Shadow Warrior

By Jay Noel

The agony of a failed quest haunts Kanze Zenjiro, but the betrayal by those he trusted has turned his world upside down. With a heart full of hatred and defeat, Zen is desperate to get back to Nihon and demand the truth from his father.

Meanwhile, the Iberian Empire sends their soaring airships and steam-powered giants into The Orient. They threaten to upset the balance of power, hoping to exploit the faraway land in their greed for the resources needed to power their machines. Zen and his companions must fight to keep the world from plunging into total destruction.

And at the center of it all is a nine year old boy with the power of a god.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Noel
• Release date: Sep 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9780991235636

Jay Noel

After doing some freelance writing and editing for more than a dozen years, Jay decided to stop procrastinating and pursue his dream of being a novelist. He's been blogging for over eight years, and even had a comedy podcast syndicated all over the internet. All of that was fun, but all the steampunk-inspired stories in his head just wouldn't leave him alone. Jay spends his days working in medical sales, but he can be found toiling over his laptop late at night when all is quiet.He draws inspiration from all over: H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, Shakespeare, Ray Bradbury, Douglas Adams, and Isaac Asimov.

Book preview

KANZE ZENJIRO CLOSED HIS EYES and commanded his calm to overshadow his anxiety. The sensation of buzzing, followed by the familiar crackle in his head, indicated that the altered state of Ishen had taken over his body. This power heightened his senses, increased his strength, and sharpened his mind's focus. Zen would rely on his enhanced abilities to catch the arrow before it struck his heart.

All sixty-eight crew members abandoned their posts to watch the spectacle, despite their ship drifting in pirate infested waters. Maeda, the vessel's quartermaster, had arranged the impromptu demonstration. Though he and the others no longer doubted Zen was the famous Dragonfly Warrior, Maeda wanted to see Zen exhibit his legendary power of Ishen.

Zen was reluctant at first, but the sailors were eager for some sort of entertainment after fourteen days of floating in the ocean. The men grew boisterous and cheered their prince on. They goaded him to show off. One of the men possessed a bow and arrow, and at Maeda's urging, the sailor agreed to the challenge.

The original contest called for the shooter to target the wooden post next to Zen from thirty paces away. Zen would catch the arrow before it hit the wood. Instead, he decided to make it a true challenge.

Do not aim for the post. Shoot straight for my heart.

His men gasped, and their jovial mood died when they realized Zen’s sincerity.

My Lord, I apologize for the crude jest. There is no need to prove your prowess, Maeda said with a dip of his head. Maybe we have taken this game a little too far.

Zen put a hand on Maeda's broad shoulder. Your concern is not necessary. I have performed this task many times during my training.

Maeda came closer and whispered, My Lord, I know you have been troubled as of late. I hope this is not...

It is not, Zen said. I am of sound mind.

Maeda stepped away and joined the rest of the bewildered and silent crew. Zen motioned at the shooter. With quivering hands, the man notched the arrow and pulled it back. No one moved. The sound of the rushing ocean and the creaking of the wooden deck reached Zen's sensitive hearing.

Zen took a deep breath and held both of his hands up at shoulder's height. His legs bent slightly, while his eyes focused on the cocked arrow pointed at his chest. The wave of Ishen consumed him; his body remained filled with newfound power. His acute senses tingled. He heard the shooter's shallow inhale from twenty-five yards away.

Shoot, Zen commanded.

The man hesitated before releasing the arrow. Zen's gaze tracked the speeding point hurtling at him. He noticed the white etching of a cherry blossom on the flat side of the arrow blurring in its death spiral. The fine lacquered bamboo shaft flexed in the air. White and gray fletching, made from an eagle's feathers, spun like a whirlwind.

Zen's right hand shot out and downwards, his fingers wrapping around the arrow's shaft in midair. He exhaled and looked down to see the broadhead tip had stopped two inches short of penetrating his chest.

The crew hollered and applauded. They swarmed around him and slapped him on the back. Maeda's chubby cheeks puffed, and his face went from a scowl to a look of relief. Zen held up the arrow for all to see, resulting in another chorus of cheers.

Deep within, however, a part of Zen secretly wished the point had pierced his chest.

ZEN BENT HIS HEAD AND whispered to the spirits. He had just one final prayer, one last remnant of faith left to burn. He stood at the tip of the ship's bow, wishing he could make the steam-powered galleon take to the air like a dragonfly and hasten the long voyage back to Nihon. He had so many questions, and one way or another, he would get the truth from his father.

The wind off the ocean felt thick with moisture. The temperate breeze of Nihon called to him, and his galleon's steam engines heeded that call by rumbling back to life. The fifteen day journey had been long. Zen both treasured and loathed the time alone with his thoughts. The excitement of yesterday's exhibition had worn off, and everyone on board the steamship appeared weary. Morning sunlight slipped through the gathering clouds above. It looked like he and his crew were going to encounter a storm today.

Zen's canvas rucksack in his private quarters still carried the shattered pieces of the fabled Sky Blade. It held no magic and was nothing more than rusted remnants of an ancient artifact. Zen's quest had been a complete sham, but the betrayal by those he loved hurt the most. His whole life lay in broken fragments, just like the decrepit sword.

It pained him to know his own father had sent him on a quixotic mission. Before commandeering this steam galleon, he had learned of the secret project Emperor Hideaki had commissioned on the Koreyan peninsula. The creation of a biological weapon broke every moral code Zen had ever learned, and he would have fought against such an atrocity had he been home.

Damn the arrow for not killing him.

Traveling on the galleon had its good moments, however. All of the sailors felt relieved to be free of their previous master, the Shadow Kai. Zen had become good friends with several of the crew, especially Maeda. He had come to rely on the expert navigator and quartermaster of the vessel.

Zen's quiet introspection was shattered by Maeda's frantic yelling.

Master! Maeda cried from afar, running all the way from aft of the ship's wheelhouse to the front of the galleon.

The navigator stopped to catch his breath. Something in the air had changed. The sky had darkened, and the crew took their positions with urgency.

Zen looked up at the threatening sky. Is it the storm?

Maeda threw Zen the spyglass. My Lord, we have a fast moving vessel following us.

Zen caught the brass telescope. Pirates?

They are closing in, Maeda replied.

Zen extended the spyglass and looked through its viewer with his left eye. He stared at the tiny image of a steam vessel cutting through the waters. Zen estimated the pirate ship to be ten miles away but closing fast.

Get my guns and my armor, Zen commanded.

Another storm was coming.

WICKED BLACK TENDRILS DROPPED FROM the beckoning clouds, daring the steam galleon to approach. From the raised bow of the ship, Zen watched the churning storm several miles in front of them. Were the pirates pursuing them brave enough to follow? He swiveled to face the stern of the ship, and sure enough, the smaller but faster vessel continued to stalk them.

We cannot take them head-on, Maeda called out from below. He held onto the railing with pale knuckles as the turbulent waves tossed their craft about. This ship was meant for transporting cargo, not engaging in any warfare, My Lord. We have no broadside cannons, and we possess only eight swiveling guns.

The pirates were gaining on them. Through the brass telescope, Zen saw their ship clearly now. It flew no flag, and it possessed artillery on both sides of its hull. Its narrow triangular bow cut through the waters, propelling it forward. Zen’s heavy galleon would be out-maneuvered and out-gunned unless they reached the solace of the angry storm surging to his northeast.

Let me ask you this, said Zen, tossing Maeda the spyglass. Can our ship survive the storm ahead?

It will not be pretty, Maeda replied. But we will fare the storm much better than the pirates. We might not have their firepower or their swiftness, but this wood and iron beast was built to withstand the ocean's violence.

Zen's mouth went dry. Let us hope they heed reason and abandon their attack.

Even if their ship survives the tempest, if we can just reach landfall, we have a much better chance of defending ourselves, Maeda said.

The sky cracked open and fired a bolt of lightning that ripped through the air close to them. Zen's ears pulsated from the booming thunder. The howling of the wind and crashing of large raindrops managed to drown out the rhythmic belching of the galleon's four smokestacks.

The squall nearly threw Zen off his feet. White-capped waves struck the bow of their ship, and ocean water flooded the entire deck. Torrents of rain struck the men like cold arrows. After regaining his balance, Zen followed Maeda down a ladder to the main deck.

The rain-soaked, wooden planks were slippery, but Maeda managed to lead them to the enclosed wheelhouse. Men scurried all around, trying to make their way to shelter below deck. Zen peeked inside and saw the helmsman focused on piloting the vessel through the storm. Maeda brought Zen to another set of slick stairs, just outside the open entrance to the pilot’s room.

You stay here. Maeda pointed to the open doorway of the wheelhouse. You will be safe inside.

Where will you be? Zen clenched Maeda’s arm.

Maeda tried to pry himself lose from Zen's grip. My job is to be up on the bridge, to help guide our helmsman through this storm.

There is no protection on the bridge. Zen shook his head. You are not going there alone. I am coming with you.

It is not safe.

Zen moved past the quartermaster. He heard Maeda's heavy boot steps behind him. The wind threatened to knock them off the steep stairway to the bridge, and he heard Maeda yell something indecipherable. Zen assumed his navigator had lost his footing too.

Acid burned his mouth, and Zen swallowed hard, fighting to keep his sea-sickness under control. This was not a time to show weakness. His sailors were relying on him to lead them home, and he refused to let his body betray him. The remaining crew members on deck held on for their lives. They stared upwards as if something ominous was swooping towards them from the murky sky.

When the swelling rush of a rogue wave towered over them, Zen heard many of his crew members cry out. Zen wrapped his arms around the brass railing lining the ship's bridge, and before he could take a deep breath, the cresting wall of water struck the bow of their ship with an ear-splitting explosion.

Zen shut his eyes. His limbs went numb from the lack of circulation, and his body was heaved violently upwards. It felt as if their ship had been ripped in half. He opened his eyes to see Maeda with a leg wrapped around the railing so he could keep both hands fixed onto the brass speaking horn. The navigator barked orders to the helmsman behind them.

Frigid ocean water cascaded over the entire deck, and Zen couldn't believe the galleon remained intact after the crushing surge. The sky above them became a swirling, raging whirlpool of angry clouds and lightning.

If the pirates managed to survive the storm in their faster but lighter ship, maybe they deserved the crates of gold hidden in the belly of his vessel. His final battle would not be against an enemy on the battlefield, but against a merciless ocean.

All of his life, he had been so proud of his victories, killing in the name of patriotism. Killing to impress his father. And now, he realized his life had become insignificant. It was a painful, yet liberating epiphany.

Despite his better judgment, he loosened his grip on the rail to glance behind him. In the darkness, and through the sideways rain which pelted his eyes, he saw the raiders' boat. They continued their pursuit and were rapidly gaining on Zen’s galleon.

They are still chasing us, Zen yelled over the bellowing winds and rain.

Maeda shook his head. Not for long.

The navigator stared blankly upwards, and Zen likewise looked up. Another wall of water crested above them. This oncoming surge easily dwarfed the first tidal wave that had struck the ship, and Zen’s breath escaped his chest.

Hold on, Prince Kanze! Maeda wrapped both of his arms and legs around the rail.

The creeping shadow over the deck grew darker. Before the ocean asserted its sovereignty over him and his men, Zen prayed to his mother's spirit. Either she would lend her strength to him, or she would greet him in the afterlife.

The image of her face was the last thing Zen saw before being struck by heaven and earth.

And water.

ZEN'S MOUTH TASTED SALT, WHICH was a good sign. His body lay sprawled on the wooden floor of the bridge, one leg still hooked around the brass railing. Stinging raindrops struck his face, and he saw this as yet another encouraging indication he had survived. Maeda once again yelled into the speaking horn to guide the pilot.

I told you we would make it, Maeda said, helping Zen up.

The sky above them was a solid gray. Gentle rain falling was a welcome sign that the ship was out of danger. Zen’s mind snapped to attention when he got to his feet.

Maeda raised his spyglass. The pirates did not fare so well.

Zen didn't need the aid of the telescope to see the raiders' vessel floating helplessly behind them. No black smoke blew from its single smokestack, and the two main masts had been snapped beyond all repair. It looked like the hull had split open. Most of the ship lay submerged in the water. The pirates huddled around the bow of their craft cried out for help.

Zen held out his hand, and Maeda gave him the spyglass. Putting his eye to the glass lens and making the proper adjustments, he saw the raiders clearly now. A dozen of them clung onto what remained of their sea vessel. One man in the center looked familiar, however, and Zen's mind searched for the man's name. The pirate's dark, long wavy hair sat matted on his bearded face, and he raised a prosthetic hand.

Zapitoni, Zen whispered.

Excuse me, Prince?

Zen kept his gaze trained on Zapitoni. I know their captain. I ran into him on a merchant vessel during my voyage to Agrios.

Movement around the amidship of the craft caught Zen's attention. His spyglass followed the edge of the hull until he found the underwater helm. Two men had climbed the ship's tall single chimney, and when their faces came into full view, Zen nearly dropped his telescope. They both wore dark blue uniforms identical to the one Kai had worn.

They had to be Shadows.

Two men, not of the crew, are also on board. They look like they might be our countrymen. Zen watched the pair struggle. We must turn around.

But Prince, we are only an hour from the Ziang port. Maeda protested by putting his hands on his hips and sighing. It could all be a trap.

Zen pushed in both ends of the spyglass and gave it to Maeda. Normally, I would agree. I have heard of pirates feigning damage, or even wearing the flags of friendly nations to draw in unsuspecting ships and springing a surprise attack. But their boat is sinking.

Maeda asked in a weak voice, So this Zapitoni fellow, is he a friend of yours?

Zen couldn't help but laugh. I cut off his hand, but he forgave me.

My Lord, I think this is a bad idea.

Have all the men arm themselves with whatever weapons we have on board and get above deck. Zen's right hand went down to his holsters to make sure both of his revolvers were still there. Have the helmsman bring us about along the port side of what is left of their boat.

I still protest, My Lord. Maeda went down two rungs of the steep stairway leading from the bridge down to the main deck. Pirates are dangerous, no matter how helpless they might look.

Zen shook his head. Do you believe in fate, Maeda?

No, My Lord.

I used to. Zen removed one of his guns and spun it with one finger. "Then tell me, what do you believe in?"

Maeda replied, "I believe in you, Prince. The whole crew does. You are Kanze Zenjiro, the Dragonfly Warrior, and if you insist on bringing us within spitting distance of pirates, we will obey."

Zen chuckled. As little as two weeks ago, he might have blushed at such a compliment. He wanted to tell Maeda to never utter such nonsense again. Instead he pointed to the pirate ship.

Those two men struggling to keep their heads above water... Zen holstered his sidearm.

Maeda hadn't moved. Yes, My Lord?

They are Shadows. Both were probably hired by my father. It seems he has been busy since my exile. Hideaki must have been engaging in dishonorable acts long before Zen had left home. Maeda, get our men ready. It is not the pirates I fear.

Understood, My Lord.

***

THE DRENCHED PIRATES LOOKED DEFEATED, yet thankful. Once they climbed on board Zen's ship, they congregated near the bow. The raiders filed one-by-one past Zen, bowing their heads in gratitude. The two Shadows made brief eye contact with Zen before retreating to the rear of the ship. The rest remained silent as they plopped down on the wooden deck.

Zapitoni stood out among his men. He examined his mechanical hand, finger by metallic finger. Zen’s crew surrounded the dozen raiders.

Zen kept his pistol level with the captain's stomach. If it had not been for the storm, you surely would have caught us. If you had come upon us, Zapitoni, then what?

Zapitoni cleared his throat before speaking. We would have done what we always do, he said in his thick Roman accent. He held up his biomech hand. "However, had I known you were commanding this cargo vessel, I would not have followed you into that nasty tempest. But pickings have been slim the last several weeks, and my men were hungry."

Zen pointed to the pair of countrymen at the rear of his galleon. What about those two huddled there? They shivered in their wet uniforms, while ten of Zen's sailors kept their rifles trained on them. Are they under your employment?

No, Zapitoni replied. They were crossing the seas in a cargo ship when we attacked them. Their crew put up one hell of a fight, but my ship's armaments overwhelmed them easily. I sank their ship. That pair killed fifteen of my men. If they hadn't been already beaten up by the ocean, they would have killed more. I figured they might be important, maybe worth a ransom. So I kept them as my prisoners, but I had them sedated for most of the trip.

The pirate had no reason to lie. Zen glanced at Zapitoni's new hand. What should I do with all of you?

Zapitoni shrugged. Our paths keep crossing like this. It must be a sign.

A sign? Zen holstered his pistol.

The captain chuckled. Maybe I should retire. He raised his metal hand and wiggled all of his fingers. The clicking sound of moving clockworks corresponded to every minute movement. The machine hand went all the way up his forearm. The marvel of science and machines, huh?

Zen nodded.

It's good for grasping large objects, but I can’t pull the trigger of my pistol. Zapitoni's metal fingers bent to make a fist, but the small joints kept them from balling up. I hear Dr. Lionel DePaul and his nephew are the greatest biomech engineers in the world, but they are neither in Francia or Agrios. They could give me a hand I can really use.

You should be more careful, Zen said. You only have one good hand left.

The pirate laughed again. So, young man, what do you intend to do with us? His tone remained light, but his eyes conveyed anxiety.

Zapitoni's surviving crew stared at Zen. Their hollow cheeks and equally empty eyes fixed on him, waiting for their fate to be proclaimed.

We will be docking at Ziang to gather some provisions for our journey back to Nihon, Zen replied. You and your men are free to go once we reach the port city.

The pirates let out a collective breath, and Zapitoni's grin penetrated his thick beard. That is quite a relief.

But only on one condition. Zen pointed to the two Shadows. Those two stay with me.

I would have let them drown anyway. Zapitoni glared at his former captives. In addition to the sedative I put in their water, I starved them to sap them of any desire to fight. However, if you insist on keeping them, I graciously surrender them to you.

THEIR DEEP BLUE CLOTHING GAVE them away. Zen knew the two countrymen standing before him were Shadows. Zen had vowed to avenge Marcel for Neva Bouvier's death, and maybe these two assassins could help him make good on his promise.

Before Kai's death, the Shadow had said something that still haunted Zen to this day. He had remarked upon Zen's resemblance to his dead mother, Kai's sister. It was probably just an attempt to distract him during their fight, and the ploy had worked until Enapay intervened. Zen hoped these two Shadows had answers for him, though it made him ill to even consider the possibility that Kai might have been his uncle.

Zen's crew stood behind him, their pistols and rifles drawn. Zen kept his sidearms holstered, but he approached the two with caution. Both men looked weary, but if they were Shadows, they were capable of anything.

The man on his left had a cleft chin, his cheekbones jutting through tight, tan skin. His eyes were sharp and narrow, but he kept his arms down at his sides. Fine lines around his forehead and graying hair plastered on his head belied his youthful, muscular physique.

The one on the right had the same short cropped haircut as his comrade, but his face appeared harder. He looked to be the same age as Zen. The young man’s bony fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles paled.

Zen stopped just beyond of their reach. I know who you are.

We were part of a seventy-man crew, bound for Hindia, the older one said. But we never made it. Those pirates destroyed our vessel and killed everyone but the two of us.

The elder spoke lies, which was what Shadows did. Zen noticed the younger one shift his weight to his back foot, as if preparing to attack.

What are your names? Zen asked both of them.

I am Masao. He then pointed to the belligerent one. He is Eiji.

You are lying to me. Zen tore his pistol from his belt. "You will tell me the truth, or I will put a bullet between your eyes. What are your real names?"

The young man's knees bent, preparing his wiry body to pounce, but the elder grabbed his comrade's sleeve. With just a flicker of a stern look, he admonished the younger one. Zen cocked the hammer of his revolver and aimed it at the old man's head.

Answer me right now. Zen’s finger tightened against his trigger.

They stood in silence until the elder finally spoke. I am Arai. He gestured towards the younger Shadow. He is Ito.

It was still impossible to know if Arai spoke the truth. Zen signaled with his left hand, and right on cue, Maeda emerged from the group behind Zen and handed him a sheathed katana. Zen holstered his revolver and took hold of the sword's sharkskin and silk-wrapped handle. He slid the blade from its lacquered scabbard.

The elder kept a tense gaze on the weapon. Where did you get that?

Zen unveiled the entire blade; its steel gleamed despite the lack of sunlight. From your fellow Shadow. I took it from Kai.

Ito lunged forward with his right fist cocked, and Zen slashed sideways with the sword. Its razor-sharp edge tore at the front of Ito’s shirt, tearing across his chest. The blue fabric ripped open, but the blade had not touched the Shadow's flesh.

Zen planted his left foot, twisted at the trunk, and whirled his right foot all the way around. The heel of his flying boot smashed against the right side of Ito's jaw in a spinning kick. Ito managed to stay on his feet, but he spat a spray of blood and reeled on unsteady feet. Arai thrust his arm out. He pulled the staggering assassin back towards him. Zen pointed the tip of Kai's katana at Ito's heaving chest.

Kai is dead, Zen said. And if you fail to speak the truth when I ask you questions, I will cut more than your Shadow uniform.

The color had left Arai's face. Who are you?

Without moving, Zen replied, I am Kanze Zenjiro, and I know my father sent you on a mission, just as he did with Kai. I have always known your Shadow Army existed. For years, I remember seeing Kai at the palace, having private conversations with my father. Plotting and scheming.

Arai's mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t speak.

Zen asked him, What was your assignment? Were you following Kai to Azincaya to assist him in abducting the Machine Boy?

The two Shadows exchanged baffled looks. Zen slid the sword back into its scabbard before giving it back to Maeda. A subtle but profound change in Arai's mood struck Zen as strange, and he waited for the Shadows to either freely give him the answers he sought or defy him and fight until they died, taking the truth with them into the afterlife.

Ito looked down at the clean cut on his shirt. Fire still burned in his eyes, but he stepped back behind the older Shadow. Arai seemed at a loss for words and continued with his silence. Zen could no longer fight the weight of growing agitation in his chest, and he started to raise his pistol again when Arai finally spoke.

"You are Kanze Zenjiro."

Zen wasn't sure if it was a question or if the man was thinking aloud. Yes.

I have only seen photographs of you, and your hair has always been pulled into a traditional topknot. The old man stared at Zen’s wild hair and cleared his throat. There is much to tell you. However, I am not the right person to reveal such things.

It was Zen's turn to be confounded.

What are you doing out here near Xia's southern coast? Arai asked.

My father sent me away, Zen replied. Just as he sent the two of you on one of his missions.

Arai took a shaky breath. Kai was devoted to Emperor Hideaki, but Ito and I were both reluctant followers. Your father paid us very well. He looked away momentarily. Our relationship with your father is a complicated one.

Ito grabbed Arai's arm. You tell him too much.

He is Kanze Zenjiro. Arai removed his comrade's grip from his sleeve. You remember your place, Ito.

Defiance spewed from Ito's bloody mouth. He turned to Zen. Your father has kept you sheltered from the truth all this time? How pathetic.

The urge to unleash his sword nearly overtook Zen. Ito's truthful words cut him deeply. He sensed his men shifting behind him, as if the insult was directed at them. Zen let the silence wash away his anger.

What do you have to tell me? Zen asked Arai. About your mission? About Kai? I tire of being kept from the truth.

Arai lowered his head and leaned in. It concerns your mother.

***

PREPARING TO SURFACE. ENAPAY LOOKED over at his co-pilot and remarked, It's been three days since we last saw the sun.

It had only taken a few days for the Machine Boy to become as competent as Enapay at piloting the underwater boat. The sight of seeing a child at the controls still took some getting used to.

Marcel inched up on his knees to check the Triton's controls. I'm hungry. The food in here isn't so great.

The Triton made good time from traveling at nearly thirty knots while submerged in the ocean. It had taken eleven full days to reach the Albion Isle. Despite surfacing to replenish the air tanks every seventy-two hours and going outside onto the bridge for a quick respite from the confines of the underwater boat, they had arrived ahead of schedule.

Spending so much time in the darkness of the Triton for long stretches had proved to be difficult. However, Marcel had slowly opened up, and the boy had grown more outgoing with each passing day. Thank the spirits for Shannon McMillan's help. She was a tough mercenary, but the boy took to her right away.

DePaul had allowed the child to explore his submersible boat. The boy's hands caressed the walls of the