Owl Ninja Read online

  No one argues with that. Nezume would know. He studied at the Dragon Ryu for two years, and the Dragon Master’s cruelty is written in the scars across his back.

  “Dishonor and stupidity go together,” Sensei says sadly. “The Dragon Master’s brain is as empty as Niya’s other slipper.”

  He means the one I haven’t got.

  “We have to do something. We can’t stand back just because we don’t have to fight. No one should have to. Not even the Dragons,” insists Yoshi.

  Sensei nods in agreement. “All war is about nothing important. When something is nothing, it is not worth fighting about.”

  Ki-Yaga is a Zen master. They’re experts at Nothing. And I’m good at Zen, too. I think about nothing all the time.

  Ta-thum. Thump. The drum dares us to make it stop.

  “Only the Emperor or the Shogun can silence a war drum,” Taji says.

  “The Shogun is away in the far north, but the Emperor is in winter residence at Toyozawa Castle. We will go there and ask the Emperor, the Son of Heaven, to help. But we must be careful.” Sensei frowns, his brow wrinkling like rice paper. “Not everyone will want to see this war end before the first sword stroke. The mountain lords will insist on the right to settle their differences with the sword.”

  “And the Dragon Master will do all he can to make certain the bloodshed begins,” says Onaku. “He will see Ki-Yaga’s peacemaking as an attempt to deprive the Dragon Ryu of its chance to win great honor and distinction.”

  We understand that. Beware the Dragon. But we’re also excited to be going on a journey.

  I can’t wait to see the castle again. Many years ago, when I was too young for school, my father and mother took me to see the Emperor honor the great samurai warrior Mitsuka Manuyoto. Now Mitsuka lives as a hermit beside the ocean, but when he was a boy, he studied at the Cockroach Ryu and slept in my bed. His name is scratched into the wood above my pillow. I carved my name beneath it. His writing was as poor as mine.

  I remember the castle. Food, singing, dancing, and music.

  But the only music now is the drum.

  Ta-thum. Thum. Thum.

  Ten days to war.

  “We leave at once, before the Dragon Master realizes what we are trying to do,” Sensei announces. “We must ask the Emperor to move quickly.”

  But it might not be possible for him to move quickly. Our Emperor is even bigger and rounder than Onaku. Maybe he could sit on the Dragon Master. Imagining the Dragon Master squashed flat, I smile wider than the drunken tree frog.

  Sensei’s brilliant eyes search my face. Is the wizard reading my mind? I practice Zen thoughts and think of nothing. But it doesn’t help. Sensei doesn’t stop at nothing.

  “Taji and Kyoko will pack food for the journey,” Sensei instructs. “Yoshi, Mikko, and Nezume will gather clothes and weapons.”

  “I’ll help with that,” Onaku volunteers.

  “Niya will go and catch Uma.”

  Once we would have drawn bamboo straws to see who had to go near his snarling teeth. That was before I discovered he liked honey rice pudding as much as I do. Now we’re the best of friends. But we can’t load our goods on his back, we’ll have to carry everything ourselves. Uma is a proud warrior horse. He’ll let us ride, but he won’t cart raincoats and rice cakes. Not for all the pudding in Japan.

  By the time the sun sinks low into the valley, we’re packed and ready to leave. Sensei goes first, leading Uma through the dusk, down the path to the village. When Yoshi and I walked this way alone, I saw shapes shifting in the darkness. Wolves. Tanuki dogs. But here with my friends and our ferocious horse, there is nothing to fear. Not even Grandfather’s ghost stories could frighten me now.

  Our spirits shine bright in the deepening gloom. Yoshi, the Tiger; Taji, the Golden Bat, who doesn’t need eyes to see; Mikko, the Striped Gecko; Kyoko, the mischievous Snow Monkey; Nezume, the Long-Tailed Rat; and me. I am the White Crane, spreading my wings over them all, a cloak against the thump of the drum.

  Night turns the trees gray and spectral. It’s a four-hour journey to the village, but it will take longer traveling with Uma. The ground is uneven where last year’s earthquake has refolded the path, and it’s easy for a horse to stumble if we move too quickly.

  I walk second from the end. Not because I’m slow — even with one leg I can travel as fast as the others — but because Onaku brings up the rear and I like to talk to him. I like to hear about the adventures he and Sensei had together.

  “The Emperor will be pleased to see Ki-Yaga,” I say. “Maybe there will be a welcoming parade when the Son of Heaven hears we are coming.”

  Onaku lifts one eyebrow, then the other.

  “The Emperor was so pleased with Sensei’s service that he rewarded our teacher with his freedom,” I continue. “He was the only royal bodyguard ever to receive such a great honor. Maybe there’ll be fireworks.”

  Onaku grins, and his belly begins to jiggle as the laugh works its way to his face. “Is that what Sensei told you?”

  “Well, not exactly. But I thought . . .”

  Onaku’s laugh erupts over my words. “I remember it a little differently. The Emperor yelled so loud that his words are still stamped inside my ear. His face went purple, and his eyes bulged bigger than a bubble-faced goldfish. ‘If I ever see you around here again, Ki-Yaga, I’ll chop off your head’ was what he said. As I recall, Ki-Yaga and I left very quickly.”

  Half a moon lights our way forward, the drumbeat pushing against our backs. We keep going.

  The path has narrowed now, forcing us to walk in single file. It’s cold, but that’s not why I’m shivering. Samurai kids wear many layers of clothing. I could walk through the snow and not feel a single icy drip. I’m worried about what might happen to Sensei when we reach the castle.

  Even I can’t yell louder than the rising night wind and the pounding drum, so I send my question down the path, echoing from friend to friend.

  “Ask Sensei why the Emperor wants to chop off his head. Pass it on,” I whisper to Nezume, walking in front of me.

  “I’d like to know that, too. Sensei’s head belongs where it is,” Nezume says.

  He repeats my question to Mikko.

  Mikko tells Taji, and I just catch Mikko’s muffled words. “Ask Sensei why the emperor wants to drop his head. Niya needs to know.”

  I never said that! But a whispered message has a life of its own, and like the bamboo snake, it sheds its skin and changes as it wriggles on. I hear Taji’s voice. Then Kyoko’s. Finally, Yoshi’s words bellow through the darkness. “Why does Niya want to know that?”

  “Know what?” Sensei’s voice rises to hang like a question mark.

  The path has widened, and now we’re close together again. I could have saved a lot of trouble and asked Sensei myself.

  “Niya needs to know why the Emperor wants you to drop dead,” Yoshi says.

  It’s not what I said at all. Still, it’s near enough.

  “Is it true, Sensei?” Kyoko is worried, but Sensei laughs.

  “Yes. The Emperor was very angry. But there is a long line of men waiting to collect my head. Some, like the Dragon Master, would even push the Emperor out of the way to get it.” Sensei laughs again. “But I have more important things to worry about. Yoshi’s stomach is rumbling as loud as the war drum. There is a cave just below the next bend where we can eat and rest. I’ll tell the story then.”

  Yoshi is much bigger than the rest of us, and he loves his food almost as much as the Sword Master does. We always tease him about it.

  “Better get in quick.” Mikko winks at Nezume. “Otherwise Master Onaku and Yoshi will eat everything. Rice-paper wrapping and all.”

  Cheeky Striped Gecko. The wrapping is meant to be eaten.

  “I’m so hungry, I could eat a handful of lizards and maybe a long-tailed rat or two.” Yoshi grins and bares his tiger teeth.

  I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.

  Uma snorts a warning in my d
irection. Now even the wizard’s horse is inside my brain. I must be light-headed from lack of food. We didn’t eat before we left, and the time for dinner has long passed.

  “A samurai must learn to overlook the hunger in his gut and concentrate on his head. He cannot worry about food in the middle of battle,” Sensei taught us. “And if he does, he may not have a head.”

  I have always been attached to my head, so I try to ignore my stomach.

  The entrance to the cave is narrow, and inside, the space is smaller than the ryu’s tiny kitchen. But no one complains. We feel warm and safe, wedged tight. Even the sound of the drum is muffled into noiselessness. If only the beat didn’t continue echoing its warning inside my head.

  Mikko and Kyoko unpack egg rolls and noodle cakes. Yoshi passes the bowls, and Nezume places the water bottle in the center. Taji lights the tree-wax candles and holds the last one close in front of his face.

  “What are you doing?” Nezume asks.

  It’s a good question. We need the candlelight, but it makes no difference to Taji. He’s always in the dark.

  “Can you see something?” Kyoko looks hopeful.

  Long ago Onaku told us the story of an old blind villager. One morning he opened his eyes and the blindness was gone. Every night we wish for the same miracle for Taji, but every morning he is still blind. Sensei says it doesn’t matter. Taji already sees better than the rest of us staring together.

  “Sometimes I can see gray in the black.” Taji moves the candle to-and-fro.

  “Is that a good sign?” Kyoko asks Sensei.

  She wants to know if it means Taji might see one day.

  Sensei nods. “It is a very good sign. There is no black and white in the world. Only black and gray.”

  But I want Taji to see all the colors of our world, not just its shadows. I want to show him the pink and orange of the sun rising over the mountains. The bright white of Kyoko’s hair. And the blue blazing in Sensei’s eyes.

  Our conversation fades into a quiet camaraderie of food and thought, until the silence is finally big enough to hold Sensei’s story. He places his chopsticks across his bowl. His words grow large to fill the spaces between us, drawing us even closer to one another.

  “Many years ago, before you were born, when even Onaku was a young man, I was the Emperor’s bodyguard. I taught swordsmanship and zazen meditation to the castle children. I protected the Emperor’s life with my own.”

  Our legs are folded, but our backs are straight and proud. Once Sensei taught princes and princesses. Now he chooses to teach us.

  “Assassins are masters of disguise. They sneak beneath the night. They hide in small spaces,” Sensei says.

  Like a ninja! I remember what my father told me about them. They are ancient enemies of the samurai. They kill in secret, their dishonorable deeds cloaked in darkness. They don’t even carry proper swords. They’re worse than the Dragons.

  “Some assassins are very hard to see. The one that crept to murder the Emperor was almost not there. But I watched with my ears and killed him before he could strike.”

  “It was a ninja,” I announce. “They’re experts at hide-and-sneak. The ninja are without honor.” I’m pleased I worked it out first. Sensei always says my brain is a good athlete. It doesn’t need two legs to run.

  But our teacher doesn’t look impressed this time.

  “The ninja are not enemies of the Cockroach Ryu. You mustn’t judge too quickly, Niya. If you stick your foot in your mouth, you will fall flat on your face.”

  Chastened, I nod respectfully.

  “The Emperor must have been very grateful. You saved his life,” Mikko says, rescuing me from our teacher’s frown.

  Sensei shakes his head. “At first, the Emperor wished himself dead. The assassin was his youngest brother.”

  Kyoko gasps.

  Sensei killed a member of the imperial family. The penalty for that crime is death. There’s no excuse at all. Yet somehow Sensei is still alive.

  Ki-Yaga is a wizard. I’m sure of it now. It’s the only possible explanation.

  We sit in stunned silence. We know what should have happened next. To avoid dishonor, a samurai must slice his stomach and spill its contents onto the bamboo matting. It is called seppuku. The practice is forbidden under the new laws, but Sensei is a samurai of the old ways and the Emperor would have expected this private show of respect.

  But Sensei couldn’t have sacrificed his stomach. No wonder the Emperor wants his head.

  “The Emperor left my death sentence open until another time. Then he banished me from his presence. Onaku has already told you the end of the story.”

  Yoshi is quick to defend our teacher. “There was no dishonor in what you did.”

  “You had no face to save,” I agree.

  Sensei grins. “Only the contents of my last meal. Steamed fish and seaweed rice, I think. Do you remember, Onaku?”

  The Sword Master nods, patting his belly. “It was very tasty and worth keeping. You made the right decision, Ki-Yaga.”

  “Do you think the Emperor still wants to cut your head off?” Kyoko’s face wrinkles with worry.

  “One cannot be sure. Few debts are never collected,” Sensei says with a shrug. “We have a long way to go before we find out. Come, Little Cockroaches.”

  He claps his hands and Nezume jumps, knocking some of his rice onto Yoshi’s plate.

  “Thanks,” Yoshi says, between hurried extra mouthfuls.

  My appetite is gone. I’m much too worried about Sensei to eat.

  Taji and Kyoko pack up the leftover food as Onaku helps himself to the last egg roll.

  The sound of the drum fades as we descend toward the valley, but the echo of it still blasts and batters inside my head. War is marching to the mountains, and if we fail to stop its advance, many of our friends will die.

  It’s very late by the time we reach Onaku’s home at the edge of the village. Mrs. Onaku is waiting at the door.

  “Quickly, inside,” she says, looking beyond us into the darkness. “Strangers passed through the village this afternoon. We’ll tether Uma inside the smithy.”

  A night surrounded by armor and swords is a dream come true for an old warrior horse. Uma bares his teeth in a wet, wide smile.

  Onaku isn’t worried by the falling spray of spittle. He has other things on his mind. “Is there anything to eat, good wife?”

  “I have supper prepared,” she replies, smiling. “But first I must look after these children. They are exhausted. Especially Niya.”

  “I’m all r-r-ight,” I stutter and mumble, struggling to breathe.

  Yoshi prods me in the ribs. My friends know what the problem is. Mrs. Onaku smells like cherry blossoms, and her voice runs like honey to clog my thoughts until I can’t think at all. Whenever she speaks to me, the goldfish in my stomach flip and wriggle and my face goes bright red.

  Fortunately, she never notices.

  “I’ve put the boys in this room.” She opens a screen door, delicately painted with samurai battle scenes. All the warriors on the wall have Onaku’s face but none of them have his stomach. Mrs. Onaku is a skilled painter and a loving wife.

  Onaku knows how lucky he is.

  “I am no good at zazen,” he told us. “When I close my eyes, her face fills my thoughts. Until there is no room for Nothing.”

  If I had a wife that looked like Mrs. Onaku, I’d never close my eyes.

  “Kyoko can come with me,” she says. “I’m sure she needs a break from your smelly boys, Ki-Yaga.”

  Mikko grunts and Taji makes a face. After wrestling practice, Kyoko smells as much as we do. Sometimes worse. Our Snow Monkey hates bathing in the icy waters of the ryu river.

  “I’ll bring supper in soon,” Mrs. Onaku promises.

  My mouth waters. She’s a wonderful cook. No wonder Onaku has a big stomach.

  “Where’s Sensei?” Taji asks. Trust Taji to notice what we didn’t see. Sensei and Onaku have slipped away.

&nbs
p; “They have much to organize for tomorrow. And to help, you should eat and get some sleep.” Mrs. Onaku smiles, and I silently promise to eat and sleep forever.

  Supper is honey rice cakes with plum juice. It’s gone quickly, and I’m alone in the dark with my friends.

  “Hey, Niya! Would you like Mrs. Onaku to tuck you in?” Mikko teases.

  I throw a pillow at him and grin as the thwack finds his head.

  “I’m worried,” Nezume whispers into the darkness.

  He always is. Like the long-tailed rat, his nose twitches and his eyes shine anxiously.

  “Me too,” admits Mikko. “What if we can’t stop the war? What if Sensei dies trying?”

  “There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Yoshi’s voice is calm and authoritative. “Sensei’s head wields more power than any sword stroke.”

  We already knew this, but we feel better now that Yoshi has reminded us.

  Especially Nezume. “Thanks, Yosh,” he says.

  “Rise and shine, Little Cockroaches.”

  Blearily, I open my eyes. The only thing shining is Ki-Yaga’s bamboo torch.

  “It must be the middle of the night,” Mikko moans.

  “Five hours of sleep. The perfect amount.” Sensei’s voice booms in our ears.

  Five is Sensei’s favorite number. He teaches us about Godai — the five tiers of Zen. Earth, water, fire, wind, and sky. The most powerful of all is sky, where the White Crane and the black tengu take flight. But sky is also void. It’s no surprise that Nothing should be so important.

  We dress as quickly as we can. Underwear, trousers, jacket, kimono. Layer after layer tied together. It makes us look noble and proud, but it takes forever to put on. Not good for a quick getaway.

  “Watch out!” Taji ducks as Mikko’s obi sash flicks past and slaps me in the face.

  “Why are we leaving now?” grumbles Nezume. “It’s still dark.”

  “My tearoom walls are not the only ones with ears,” Sensei says. “When the mountain lords hear that the Cockroach Ryu is empty, they will be suspicious. Each will think we have joined the forces of the other, and they will send spies to find out what we are planning.”