Cave of the Shadow Ninja: Part IV Read online

  CAVE OF THE SHADOW NINJA

  PART IV

  DAVID PARKIN

  Contents

  Title Page

  Map

  Part IV: Sibling Rivalry

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Part V Preview

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2017 David Parkin.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or

  reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage

  retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, except in the

  case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Library of Congress Catalogue Number: TXu 2-013-773

  [email protected]

  www.daveparkin.com

  Map, title page, and chapter illustrations by Rachel Everett

  Cover art by Danny Haas

  For Junior, who was born in the middle of chapter six.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Shattered Palace gleamed against the gray mountain like a pearl on the tongue of a black mollusk. The silken white structure climbed the side of the terraced foothills beside a series of rice paddies to the north. The reason for its original construction and operation had been lost to the centuries, but the years of weather and war had done little to fade the shine on its marble visage.

  As its name suggested, the structure wasn’t without its scars. It had been split in two centuries ago when the Dragon Osmium broke the mountain like a vase.

  It was here, fifty years ago, in the uppermost level of the structure, that the two emperors met and stopped the ancient war. Since that day, the palace had fallen into decay as the responsibility for its upkeep fell on Bushan, and the opposing factions therein had delegated few resources for its preservation.

  “I hear her.” Toji’s voice echoed through the palace’s opening archway as he turned his ears to the southern wind, “She’s with two companions, a Metecian and a Wolfen, by the sound of their accents.”

  “Sendai,” Ichi sneered as he scanned the gray boulders that peppered the mountain path, “I knew she lacked the skills to do this alone.”

  “She was alone when she fought us,” Ozo pointed out, but Ichi scowled at the remark.

  Behind the broken keep lay the crossroads, the one place where the northern and southern routes across the Backbone met and the one safe passage to the west. The journey through the Broken Mountain was a two-day hike through a maze of sheer cliffs and canyons, in the middle of which lay the dangerous Basin, the spot where more men had died than anywhere else in the war.

  As Ichi, Toji, and Ozo made their way west, searching for their fugitive sister, the reports of missing provisions and strange occurrences had sputtered around the edge of the red-rice plantations. The brothers had since taken refuge inside the ruins of the old fortress en wait.

  “Is she their prisoner?” Ichi asked, hopeful.

  “She was attacked,” Toji related. “The mercenaries came to her rescue.”

  “Why?” Ichi asked, anguished. He knew Sendai and his Wolfen only by reputation, but their reputations spoke of mercy and worth. They didn’t seem the kind to align themselves with treachery.

  “You can ask them yourself,” Toji continued. “They’re just around the corner.”

  Moments later, Akiko, Sendai, and the Wolfen emerged from the winding path between the sandstone boulders with their swords drawn.

  Ozo was right. The Ninja had seen some action since they last met. Though she tried to hide it, Ichi’s sanctified eyes spotted the strained muscles in her neck, struggling to keep her posture from revealing too much.

  Flanking the traitor stood Sendai, unmistakable with his curved blade, long robes, and dark goggles, and the red-haired Wolfen known to speak for the man of few words.

  “Our fight is not with you, Sandlander,” Ichi called, “or you, Wolfen, but if your goals lie with this—” Ichi couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge her, even by reference, “then by all means, stand by the side of disgrace.”

  The sound of the Wolfen clearing his throat echoed off the rocks before he answered. “I think, if you take a minute to listen, you’ll realize we all have the same goal here, friends. Maybe we should sit down and—”

  “I don’t sit down with Ninjas!” Ichi cut back, burning with anger at the sight of his father’s sword shimmering in the Ninja’s hands.

  Down the path, Akiko spoke to Patrick in a quiet tone. A quick gesture from Ichi ordered Toji to transcribe.

  “It’s no use,” Toji quoted her, “they’ve had their chance to help me and—” Toji trailed off suddenly.

  “Go on,” Ichi demanded.

  After a moment, Toji turned to his eldest brother with the innocent look of a broken heart. “You cut her?” he asked, saddened and offended.

  “What?” Ozo spoke up, shocked.

  Ichi’s quick-fire anger flashed at the fact that his brothers had found this the most disturbing part of the assembly. “Why is my honor in question here?” he asked.

  Toji nodded an obviously half-hearted apology and turned back to the three outlaws. If someone acts dishonorably, Ichi thought, isn’t it only just to respond in the same way?

  After a moment of silence, Toji stepped forward. “We don’t want to fight you, Akiko,” he pleaded. “Please come with us and we’ll work this out.”

  “Turn around now,” the Ninja cut back, unsurprisingly, “or you won’t survive.”

  The Wolfen asked another whispered question and again, Toji looked confused. They’re just learning who she is, he reflected. They must not have been with her long.

  “Good,” Ichi observed, “that means they don’t have a plan.” As he finished his thought, the samurai raised his sword. His brothers shadowed his movements, and Akiko, Sendai, and the Wolfen reacted, sprinting toward them from down the hill.

  The three brothers stepped back inside the open ruins of the palace as they met their opponents. Their clashing steel echoed into the empty air of the cathedral as Toji faced off with Patrick, Ozo crossed swords with Sendai, and Ichi, as he had ordered days ago, faced Akiko.

  Without cause to worry about a trap, Ichi fought hard and viciously against the Ninja, keeping his sword high and forcing her to strain against her wounds.

  Their fight moved onto the palace’s collapsed buttresses and archways rising through the open edifice like cobwebs. They fought through the shafts of light cutting like glass shards through the broken walls and windows.

  “My sister,” barked Ichi as he advanced, their swords clanging against each other in rhythm, “a thief and murderer who let her own father suffer for her crimes!”

  “I don’t have time for this!” Akiko spouted as she swung and blocked, protecting her stomach, leading the fight up a sloping pillar with her good leg.

  Using her weakness against her, Ichi chipped away at the Ninja’s fortitude, striking and pushing across her pain until the bounds of honor began to crack, the same strategy she had used against him in the forest of arrows.

  After a fake to the left, Akiko pulled three glass balls from her padded belt and threw them to the stone at their feet. The projectiles shattered and released a thick screen of white smoke, vanishing the Ninja completely.

  Ichi paused as the white cloud engulfed him, growing thicker by the second. “Did you forget who I am?” Ichi said smugly. A smoke s
creen might be an effective weapon to a traditional enemy but Ichi’s eyes could make out every tiny particle polluting the air, and Akiko came through like an ink stain on white silk.

  Is she mad? he thought?

  As a pattern of disruption appeared through the smoke, Ichi foresaw the Ninja’s blade and deflected the attack with a simple throw. She spun quickly and disappeared again into the white fog without a sound.

  Amused, Ichi moved slowly up the collapsed stone pillar to an uneven floor on the third level of the palace, and a field of iron caltrops appeared across the rotten wood.

  With a smile, Ichi stepped through the minefield of thrown spikes. “What’s the matter?” he quipped. “Did you run out of mirrors and wind chimes? You know your gutless toys won’t help you here.”

  Suddenly, something small displaced the air in a spinning motion. As if reading the points of attack in a book, two throwing stars puffed through the fog and met Ichi’s steel as easily as swatting a lazy moth from the air.

  “Weak,” Ichi uttered.

  A rope dart followed, and the Samurai cut it down. “Weak,” he said again, growing impatient.

  A bolas came next, cut to pieces. “Weak!” he shouted, his anger growing with each fruitless strike.

  Ozo and Sendai’s two swords pranced like dancing ghosts across the stone floor of the Shattered Fortress. Their fight had moved below the mezzanine to the dungeon. Their footwork moved across green moss and dodged through scattered bones and wrenched iron bars.

  Like most throughout the two worlds, Ozo had heard the stories of The Great Sendai. None of them, however, did the swordsman any justice. The Metecian’s blade moved as if it was weightless, brandished by a hummingbird. Ozo was so impressed he found himself studying the man like an ancient text, forgetting that their fight held death on the line.

  “Having fun?” Sendai asked.

  “I must say,” the young samurai responded with an even tone, “fighting The Great Sendai is every bit as exhilarating as I’d hoped.”

  “A line I’ve heard too many times before,” Sendai answered as he jumped Ozo’s swing.

  Sensing the man’s pulse and the pressure in his veins, the samurai had no doubt it was true. He read about as much tension and fear in Sendai’s style as a man lazily whittling a piece of wood. I’d be insulted if I wasn’t so impressed, Ozo thought to himself.

  “Is it true what they say about you and the genie?” he asked.

  “Some rumors about me are true,” Sendai came back as he deflected Ozo’s three-part advance. “And some are not.”

  “It’s too bad,” Ozo complained. “If we met under different circumstances, I believe we could have been friends.”

  Sendai let a grin through his stony gaze as he brought Ozo’s sword into the wet rocks beside them. “It’s not too late for that,” he said.

  Ozo broke the hold and swung again. “You’re famous for your mercy, no?” he asked.

  A slight tilt of Sendai’s head answered the question.

  “Tell me,” he continued, “have you ever been in need of mercy yourself?”

  “It’s been quite some time,” the Metecian answered truthfully as they moved below a large gap in the ceiling.

  The muscle tension through Sendai’s blade was perfectly honed, almost flawless. There was something lacking, however, something Ozo hadn’t expected in one so accomplished. Perhaps he’s toying with me? the samurai wondered.

  Ozo tested the Metecian by drawing his next block past his shoulder, pinning Sendai’s sword to the floor and forcing him to throw a punch. The moment his fist connected with Ozo’s jaw, he had his answer, plain as the shining sun . . .

  The young samurai stepped back, creating some distance between himself and his opponent. “You’re every bit as good as they say,” Ozo complimented.

  “A lot of men say that, too,” Sendai responded with gratitude.

  “Tell me,” the samurai prodded, “have you ever fought without your sword?”

  “Of course,” Sendai’s answered.

  As Ozo paced in a wide circle around Sendai, he felt through the stone floor the telltale shudder of the Metecian’s pulse revealing a lie.

  “You’ve faced a lot of men,” the samurai continued, “but you’ve never faced me. And I’ve learned something just now.”

  “Which brother are you?” Sendai asked suspiciously.

  “The one that can feel your heartbeat rising,” Ozo answered with a smile.

  As Ozo had suspected, Sendai attacked again, no longer sparing the killing blows meant for those he truly feared.

  The once-great stained glass windows in the open hall of the fortress poured light onto Toji and the Wolfen knight like curtains of rainbow as they fought.

  As the their clashing steel echoed through the high ceiling, Toji couldn’t help but feel that he had drawn the short straw when it came to opponents. Even if the samurai lacked the benefit of hearing every move the man made through his creaking armor, the redhead’s clunky sword stood as no match for him.

  Patrick wasn’t completely without skill, Toji admitted, but his lackluster movements were more suited for clashes over women in back alleyways or tavern brawls than in battles with warriors over the fate of the two worlds.

  Sadly, Toji read that the Wolfen’s lack of skill was due to an injury tightening his back and shoulder.

  With his brothers facing formidable foes in other parts of the ruins, Toji felt he had given his opponent enough of a chance to prove himself. Without losing so much as a breath to the strain, the samurai forced Patrick against a wall of stone below the cascade of vibrant light.

  Toji primed his steel with a spin and flicked the sword from Patrick’s hand.

  “Joke’s on you!” the Wolfen hollered, “I don’t even like that sword.”

  Toji attempted to stifle his laughter as he slapped Patrick across the face with the flat edge of his blade.

  “Oww,” the Wolfen moaned, rubbing his cheek.

  “I’m sorry to offend you,” Toji said as he placed the edge of his steel against Patrick’s throat, “but your swordsmanship isn’t near the same level as your partner’s. Why does he keep you around?”

  “I make him laugh,” Patrick said.

  Toji finally gave in, letting a chuckle escape his lips. “You are quite funny,” he said. “I heard you joking all the way up the pass.”

  “Yeah?” Patrick responded, flattered. “You’re the one with the ears?” Toji nodded as modestly as he could while keeping his sword prime. Considering he held the man’s life at the edge of his blade, the Wolfen’s friendly demeanor came as a surprise.

  “You want to hear another one before you kill me?” Patrick asked.

  Toji couldn’t help but relax his guard as he smiled at the pathetic knight. “Sure,” he said.

  Patrick raised his elbows to speak with his hands. “So,” he continued, “a Sandlander, a Woodlander, and a Grasslander are riding a ridgeback to the Northern Slope. The Grasslander stretches his aching back and says, ‘I don’t know about you boys, but I could use a good massage.’”

  Toji hitched to the Wolfen’s words as the man mimed the riders holding the reins of the beast.

  “So the Sandlander,” Patrick continued, “rubs his neck and says, ‘I know a place down the road where the girls just wear three handkerchiefs, one on the top and one on the bottom.

  “Where do they wear the other one?’ the Grasslander asked, and the Woodlander says—”

  Suddenly, the Wolfen swung his outstretched hands together and slapped both palms against Toji’s ears with the strength of a barbarian.

  The sound shattered the samurai’s ears with a scream of pain that forced him to his knees, clutching the sides of his head.

  Standing over him, Patrick spoke through the terrible buzz. “I’m sure there’s some sort of joke to be made about punch lines here,” the Wolfen quipped, sounding like the muffled call of a whale through the sea, “but really, I’m not funny enough to think of it.�
��

  The defeated samurai tried to pull from the wailing in his head but there was nothing to be done. The Wolfen lifted his boot heel and delivered a shattering kick into his chin. As Toji fell to the ground in the vibrant light of the stained glass, suddenly, he understood exactly why Sendai kept Patrick around.

  Below the palace, the shattering blows from Ozo and Sendai’s steel fractured the silence of the great torture chamber for the first time in decades.

  After learning all he needed to know, the young samurai threw a block from the Metecian and leapt up a stone foundation wall, just out of the swordsman’s reach. There, Ozo sat, observing Sendai with a satisfied grin.

  Through their fight, Ozo had learned that his opponent was not only a master of swordplay but a master of deception as well. The Metecian had a secret and, like it or not, Ozo had just become The Great Sendai’s greatest confidant.

  “Had enough, have you?” Sendai asked through huffing breaths.

  Ozo held out his sword and dropped it clanking at Sendai’s feet. Casually, he jumped to the mossy stones and faced the Metecian unarmed. “First of all,” Ozo said, “you’re an honorable man. I commend you for that.”

  “Pick up your sword,” Sendai pressed, unamused.

  “Oh no,” Ozo said, his confidence growing. “I’ll never beat you with my sword. However, I can beat you with this . . .” Slowly, Ozo bent and picked up a rock at his feet.

  Sendai laughed.

  The young samurai smiled along with his opponent, feeling the Metecian’s heart rate rising again through the ground. Without another word Ozo wound up and threw the stone.