her. Though Miguel had said not to trust anybody.
“I think I am crazy,” he said.
“Your friends said you’d been acting strangely.”
Ghost swallowed.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “This school puts a lot of stress on students.”
“It’s not that,” protested Ghost. He wondered again if he should tell her about the voice he’d been hearing, then closed his eyes at the memory of that pain in the dining room—when he’d been about to tell Cormac and Kate. Pain caused by Miguel? “I don’t know if I should say.”
“That’s OK, Ghost.” Ami looked away as if deep in thought.
“I hear a voice in my head,” blurted Ghost, immediately regretting his words. He braced himself for an attack of pain, but nothing happened.
Ami’s dark eyes widened. “Perhaps you have the ability of clairaudience?”
“Clair what?”
“Clairaudience. The ability to acquire information by paranormal means.”
Ghost wasn’t sure he knew what that meant. “But I already have an ability.”
“Some people have two.”
Ghost lay back on the pillow. Another ability? “But what should I do? Should I listen to this voice?”
She frowned, pondering. “Do you know the person who speaks to you?” she asked eventually.
“Yes.”
“And do you trust that person?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you have your answer.” She smiled. “You should rest, Ghost. I’ll check on you later.”
She stood up and walked away, leaving Ghost alone with his thoughts. Ami had believed him, which meant he wasn’t crazy, which meant the voice was real. Which meant Miguel was communicating with him from the dead. But why? Maybe he was trying to help Ghost. He had always been trying to help his big brother.
And what had Ghost done in return? Not listened, not trusted. No wonder Miguel had gotten angry in the dining room.
If Ghost had listened to Miguel on the day of the fire, he wouldn’t have gone out to play football. He’d have stayed inside with his baby brother. And Miguel wouldn’t have died.
From now on, if Miguel spoke, Ghost would listen.
Ghost remained in the sick bay under observation for the next two days, but Cormac was relieved to see him enter the dining room with Makoto during lunch. Makoto called out a list of names from his clipboard, including Cormac’s and Kate’s.
As the class followed Makoto out of the hall, Cormac caught up with Ghost. “Good to have you back, man.”
But Ghost just looked at him blankly, then walked ahead.
“So he’s better?” asked Kate from behind.
Cormac shook his head. “Maybe, but he’s still not talking to me.”
Makoto led them past the classrooms and into a corridor Cormac hadn’t been in before. After a short walk, they entered a dōjō—a large, wooden-floored cavern with a wall-mounted rack containing swords, sticks, and other deadly looking weapons. The students removed their boots and socks and bowed when they entered.
“Seiza,” said Makoto, and they knelt and sat back on their heels.
At the farthest wall sat Sensei Iwamoto, a small, skinny man with a bald head and a long gray goatee twisted into a braid. His eyes were closed and his body still, as if he were deep in meditation. Cormac had seen him around the school, but they hadn’t yet had a class with him.
“It’s time to step up your training,” said Makoto. “This is Sensei Iwamoto.”
The sensei bowed his forehead to the ground. The students returned the bow.
The sensei allowed M
akoto to blindfold him and tie his hands behind his back, then walked into the group of students. They fanned out in a circle around him.
“Imagine I am enemy,” he said. “Attack hard, attack strong. Do not be afraid. A shinobi must live without fear.”
Cormac glanced around at the other students, who stared at the floor. Since he’d arrived at Renkondo his physical abilities had really improved. Coming top of the class in all of the Bear’s physical challenges had given him a certain amount of confidence. He looked to Makoto, who nodded that he should proceed.
Cormac wasn’t a fighter, but he did have the advantage of speed. He stepped quietly sideways so that he was behind the man. Then he lunged forward at full speed, arms outstretched to the man’s waist. In a blur of velocity, his blind opponent sidestepped him like a bullfighter, and Cormac crashed to the floor.
He felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Embarrassed, he pulled himself up.
Makoto held up his hand and went to the weapons rack. He tossed a seven-foot wooden staff, called a bō, to Cormac.
Silently, Cormac moved around to the sensei’s left side. He swung the weapon low at his opponent’s feet. The sensei leaped into the air and the pole passed harmlessly beneath. But Cormac had expected that and immediately cut down with the staff, aiming for the man’s head.
Again the sensei sidestepped the blow. He moved toward Cormac, spinning 360 degrees on one foot and planting the other deep into Cormac’s stomach.
Like a deflating balloon, Cormac flew back into the ring of onlookers, the pole clattering to the wooden floor.
Makoto untied the sensei’s hands and removed his blindfold.
“You are brave fighter,” the sensei told Cormac. “But ninjutsu is more than fighting. It is connection with human spirit and world around, connection so finely tuned that shinobi know what will happen before it does.”
For the rest of the lesson, the sensei showed the class how to move like a shinobi by keeping their legs far apart and their knees bent for balance. When he stepped, his back foot joined his front to protect his groin before moving forward and out again.
“Most persons walk by moving feet like scissor blades,” he explained. “You must move your feet in and out like zigzag.”
The Black Lotus Page 8
