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away, retreating from the good ninja’s onslaught.
    Then a hand clasped his shoulder. The ninja. “Taro,” he said—but had Taro given him his name? He couldn’t remember. “You’re dying. There is only one chance to save you. But it will mean living your life in secret, in the darkness, hiding with me. You may never see your mother again. Do you agree? Answer, quickly. If you do not agree, both you and your mother die.”
    Taro stared, unable to respond.
    “You will die now if I do not do this, and so will your mother. I said, do you agree?”
    To never again see his mother? To never again witness her smile, which was like the rising of the sun to him?
    And yet if he did not agree, he would die, and she would be killed too.
    The fear for her mixed with the pain in his belly, striking him through with agony.
    “I—I agree,” Taro stammered.
    The ninja drew back his lips, revealing a pair of long, sharp canine teeth. Then he bent his head and bit deep into Taro’s neck. Hiro yelled, “What are you doing!” and turned from the attackers, but the ninja pushed him back easily with his free hand and sprang back, releasing Taro.
    Taro swayed. His blood hammered in his chest. He felt light-headed, his thoughts were swirling—bright lights burst in his vision. He heard the ninja speak urgently to Hiro. “If you wish for your friend to live, keep back and do nothing.” Then the man’s face swam into view, close up. “Taro,” he said. “I know you’re feeling strange, but I need you to bite my neck.”
    Taro felt a need to obey. Still swaying, he opened his mouth and leaned forward. The other man guided his teeth toward his exposed neck, white in the moonlight. Taro bit down, and warm blood filled his mouth, while a warm light filled his mind and his body, making his muscles sing, making every feature of the scene spring into vivid detail. The pain in his belly left, replaced by a feeling of warm energy.
    He stood. As if in a dream, he slid the sword from his own flesh and watched as the wound closed over.
    He saw Hiro, looking on in astonishment. He saw the ninja step back, smiling sadly.
    Taro turned, exquisitely aware of every muscle and tendon in his neck, and faced the darkness. A dozen black-clad figures melted out of the night and stood before him, a semicircle following the line of the circle cast by Hiro’s torch. Absently, he reached out with his left hand and pushed Hiro behind him, where his friend would be safe. He was aware on some level that he shouldn’t be strong enough to push Hiro anywhere, let alone with his left hand. But the strength felt good and right.
    He saw his enemies approach him, and he was glad.
    He saw shuriken s fly, and he ducked and weaved, avoiding them, plucking them out of the air even as they headed for Hiro.
    He saw his own hands as they flew between bow and quiver,knocking ninja after ninja to the ground, every shot perfect, whether he aimed at eye or chest or hand raised to throw.
    He saw the ninja beside him, his blood master now, draw a long and perfect samurai sword from a concealed scabbard that ran down his spine, under the black cloak. Taro saw the wavelike pattern of sand-cooled steel down the sword’s blade and knew that it was a masterpiece. And he saw the symbol etched into its base by the handle.
    It was a circle containing three hollyhock leaves—exactly like the one on Taro’s bow.

 

    CHAPTER 5
     
    A faraway part of Taro’s mind was aware that he had been bitten by a kyuuketsuki . He realized too that the other ninjas were also kyuuketsuki . One of them, when Taro shot an arrow through its shoulder, bared its sharp canine teeth in a growl that was more animal than human.
    It was impossible: a ghost story come to life. But as impossible as it was, it was also happening .
    Kyuuketsuki could be killed, Taro knew that. They bled like ordinary men. But they were many times faster and stronger. Their weakness—the price they paid—was that they could walk