Ninja Girl: The Nine Wiles

by Steven W. White

  But what about the seed?

  The future, the goal, the end of the line.

  And it hit her.

  "I see an ash tree."

  Elsbeth smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "That's the second Wile. To see the future unborn in the present. To account for the power of time, and know that potential is more important than reality." Elsbeth let go of Ash and shrugged. "Without this vision, you can merely see things as they truly are. And that is a sort of blindness."

  Ash let the tree branch take her weight as Elsbeth's words settled in. At the ends of each branch were thousands of seeds in bunches, brushing against the roof. Ash saw groves of ash trees, whole forests, and each tree had its own seeds in their thousands. Trees reached forward in time, century after century.

  The old roof they stood on would decay and be replaced, and the house would age and be bulldozed and built again, and that house would be replaced, and this neighborhood would grow and change as generation after generation of people not yet born lived and raised their children here. "You always talk about the past," she said to Elsbeth, "and say 'we.' Even if it's a thousand years ago. Like you were there."

  "My people were there. I'm one of them. Look." Elsbeth pointed down into the backyard.

  The tree's lowest branch reached over the yard like a crooked arm, and two chains hung suspended from it, ending in a swing made from an old wooden plank. "See the chains?"

  The chains disappeared into the branch, rather than looping around it. Ash thought it was an illusion of the moonlight. She used her night-vision trick and looked hard at the tree trunk. In her peripheral vision, she saw that the chains truly vanished into the wood.

  They had looped around the branch once upon a time. But the tree had grown and the branch had thickened, enveloping the chain.

  "The tree has swallowed the chain," said Elsbeth. "It looked the same yesterday, and the day before that. No one saw the chain disappear. But it did, because every day, the tree did its work of growing. In moves too small to see."

  Ash wondered if the chains had hurt it. She placed a hand gently on a branch above her. "Poor tree."

  "The tree is no victim," Elsbeth said. "It's too powerful. The wood will be there long after the iron has rusted away." Elsbeth squeezed Ash's shoulder again. "You are going to be like this tree, Ash. You have many small moves ahead of you. Hard work. Invisible results. Are you ready for that?"

  Elsbeth was so cryptic sometimes. Ash had no idea what she was getting herself into, but she knew one thing: she had no doubts. "I'm totally in."

  "Good," Elsbeth said. "In the end, you will grow through the chains that bind you. Because now, your training truly begins."

  17

  Elsbeth wouldn't say anything more that night.

  The next day was Friday. Ash's body still ached from her landing the night before. She took some ibuprofen before school and packed more in her lunch. As she sat in history class, listening to Mr. Maunder talk about slavery and the Underground Railroad, she knew Mule was tackling his math test two buildings over. Under her desk, she briefly crossed her fingers for him.

  And she figured Harriet Tubman would have made a pretty good ninja. Maybe she would ask Elsbeth about that.

  At lunchtime, Mule met her at the tables. "Hey, Professor."

  "How did it go?"

  Mule looked thoughtful as he unpacked three sandwiches, an apple, two bananas, two bags of chips, and a twenty-four-ounce water bottle from his lunch bag. "You know, I think I'm getting over not making it on the football team. I might turn over a new leaf."

  "I see." Ash opened her own lunch bag and found another lunch prepared by Elsbeth, mostly dal bhat – lentils and rice.

  "Yeah. Maybe I'll go to college and major in mathematics."

  "Really?"

  "Sure. I'll need some eyeglasses, though. And a bow tie. And one of those pocket protectors."

  "Stylish. But I don't know if they make bow ties your size. So... you're saying it went well?"

  "I'm saying I killed it. I stomped it. I ground it under my cleats."

  Ash winced. "Okay, then."

  "I owe you... I don't know. Something."

  "You don't owe me anything."

  "Yeah, I do. Name it."

  "Well..." Ash snatched Mule's apple and bit into it.

  #

  After the last bell, while most students had left for the weekend, Spencer Marsh remained on duty. His fingers raced over his laptop's keypad, in the sacred workspace of his personal office.

  Someone in the hall pounded on the supply closet's door – hard enough to shake it on its hinges.

  Damn. Spencer clicked ‘save’ and opened the door.

  It was a wall of muscle in a threadbare t-shirt. Spencer was about eye-level with the solar plexus, and he looked up to see the imposing nostrils of Sam Danneker. The guy so appropriately nicknamed Mule. Spencer felt a shiver of terror – why would Mule come here? What had Spencer written that might have set him off?

  Mule smiled. "Hey, little dude."

  Spencer was not reassured. He glanced down the hall, hoping for witnesses.

  Mule had come alone. "I was hoping you could help me out." Not even the weird girl, Ashley Prue, was with him.

  "What do you want?" Spencer's ears began to twitch. Journalism was all about favors. Exchanging a favor could get a plucky reporter access, testimony, documents... anything.

  "I want to find Drake Alexander on Monday. Alone. You can help me do that, right? You know everything about everybody."

  "Why?"

  "I just want to talk to him. Set some things straight."

  "You want his locker number?"

  "No, no. This needs to be more private."

  Spencer tried to piece this mystery together, but he couldn't concentrate. The sheer size of Mule was distracting, this close. It was like scuba diving with a blue whale.

  The principal's son. What could Mule Danneker want with him? "He comes to school early on most Mondays," Spencer began. "Meets with his dad."

  Mule's heavy brow lowered in concentration. "Early on Mondays..."

  "About seven thirty. You could catch him in the parking lot. He drives a silver Audi S5."

  "Yeah. That could work." Mule smiled again. "Thanks, little dude."

  "Any time... but not really. Listen," Spencer said. "What's this about?"

  "It's cool. Just a manly conversation between men."

  "Uh-huh."

  Mule turned and thumped down the hall. Spencer watched him go. He didn't imagine he'd ever get a return favor from Mule... at least, he sure didn't like the idea of asking. But that was all right. Mule had already done him a favor, by giving Spencer a potential story.

  A story that would take place at 7:30 AM Monday, in the parking lot. And all Spencer had to do was show up.

  #

  Saturday was cold, but sunny – nice weather for Ash's date. By lunchtime, she could feel the butterflies at work in her stomach. She lay on her bed and remembered the first Wile.

  Never, never blame the boar.

  Ash had no problem with that. She didn't blame Drake. Okay, yes she did… but she wouldn’t react brainlessly to him and then blame him for her own actions. She would be aware. She would think and she would choose. She just wished like hell that she knew how he felt about her. The guy was a walking mystery, and it made her crazy.

  So choose, she thought. How would somebody else react to Drake?

  Payback. When he shows up, be elsewhere.

  Petty. And passive-aggressive. And it wouldn't get her any answers.

  Throw herself at him. Catch him off guard, get some honesty.

  If that worked... it could work really, really well. Ash lost herself in a daydream. When she snapped out of it, she realized that if that plan didn't work, it would be wicked awkward. Ash was too young to die of embarrassment. It wasn't her style, anyway... and she didn't want Drake to think that it was. Okay…

  Play it cool. Make him work a little.

&
nbsp; Now, that was her style. Just go, enjoy the date, let things play out. If she only had the patience for it. Maybe that was the lesson here: Be patient. Don't be such a spaz.

  Come right out and ask him.

  The butterflies in her stomach suddenly had baby butterflies, who grew up and had pteradactyls. Ash had already rejected death by embarrassment. So she saved this as a worst-case scenario, in the event that her patience gave out. She wondered if she would get the truth. And she wondered if she really wanted to hear it.

  And what in the world was she going to wear?

  #

  Half Ash's wardrobe lay on her bed. She'd chosen a black tank top and her last pair of nice jeans, wedge shoes for a little height, and her dark suede longish coat to set it off. She would look pretty good against Drake's leather.

  At ten to two, Ash felt the creeping suspicion that he wouldn't show up. That was his pattern, after all. What then? Maybe she'd pull Elsbeth away from Dad and find out what she had meant about the training.

  What was Ash in for? Wax on, wax off?

  Elsbeth wasn't in the house, though. So much for that idea.

  The doorbell rang at two o'clock sharp. Ash sprinted down the stairs and pulled open the front door before her dad could get out of his chair. On her porch stood Drake, wearing khakis and a light blue button-down. His hair was neatly parted, and there wasn't an inch of leather on him. Ash almost didn't recognize him.

  "Hey, Ash," he said.

  "Is that you, Drake?"

  "It's me."

  "What happened?"

  Ash's dad came up behind her. "So you're Drake Alexander."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'm Henry Prue." They shook hands. Ash noted Drake's enthusiastic grip and professional eye contact, and felt pieces falling into place. "How do you do," Drake said.

  "Care to come in?" Dad asked.

  Ash headed off that train wreck. "Movie to catch, Dad."

  "Oh," Dad said. "Right."

  "Sir? About last week, and the concert..."

  Dad cleared his throat grimly. "Yes, about that. I don't appreciate my daughter being abandoned that way."

  "I totally understand, sir," Drake said. "I wanted to explain. You see, our dog, Tank, swallowed some fertilizer Mom put in our yard, and we had to run him to the vet. Dad's car was in the shop, so we took mine. I couldn't call because–"

  "You lost your cell phone?" Dad asked.

  "No, sir. My dad confiscated it. At school. I was texting."

  "I see," Dad said. "It sounds like your father keeps you on a pretty short leash."

  "I'd agree with that, sir."

  "Got to go, Dad," Ash said.

  "Right. Back by dinner?"

  "Back by dinner." Ash gave her dad a quick hug and shut him in the house. She kept quiet until she and Drake were in the Audi, parked on the driveway. Drake checked his mirrors and pulled out gently. Once he reached the corner stop sign, he shifted the convertible into "park."

  He let out a sigh and scraped at his scalp, mussing his hair. Then he unfastened his seat belt and unbuttoned his shirt.

  Ash tried not to stare. Where was this going?

  He wore a black t-shirt underneath. He slipped out of the blue button-down, balled it up and tossed it into the back seat, then he reached back there, grabbed his leather jacket, and shrugged into it.

  Ash nodded. "There you are."

  "Here I am."

  "Nice story back there."

  "Did you like that? I'm still trying to regain lost ground for being a jerk."

  "Do you really own a dog?"

  "The dog is real. The fertilizer bit happened two months ago. Tank is fine, by the way."

  "And your cell phone?"

  "I don't text." He gunned the engine and raced through the intersection, pressing Ash into her seat. "Hey, I was thinking," he said. "With weather like this, we should skip the movie and go to the beach."

  18

  They didn't stop at Golden Gardens, and they didn't stop at Carkeek Park. Too crowded, Drake said. And Ash had to agree. On a Saturday afternoon, with freak sunny weather, they would be shoulder-to-shoulder with crowds on any Seattle beach.

  "I know a place," Drake said.

  "I didn't really dress for the beach."

  "Just leave your shoes in the car. You'll be fine."

  They continued north to 185th and turned into Richmond Park. Drake weaved the car down the hill and parked in view of the water. It was deep cobalt and seemed to shine. Clouds cruised over it, cottonball-white, all fluff and no rain. Gulls called, cheering their arrival, and beyond that, Ash could hear the rumble and hiss of the surf.

  They crossed the footbridge over the train tracks and continued to the sand. Despite the sun, the concrete didn't burn Ash's feet, and the sand felt toasty – just right. The crowds were made up of couples, some with children, and occasional masses of teens.

  "Come on." Drake led her along the beach, on the strip of sand between the water and the piles of boulders strewn with bone-white driftwood. Ash rolled up her jeans and followed. As they left the parking lot behind, the crowds thinned. The beach got skinnier, the boulders pressing closer to the water. Eventually, the sand ran out, and swells crashed directly on the rocks.

  "End of the line," Ash said.

  Drake climbed a set of boulders as if they were stairs, and stepped onto a long piece of driftwood. It stretched thirty feet over the boulders, a full-length tree trunk, and when Ash hopped up beside him, she saw that the beach’s sand continued on the other side. She and Drake would have to cross this log like a foot bridge to get there.

  He glanced back, daring her. "Ready?"

  It would be a balancing act – and a slip would mean a tumble onto the rocks – but it was nothing she couldn't handle. "Sure."

  A train blew its horn. Ash checked behind her. A passenger train chugged gradually toward them. It would pass in a moment. The tracks, and their concrete foundation sprayed with multicolored graffiti, lay just ten feet away. Drake held out his arms and strolled neatly toward the log’s far end.

  Ash followed, toes out, her feet gripping the smooth wood.

  The train approached, getting louder, and as it passed them, its rumble drowned out the surf and the gulls. All Ash could hear was the repeating boom-boom of the wheels on the track. She could feel the log vibrating, making her feet itch. Tiny grains of sand danced their way out of crevices in the wood. Her steadiness started to slip and balance got tricky.

  She set her feet in closed fourth position and demi-pliéd, bending her knees. She fixed herself there, her center of gravity lowered, and held her arms out and rounded, demi-seconde. She felt steady again. Now she just had to wait out the stupid train.

  It was a Sound Transit passenger train, and some of the faces in the windows seemed to notice the little woman doing ballet on the beach in a long suede coat. Ash felt her face flush. Drake didn't help. He just watched her, grinning, standing on the log with his hands in his jacket pockets. He didn't even bend his knees.

  He had better balance than she did. The show-off!

  Eventually, the last car passed them and the vibration stopped.

  "That was exciting," Drake said.

  Ash straightened, finishing her plié. "You could have warned me."

  "I knew you could handle it."

  "Where did you learn to balance so well?"

  "I've done this before."

  At the log's far side, they hopped down to the sand. There was another hundred-foot-long stretch of sandy beach here, interrupted in the middle by a broad trail of river stones leading from a culvert to the ocean. There were no people. Ash and Drake had it all to themselves.

  They walked together on the firmer sand near the water. "It's perfect here," Ash said. "How did you find this place?"

  "I'm always looking for places like this. Always trying to get away, one way or another."

  "Of course."

  They walked in silence. Ash wished she could say something that would ge
t him talking. But she realized there was so little of her life that she could share now. They crossed the river stones side by side, and Ash felt them shifting under her feet.

  Drake stopped and picked one up. He tossed it into the water, and it disappeared with a plop. "Thanks for coming with me. I hope you weren't set on a movie."

  Ash breathed in the sea air. "No. The beach is great."

  Drake picked up another stone and turned it in his fingers. "Anyhow. I'm glad you came." He stepped to the waterline and flicked the stone. It skipped four times and disappeared.

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "It's hard to tell sometimes."

  Drake picked up another stone and looked it over. "Yeah, but that's just me. I'm not warm and fuzzy like some guys."

  "That's true. You're more... dark and scowly."

  "Nice. Thanks." He hurled the stone, and it skipped five times.

  Ash casually inspected the stones around her feet. "And that can make it hard to tell..." She selected a smooth gray one and slowly rubbed sand grains off it, aware that Drake's eyes were on her. Her heart began to pound. "... what you're really thinking." She glanced back to the log they had crossed. "It puts me a little off balance."

  "For what it's worth, sometimes I feel the same way around you."

  "No, you don't."

  "Whatever. You don't have to believe me."

  Ash hesitated. "Really?"

  Drake said nothing, and picked up another stone.

  "Then let me ask you this,” she said. “Now, don't think I've been obsessing over this or anything, because I haven't. It's no big deal. But the last time I saw you, you called me kid."

  Drake frowned. Then he nodded. "Could be."

  "So... is that how you see me?"

  "What?"

  "As... I don't know. As a little girl?"

  Drake stared at her, and his head slowly tipped to the side. He grinned, and his grin broke into a smile. "Jesus H. Christ, and all his wacky uncles. You are, sure as shit, not a little girl."

  Ash's heart hammered against her ribs. A thrill ran through her, so intense – but suddenly gone, crushed by a molten wave of embarrassment.