Meandering River, Ardent Flame

by Vivian Chak

  ***

  Flame was not very good with directions. Or maybe others weren't good at giving her directions, because she still hadn't found the grove yet. The river ran strongly over smoothed stones, but the trees were still densely packed. The forest smelled wet, and Flame hoped that it wouldn't rain as she continued to search for the trail that Sister Ma had said would reach the grove. It intersected the main road to the monastery further up beyond the river, but Flame decided that it was faster to just cross the water. There was a lot of wood lying around with which one could prop a makeshift bridge across the stones at the river's narrow points.

  It would have been faster to follow the main path, thought Flame. But then she had been too distracted to remember how many paces. She stopped abruptly when she realized that she'd been trying to follow the diagonal of the path Sister Ma had recommended. It would be a different number of paces, she realized. Dejectedly, she stared at the darkening sky, trees surrounding her. It's all that girl's fault. If she hadn't brought up Li...

  Flame didn't even know her name, or those of the other girls following her, but she resolved to find out. Maybe Li sent them to find me and make me miserable, she thought. Knowing the names wouldn't hurt—if they were from her hometown, perhaps that would confirm that they were Li's cohorts. It would be like him to send out such a gaggle to recognize her. Stories had flown when she was young about how Li had sent a suspected thief's dogs to root him out. And that they'd savaged the unfortunate man to pieces. People said that Li had judged it well-deserved, reasoning that only an ill-willed man would keep such ill-bred dogs. Not long after, rumours had flown that the dogs had actually belonged to Li, and—the sound of neighing interrupted her thoughts.

  Flame looked up to see the grove trail she'd been searching for in front of her eyes. A horse caught her eye, but the man riding the horse held it. A scruffy band of four men were surrounding him in an ominous, wolf-like fashion.

  “Spare some change,” said the tallest, a grey-bearded man who looked to be their leader. “Or maybe that horse.” The other two pressed on either side of the rider. Flame noted that his clean-shaven face was undisturbed. One hand clasped the reins, and the other the grip of a sword.

  “Rich kid like you won't need that,” jeered one of the men on the side. He had a wild, animal look, and his topknot was messy, leaving strands of his long hair to mingle with his equally messy beard. When he reached for the sword, dirty nails like claws, the horse reared back, flailing hooves narrowly missing him.

  “You're a dead man, aristocrat!” growled the man. He drew a dao, curved edge flashing sharply, though the blunted reverse side was speckled with rust.

  The greybeard blocked his advance with a pole. “He doesn't mean that, do you?” He turned from the angry man to the rider. “Just hand over your items of worth; you can always get more, living off the backs of others as you rich men do.” The rider remained motionless. “Or your parents will have one less son.”

  “They'll have one less anyway,” sneered the man with the dao. “I want myself some new silk clothes and that nice blade that rich boy here probably can't even use. His parents can always burn him some paper ones after I've done him in.”

  The blade was noiseless as the silent rider drew it smoothly from the scabbard and spurred his horse at the jeering man. He thrust the point at the man's wrist. The other spun his weapon up, blade intent on a whirling slice. Flame watched the swordsman reverse his wrist to cut upwards. The point nicked the other man's chin. The dao caught the stirrup strap and delivered a shallow slice to the rider's leg. Grinning, the man threw himself forwards a third time to repeat the slice. But the sword, moving in a straight line, was faster as it twisted forwards and buried its point in the man's throat.

  His eyes caught Flame's as he fell. And Flame saw red pool the path and stain wood as he tried and failed to breathe. Disgusted, she turned to leave, but a fourth man blocked her path. This one held a staff, and while his hair was properly knotted, he smelled of wet dog. He stared for a second at Flame, standing amidst freshly budding trees and dried river stones.

  “There's a girl here!” he hollered, advancing on her. Flame froze. She backed up the incline between the river and the trail, positioning herself near two trees, stepping carefully over their roots.

  “Well if there's no one else around, maybe we'll just keep her!” returned the greybeard, staff end pointed protectively before himself. He edged cautiously from the trail to join the fourth man, trees on either side. The horse shuffled nervously, reluctant to follow onto uneven ground. The third man used the opportunity to return to the older man's side, throwing the rider a look near filthy as he was.

  And then the three converged on Flame. Surprisingly, the man dismounted.

  “Young man, you must either be very daft,” addressed the greybeard, “or this must be your younger sister.”

  He paused to appraise Flame's plain clothes and sun-darkened face.

  “Daft then. What kind of rich man runs to save peasants?”

  The fourth man, sensing opportunity, hollered, “put down that sword, or the young girl here gets it!” He moved towards Flame, holding his staff single-handed as he reached to grab her with both arms. Flame wished that she wasn't in this spot right now and silently cursed Li for distracting her from Sister Ma's directions. Whenever Li got into her thoughts, it was never good for her. Glancing at the two trees flanking her, she decided it was the best place to stand. They'd impede his staff. She tucked her elbows in protectively. To the man, it appeared to be a shrinking movement of fear, and he leapt forward, arms outstretched.

  She was within his guard, Flame realized instinctively, as his arms began to encircle her. Viciously, she struck the man in the chin with her right elbow, left hand wrenching him closer as he reeled, and kicked him in the groin. Drawing her hip forward and arms closely after, she thrust an uppercut beneath his jaw and into his throat as he crumpled downwards from the kick. Flame hadn't anticipated his weight as he fell, but she quickly changed to a crouch and grabbed his staff from where it fell. A final kick to the head sent him tumbling, but she soon followed. A misstep onto a root sent her rolling down the incline, staff in both hands. Breathing hard, hands shaking from undirected chi, Flame looked back up to where the man still groaned beneath two trees. He'd get up soon, or so she'd been warned by Jade who'd taught her kicking. The older girl had employed this tactic many times when bothered by drunken men, or so she'd said. Jade would have also said that this was the best time to leave.

  The silent swordsman, having dismounted, appeared at the top of the incline, advancing on the dirt-faced man wielding an old-style Tang sword. The hilt was a lot smaller, and it was single-edged. Nonetheless, the man dove forwards with it, thinking to disarm his opponent first. The swordsman, still quite expressionless, flicked his wrist up, and began to spin the sword in double-loop pattern as he advanced. The low morning sun danced on the gleaming blade. The man backed up, daunted, Flame thought, but then he thrust low at the swordsman's feet. The swordsman leapt back, brushing his cut leg on a bush in the process. Angled light from the blade lit his suddenly pained face. He sunk onto one knee as his two opponents converged on him.

  Flame thought this horribly unfair, and she found herself at the top of the incline, open trail and space around her, staff aimed for the base of the sword bandit's skull. He saw her coming and whirled on her, sword poised to threaten.

  “Little ladies shouldn't play with large sticks,” he taunted, as he knocked the staff aside. His sword failed to cut through it, however, and instead left a deep cut in the wood.

  “Swordsmen shouldn't threaten women.” Flame turned to see the previously mute swordsman thrust his blade forwards into the bandit's chest, point exiting through the back. Then she felt a painful thwack to her cheek, and she nearly fell over. It was the old bearded man.

  “Didn't want to ruin your face, but stop your meddling. This is not your business,” growled the man, gripping his staff doub
le-handed to strike again. Flame advanced, toes gripping the ground through her shoes, stance solid, staff tip circling to find a weak point.

  “Know your staff, do you?,” the man brought out, sounding amused. “What are you, some nun from the monastery up there or something? Let's see.”

  The bearded man flung his staff in a sideways swipe at her head. Swinging up by the reverse end, Flame's staff met his, even as she spun backwards. The wooden staves cracked together. Flame flung the staff at his feet. With wrists turned outwards, her right hand directed the staff end and her left found her shoulder, as she angled to sweep out his ankles. But the man parried. Her staff found a tree instead, and the cut section splintered off. Undaunted by her miss, Flame reversed the staff and flung its intact end at the man's exposed side. He dropped his elbows to catch it, surprising Flame who had never seen the move, but he had underestimated her speed. Though the staff lost some momentum, the impact still knocked the air from him. Flame knew it from the sound he made. She delivered another swipe to his opposite side. His staff rose to counter, though by now he was winded and slow. Nonetheless, he managed to move backwards, and Flame's shortened stave merely scraped his wrist.

  “Not bad,” he grunted. “But here's something you haven't seen before.” He dropped the staff and grabbed the dao from his fallen companion. The other staffed man, recovered from Flame's hasty kick, appeared on her other side. Face set grimly, the bearded man swung the steel at her head.

  Though the dao wasn't as long as the staff, Flame panicked as she tried to figure out how to block it without getting her weapon cut to bits. She moved backwards stiffly.

  Unexpectedly the swordsman was back, sword thrust at the face of the staff bandit who'd dragged her into the whole incident. The bandit moved back in panic. His staff moved up to block, but the swordsman merely retracted and stabbed at a new target, the metal blade scraping wood as the bandit moved his stave downwards too slowly. The thrust was fatal.

  Then the sword blade whirled, trailing droplets of blood as it was deftly jabbed into the bearded man's hand. The dao dropped. Flame jabbed for the man's throat, intact end whistling in the air, but to her surprise, found it knocked aside.

  “He's disarmed,” the swordsman explained to her. Flame would have liked to incapacitate the old man for all the trouble he'd caused her, and for her suspicions that he might still be dangerous empty-handed, but the swordsman seemed serious. She lowered the staff, suddenly realizing that she was covered in sweat. The old man chuckled.

  “If you'd utilized the pointed end as a spearhead, you might have disarmed me yourself,” he said, indicating Flame's splintered stave. Flame glared. She had to admit that the old bandit was right.

  “Off with you,” ordered the swordsman, waving his sword at the bearded man. The older man left, but not before adding in a parting shot, “I'll render you a lesson some other time, when the young nun isn't around. Don't die before then, boy!” He winked at Flame and scrabbled onto the swordsman's horse before the other man could stop him.

  “You shouldn't have done that,” said Flame, still shaking slightly from uncontrolled chi. The swordsman watched his horse disappear.

  “'See the dust but cannot catch up,'” he said, apparently quoting some idiom. He cleaned the sword on the grass and sheathed it. “That's what my father would have told me. I've been bested by a cleverer man.” Flame didn't recognize the quote, though she was sure her sister would have, if she'd been here.

  “You clearly got the better of him with your sword,” Flame told him.

  “Ah, but his mind got the better of me.” The man grinned ruefully. “Clearly he knew early on that he could manipulate me into a position in which he would escape with my horse.”

  “Why did you help me, then?”

  “Well, when I said 'clearly,' I meant that in retrospect. And anyway, it would be most ungallant of me to leave you in present company.” He chuckled. “Meimei, younger sister.” Flame was annoyed.

  “What's funny about that?” she demanded, thinking that perhaps the old bandit was right in wanting to victimize classist aristocrats.

  “I don't have a younger sister,” admitted the swordsman. “Only my Ma, and she's more than enough female company for me.” Flame started laughing, more as an excuse to release her pent-up tension than the man's attempt at humour.

  “Now, would this younger sister, whose name I don't know, happen to have a bandage to give me?” He indicated his bleeding leg with the sword. “I'd be very grateful.”

  “You can call me Flame,” she replied. “I'll give you my leg wrappings.” Flame had forgotten to remove them after morning practice, and again after that unpleasant encounter with those girls in her rush to attend to her garden duties.

  “Truly, a boon,” said the man, pulling off his boot. Flame observed him carefully. His clean-shaven face showed no sign of guile, and he took the wrappings Flame held out warily. He dipped his head, topknot facing her. Flame relaxed slightly. If he meant her harm, he wouldn't expose his neck. Though he had a sword. It was a useful thing to have, Flame thought, mind meandering. For one thing, swords didn't splinter like wood.

  “Is the monastery far?” The man looked up at her. “I mean to stay there a few days.”

  “It's just down that main road.” She looked dubiously at his awkward seating. “You might want to stay more than a few days.”

  “It's a slight scratch,” he insisted. “I should know. I've several scars to my face to date, old gifts acquired in duels. Naturally, I returned such favours.” Flame wasn't one for metaphor, but she let herself be reassured. It would only cause her more trouble to insist otherwise. Besides, his leg didn't seem broken, and he was tucking his red trouser leg back into his boot without wincing.

  Then she noticed that his pants were actually supposed to be white. Her hempen wrappings were swollen with his blood.

  “You didn't tie them tightly enough,” admonished Flame. She'd have to give up her arm wraps too. Pulling apart the straw basket, she handed pieces to the man.

  “Hold them on your leg. I'm going to have to do this myself.”

  “You're beginning to sound like my mother.”

  Flame didn't answer. She strapped the straw pieces tightly around his leg, knotting them tightly against the wound. If it hurt, he didn't show it.

  “This will do,” he said, as Flame reached for another piece of basket. He stood up to leave.

  “What about them?” Flame gestured at the fallen bandits. For some reason, she thought of her parents. It didn't seem right to leave them unburied.

  “The old rascal will come back for them. Most likely to collect their weapons.” He gestured at the dao and the sword. “Well, I don't fancy the notion of leaving him the wherewithal to terrorize fellow men.” Flame watched the swordsman break the blade of the rusty-backed dao and sling the sword on his back, leg wrappings soaked anew. He gestured at the road. “Please lead the way.”

  Flame led him by the straightest route: off the track, over a shallow point of river, and through the woods to arrive at the monastery. Mushrooms and Sister Ma were completely forgotten.