The Wrath of Silver Wolf (15 page)

'It's so confusing.' Snowhawk shrugged. 'I know
she spoke the truth, but why –'

'Even the she-wolf shows a trace of tenderness
at the sight of an orphan cub.' The White Nun
ignored the questioning frown on Moon's face and
winked at Snowhawk.

Struggling to her feet, the sage turned and
made for a thick bedroll under a lantern on the far
wall. Motto stood briskly and walked backwards at
her side, his eyes moving constantly between the
two unexpected guests.

The White Nun stopped at the foot of her bed,
looking back at them.

'I am empty now. I must grow truly still,
withdraw inside my mind's deepest shield to
recover my strength. At such times, my life is in
Motto's paws, for while resting thus, I can neither
sense nor repel any form of attack. But do not fear:
if your enemies arrive, Motto will hear them and
raise the alarm. So now, both of you, sleep. I will
wake you just before sunrise.'

Snowhawk eyed the dog as it sat down beside
the White Nun's bedroll. 'But, apart from Motto-
San, you have no maids or servants. Who will first
wake
you
?'

The sage batted her strange red eyes. 'No one
needs to. Though all living things require rest, let's
just say I do not sleep in the way of men, women
and beasts.'

'I once heard,' Snowhawk said, 'that there were
people who lived without sleep in the ancient
days, the Old Country days, in that time before
the first scrolls were written. But that's probably
just another legend . . .'

'No,' the White Nun said wearily, 'we . . .
they . . . did live that way.'

Moon gaped at Snowhawk.
We?
Could it be
true? Was the White Nun herself actually
ancient
?
Was she – through some powerful lost science –
immortal now, perhaps the last of her kind?

The White Nun caught his eye and gave a soft
groan. 'If only, boy, that were so.'

The sage stretched out slowly on the bedroll,
lying on her side, quickly entering some form of
trance. Beside her Motto sat, tireless and vigilant.
As they watched, the White Nun's breathing
slowed until, finally, it appeared to stop.

The pair looked at one another dumbfounded.

Moon shook his head. 'She can do all that,'
he whispered, 'but not guarantee our survival. So
much power, yet there are crucial things she refuses
to get involved with.' He clicked his tongue.

'Is that not proof,' Snowhawk replied slowly,
'that she truly
is
a saint?'

He tried to ponder her question as he stretched
out on his own bedroll, exhausted and eager to let
sleep find him. But one thought alone drove all
others from his mind.

The White Nun knows who my mother was
.

Before Moonshadow closed his eyes, he felt
them fill with tears.

ELEVEN
Sailing with
Rokurokubi

Moonshadow awoke with a start, the sting of
crisp salt air in his nose. He sat up.

It was daylight. He was no longer in the shrine,
nor even on the mountain. How?

How did he get
here
? This was impossible. It had
to be some test the White Nun had
miraculously
thrown him into. Was Snowhawk being tested in
the same way?

Scrambling to his feet, Moon turned a circle as
his head cleared.

He stood on the elevated rear deck of a long,
single-masted ship that sat low in the ocean. There
was no land in sight. The sky was overcast, dark
clouds on the horizon.

Beside him, three iron poles rose from the
planks. They extended up to meet rigging lines
that stretched to the ship's central mast. From the
middle pole, two bright, tubular carp flags streamed
behind the craft. On the outer two poles, vertical
war banners bearing the crest of the Tokugawa
Shogun tensed and snapped. A wide, white sail
fluttered in the breeze from the mast's crossbeam.
An identical crest half-covered it.

Moon ran to the railing. It was a solid wooden
lattice, like something built to pen horses. He
peered over the side. There were rows of oars, tips
trailing and skipping in the water. This ship, a
daimyo's if not that of the Shogun himself, was
built to be propelled by both wind and samurai
rowers. But there were no rowers. He turned again,
eyes hunting quickly. No crew either. He tilted his
head, listening. All was silent below decks.

'Nobody,' he murmured. Great! Moon hung his
head. The ship
was
deserted. How was he supposed
to get home?

'Is it safe to come down now?' The woman's voice
came from the direction of the mast. 'Is it over?'

He leapt from the rear to the main deck. 'Where
are you?' Moon shouted.

There was a long, slow
swishing
sound. Then he
spotted her, sliding down the mast. A woman in
a golden kimono; older than Snowhawk, younger
than Heron. Her hair was neatly thatched on the
crown of her head in an elaborate high-born lady's
style.

Moonshadow stared at her, biting his lip. Was
she the wife of a great lord? Or a dignitary perhaps?
Maybe the ship had been transporting her. Had an
enemy found them?

He ran forward and bowed. The lady gave him
a stately nod. She must have been hiding up the
mast, hanging onto its rigging.

Why?
How?
Did her guards help her get up
there?

'It was awful.' The woman's pale but youthful
face creased. Moon could see terrible memories
flickering behind her large brown eyes. 'It went
after them, moving systematically through every
part of the ship.' She tightened her kimono
around herself. 'One by one, they all jumped, or
were taken.'

'Taken . . .' Moonshadow repeated, glancing
warily over each shoulder. 'What was it? What do
you mean
taken
?' He tipped his head, checking in
all directions. No. He heard no lurking entity. He
also sensed no shinobi presence.

'It . . . it tore them apart.' She motioned at
him. 'That sword on your back won't stop it.' The
lady hunched sorrowfully. 'Many brave warriors
died trying to fend it off.'

She drew a breath and pointed below the lip of
the elevated rear deck.

There, in a dark wood frame, stood a barbarian-made
mirror. This imported treasure, the lady's
golden kimono, the ship itself, all spoke of money
and the highest connections. So this lady
was
a
person of great importance. Moon's heart skipped
a beat. What if she was
royalty
and the White Nun
had flung him here to protect her?

Beside the foreign mirror stood what the lady
had pointed at: an open sliding panel revealing a
narrow flight of wooden stairs.

'Please.' She wrung her hands. 'Go ahead of
me, below decks, just in case . . .'

Moon drew his back-mounted shinobi straight
sword in a flash of steel. 'A pleasure, my lady. Please
follow at least four paces behind me, for safety.'

'Yes of course, brave young sir.' She gestured
for him to lead off. Moon took four long strides
then motioned for her to follow. He was guarding
royalty! Eager, excited, he reached the stairs more
than four paces ahead of the lady.

As he raised his sword, ready to descend, movement
in the mirror caught his eye.

His gaze flicked to it and his mouth fell open. He
was
seeing things
. Moonshadow jolted back a pace.
That was no barbarian mirror. It was bewitched, a
haunted mirror!

For in it he saw the lady he protected, but her
neck was elongating, hoisting her head a man's
length up and forward on an ever-stretching cable
of pale flesh.

It was a vision of a Rokurokubi: that sinister
yokai that pretended to be human, before
it . . . Moon flinched. Pretended to be human. A
lady. Royalty, even.

Then he knew. What he saw was no vision, it
was a
reflection
.

He whirled around, bringing his sword up
fast. The Rokurokubi's head flew at him, while
the neck continued to stretch yet keep its thickness.
Its gold-kimonoed body stood rigid in the
background. Its womanly face was dark and
frightening now, all sharp lines around tiny
cold black eyes. That formerly petite mouth
had stretched to three times its width. Shining
lips opened and a single row of oversized human
teeth snapped.

Moonshadow ducked and ran below the
lunging head and snaking neck. He hopped to
one side and turned fast, raising his sword, ready
to cut down hard through it. But before his blade
could fall, the head swung back and hurled itself
sideways into him. Moon streaked through the
air, crashing to the main deck, sliding and finally
rolling to the foot of the mast. He forced himself
up quickly, nursing a bruised shoulder.

The Rokurokubi's body held its ground but
turned as the meandering neck and bobbing head
came after him. Moon sheathed his sword and
jumped onto the mast, clamping his hands and
feet around it and ascending monkey-style. As he
rose level with the Tokugawa crest, something pale
swished behind him. He turned his head and saw
a thick coil of neck curving away. Moonshadow
froze, looking about him in abject horror.

Its neck now elongated to perhaps the length
of the ship, the Rokurokubi was steadily winding
itself round and round both mast and sail. It was
keeping each twist out of sword range, patiently
forming a fleshy cage that could tighten at any
moment.

Just as that thought struck him, the gaps
between the coils of neck began to shrink. Moon
jumped onto the crossbeam, drawing his sword.
With a loud
whump
, the creature's head struck his
from behind. He sagged to one knee, stunned. The
sound of snapping teeth rang loud in one ear. He
twisted away, flailing with his weapon. Missed!

Whump
, it rammed him again. Moonshadow
fell forward. The beam went black.

He blinked and turned his head. Everything
was now black and he was tumbling, upside down.
No, he was still again now, but on his back . . . and
just his shoulders moved.

Moon opened his eyes. Lantern light. Ceiling
shadows. Snowhawk was shaking him, her face
ashen. He lay on his bedroll, in the shrine, on the
White Nun's mountain.

Realising what had happened, he let out a low
moan.
Another
dream attack!

'Thank the gods!' Snowhawk released him and
sank back wearily. 'The way you were gasping,
I
thought
it was happening again! And it was,
wasn't it?'

'Yes! Thank
you
.' He patted the back of her
hand. 'Once more you have saved my life.'

Moon raised his head, touching his neck. He
was drenched with sweat. He looked around. The
White Nun still lay in her trance, so still she could
have been a fallen statue. Motto-San lay beside her,
as motionless as if drugged. Yet his ice-blue eyes
remained open, their glow half as intense as when
he had cornered his visitors in that rocky gully.

'Why didn't they know I was under attack?'
Moonshadow frowned hard.

Snowhawk gave a patient sigh. 'Remember
what she said? When she rests, she can't sense or
repel any kind of attack. As for Motto-San, she
said if your enemies
arrive
, he'll hear them and
raise the alarm. The Death Dream shinobi can't
be that close, then.' She stared at Moon intently.
'Or maybe she wanted you facing this threat on
your own.'

'I hope you're wrong about that.' Sitting up,
Moonshadow ran his hands over his face and
through his hair. 'Snowhawk,' he whispered
haggardly, 'what if this keeps happening? What
chance do I have if it happens when we're
separated?'

She thought awhile before answering. 'I know
enough of this dark art to know there is only one
defence during an attack. You must fight,
in
the
nightmare, as you would in real life. Fight, and
win.'

'How?' His mouth quirked to one side at
the impractical notion. 'When these evil yokai
invade my mind, I don't even know it's a dream.
I'm confused, I think it's real. Anyway, just now,
I
tried
to put up a fight. I was nothing against the
creature's powers.'

'Did you try using yours?' Snowhawk indicated
Motto. 'The Eye of the Beast?'

'Hah!' Moon rolled bloodshot eyes. 'And duel
the Rokurokubi with
what
? Irritable seagulls? How
about dolphins? I could have watched myself die
up on that mast through dolphin eyes.' He shook
his head. 'Because that's
all
they could have done.
Watched!'

Her nose creased. She squinted at him.
'Rokurokubi? Dolphins?' Snowhawk edged closer
and took his face in her hands. Her voice was soft
with pity. 'Are you going mad?'

'No.' He grinned awkwardly. 'In the dream
I was climbing the mast of a ship.'

'Ah! I see.' She nodded. 'I'm so tired, I can't
think straight.' Snowhawk gripped his arm tightly.
'Pray if there's another attack, it happens in
daylight.'

'Why?' Moonshadow scowled. 'Can't I just pray
there are no more attacks?'

'Listen to me. Though daylight assaults are
the most powerful form, they at least begin with
the victim knowing they're being dragged into a
waking nightmare. That's what the dream assassin
sacrifices in order to launch a day attack; the advantage
of complete surprise, the confusion a sleeper
faces. There's even a reliable giveaway sign.'

Moon read the discomfort on her face. 'What
happens? What will alert me?'

Snowhawk swallowed hard. 'As it begins, you'll
go blind.'

'Fine then, if you see me go blind during the
day, just grab me, snap me out of it, and –' he saw
her shake her head quickly. 'What? Why not?'

'Because of
why
daylight assaults are the most
powerful.' Snowhawk took a deep breath. 'If you're
shaken out of one by somebody else, you usually
stay
blind.'

'What? And you think I should
pray
for a
daylight attack?'

His raised voice brought Motto's big head up.
The dog stared at him. Moonshadow held his
hands up in surrender until the head sagged down
again.

Snowhawk shrugged. 'If it happens, Moon,
you just have to win! Use your special skill. Find
a way! Just remember what I said,' she whispered.
'Fight like it's real life.'

'Real life?' Moon patted his chest, shoulder
and the back of his head. 'I feel bruised . . . so can
injuries from these dreams follow you back
into
real life?'

She nodded gravely. 'For both you
and
your
opponent, it can work that way, yes.'

He lay back on the bedroll, hands behind
his head, desperate to sleep, desperate not to.
Snowhawk went quiet beside him. After a few
minutes, she began snoring.

Fight like it's real
. Some solution. It was
impossible. He was going to die.