The Twilight War

by Simon Higgins

  A burning fuse! This was an attack!

  Moonshadow threw himself sideways, twisting across the floor to where his sword lay against the wall. With a huff of relief, he closed his hand around the scabbard. He leapt to his feet, hurriedly sliding his weapon under the belt of his thin sleeping kimono. Motto and Banken scuttled for the door, glancing back as if urging him to follow.

  With a flash of gold fire and a thunderous roar, the ceiling flew apart. Moonshadow dodged a whirling, charred plank and then drew his sword. He peered upwards. A twisting cloud of black smoke now filled the top third of his room. Through its billowing coils he caught flashes of red-orange light. Fire! Above his torn ceiling, parts of a long roofing beam had been set alight by the bomb. If that fire spread –

  He flinched at the roar of a second detonation, each of its echoes as loud as the blast itself. Wait! He blinked. That was impossible. With a horrified gasp he realised it was not one echoing blast, but a well-timed series of explosions! As the last rolling growl faded, gunpowder filled the air, stinging his eyes and making his nose tingle and run.

  From all directions, through wooden walls, doors, and paper screens, alarming new noises reached him. Startled shouts, the first rings of steel against steel, thuds and whacks as bodies were slammed into doorposts or floorboards.

  His skin prickled as the commotion spread. Combat was breaking out all over the fortified monastery! The sounds of tumult outside confirmed that the Fuma had engaged the monastery’s night guards, who were spread around the base’s outer borders. Those guards were hand-picked samurai with a little counter-shinobi training; good men, but hardly a match for the Fuma! What should he do? Run out the door, let himself be seen, join the fight head-on? Or leap up into the ceiling cavity and try to outflank them? He gulped in a breath, gunpowder grains bitter on his tongue.

  Motto and Banken attacked the solid sliding door, the cat hissing, the dog whining, both clawing in vain desperation. A warning instinct drew Moonshadow’s eyes back to the ceiling. The layer of twisting black smoke pulsed. It parted fleetingly to reveal a few stars and the hems of heavy, rain-bearing clouds high above the shattered roof. The smoke rolled and closed, cutting off his view of the sky, then surged again. A human figure plunged from its centre, landing heavily in a crouch in the middle of the room. Frantically digging in her claws, Banken scrambled halfway up the door then slid back down, gouging deep furrows in the wood. Motto threw back his great head and let out a tortured howl.

  Shuffling back until his elbow met the wall, Moonshadow raised his sword and brandished it. The intruder stood tall: a middle-aged woman with sharp character lines and tiny battle scars on her cheek and neck. She glowed with a strange vitality, her face youthful but creased with malice. Unblinking eyes roiled with aggression above her leering mouth. Moonshadow sensed arrogance, strength, and a dark, well-buried purpose.

  His visitor’s hair was tied in a neat bun and she wore a rough hemp, all-black Fuma shinobi night suit with wire-mesh forearm guards and hakama, which were bound tight at the ankles. She had no sword, but solid twin war fans stuck from her wide belt.

  Moonshadow stared at the fans: bright green oiled paper with black iron spokes tapering into stabbing points, each tip probably coated with the shinobi poison aconite. Or a potent sleeping drug, to capture an enemy alive for questioning – the kind that involved fire, truth potions or a blade. Poison-tipped war fans were rare weapons, as recognisable as the one who wore them. Moonshadow tightened the grip on his sword.

  Kagero! The veteran kunoichi that Moonshadow and Snowhawk had faced on the White Nun’s mountain. Faced, and barely survived. He set his jaw, eyes locked on his nemesis. Raised a Fuma spy, Kagero had bought her freedom from the clan and turned freelance bounty hunter – and killer. Occasionally, she still worked for her old masters, the Fuma, but only if they, like everyone else, paid her hefty fee.

  ‘What’s this? No polite greeting?’ Kagero sniffed with contempt. ‘You have the manners of an outcast, young … what was your name again? Oh yes, that’s right!’ She covered her mouth and giggled. ‘Moonsquirrel!’

  He held himself in check; she was trying to provoke him to make the first move.

  The twin war fans opened with a loud pop. Kagero bounded forward, going into a turn with her arms outstretched, a splayed fan tense in each hand. She spun nimbly, advancing on Moonshadow. The fans swished and snapped through the air at his chest’s height, their sound competing with Banken’s terrified mewling.

  About to be cornered, Moonshadow curled himself into a ball and rolled under her sweeping attack. He came up fast and turned, just a handspan away from the opposite wall. Moonshadow stepped forward and crouched momentarily. He launched himself up, over the horizontal arc of whistling, blurring fans. Tightly hunched, airborne, he brushed the smoke layer before plunging feet-first onto Kagero’s shoulders. His counterattack broke her spin and sent Kagero staggering for the door. Motto leapt snarling and sank his teeth into her leg. Kagero shrieked and turned her fans deftly, preparing to stab at the dog’s neck.

  Moonshadow skipped across the bedroll and vaulted into a flying sidekick. His feet connected squarely with Kagero’s ribcage, the impact hurling the kunoichi into the door with a massive thunk. Torn from its runners, the wooden door fell outwards into the corridor. As Kagero shoulder-rolled across it, Motto and Banken jostled past her. Moonshadow leapt the fallen door, landing smoothly in the corridor. Its ceiling ran with smoke and the floorboards were littered with charred, broken planks. The monastery’s night lamps still burned, but their light was eclipsed now by the glow of fires in the ceiling.

  As the animals fled east, Moonshadow thought quickly. Seeking a haven from the fires and hostile shinobi energy, Motto and Banken made for their usual hide-out, the archives. Their place, where they met with Saru-san, play-hunted, and took refuge when in danger of facing discipline. Good, he decided. The archive’s many rows of shelves and shadowy side-rooms would offer them endless hiding places until the melee was over.

  But the Order’s human warriors also needed a rallying point, and if he knew his teachers at all, they’d instinctively make for the archives too. Even Snowhawk, who’d look for a central defensive position with enough space for her acrobatic tricks. He gave a sharp nod of conviction. He’d go there at once and link up with the others. Fight in a group!

  As Eagle said, one arrow was easily snapped, but try three or more in a cluster …

  Moonshadow bolted after Motto and Banken, with Kagero a mere sword’s length behind him. Dodging debris he ran for the archives, the swish of her war fans in his ears.

  Moonshadow burst into the open hall at the mouth of the archives.

  Smoky holes broke the ceiling here too, and the glow of several small overhead fires lit the entire hall, but no enemies were visible. The sounds of nearby combat went on, but so far, he saw no defenders either. Why wasn’t Snowhawk here already? She was so fast and agile – what could have delayed her? Had she been wounded?

  A plan instantly came to him: he’d lead Kagero deep into the rows of shelves, outflank and ambush her! Then he’d look for Snowhawk and make sure she was safe.

  He quickly wove his way to the darkest corner of the archives. Rounding a set of shelves, Moonshadow collided heavily, chest to chest, with someone. Exhaling loudly, the unarmed man reeled backwards and fell to the floor. Recovering his balance, Moonshadow leapt the prone figure and spun round, shinobi eyes penetrating the gloom. Kagero had disappeared! Where was she?

  ‘Moon? Is that you?’ Brother Badger called from the floor, his voice thin with fear.

  ‘Yes!’ Moonshadow hissed, looking about urgently. ‘Stay down!’ He turned a circle. Still no sign of Kagero. Perhaps she had moved on. He relaxed his guard just a little.

  A foot smashed into the crown of his head, driving him to the floor. Half-stunned, Moonshadow flung himself into an evasive roll but it was too late. As he tried to tumble away, a foot landed on his sword, pinning it firmly, then a stron
g kick whumped into his skull. A searing jolt went through Moonshadow’s neck and he sagged to the floor. His sword was kicked out of reach. Rolling onto his back, he realised what was happening.

  Kagero had attacked from the top of a long, high set of shelves, ambushing him with fine cunning. Badger, cowering just paces away, wouldn’t be of much help.

  ‘Empty-headed little squirrel!’ Kagero sneered down at him, her weapon’s sharp iron tips gliding to his neck. ‘Thought I’d gone to look for another playmate, eh? In battle and in life itself, it never pays to assume things. This world’s far too tricky for that!’

  Above Kagero, a sleek form moved atop the shadowy shelves: a long tail, moving on all fours – Banken? Perfect! He played for time.

  ‘Snowhawk warned me that you like to give advice,’ Moonshadow scowled. ‘But since you’re really just a killer, why would I assume you have any real wisdom to offer?’

  ‘Don’t get cute with me!’ Kagero snarled. She leaned closer, menacing his eyes with one fan. ‘But speaking of dear little Snowhawk … where is she?’

  Moonshadow frowned. How curious! ‘What do you want with her?’ He forced the distracting sense of surprise from his mind and reached out to the animal hiding above them. There were three stages to the Eye of the Beast: beast sight, the first level, let Moonshadow enter an animal’s mind, harness its eyes and use its senses. The second level, dual sight, allowed him to see through both a creature’s eyes and his own at the same time. Finally came sight-control, level three, which enabled him to control an animal, turning it into his spy or weapon!

  To save Badger and himself, he needed to hook straight into that third and highest level now, but even success would double their jeopardy. This Old Country science produced a tell-tale sign, a subtle green glow in the eyes. Here, in shadow, would Kagero see it? All shinobi were reared to see and fight in the dark, but some fared better than others. If Kagero’s night vision was too good, she’d notice and slay him instantly.

  The floorboards rumbled at the mouth of the archive. Familiar voices, breathless and urgent, made him glance in their direction. He heard Heron’s battle cry, then the shiinngg of her naginata’s blade parrying a sword. A muffled yelp quickly followed.

  Combat was spilling into the archives’ open hall. Beyond the shelves, the din of ringing steel filled the air. He heard Brother Mantis shout ‘He’s mine!’ followed by a loud swish and the whump of a body hitting the floor. The sounds of further impacts made Moonshadow take heart: though under heavy attack, the pair were felling enemies!

  ‘Pay attention!’ Kagero’s hateful glare drilled into him. ‘Where’s Snowhawk?’

  Good question. Moonshadow blinked. The tips of his fingers trembled. He concentrated, his mind on Banken … a breath, his mind with Banken … another breath … and his mind suddenly in Banken. In the cat, in total control of her. He’d done it!

  Superimposed over his normal human vision now lay another, very different view, its perspective anchored somewhere above him. Through what appeared to be a thin layer of quivering water, Moonshadow saw himself as Banken did, lying in the darkened aisle, Kagero hovering over him, Badger crumpled nearby. The cat’s view shifted smoothly, steadily closing in on Kagero’s shoulders, then the top of her head.

  ‘Answer me now or die!’ The kunoichi glowered. ‘Where. Is. Snowhawk?’

  From beyond the shelves came several more thuds. Then silence, a lull.

  Flashing his attacker a cheeky grin, Moonshadow pointed upwards. ‘There!’

  Kagero shuddered as Banken the temple cat landed on her head, digging in every claw. While the ninja squealed and bumbled in the fleeting grip of surprise, Moonshadow rolled free, snatched up his sword and scrambled for Badger. Kagero stabbed at the cat with her fans. Jump! Moonshadow prompted and Banken leapt for the nearest shelf.

  Brandishing her weapons in each hand, Kagero anxiously turned a slow circle, warily hunting for her new, four-legged nemesis.

  Through Banken’s eyes, Moonshadow saw Kagero’s back align with the cat’s new hiding place. Mind-to-mind he ordered the beast to attack again, this time harder.

  Hissing, Banken struck from behind with claws spread, landing solidly on Kagero’s shoulder. Twisting her head, the cat sunk her teeth into the startled kunoichi’s ear then arched her back and tugged hard. Kagero gave an agonised howl and Banken jumped clear a split-second before two war fans raked the air above Kagero’s shoulder. With eyes watering and teeth grinding, the kunoichi fell against the shelves, one hand to her ear.

  Seizing the moment, Moonshadow broke the link with Banken and darted to Badger. As he dragged the archivist to his feet and herded him along the aisle, he looked back. Kagero had melted into the shadows. Badger was unharmed, but his beloved Korean sleeping robe was torn and his short beard was a tangle of cobwebs and sawdust. Moonshadow realised that he must have taken refuge under a wall of shelves, between the bottom plank and grubby floor.

  ‘Run for the map-drying room and don’t look back.’ He gripped his teacher’s arm. ‘Don’t come out, not unless the fire spreads and you have to make a run for it!’

  Badger nodded, gulped a breath and hurried away. Moonshadow retraced his steps. As he rounded the end of a tall shelf, the open hall at the archive’s mouth appeared, its ceiling awash with smoke. He stopped, taking everything in.

  Mantis and Heron stood back to back, watching all directions, a circle of downed enemies on the floor around them. Both panted, drenched with sweat and ruddy with exhaustion. Heron’s naginata blade and Mantis’s sword bore a red sheen. No sign yet of Groundspider … or Snowhawk. Where was she? And why did Kagero seek her? To slay her as punishment for defecting from the Fuma’s ranks? He bit his bottom lip. Was she cornered in some other part of the monastery? At least here, the battle appeared to be over.

  There was a soft creak. The smoke billowed and a fresh wave of hooded figures began descending from the ceiling. The most strapping new arrival carried a chisai odutsu suspended on a wide leather band: a hand-carved, disposable wooden cannon, the type usually loaded with iron chips and gravel. Straightening up from his landing, the cannon-eer stood tall and surveyed the indoor battlefield. More Fuma landed around him. Some wore shuko on one hand, iron claws that assisted climbing but also made fine close-quarter weapons, especially when their prongs were smeared with a Fuma poison.

  Was the man with the cannon their leader? Once the reinforcements around the hefty ninja numbered more than a dozen, Moonshadow stopped counting the new arrivals. Taking slow, deep breaths, he listened over his shoulder for Kagero. Nothing! So what now?

  Victory, and perhaps even survival, had just become impossible. But as Mantis liked to say, there was only one honourable way to react to impossible, hopeless odds: with hopeless valour and impossible tenacity.

  Help me do that, Lord Hachiman, Moonshadow silently prayed, lend me an arrowhead’s worth of your divine fury. And if there are simply too many foes, then just let me die well!

  He raised his sword and rushed at the nearest enemy.

  Movement in a doorway caused Moonshadow to glance across, then slide to a halt and stare.

  In the centre of the indoor battlefield, Heron and Mantis turned to follow his gaze. One by one, the fifteen ninja surrounding them did the same until everyone, friend and foe alike, stood watching silently, all focused on the same vision.

  A lone warrior, his kimono stained and cut, was framed by the east-west corridor’s open shoji. Badly wounded, the man was down on his knees but struggling to rise. Brother Eagle! Beyond the door, a long, jagged trail of fallen ninja sprawled in his wake.

  Eagle gripped the door frame and dragged himself to his feet, his face grim with determination. Muffled sounds of fighting continued from the distance. Ceiling fires crackled, wounded Fuma scattered on the floor groaned. Yet no one spoke. Eagle’s appearance had mesmerised even this fresh wave of attackers! Was that due to his fearsome reputation, or were they engrossed by the courageous resolve he displayed?<
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  Moonshadow also studied his master with a kind of fascinated horror. Eagle’s face was ashen and strangely haggard, as if he’d somehow aged years in minutes. Though his grip on the door frame itself looked strong, his arm trembled. What was wrong with him?

  Then Moonshadow spotted the shuko claw. It hung from the back of one of Eagle’s shoulders in the centre of a wide, dark stain. Heron had taught Moonshadow how to discern between common wound-shock and a range of more unique injuries. He angrily muttered a curse. Everything he had learned was now telling him that those claw-tips – and Eagle – had been poisoned.

  The big Fuma armed with the chisai odutsu raised one hand sharply. Around him, every invader sheathed his sword and watched expectantly, awaiting his next order. Moonshadow nodded. So this was the raid’s leader!

  A sound made him glance back over his shoulder. He flinched. Kagero loomed at the mouth of an aisle, a thin silk scarf wound round her neck and up over one ear, its fabric badly stained. He couldn’t resist smiling. Had Banken eaten the kunoichi’s earlobe? Kagero scowled menacingly at Moonshadow, then reluctantly turned to wait, along with the others, for their leader’s next order. Moonshadow’s eyes snapped back to the tall ninja. Whoever he was, he had authority over her too, at least during this mission.

  The Fuma captain rounded on Eagle, who with the help of the doorframe was forcing himself to stand tall, chin raised, shoulders back. Moonshadow saw Heron cover her mouth and he felt a lump rise in his throat. Though wounded and battered, Eagle looked magnificent, the very soul of samurai virtue; almost an easy kill now, he nonetheless stood proud, fearless in the face of his enemies.

  The Fuma studied Eagle for a while, then slowly let out a long sigh.

  ‘We all know who you are,’ he called. ‘It would be a pity to slay a warrior of your quality this morning.’ Behind him, three ninja nodded.

  ‘You are too kind,’ Eagle replied, his voice ragged with pain. ‘But come, sir, enlighten me. Why are we even talking? Is this not Twilight War, where custom dictates there can be neither terms nor mercy? Why tarry? Prime your cannon. Tell your men to draw.’ He flashed Heron a tender smile, then gestured hard at the bodies near her feet. ‘Let us end this,’ Eagle grunted at the Fuma, ‘the only way it can end!’