White Ninja (13 page)

I leap off my supporting leg into the air and smash into Hero's chest with a jumping side kick. He ploughs backwards and I follow up with a back fist to his cheek. His head whips to the side, but he regains his composure quickly and grabs my right foot and levers it up. I use the momentum to power a backflip and kick my left foot into his chin as I land. I kiss my ninja star and say, ‘Come back to me,' then I flick the
shuriken
towards his eyes, the serrated blades spinning.

I assume a tiger stance, my right leg bent, my left leg straight, my hands in a water sign position, and watch Hero's eyes widen as the star closes in. He shuts his lids in anticipation, but the ninja star veers past his nose and grazes his brow, drawing a fine scratch across his left eyebrow. Then it swings around and comes back to me.

Hero's eyes slowly open. He touches them, feels the drip of blood on his forehead, then looks at me,
confused. His eyes are less wild. He no longer looks like my enemy but a scared teenager.

I walk up to him and stand before him, not weak but strong and triumphant. He makes no attempt to move, staying seated beneath me.

The earth tower crumbles around us, lowering back down to the Cemetery of Warriors. Within seconds everything is back to normal. I walk over to the glowing tombstone and pick up the Tiger Scrolls. I smooth my hand over the book's leather binding and open its cover. Inside sit the five translucent scrolls, shimmering. I lift them to my nose and smell fire, wind, earth, water and nothingness.

The blue smoke of the circle thickens. I hear a footstep behind me … I spin and duck out of the way of the
katana
sword.

As Hero charges again, I backflip to the edge of the circle. He takes a leaping step, then flies in a side kick towards me. I throw my ninja star at him, but I am too slow. I have just enough time to draw my tiny poisoned darts out of my belt and enough energy for a single breath to spit a dart towards him. The dart pierces his shoulder. He falls backwards.

‘You are the White Warrior,' he says. ‘But I am not the last samurai.'

Then he closes his eyes and disappears.

Hearing the words out loud sets all my instincts screaming. I turn to the ancient ninja's Tiger Scrolls; they are soaked in my blood. The sky is no longer burning red; it has returned to black velvet with the glow of the green moon. I lift one of the scrolls out of the book and it burns my finger. I ignore the pain to study it more closely. The scroll glows like a diamond against the curtain of night.

‘The White Warrior will consume the power of the scrolls,' I say, remembering the legend.

I realise the scrolls are made of rice paper. I swallow hard, then quickly place the first scroll, Fire, on my tongue, relieving my burning finger. It dissolves in a burst of spiky heat, tasting like hot stone. I place the Wind Scroll on my tongue and it blasts down my throat, swift and sweet. The Earth Scroll tastes of grass; the Water Scroll turns to liquid and slides easily into my stomach. The Invisibility Scroll tastes of rice paper and
I have to chew to get it down. My body fills with savage energy as the five elements digest in my system. I feel their power in my heart.

I close my eyes. Every move of every martial art that ever existed fills my mind: the degrees of kicks, angles of blocks, sequences of movements lock in the private dojang of my heart. The powers of every ancient warrior dissolve into my spirit.

Suddenly, a scream rages from outside the circle. ‘Roxyyyy!'

‘Mum?'

I turn to see her sprinting towards me. Before I can react, I am clasped in her arms. Her hug torches the cemetery with light. Her orchid perfume washes away the putrid stench of death. The night creeps back into the circle. We step apart, but she keeps a firm grip on my hand.

‘Mum, I beat the warriors. I took back my powers. I'm the White Warrior, Mum — the mark on my sole. Why didn't you tell me?' My voice is crisp beneath the canopy of night.

Mum glances at the empty book of Tiger Scrolls. Her eyes widen to black saucers. ‘Where are they?' she gasps, realising what I have done.

A deafening chime from deep within me blasts the cemetery apart and forces Mum and me to the ground.
I roll onto my back as the sound roars out of my mouth and thunders over us in waves that crack the graves and sweep the remaining blue smoke from the circle.

‘What's that?' I scream, commando-crawling over to her. The echoes are too strong for me to stand.

‘The Tiger Scrolls singing!' she yells back.

As suddenly as the sound began, it stops. We rise slowly to our feet and dust off our ninja uniforms.

Mum looks at me with tears in her eyes.

‘Once the scrolls are consumed, they sing to the sword of every samurai who has ever lived,' Mum says. The darkness moves into her eyes. ‘Oh, Roxy, you have unleashed the Endless Fight.'

I swallow razor blades. We will never be safe now …

Thank you to the HarperCollins team of ninjas, including my inspiring publisher, Lisa Berryman; agent Clare Forster; and editors Nicola O'Shea and Kate Burnitt.

Lisa, thank you for believing in me, ninja and Gate Two kids everywhere.

To my brother, Lleyton, and beautiful sister, Bridget.

Thanks to Ed, what a nice Ed.

And to my parents, Martin and Jeanette Hall, who are the original White Warriors. Thank you for not freaking out when I told you I wanted to be a writer — full time. Mum and Dad, you are the ink in these words.