by Tiffiny Hall
‘You can all get —’ Hero stops short, then sits back down. ‘Look, I wanted to talk. Talk about what’s going on. The Chiba clan thinks the Emishi clan is holding out on them.’
Elecktra narrows her eyes at me as if I’m to blame, just because I’m a ninja.
‘Who was the White Warrior before you?’ Hero asks.
I look at him, baffled. ‘Some dead guy?’
‘Wrong. They know, but they tried to cover it up, you see?’
I glance at Elecktra and she arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
‘Rumour has it he’s still alive!’ Hero says, banging his fist down on the table. Our knives and forks bounce.
‘But there can’t be two of us,’ I say.
Hero points at me. ‘Exactly. So if we can find out what the Emishi know, we’ll be able to figure out why people are going missing and stuff.’
‘But the last White Warrior must be dead. There’s only one every century,’ I say.
Hero looks around him. Our conversation is invaded by snatches of talk from other tables. He eyeballs me and his eyes darken to leather. He takes a deep breath and leans across the table. We lean in to meet him halfway. ‘You see, I don’t think you are it for this century.’
Elecktra and I give each other confused looks.
‘I think this guy is,’ Hero continues. ‘And we gotta figure out why thirteen years later you get his powers, or why they were hidden in the Tiger Scrolls to begin with.’
I try to process my thoughts, but there’s a whipper snipper in my brain. I can’t finish one thought before it is cut down by the next. My mind is churning.
‘So why are you telling us?’ Elecktra asks.
‘The Chiba clan wants to speak to a representative of the Emishi clan,’ he says.
‘Mum,’ Elecktra and I say in unison.
‘Plus, you helped me today so I wanted to help you. Look,’ Hero leans back in his chair again, ‘they want the full story. If she can’t tell us, they’ll make her.’
‘I’d like to see them try,’ Elecktra huffs. No one makes our mother do anything.
Mum is riddled with secrets. I think back to following her to the fire pit that night and watching her search the stars for something. I suddenly realise she wasn’t trying to burn the school down, but build a torch, a bonfire, as if to summon something, call someone to her. Perhaps she was trying to reason with whatever it is that’s attacking us.
‘I’m not sure if Mum is the one —’
‘She’s worked for the Emishi clan for years,’ Hero interrupts me. ‘She knows exactly what is going on and —’ He stops abruptly.
I see his eyes light for the first time from stormy clouds to tiki torches. Elecktra and I spin around and become black-mouthed cartoon characters.
Cinnamon strides towards us. Usually her red afro would be billowing behind her shoulders, red sails, but today every curl is dead straight and hangs down past her ribs in stringy sticks. She looks drawn, as if she has melted a bit, with sinewy lean arms and strong muscled calves. Cinnamon always approaches me confessing ‘I’m a hugger’, then wraps me tightly in her wobbly arms without waiting to hear my response. But today there is nothing cuddly about her. Her clear sky-blue eyes are overcast. She does a few spooky ventriloquist-dummy blinks and arrives at our table. I stare up at her, my mouth still open. None of us can say anything. Cinnamon looks just as surprised to see us sitting with Hero. Her face is sunburnt, which is weird because the UV badge I have on my backpack has shown low UV levels for days. I can feel the heat coming off her as she slides into the chair next to mine.
‘Miss me?’ she asks. Her breath stinks of smoke. Her eyes gleam like silver coins.
I can’t wipe the cartoonish look off my face, my tongue rolled out on the floor like a red slimy carpet. ‘Cinnamon?’ I gasp.
Hero’s dark laser eyes pinch every nook of her face.
Elecktra moves fast and grasps Cinnamon’s arm. ‘You okay?’ she asks, then, ‘Where the hell have you been? Did you finally get a hair straightener?’
Cinnamon leans in. She is still wearing her outfit from my birthday party: sporty tights and fitted violet T-shirt. As she brushes past me, her T-shirt carries the smell of fire; it’s in her hair too. Her usual smell of sweets has completely extinguished.
‘I’ve seen it,’ she whispers.
‘What?’ we ask.
‘The monster everyone is talking about.’ Her eyes flash on the word ‘monster’.
Hero takes her in, drinking every moment like a milkshake. He glances at me defiantly. ‘Nothing to do with sam,’ he says.
I nod. I know the darkness in Lanternwood is more than what the samurai shade could pull off. It’s a darkness more than evil; it’s like a curse. Cinnamon’s hair has changed just like Sergeant Major’s did after he saw it. But she looks more shocked, a bump-in-the-night kind of look. I shiver. An oily eel slides into my stomach and begins to squirm.
‘What happened?’ I ask. She turns to me with those clouded eyes, her breathing measured. ‘Have you seen your mum? Have you been to the police? How did you know where to find us?’ I burp out. My brain is doing cartwheels.
‘You look different,’ Elecktra says. ‘Did you go on a holiday?’
Elecktra’s question is not that ridiculous. Despite Cinnamon smelling like she has taken up smoking, she looks calm and well rested, rejuvenated even, as if she hasn’t been missing at all but curled under a chair like a cat taking a thick nap.
‘One minute I was outside waiting for Mum to drop off the birthday cake, next minute …’ She speaks as though her words are stacked teacups that may shatter any moment.
All of us hunker around her, eager moviegoers waiting to know what happens. ‘Next minute?’ I urge.
‘I wake up in this dark,’ she takes a breath, ‘soggy,’ she looks around then whispers, ‘lair.’ Cinnamon’s eyes are steel. ‘There were shoes and clothes strewn everywhere and the smell …’
Hero’s brows corrugate above his nose. ‘The smell?’
Cinnamon catches his eyes. They lock onto each other.
‘The smell of fire,’ she says. ‘Ash. The smell of burning.’
‘What did it look like?’ I ask. Those sapphire eyes blaze into my mind.
‘There was a huge shadow in the corner, panting smoke. Wings spread out, black fur, whiskers …’
‘Like a tiger?’ Hero asks.
‘Yes! I was too terrified to really look. I ran. The last thing I can remember is this loud crashing, beating sound. Then I woke up again in town and I was lucky to see you here through the window,’ she says breathlessly.
I look down at Cinnamon’s bare feet. They are smudged with soot.
‘You don’t remember anything else? You didn’t see anything else?’ Elecktra asks. ‘How’d it take you?’
‘I was standing looking down the street for Mum’s car. I heard two cracks of thunder, then next thing I knew I was flying in the air. It was hot, like being stuck in a doona. I saw everything flying beneath me, then it went cold and dark. Later I woke up.’
‘How convenient,’ Elecktra says. ‘And you still had time to go home and straighten your hair?’
Cinnamon rakes her fingers through her locks. ‘I woke up like this.’ She glares at Elecktra. ‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘Sounds a bit la-de-da to me. I like facts. Cold hard facts,’ Elecktra says, accidentally knocking a glass near her elbow. Now she’s in an episode of a cop show. She shrugs her slick eyebrows.
Hero is still chewing the inside of his cheek. I don’t know what to make of it. I remember standing on the roof of Sabo’s dojang and Jackson teaching me to fly. ‘Fly, tiger, fly,’ I had whispered to the birthmark on my foot. The words ice my veins. If my father were here, he’d help. Art is useless. I see him now, standing in the lair, scratching his hair flecked with paint and pulling up his slacks that are always too big on him. He wouldn’t know what to do in a crisis. Art’s idea of crisis management is colour therapy. He rec
ently painted the living-room wall green to help Elecktra and me experience a smooth transition as kindred ninja and samurai sibling spirits.
‘At least I can admit I’m uncool,’ Art says. And he’s right. If you can’t even admit you’re uncool, then that’s super uncool.
Cinnamon turns to me to say something, then skims over my face and looks up. ‘Jackson.’ She smiles for the first time.
Jackson envelops her in a bear hug. ‘It’s really you?’ he asks, pulling away to inspect her. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Before she can answer, he notices Hero then me, and then registers all of us hanging out together. ‘What’s this?’
Jackson’s eyes melt towards me. I stare up at him. He picks up a piece of my hair and tugs on it, ringing a bell that sings ‘I like you’ in my ear.
‘I was so worried about you,’ he says to me. ‘I couldn’t find you anywhere.’
‘We took Hero’s mum to the hospital. And Hero had something to tell us. That —’
‘Gotcha,’ Jackson says, his anger uncoiling again.
I put my hand on him and he shrugs it away.
‘After everything we’ve been through. He doesn’t deserve you, Rox,’ Jackson says.
Hero’s eyes flicker. I see his hard shell encase him and the echidna spikes flare, but inside he’s mush, he’s soft, I know it.
Jackson and Hero have never got along and probably never will, despite knowing each other in every flick of the wrist and strike of the foot. They’ve never found common ground. Until me.
‘Hero can help us,’ I say. ‘He knows samurai, you know ninja. Together we can figure out what’s going on and use my powers to stop it.’
Jackson winds the cuckoo wheel around his ear. ‘You’re crazy if you think that guy’s gonna help you. He’ll kill you first chance he gets.’ He takes one last look at me, then turns to Cinnamon. ‘Come with me, Cinnamon, I’m taking you home.’ He holds out his wide palm and she takes it delicately. She shrugs me a glance. Jackson is being unreasonable, but I can’t help but love him when he’s all protective.
‘I’m staying here,’ I say.
‘I’m coming back for you,’ Jackson says.
‘Don’t bother.’ I look at Hero, expecting him to be smirking, but his expression is almost guilty.
‘I’ll go,’ Hero says. He stands and turns.
‘Good decision, buddy,’ Jackson says.
They knock shoulders as they pass each other.
I roll my eyes at Jackson and he smiles. ‘You look cute when you do that. I’m only looking out for you,’ he says, leading Cinnamon to the door.
Elecktra is shaking her head. ‘Isn’t it the best when boys fight over you? Get all jealous and protective? I love it.’ There’s nothing she likes more than to play boys off one against the other, like those fights I’ve seen on the animal channel.
Usually Jackson is so grounded, self-assured, such a cool guy. But when he’s around Hero, he turns into a lion who will fight to the death to protect his territory. As Jackson and Hero leave, I come up with a plan Jackson won’t be able to resist. A plan that will make him talk to Hero and hopefully unite the samurai and ninja clans.
FIFTEEN
‘I’d rather stay home and help Mum attempt to make vegan gingerbread than go in,’ Elecktra says, dropping us off Wednesday morning and leaning out Art’s window to wave. Art still grips the handle of the door. Lecky learning to drive leaves you with a bit of motion sickness — your knees are wobbly afterwards and your stomach feels like it’s dived over a cliff.
‘But we might see some otters holding hands,’ I say.
‘Dear diary,’ Elecktra smiles, ‘I don’t care.’
‘C’mon,’ I beg.
‘Nope. Not paying to see birds when I can look up in the trees and see them for free.’ Elecktra stamps her foot on the accelerator and Art’s hand flies up to the roof of the car to hold on.
Jackson leads us up the chipped concrete steps. Hero trails behind with Cinnamon. He is keeping his distance from Jackson. I don’t blame him after everything that went down in the cave at Samurai Falls.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ Jackson says to me.
I smile. ‘The bird park?’
‘You know I love this place. Hate him but.’ Jackson throws his chin in Hero’s direction.
‘He’s going through a tough time. Plus, he can help the clans come together,’ I say.
‘As if the Chiba clan will bow down and talk to ninjas, not after everything they’ve been through.’
‘I think they just need to know we’re all in this together.’ It’s difficult to think about doing something fun when people are disappearing, and the town is in chaos, but the bird park is the first step towards having Jacko and Hero cooperate so that the clans will talk. Both Hero and Jackson are well respected in their clans. The leaders will listen to them.
We approach the ticket booth to pay for our tickets. Jackson tenses as Hero slides behind him. Hero searches his pockets for coins.
‘Four please,’ I tell the woman who looks like a tortoise (no chin). I hand over my pocket money. Jackson kisses me on the cheek noisily and I laugh. Hero looks my way and for a moment his steely gaze runs soft silver. Cinnamon smiles a thank you at me.
‘Reptile park is next door,’ Jackson says. ‘After the birds, I have a surprise for you.’
Hero rolls his eyes.
Jackson strides up to him. ‘Got a problem?’
‘Did I,’ Hero looks up at a nearby tree with a macaw sitting in it, ‘ruffle your feathers, bird boy?’
‘Cut it out,’ Cinnamon says, stepping between them.
I yank Jackson away.
‘I’m here for the birds. Not him,’ he says.
I can’t help but smile. Under the hunk is a bit of a geek with very particular interests. Jackson is obsessed with ninja history, inventing stuff and birds. He sort of reminds me of Art in a much more athletic, cool way. Last week he showed me one of his inventions. He had taken one of the dish scrubbers that you pour dishwashing liquid down the top cap to filter through the sponge, but instead of dishwashing detergent, he had poured in sunscreen so you can reach to SPF your back at the beach. He says your back has the highest risk of skin cancer and many people neglect to use sunscreen there simply because they can’t reach the area. Jackson is always trying to think of new ways to stop cancer because he came so close to losing Morgan. He took off his shirt to demonstrate the SPF scrubber and I was sold. You could use it for moisturiser too, he suggested.
Despite Art trying to coax Jackson into a love of grabatology (collecting ties) with no success, they bonded over birding. You will be talking to Art or Jackson and their chins will lift to the sky, they will stop mid-sentence and watch a bird fly overhead, then mumble the species under their breath. Jackson can even tell a bird’s species by its song. He is teaching me how to identify different birdcalls. His favourite bird is the bowerbird, who attracts the female bird by how beautiful he can make his nest. Jackson thinks it’s so funny that the bird’s seduction pad of manicured moss, berries, twigs, leaves and flowers will win him true love. ‘It all depends on the architecture, colour scheme and interior decorating,’ he told me. ‘I like that the bowerbird goes to so much effort to win the girl with his creativity, not his looks.’
The bird park is located inside FunEscape Park in the centre of town. FunEscape Park is one of the largest fun parks in the country. It has a zoo, reptile park, bird park, rides, lakes for fishing and a massive theatre with the best martial arts shows that sometimes feature an elephant. The park looks like it was designed by a kid, heaps of neon lights and fairy lights, labyrinths of rides you can get lost in and ice-cream at every corner. When you enter the zoo, the first things you notice are the insane enclosures: white tigers pant inside marble palaces, hamsters live in a cupcake factory with music singing ‘we bake dreams’, pythons coil above you on glass ceilings and monkeys swing from artificial Christmas trees. All the animals are really well cared for becaus
e Lanternwood has one of the best conservation programs in the world. I’ve been to the zoo a hundred times, but I’ve never spent much time with the birds.
We walk through the entrance of the bird park. Enormous aviaries that replicate jungles and rainforests line the maze of pathways, shaded by trees that are decorated with large pastel and fluorescent birds, living among the butterflies and dragonflies feeding on the blossoms. Peacocks roam free through the grassy areas, socialising with cassowaries and pelicans, as you step over skinks sunbaking on the paths. I reach up to an apricot bird with feathers that look like silk pillowcases. It bows its head down towards me and I stroke its neck.
‘Awww, he’s cuter than Winnie the Pooh,’ Cinnamon gasps, reaching her hand towards the bird, but it snaps its beak at her. Cinnamon’s eyes flash. Her chin twitches. ‘Did you know all the characters in Winnie the Pooh represent some kind of struggle? Pooh, addiction; Eeyore, depression; Tigger, ADHD, like Gareth has in Year Nine; and the owl, I think he has OCD, bit like you, Rox.’ She nudges me playfully. I ignore her. I know my neatness has always annoyed Cinnamon. She still hasn’t forgiven me for the time I cleaned out her locker when she was home sick from school. Apparently I threw out some things that could never be replaced, but looked like rubbish to me.
Jackson tries to pat the bird, but it snaps at him too. ‘I think he only likes Rox.’
‘Ha, maybe you smell,’ Hero says to Jackson.
Jackson glares at him. ‘Actually, scientists are yet to prove that birds have a strong sense of smell. Some birds don’t use that sense at all,’ he growls.
The bird bows its head towards me again. I keep watching Cinnamon. She steps away slowly, twitching, her razor-straight red hair see-sawing up and down her shoulders in perfect planks. She is definitely acting bizarro. I look at Jackson and see he notices too. I think about Cinnamon walking into the café, her icy glare. The warmth and softness that used to cradle you whenever she was around seem to have gone. She’s spikey now. Spikier than Hero — that’s bad.
