White Ninja

by Tiffiny Hall

  Hero steps out and spins twice, then hook kicks, his leg stretching out to the nearest yellow cloud. I pause, mesmerised by the beauty of his technique, then ram his supporting leg like I’m a rugby player. He crumples to the ground, but only for a second before jumping up without using his hands and assuming a crane position. His left eye has swollen, but I see no shiver of pain or weakness.

  I leap across the platform and hook punch his cheek. He stands motionless, as though he doesn’t feel it, then leans forwards and slaps me across my cheek. My skin burns hot and for a second I am disoriented. The thick buttery clouds blind my sight and I am back in the boys’ toilets at school. I remember how strong I felt then, determined to save Rescue; nothing could stand in my way. Those feelings rise within me again and, for the first time, my chest swells with pride.

  ‘You’re a bully!’ I yell across the circle at Hero.

  ‘I’m samurai!’ he yells back.

  My vision clears and I kneel into a bow position to centre my mind.

  ‘You’ll always be a loser,’ he says. ‘That’s why your father left you.’

  Usually his words would stab my heart like serrated knives, but in this moment, as I kneel, aware of my breath entering my body, my chest rising and lowering, my hands relaxed and open on my thighs, the words skim off my shoulders like shuriken. I slowly open my eyes. For once, I have control over my feelings. I am able to think positively.

  The wind blows the hair not contained by my ninja hood across my eyes. The tower rises higher. Now the clouds are below us. The air thins again, making it even harder to breathe. The ancient warriors are proving their strength. If they can move mountains, I can stay here and fight.

  Hero picks up a skull unearthed by the sudden movement of the circle and throws it in the air. He punches it to smithereens, then sinks into a low horse-riding stance.

  ‘Skulls don’t hit back,’ I say, then pounce on him with triple front kicks between his parted legs. He doubles over, screaming with agony and rage.

  I can no longer see the tombstone where the ancient ninja’s Tiger Scrolls sit. There is blackness below us and blackness above us. If I can’t fight my way out of this, it will be blackness forever.

  All I can see is the red of Hero’s kimono and the whites of his eyes hungering for my blood. He chases me with kicks. I move backwards, feeling every inch of the platform disappear as I am pushed closer and closer to the edge. I shuffle away from Hero’s kicks, but at the cost of losing more ground. The edge looms closer. I dig my feet into the earth with all my strength, but his kicks are too powerful and push me back. He leaps into a double front kick and I know this is it.

  I watch his foot fly into my face. His kick flips me backwards and, as I spin, I see the blue disc disappear beneath me. I fall screaming, thrashing my arms and legs in the hope of gripping onto something. I catch the side of the mountain by my fingertips and I hang there for what seems an eternity, gripping the soft earth with my nails and steadying my breathing. Any wrong move and this will be it — I’ll never see my family again, never walk through Gate One, never experience my first kiss …

  The fog encases me; I can’t see above or below. I clutch the earth blindly. I can’t hear Hero. There are tears spilling down my face; I hadn’t realised I was crying. My body is numb with pain. All my energy is focused on saving my life.

  ‘You can do this,’ I say.

  ‘It’s over,’ old Roxy says. ‘He’s whipping you. He’s got the scrolls. The White Warrior will appear to him.’

  I lean my face into the mud and feel it fill my nostrils. My eyes sting. My forearms are weak. Every part of me is screaming. Maybe old Roxy is right.

  ‘You’ve always been weak,’ she says.

  Weak. I lift my face out of the mud. ‘I’m not weak,’ I say.

  Others may think I’m weak, but this is my chance to banish weakness. I hook my feet into a rock below and use the power in my legs to hurl myself up to the next hold, like scaling the climbing wall in Sergeant Major’s class. I pause just below the ledge and listen. If I reach my fingers up, Hero will slice them off with his sword. If I lift my head over the ledge to see — there goes my head.

  My heart beats against the wall of rock. I decide my head is more precious. I slowly hook my index finger up onto the ledge and I cringe. Nothing. My middle finger joins it. I wince again. Still nothing. I reach my whole hand up, brace … and nothing. I wait, listening. The fog is a thick disguise. Perhaps Hero thinks I plummeted to my death.

  When I finally peer over the edge, Hero is nowhere to be seen. I climb onto the disc and dust myself off.

  Without warning Hero is flying towards me. I balance on the balls of my feet, then jump in the air, fanning my left arm around in an outside knife-hand block and punching Hero in his chest with my right hand. I land again on the balls of my feet on the outer edge of the platform, and thank my lucky ninja stars for those bamboo-balance lessons. Still balancing on the edge, I punch Hero in his chest as he flies towards me midair, but he punches me at the same time, crunching his knuckles against mine. The impact is enough to send us both out into nothingness, but I manage to propel myself forwards and land on my wrists.

  I creep to the centre of the circle, armed with my ninja stars. A great beam reaches up to the clouds, and as it descends I realise it’s Hero’s leg slicing through the smoke, on its way down to cut me in half. I move out of the way just in time and shin block his axe kick. The power of his kick churns through me, locking my muscles and stiffening my vertebrae.

  We break apart and stalk the edge of the platform, the world dropping away beneath us. Hero cracks his neck, opens and closes his hands, rolls his ankles and swipes at the blood dripping from his nose and chin.

  I summon all the power and strength within me and recent images speed through my mind: training with Jackson, flying across the rooftops with Cinnamon, the feeling of freedom when I leaped over the toilet wall to save Rescue, learning to be invisible, the first time I held the ninja star, the fear in my mother’s eyes before I saved her from the Apache Warrior. The memories combust and my muscles contract, flying me upwards and into a backflip towards Hero so fast he has no time to move. I spring onto his shoulders and assume the cat stance; he doesn’t dare move, knowing my ankles are close to his jugular. I could end the fight right now.

  There is a moment of threat, neither of us knowing the other’s next move. I balance on his shoulders and move into the crane position, my arms above my head, lifting my right knee to my chest. As I look out into bruised clouds and a limitless sky, my fear vanishes. My ninja training has taught me that I can create whatever I wish to see, whatever I wish to be. It is thoughts that hold you back, that create limits. If you want to make a change, you have to start with yourself. Thoughts are what fuel the change from normal to ninja.

  Before I can leap off Hero’s shoulders, his foot reaches up and smashes into my nose. The bones crunch and I fall backwards, rolling out to the edge of the platform.

  ‘Had enough?’ he calls from the centre of the circle.

  I stand slowly and walk towards him. We face each other, bloodied and bruised.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like this,’ I say.

  Hero shakes his head. ‘The power of the scrolls belongs to the samurai.’

  ‘They belong to the White Warrior,’ I say.

  ‘Show me the White Warrior!’ he yells, opening his arms.

  He flies at me with staccato strikes — knife hands, hammer fists, body punches, double upper blocks. I block them, catch his right hand among the flurry, lift it into a submission hold, applying pressure to his wrist and immobilising him. I wait for his face to contort with pain, then push-kick into his ribs with the ball of my right foot. I feel my birthmark growl and my toes hook like tiger claws. My powers are astonishing; my speed and accuracy improve each minute. At first, my abilities freaked me out, but now I understand.

  ‘She’s right here!’ I say.

  In the distance below, I s
ee the glowing tombstone again, a mere pearl in the ocean of darkness. We are in a different realm here, but out there, somewhere, are the people I love. I am fighting for them.

  I leap off my supporting leg into the air and smash into Hero’s chest with a jumping side kick. He ploughs backwards and I follow up with a back fist to his cheek. His head whips to the side, but he regains his composure quickly and grabs my right foot and levers it up. I use the momentum to power a backflip and kick my left foot into his chin as I land. I kiss my ninja star and say, ‘Come back to me,’ then I flick the shuriken towards his eyes, the serrated blades spinning.

  I assume a tiger stance, my right leg bent, my left leg straight, my hands in a water sign position, and watch Hero’s eyes widen as the star closes in. He shuts his lids in anticipation, but the ninja star veers past his nose and grazes his brow, drawing a fine scratch across his left eyebrow. Then it swings around and comes back to me.

  Hero’s eyes slowly open. He touches them, feels the drip of blood on his forehead, then looks at me, confused. His eyes are less wild. He no longer looks like my enemy but a scared teenager.

  I walk up to him and stand before him, not weak but strong and triumphant. He makes no attempt to move, staying seated beneath me.

  The earth tower crumbles around us, lowering back down to the Cemetery of Warriors. Within seconds everything is back to normal. I walk over to the glowing tombstone and pick up the Tiger Scrolls. I smooth my hand over the book’s leather binding and open its cover. Inside sit the five translucent scrolls, shimmering. I lift them to my nose and smell fire, wind, earth, water and nothingness.

  The blue smoke of the circle thickens. I hear a footstep behind me … I spin and duck out of the way of the katana sword.

  As Hero charges again, I backflip to the edge of the circle. He takes a leaping step, then flies in a side kick towards me. I throw my ninja star at him, but I am too slow. I have just enough time to draw my tiny poisoned darts out of my belt and enough energy for a single breath to spit a dart towards him. The dart pierces his shoulder. He falls backwards.

  ‘You are the White Warrior,’ he says. ‘But I am not the last samurai.’

  Then he closes his eyes and disappears.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Hearing the words out loud sets all my instincts screaming. I turn to the ancient ninja’s Tiger Scrolls; they are soaked in my blood. The sky is no longer burning red; it has returned to black velvet with the glow of the green moon. I lift one of the scrolls out of the book and it burns my finger. I ignore the pain to study it more closely. The scroll glows like a diamond against the curtain of night.

  ‘The White Warrior will consume the power of the scrolls,’ I say, remembering the legend.

  I realise the scrolls are made of rice paper. I swallow hard, then quickly place the first scroll, Fire, on my tongue, relieving my burning finger. It dissolves in a burst of spiky heat, tasting like hot stone. I place the Wind Scroll on my tongue and it blasts down my throat, swift and sweet. The Earth Scroll tastes of grass; the Water Scroll turns to liquid and slides easily into my stomach. The Invisibility Scroll tastes of rice paper and I have to chew to get it down. My body fills with savage energy as the five elements digest in my system. I feel their power in my heart.

  I close my eyes. Every move of every martial art that ever existed fills my mind: the degrees of kicks, angles of blocks, sequences of movements lock in the private dojang of my heart. The powers of every ancient warrior dissolve into my spirit.

  Suddenly, a scream rages from outside the circle. ‘Roxyyyy!’

  ‘Mum?’

  I turn to see her sprinting towards me. Before I can react, I am clasped in her arms. Her hug torches the cemetery with light. Her orchid perfume washes away the putrid stench of death. The night creeps back into the circle. We step apart, but she keeps a firm grip on my hand.

  ‘Mum, I beat the warriors. I took back my powers. I’m the White Warrior, Mum — the mark on my sole. Why didn’t you tell me?’ My voice is crisp beneath the canopy of night.

  Mum glances at the empty book of Tiger Scrolls. Her eyes widen to black saucers. ‘Where are they?’ she gasps, realising what I have done.

  A deafening chime from deep within me blasts the cemetery apart and forces Mum and me to the ground. I roll onto my back as the sound roars out of my mouth and thunders over us in waves that crack the graves and sweep the remaining blue smoke from the circle.

  ‘What’s that?’ I scream, commando-crawling over to her. The echoes are too strong for me to stand.

  ‘The Tiger Scrolls singing!’ she yells back.

  As suddenly as the sound began, it stops. We rise slowly to our feet and dust off our ninja uniforms.

  Mum looks at me with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Once the scrolls are consumed, they sing to the sword of every samurai who has ever lived,’ Mum says. The darkness moves into her eyes. ‘Oh, Roxy, you have unleashed the Endless Fight.’

  I swallow razor blades. We will never be safe now …

  Glossary

  Axe kick — when a straightened leg descends onto an opponent like the blade of an axe.

  Back kick — a kick backwards, like a donkey.

  Dojang — sacred place of Taekwondo practice.

  Dojo — secret place of ninja and samurai training.

  Flying kick — any kick that involves air, usually accompanied with a running start then a huge jump.

  Front kick — a kick forwards to the groin, stomach or face with the ball of your foot. Keep the toes out of it — they break easy.

  Hook kick — a kick that strikes from the side using the heel of the foot. Executed similarly to a side kick, but aimed slightly off target and propelling backwards.

  Kaki — fire tools.

  Katana — a type of sword.

  Ninja — known for wearing the best uniform in the business, ninjas were members of a feudal Japanese society of mercenary agents, highly trained in martial arts and stealth, for covert purposes ranging from espionage to sabotage and assassination. Also refers to anyone super cool.

  Ninja claws — spikes worn between toes, fingers or teeth; used to climb, wound horses or slash enemies.

  Ninjaing — gettin’ ya ninja on.

  Ninjaism — turning ninja.

  Nunchucks — hand weapons used for frontal assault, consisting of two sticks joined by a chain.

  Roundhouse kick — the hero of all martial arts kicks. The leg swings sideways in a circular motion to kick the enemy in the stomach with the instep of the foot or, if you are more of a street fighter, the shin. You can amp up your martial arts street cred by adding a 360-degree turn or even a 720-degree turn, and if you’re really hardcore, a 1080 turn.

  Sageo — the cord attached to a sword.

  Samurai — the ninja’s enemy. They are warriors who fight with swords. Super deadly. Not as cool. Love to wear red.

  Shinobi shozoku — the traditional ninja all-black uniform.

  Shuriken — a throwing blade or ninja stars.

  Side kick — a sideways kick using the blade of your foot. You can show off by performing a double or triple side kick.

  Tabi — two-toed sock shoes with a gap between the big toe and the rest of the toes; similar to webbed shoes.

  Taekwondo — a Korean martial art and the national sport of South Korea. In Korean, tae means ‘to strike with foot’; kwon ‘to strike with fist’; and do ‘method’, or ‘path’. Taekwondo is ‘the way of the hand and the foot’. It combines combat techniques, self-defence, sport, exercise, board breaking, step-sparring, yelling, patterns, meditation and philosophy.

  Torinoke — blown birds’ eggs filled with gunpowder.

  White Warrior — a ninja who can control the elements, flash invisible and fly.

  Zukin — a ninja hood.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to the HarperCollins team of ninjas, including my inspiring publisher, Lisa Berryman; agent Clare Forster; and editors Nicola O’Shea and Kate Bu
rnitt.

  Lisa, thank you for believing in me, ninja and Gate Two kids everywhere.

  To my brother, Lleyton, and beautiful sister, Bridget.

  Thanks to Ed, what a nice Ed.

  And to my parents, Martin and Jeanette Hall, who are the original White Warriors. Thank you for not freaking out when I told you I wanted to be a writer — full time. Mum and Dad, you are the ink in these words.

  About the Author

  Fifth Dan Taekwondo black belt, athlete, Logie-nominated television personality, trainer on Channel Ten’s The Biggest Loser — there is no doubt Tiffiny Hall has many titles tucked under her black belt. She has a Bachelor of Arts/Media and Communications and a Diploma of Modern Languages in French from the University of Melbourne. Tiffiny worked as a print journalist before writing her first health books Weightloss Warrior, Fatloss for Good: The Secret Weapon and Lighten Up Cookbook. White Ninja is the first book in the Roxy Ran series.

  Read More in This Series

  Copyright

  Angus&Robertson

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, Australia

  First published in Australia in 2012

  This edition published in 2013

  by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited

  ABN 36 009 913 517

  harpercollins.com.au

  Copyright © Tiffiny Hall 2012

  The right of Tiffiny Hall to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  HarperCollinsPublishers

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