The innkeeper gave my Japanese friends a strange look before he answered my question about the medallion, as though he wondered what they would think.

"My ancestors were ninja," he said and looked again at my friends. "That medallion is supposed to have some kind of power."

I saw my friends stir uneasily. Ninja were something out of ancient Japan and anybody who claimed descent from those bandits of a time long past were considered rather low on the social totem pole. I knew, too, that remark about power in a medallion was the reason for the smirks they were trying to hide.

At that moment a good-looking, strapping teenage boy came into the room. He looked shyly at me with that curiosity a foreigner still arouses in out-of-the-way areas of Japan. He ducked his head to me and the other guests in the typical bow of greeting young men display, a shy, embarrassed nod of respect for guests of the inn. Japanese are always shy and embarrassed about something, one of the mysteries of their culture. He then bowed to his father. I think he saw me look again at the medallion.

What followed was unusual for Japanese, I know, but somehow my curiosity about the medallion seemed to determine the father. He turned to his son and in a low voice said something. The boy looked surprised but instantly obeyed. He was gone for ten minutes or so and then suddenly appeared. We all gasped. He was dressed entirely in a black outfit with a hood over his head. A slit in the hood showed his black eyes looking intently at us. A sword was strapped to his back. It was almost frightening. And then just as suddenly the boy dropped to one knee and bowed low to us.

"That, Mr. Foreman, is a genuine ninja garment, preserved in my family for generations," the father said. "And the sword has been handed down just as long."
My Japanese friends were undoubtedly surprised and impressed.

"Hirayuki!" the innkeeper commanded. "Show our guests what you have learned."

And with that my mouth fell open as the young man suddenly jumped several feet into the air, performed a magnificent kick with one leg outstretched at an imaginary opponent and landed at least ten feet from his original position. He then bowed his covered head to the floor, first to us and then to his father.

"That's fantastic," I cried. And in that instant I knew I wanted to write a story about this family and their relationship to ancient ninja tradition, certainly including that mysterious gold medallion with its so-called supernatural powers.

That evening I listened fascinated as the innkeeper told me of ancestral ninja traditions, rituals and loyalties. Later I sat up half the night writing down what I had heard.

But the story of that November trip isn't finished. Those fabled words: "Mystery of the Orient" actually materialized to me in a way I cannot explain or even try to express.

We were driving back through the mountains, still stopping to take pictures. The road wound down into a deep ravine with a river at the bottom. We got out of the car. I looked up at the mountain across the river, stunned by the absolute beauty of the foliage and took a picture.

Back in Tokyo I was showing the photographs to my friends, when one gave an exclamation of surprise. He was looking at the picture I had taken of the mountain across the river.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "A dragon!"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, thinking he was joking.

I looked at the picture and drew back in surprise. There, among the foliage, halfway up the mountain, was the head of a dragon, two eyes, a snout and obvious scales. To make this image more believable was the fact that the rear portion of the dragon was hidden behind a clump of foliage. Yet, on the other side of this vegetation I could see the bony structure that formed the beginning of the tail. This tail rose and curved majestically up and over the entire top of the picture across a vast portion of the mountain. Now, for the skeptical I will say that all this "seemed" like formations of the foliage, yet the eyes of the dragon were clearly there, the snout very clearly seen, the scales clearly those of a dragon as we think of it, but what was strange was that its long tail formed a vague, milk-like white portion on the film in contrast to the green background of the mountain.

It was another friend who also showed great surprise at this photo and looked at me in wonder when I told him I was the one who had taken the picture.

"That is a dragon, yes," he said. "The eastern dragon is not the horrible monster of western dragons, breathing fire and rampaging across the country. No. The eastern dragon is none other than the messenger of The Buddha, a loving, transforming creature. He is sent out by The Buddha to those who find favor with him. YOU have found such favor! And you are not even Japanese!"

I looked back incredulously at my friend. What did it mean? To this day I still don't know, but I decided then and there to add that dragon to my ninja story...Maybe the dragon wanted me to tell the story of what I had seen and heard in the forest.

So, that is how I decided on writing a story about teenage ninja...I imagined myself as a teenage American among a group of young ninja...and I could see myself tapping that medallion and opening secret doors with it and who knows what else!

I have done a great deal of research into ninja practices, their particular type of martial art combat, their close-knit community life, combining that with my knowledge of Japanese culture and civilization. The result is a story I think you'll like ...and I think the dragon would like it, too!

To obtain this book, click here.