Blood Ninja by Nick Lake

land seemed too far away, but Taro kept his mind on the rowing, making the rhythm of the oars into a sort of mantra: out, down, pull, out, down … Even he could see that the light in the east was growing faster than the land was approaching, and he could sense the ninja’s tension in his rapid breathing. Hiro, beside him, was scanning the horizon worriedly.
    Taro’s fingers tightened on the oars, his hands clinging to the wood like pale starfish. His arms ached, his eyes burned with salt. His robe was beginning to chafe against his inner arm and chest,which were being rubbed raw by the wet fabric. But ignoring the discomfort, he continued his rhythmic mantra.
    Up, back, pull, up …
    Then, surprised, he felt the gentle shock as the boat slid up onto sand. He had been so focused on rowing that he had barely noticed the beach expanding, until instead of a far-off line of darkness it had become an embracing enormity of trees and rocks and mountains, and they had passed from the realm of water into the realm of land.
    Shusaku leaped down into the shallows. “We need to find shelter, fast.” Taro scanned the hills. Minata’s simple huts were too far away—their lights shone on the upper slopes, so distant as to resemble fireflies. But then he saw it: the sweeping red gate of a torii temple on the mountainside. Beside the temple was a small wooden hut. Taro showed it to Shusaku, and the three companions began to run.
    Over the sea, the flames of sunrise began to burn the clouds. As the still-weak light reached them, Shusaku gave a little grunt of pain, despite the dark clothes he wore. Taro wasn’t sure if he could feel anything, but he was aware of the burning in his muscles as they raced for shelter.
    The door of the hut was shut, but Hiro barged it open. Shusaku cast his eyes around. He ran his fingers over the joints between the wooden planks of the walls. A rake leaned against one of these, and Taro thought that the hut must serve as a storeroom for the person responsible for maintaining the temple.
    After circling the room, the ninja nodded, apparently satisfied. “We’ll be safe till nightfall,” he said. Wearily, he sat down.
    “What do we do now?” asked Taro.
    “We sleep.”
    “But it’s daytime.”
    “Indeed it is. You’re going to have to get used to it,” said the ninja.
    Hiro was pacing up and down. “I’m hungry,” he said.
    Shusaku smiled. “You of course are free to leave the hut—just be careful when you open and close the door.”
    Taro felt a tingling in his stomach. “I’m hungry too.”
    “I’m afraid you will have to wait. Unless you wish to feed on your friend.”
    Taro looked at Hiro and for a moment he was acutely aware of the vein that beat in the other boy’s neck, the blood welling in the wound on his cheek, and he felt hotly ashamed of it while at the same time thinking how good it would be to sink his teeth in and—
    He turned away, breathing deeply.
    “Hunger is one of the disadvantages to being a vampire,” said Shusaku.
    “And the advantages?” said Taro, hoping there were some. He could smell Hiro’s blood and it was making his mouth water …
    “Those you know already. Speed. Strength. Agility.” Shusaku smiled. “I’ll answer all your questions, I promise. But first, I think we should tend to your friend’s wound, before you lose control and feed on him.” Taro swallowed, flushing with embarrassment. He had been so fixated on the blood, its rich, delicious smell, that he had forgotten his friend was hurt.
    Shusaku sent Hiro out into the daylight to gather some wet seaweed from the beach, as well as some dry wood and twigs from the forest. Then he set Taro to lighting a fire in the middle of the small hut, to dry their wet clothes, while he created a seaweed compress that he put over Hiro’s cut. He tore a piece of his black shirt and used it to bind the salve onto the wound.
    When Hiro’s cheek was safely bound, Taro and Hiro sat cross-legged on the