Cave of the Shadow Ninja: Part II

by David Parkin

  This was a question far too menacing for Ichi to entertain. They had tracked a lot of men over the years, but he couldn’t recall ever encountering one so careful or soft-footed as this one. They had only found hints and whispers of their bounty’s trail thus far. It seemed impossible that one man possessed the skill to elude them for this long, but a band of them?

  Early on, Ichi spotted mulberry branches shorn of their leaves floating down the Kuza River. In Khot, Toji picked up the sound of clashing steel in the north. Upon investigation, they discovered a rice caravan, the leader of which had spotted someone dressed as one of his workers, moving quickly north with a bushel over his shoulder. When the teamster called after the man to question him, he spotted a mask under the stranger’s hat and pulled his harvest knife. The Ninja put the teamster on the ground before disappearing into the trees.

  Save for a few specks of dust, odd noises, and the occasional unfamiliar vibration, this Ninja seemed completely lost to them until just a few days ago when, as they approached the volcanic rocks of the Tomb of Glass, Ozo sensed a fight between a skilled swordsman and a light-footed opponent on the rim above. As the brothers moved toward the source of the sound, they heard a large splash echoing through the glass canyons. Moments later, Ichi spotted Ping and his men approaching the sound. The samurai tried to make it to them in time, but once they emerged from the canyon, the soldiers were already dead, and Ping was fighting for his life.

  After discovering the Ninja’s eerie powers, the brothers separated from the captain and reunited with the trail. They came across a campsite on the edge of the cliff above the dark lake, the spot Ozo believed the fight had occurred only hours before. Ichi scanned the area and discovered it had been occupied by two men with a prisoner who had escaped.

  Once they moved past the glass and across an open plain, they found a mulberry leaf carved into tiny crescents by the hungry jaws of silk worms. It was an obvious clue, so obvious, in fact, that Ichi believed their prey was luring them into a trap. As the brothers approached the wooded canyon, haunted by low-hanging mist, Ichi remembered the advice his father gave him many years ago, “Sometimes the only way to find what you’re looking for is to fall into a trap.”

  The canyon they now moved through was a greenwood referred to as “the forest of arrows.” At some point in the Great War, this ravine had fallen under siege, and an ambushing army rained barrage of arrows down into the canyon. Over the years, the still-green bamboo arrow shafts that had pierced the earth took root in soil fertilized by the casualties of the siege. The healthy trees grew into their victims’ bones and skulls and, after all these years, many of their remains still swayed in the branches high above the quiet grove. The macabre decorations gave the forest a sense of dread that tingled in Ichi’s spine as he led his brothers through the trees.

  Ichi’s fingers gripped the simple handle of his sword as he thought about the red sword of Sato, the ancient blade crafted by dragon fire that had turned the tide of the war. When Ichi was young, Sato promised him the sword when the time came. He expected his father to pass it on when he sent them out on their own but when Sato had disappeared the following morning, he took Ichi’s birthright with him. Ichi thought it strange at the time, but he imagined that when Sato saw fit, the red blade would find its home on Ichi’s hip.

  As the thoughts of his father consumed Ichi, Toji suddenly lifted a hand and stopped the brothers’ advance. Ichi held his breath as the sounds of the forest rose, soft and sure, like children playing in the distance. Ichi watched Toji closely as his brother’s ears took in every note offered by the timberland.

  After the forest began to shift, accepting the presence of the three brothers into its harmony, Toji’s brow twitched. “There,” he whispered.

  “What is it?” Ichi asked as his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

  “A small, inhaled breath,” Toji continued, “just deliberate enough to—” Instantly, Toji’s sword rang from his scabbard, followed closely by his brothers’.

  “Him?” Ichi pressed, eager to meet this thief.

  “Someone,” Toji teased, unsure, as the brothers instinctively formed a circle, back-to back.

  Ozo bent his knees and dug the ball of his foot into the soft earth. “He’s not on the ground,” the young samurai reported.

  “Not to worry,” Ichi assured him, “he can’t hold his breath forever.”

  As they waited through the long still silence, Ichi thought of his father once again. The man praised Toji for his patience. “One may face an enemy who seems flawless,” Sato said. “These can only be defeated by those willing to wait for their flaws to reveal themselves.” Ichi’s breath cut short as he remembered the time his father had told him that of the many skills Ichi possessed, patience was not his strongest. He compared it to a clay pot on a fire boiling away the water inside.

  Suddenly, a familiar yet strange sound emerged through the trees, loud enough for all three pairs of ears to pick it up. “Was that a whistle?” Ozo questioned.

  “Through a bamboo reed,” Toji answered, confused.

  “He’s mocking us,” Ichi cut back angrily.

  “It rose with the wind,” Toji whispered before another gust disturbed the trees and ignited an array of similar sounds. “Wind chimes,” Toji said, recognizing the evocative sound.

  With the trees’ next pulse, the chimes renewed their wooden chorus, now joined by more from deeper down the canyon. “He’s breathing with them,” Toji uttered through the haunting notes. “He’s moving with the wind. How does he—” Suddenly Toji paused.

  “Where?” Ichi questioned.

  “I c-can’t,” Toji stuttered as he turned to his oldest brother.

  “Can’t what?” Ichi begged, having never seen him so concerned.

  “I’m deaf here,” Toji said in a whisper as yet more chimes caught the wind and filled the forest with the moan of suffering ghosts.

  How could it be? Ichi thought as his desperate eyes scanned the blanket of green surrounding him.

  If this was a trap meant specifically for Toji, that meant he and his brothers faced something much more serious than a simple thief. “Impressive,” Ichi whispered to the trees, “but it won’t be enough to escape.”

  Suddenly a small rock hit the ground beside the brothers’ feet. Ozo shifted, pinpointing the exact location it had come from through its impact. As Ichi searched the swaying branches over their heads, another rock hit the ground a few yards away.

  “What is it?” Ichi said as another hit a stalk of bamboo with a hollow knock. Moments later, the ground came alive with failing stones bouncing at their feet like hailstones.

  “Anything, Ozo?” Ichi demanded, arching his shoulders against the pebbles and acorns bouncing off his head.

  “I—“ Ozo didn’t have to finish. Ichi knew by the grip of panic that had seized his little brother that he too was alone and helpless in the chaos.

  “Who is this?” Ichi said to himself, his concern growing as he squinted, pushing the limits of his eyesight amid the dizzying swirl of green against green around him. Finally Ichi caught glimpse of a skull in the distance, swaying in the breeze with eye sockets stuffed with rocks and acorns, releasing a new one each time it danced in the wind.

  Ichi picked up hundreds of the ornaments dropping rocks through the canyon. Beside each skull, Ichi spotted a collection of hallowed bamboo whistles fastened to the endless branches.

  Through the blinding noise and the vibrations of the raining rocks, Toji and Ozo began to panic, desperately trying to stave the chaos from burying itself beneath their skin.

  As his perception shifted to his brothers, a dark shadow suddenly swept past Ichi and took his legs out from under him. Ozo swung his sword in response, burying it in trunk of a bamboo stalk beside him. The young samurai pulled his sword free, but before he could swing again the shadow was gone.

  In that moment, from the far reaches of his peripheral vision, Ichi spotted a shimmer of light glistenin
g off a bamboo stalk beside him. Ichi felt the water in his pot evaporating quickly, leaving only the clay, growing red with heat as he turned and carved the hard stalk beside him in twain, sending the entire tree to the forest floor at their feet.

  As Ozo stepped from the way of the falling bamboo, the shadow returned once again. This time, it took the youngest brother to the ground and disarmed him in the process. Toji spun to defend Ozo but a flash of steel remained to catch his attacking sword!

  There he was standing before them, small, limber, and silent. Foolishly, Ichi had looked for black among the forest but he was wearing bright green, the color of a tree frog. Of course he is, Ichi thought. If the stories of the Ninja are true, their skills in camouflage are unprecedented. The black swaths for which they are famous would only be effective against darkness so it makes sense to wear green among the trees.

  Before Ichi could take a step toward the assassin, he primed Toji’s blade with the flick of his wrist and forced the middle brother to let go of his sword. The Ninja caught it in midair and disappeared with both Toji’s and Ozo’s blades in hand leaving the two brothers sinning like dizzy children against the maelstrom around them.

  The thief moved so quickly even Toji lost him against the green. With a garment so specific to the environment, and the rudimentary tools hanging from the trees, something frightening became clear: This Ninja wasn’t just prepared for an attack, he knew Ichi and his brothers would be at this place at this time. He had been leading them into this trap from the very beginning.

  “Face us, you coward!” Ichi yelled as another bright flash caught his eye. Instinctively, the samurai swung at the shadows again, carving yet another tree from its place in the canyon. As the stalk collapsed, Ichi followed the source of light that distracted him to a mirror hanging in the trees along with the wind chimes and skulls. His pulse quickened as the samurai stepped back and hundreds of mirrors lit up the forest, their reflections dancing through the bamboo like a hurricane of angry spirits.

  “Where is he?” Toji begged. “Do you see him!?

  “No,” was all the eldest Son of Sato would dare say. With his sight now compromised, Ichi felt the empty clay pot that once held his chi crack against the heat of the fire on which it sat. With the progeny of greatness and a reputation for his skills preceding him, the feeling of being toyed with was new to Ichi. There’s no room for honor here, he thought. And perhaps, more dangerous than that, there is no anger in this stunt, just a simple warning that the Sons of Sato, for the first time, are standing against a real threat.

  Behind Ichi, his brothers, unaccustomed to a moment without the omnipotent knowledge of their surroundings, began to fall apart. Toji covered his ears, desperate to find solace from the mayhem. Ozo ran in and out of the trees, searching for his cowardly challenger with two useless fists clenched against the hidden swirling storm. Ichi gripped the only sword left between the three of them as the flashing light around him forced his eyes closed.

  In the dark, Ichi found himself begging the memories of his father for help but only one sentence came back to him, a stern warning he had ignored his whole life, “If a man relies too heavily on his strengths, they will become his weaknesses.”

  As Ichi stepped back, he suddenly felt his elbow brush against an unfamiliar shape. With a course of fear and panic, the samurai spun quickly and found himself face to face with the Ninja.

  Ichi’s reaction came by way of the unthinkable as the fire of instinct finally shattered the vessel of his honor into pieces. The eldest Son of Sato, the leader of the cause of peace in Bushan, and the heir to the red sword, picked up a handful of earth and threw it into the Ninja’s eyes.

  Ichi stopped breathing as he and his opponent both stepped back in stunned silence at the dishonor that just transpired. After a moment, Ichi engaged the blinded Ninja with an attack so muffled and sloppy, it more resembled a man fending off a swarm of bees than a skilled samurai on the offense.

  Toji and Ozo attempted to assist, but with their senses blinded, the three of them fell short, and the Ninja disappeared once more.

  Ichi breathed hard, searching for his brothers amid the blinding silver flashes around him. Just as he made out their shadows, the Ninja returned with his eyes closed against the handful of sand.

  Unbelievably, the thief continued to fight without use of his eyes. He sent a series of calculated blows into Ichi’s chest, neck, and head, and followed with a swift kick into Toji’s temple and a jab into Ozo’s throat.

  With a moment to regain himself, Ichi took to his feet and attacked the Ninja from behind, but as his sword sang through the air, he learned too late that the Ninja was waiting for this. Quickly, the green-clad thief caught Ichi’s wrist, flipped him onto his back, and held him in a lock with his own sword at his throat.

  Calm and quiet, the Ninja leaned in toward Ichi, his two red eyes clenched against the handful of sand burning them from the inside out.

  “I can fight blind, Samurai,” the Ninja whispered like a voice from beyond the grave. “Why can’t you?” Beside him, Ichi sensed Toji’s ears perk.

  “I know that voice,” Toji said quietly and curiously as he and Ozo got to their feet behind the assassin. Quickly, the Ninja took Ichi’s sword, leapt forward, and faced down the three disarmed brothers together.

  Ichi got to his feet as the Ninja wiped the dirt from his eyes.

  Those eyes, he thought, noticing the specks of color from the Ninja’s irises through the redness from the sand, there’s something familiar about them.

  As Ichi scanned the small visible portion of the assassin’s face through his shozoko, it took him a moment to discover that the most damning thing about the attacker wasn’t in his eyes . . .

  Hanging on his belt was the Red Sword of Sato, it’s scabbard cracked down the center.

  The white heat of terror moved through Ichi’s body as he tried to piece together what he was seeing. “Why do you have my father’s sword?” Ichi hollered.

  “Explain yourself, Ninja!” Ozo demanded.

  “I’m saving his life,” the Ninja breathed softly as if putting a babe to sleep.

  “No,” Toji whispered as he fell to his knees.

  “What is it?” Ichi demanded.

  “A whisper may hide your identity to most,” Toji said through his emotions, “but not to me.”

  Suddenly, the Ninja struck again, moving like an invincible gale of vengeance as he kicked air from the samurai’s lungs and liberated blood from their veins.

  Disarmed and still blinded by the assassin’s clever tools, Toji and Ozo hit the ground, unconscious.

  Time slowed as Ichi felt the silent attacker grasp him around the neck and pull a fist aimed to strike at his temple.

  “Saving my father’s life . . .” Ichi grunted through the shame of defeat, “by stealing his sword? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “It’s no lie,” the silent assassin whispered. “After all, he’s my father, too.”

  The feeling of horror barely had time to register across Ichi’s mind before the Ninja sent two knuckles cracking into his temple, knocking him into the black.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Akiko’s dark hair bobbed across her shoulders as she skipped through the immaculate gardens of the Sato estate. The beautiful eleven-year-old girl bound past sculptures of stone dragons and regal ancestors, fountains bubbling clear water over bright green moss-covered rocks, and wooden bridges crossing ponds, alive with koi fish. The young girl’s stride slowed and her shoulders hunched and she approached a series of wood and paper buildings toward the center of the property. She knew she wasn’t allowed by the dojo this time of day.

  “Akiko,” her mother Kimi’s gentle voice hailed from somewhere in the distance, “where are you? There’s work to be done yet, young lady!” The words fell past the girl’s deaf ears as she took care to move quietly down the path. Her mother was right, Akiko’s chores had yet to be finished, but this hour was precious, and she had matters far more important
to attend to.

  Her pace slowed with each step as the girl closed in on the back of the central building in her family’s estate. After a final look over her shoulder, she leapt an intricately trimmed hedge, ducked into an open area behind a wooden fence, and approached the side of the immaculate house where a small corner of rice paper had been carefully torn away from the windowpane at her feet.

  As a child of very few years, Akiko was subject to many rules throughout the household. She was not allowed around the kettle fire or the armory kiln. She wasn’t allowed to feed the pigs without her mother or father close at hand, and there was a certain yellow-tipped crane that lived on the south side of the estate that had an impulse to peck at little girls. Akiko saw reason to avoid all of these dangers, but she still couldn’t and wouldn’t understand the reason she wasn’t allowed into the dojo during training hours.

  Quietly, she lay in the soft gravel beside the window and peered through a tear in a low paper frame. Inside the one-room structure, Sato, the most famous and respected samurai in both worlds, bowed his hairless head toward his three teenage boys. Each of the young men, with their hair in a long single braid representing their status as apprentice samurai, returned their father’s honorable greeting. By the time Akiko’s father rose from the apex of his bow, his kind eyes had lost all expression and his robes floated in the air as he struck a fighting stance.

  The three boys swirled around the man, attacking like hungry dogs. They fought with empty hands, working together in an attempt to throw their father off balance. Sato’s reputation wasn’t in place for nothing. He deflected each and every one of his challengers’ strikes. The fight grew in intensity until Sato knocked the largest of the boys to the ground. Angry, Ichi stood, turned, and squinted, as if to study the way Sato had placed his stance. Before he had the time to find what he was looking for, however, Sato took the boy off his feet yet again.

  “It’s not fair!” his cracking adolescent voice screeched as Ichi rolled to his belly and pounded the bamboo mat with his fists.