Death's Sword Book 1: Finding and Seeking

Chapter 8, part 2: Day 12

The night air was cold yet Kleymin was sweating. He rested for a moment, then continued his climb. Where was the next hand-hold? Further up and over to the right. He groped towards it. Found it. Inched upwards. He reached a small ledge. He remembered the ledge as being three-quarters of the way to his goal. Closing his eyes, he recalled the route he had planned to take from the ledge. He resumed his climb.

Nearly there, he thought. The next hold was a difficult one. It was beyond his reach. He would have to spring up the rock face and catch the crack before he fell back. Tricky, as he could not now see the crack. The night was too dark, with no moon above the horizon, neither Tsuki-otomi nor Shi-tsuki. Despise death, he told himself, despise death. How often that had been chanted at him, by stern instructors and malicious fellow-pupils? Despise death, despise death. He could not; his aunt had taught him that Death was an honourable opponent. He sank down, as far as he could go. He coiled himself like a spring. He leapt upwards. Scrabbled on the rock-face. No crack met his fingers. A moment of panic as he slid back, starting the long fall back to the ground. One outstretched finger touched the opening, clawed at it. Too late! He fell past. Left hand caught a tiny protrusion. Right foot, scrabbling frantically, found a niche. He clung on, panting.

Takata and Da-keimin were waiting below, a large black shadow on the ground beside them. "Do you expect the boy to succeed?" asked Takata, speaking with lowered voice. Da-keimin remained unmoving, all but his eyes hidden by the black bandages of the ninja. "Not really," he admitted, "If he fails, we will have to use the secret entrance."

"You know of a secret entrance? Why, then, do you risk the boy?" Takata could not hide his surprise at this news. "I was told to test him," came the ominous reply, "I have been doing so and I suspect him. I do not think that he will make a true ninja." Takata was silent at this. A shower of pebbles rattled down the cliff. Both men braced themselves instinctively. No body followed, however.

Another minute dragged by, then five more. The small sounds of the nightlife resumed. Then came a distinctive sharp, whipping snap, the sound of a rope hitting rock. "He can climb, though, as well as fight. I will grant him that," said Da-keimin, as he picked up the big kite from the ground and moved to the rope that now hung down the cliff.

Kleymin could feel the sweat congealing on his face and body beneath his coverings. He gulped in great mouthfuls of air whilst he waited for the signal. His second attempt at the leap up the cliff had been more successful than the first. With the split in the rock located, he had grasped it, then clung on with one hand. His feet had moved to their new purchases. Slowly, he had drawn himself up onto the narrow shelf on which he now stood. The signal came; his kite was attached to the rope. With arms already tired, he drew it up. When finally it reached him, he carefully checked it by touch. His fingers moved delicately over each strut and spar. He breathed a sigh of relief; the kite was undamaged. Carefully, he turned to face the rock and buckled on the waist-strap. He slipped his arms into the waiting loops. The rope lay in a coil around his neck. He sucked air in. Despise death, despise death. He breathed out. Despise death. With a twist, he jumped backwards into the abyss.

"There!" hissed Takata, finger stabbing skywards. A black shape was moving, blotting out stars as it went. "We go," ordered Da-keimin, starting to lope after the shadow in the night sky.

Kleymin had only been on a man-carrying kite once before. That had been on a bright, sunny day. A very different proposition from this flight on a dark and moonless night. Kleymin felt the wind of his passage cutting through his clothes, chilling his body. He felt giddy with the exhilaration of it. He was free! Free, if only for a little while, of the constraints of being a student ninja. He soared through the air like a gigantic bat in swift and silent flight and almost burst into laughter. Suddenly, out of the darkness, below and before him, loomed a massive black shape. Kleymin's sense of freedom vanished and his heart sank, crushed by the huge mass of carved rock he was rapidly approaching. It was his destination, the stone-clad might of the citadel of Cheikatoma-nejiro. He shifted his weight and the kite lost more height, curving in towards the parapet of the keep.

The roof-top rushed up to meet him. He leant back, forcing the front of the big kite up. It stalled and he dropped the final metre. The kite gave one loud crack! as it hit the roof. Shrugging out of the harness, Kleymin hurried over to the parapet. He slung the rope over the edge then bent and tied it to the base of a nearby bronze torch-holder. A noise behind him. He span smoothly, his fingers tugging at his waist. Three warriors in light leather armour were emerging from a doorway nearby. They saw Kleymin. Two ran forward, drawing swords. The third turned to raise the alarm. He staggered as a sha-ken, a small throwing-dart, struck him in the neck. He stumbled, slid to the floor. The poison was swift and deadly. The leading warrior, eyes round with surprise, tried to parry another dart with his sword. He failed. The surviving warrior cut at Kleymin. The boy twisted to one side like an eel. He dodged back from another blow. The man aimed an overhead slash at the ninja. The lad stepped in, deflecting the blow, forearm to forearm. The boy-assassin's right hand chopped, struck at the junction of neck and body. The warrior collapsed.

Breathing deeply, Kleymin looked around and listened. No-one seemed to have heard the brief flurry of noise. He stooped and picked up a sword, examined it. The blade was made of bronze; second-rate warriors, these, to be so equipped, even in iron-poor Hywhen. Then came a sound that made Kleymin's blood freeze. It was a chuckle, deep, rusty, somehow alien. On the corner-piece of the roof above was a carving of the gargoyle of the East Wind. It turned its head slowly, then it grinned at him, fangs glistening wetly. "You are good, Kleymin. I was told you would be good. Young, too. I like that." The boy stood mesmerised as the creature tore itself free of the stone and dropped to his level with a flap of stubby wings. Pebbles and bits of rubble dropped to the stone slabs of the floor around the horrid creature. "Young livers taste better and I mean to dine on yours tonight, ninja-boy," it grated, still smiling. With trembling fingers, Kleymin tugged a third sha-ken free. He threw it with a flick of his wrist, sharp and sudden. His aim was true. It flew straight to the gargoyle's left eye. Before the dart struck, the uncanny carving moved. Its hand blurred in swift motion. It grinned as it caught the dart in mid-air. "Thank you for the pretty trinket," it mocked. Kleymin started to move to his left, circling the dreadful thing which moved to follow him. He stumbled a little, still in a state of shock. He held the sword before him in both hands. The creature turned with the boy, stretched out a clawed hand. Kleymin batted it away with the edge of the sword. The metal rang from the impact, which numbed the boys' fingers. He saw that the blade was notched. "You should know better, Kleymin," the gargoyle mocked again, "Bronze cannot harm me." It started to chuckle once more. There was a harsh grinding noise, swift and loud. With a shower of sparks, the point of a katana burst through the creature's chest. "No, but iron can," said Da-keimin, pulling the blade free. A gout of flames shot out of the wound and dissipated with an eerie scream. "You should have known better than to waste time making mock of a ninja," he told the gargoyle sternly as it crumbled into rubble.

"A klchzak," said Takata, answering Kleymin's question, "One of the original inhabitants of this world. It animated the gargoyle with its life-force." The boy barely heard the reply over the pounding of his own heart. He eyed the rubble distrustfully, half-expecting the awful thing to begin to re-emerge from the rocks. Then he looked at Takata. He had been sure enough before that Takata was a mage. What was uncertain was how good he was and which branch of magic he specialised in. Both could be important. The boy struggled to get his mind working smoothly again.

"Follow me," ordered Da-keimin, moving to the doorway, "After such a guard, who knows what we will encounter next."

Takata spoke up before moving, "Nothing human can bind a klchzak as a guard. They are supposed to be banished from the face of this world. Is this why the Inquisition are interested in this place?" Da-keimin looked at the ninja-mage, then shrugged and moved away. Kleymin saw the look Takata gave him as the boy moved to shadow Da-keimin. I'm still on trial, thought the boy. Still on trial and Takata expects to have to kill me. Why? Why was that creature waiting for me? How did it know my name? His thoughts in turmoil, Kleymin followed Da-keimin mechanically, his training alone controlling his movements. He had too many questions and not enough answers.