by Crane
Table of Contents
Other Books By This Author
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
HENAN PROVINCE, CHINA 4348-YEAR OF THE TIGER (1650 AD): CHAPTER 1
about the Author
Copyright
For more than forty years,
Yearling has been the leading name
in classic and award-winning literature
for young readers.
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providing dynamic stories of adventure,
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in all children.
The Five Ancestors
Book 1: Tiger
Book 2: Monkey
Book 3: Snake
Book 4: Crane
For my mother,
Arlene
The Legend unravels …
Cangzhen's strong, young Dragon has disappeared and little Monkey has been captured! Now, instead of being chased, the Tiger, the Snake, and the Crane must pursue their enemies to free one monk and find another. Down the Yellow River, the trail leads to a dangerous city and a dark underworld. Unaware that their youngest brother is being used as bait in a ruthless trap, the three rescuers may soon need to be rescued themselves. And of the Dragon? The trail is cold and there is little to learn other than dead ends and rumors. Yet the five must regroup if they are to fulf ill their destiny as …
the Five Ancestors.
HENAN PROVINCE, CHINA
4339—YEAR OF THE SNAKE
(1641 AD)
“Idon't understand, MaMa,” said three-year-old OnYeen with a sniffle. “Why are you cutting all my hair off?”
Bing set the straight razor down on a small lacquered table, next to a pile of navigation charts. She wiped OnYeen's pale, bald head with a warm towel and brushed clumps of long brown hair from OnYeen's sleeping gown. “Everyone at the temple shaves his head,” Bing said. “That's the rule.”
OnYeen sniffled again. “You said shaves his head. I'm a girl.”
“This is true,” Bing replied. “However, from now on you must pretend that you are a boy. Your head must also be shaved every day.”
“But why?”
“Because you have to hide. Your father and I are in danger, which means you are in danger. There are people looking for all three of us. You must pretend that you are a boy in order to better fool people, and you must never let your hair grow because of its color. You are different from everyone else. You already know this.”
“I know I am different,” OnYeen said. “Because of Father. But I don't care. I want to stay with him. I want to stay with both of you!”
Bing set the towel down beside a glowing oil lamp. She turned toward the cabin's single porthole and stared into the night sky. “I am sorry, but we must separate. You will go to the temple where I grew up, and I will take flight in the mountains. Your father will undock this ship of his and return to the sea.”
OnYeen raised her eyes to the flickering shadows on the wood-paneled ceiling. Her mind began to race. “Why can't I shave my head and dress like a boy and stay with you? You can shave your head, too. We can be boys together.”
Bing sighed. “You are far too intelligent for a child your age. You know that, don't you? You cannot come with me. I am sorry.”
“Then when will you come get me?”
Bing turned away from the porthole. “We must be honest about this. It may be a long time.”
“How long?” OnYeen asked. Tears began to dribble down her pale bony cheeks.
Bing knelt and looked OnYeen in the eye. “I do not know how long I will be away. Some people believe that everything happens for a reason, daughter. You must try to find the good in this, and you must remain strong, like I've taught you. You will learn many things from Grandmaster. You will continue your training in the healing arts and kung fu. I learned everything I know at the temple.”
OnYeen closed her eyes. “I remember Grandmaster. He came to visit once. He is mean.”
“He is not mean,” Bing said. “He is strict. There is a difference. Look at me.”
OnYeen opened her eyes.
“You have to be strong,” Bing said. “Going to the temple is the logical thing to do. The logical choice is always the best choice. Do you understand?”
OnYeen sniffled.
“Do you understand?” Bing repeated.
OnYeen wiped her eyes and nodded.
“Good,” Bing said. “I have something for you. This has always helped me. Perhaps it will help you.”
Bing reached into the collar of her white robe and lifted a silk thread from around her neck. Dangling from the thread was a tiny green crane. “I carved this for myself many years ago. It is jade. Some people believe the precious green stone absorbs pain. Wear it over your heart. That is where you will hurt most.”
Bing placed the circle of thread over OnYeen's head. OnYeen didn't feel any different.
“I still want to come with you,” OnYeen said.
Bing stared, unblinking, at OnYeen. She didn't reply.
OnYeen knew her mother was not going to change her mind. OnYeen raised her eyes to the ceiling again. “I know!” she said. “I can dream about you! When I get lonely, I can close my eyes and visit you. We can fly together from the mountains to the sea and find Father and—”
Bing shook her head and rested her long, delicate fingers on OnYeen's shoulders. “It is time for bed.”
OnYeen frowned and climbed into her bunk. She gazed at her mother, trying not to blink.
“There is one more thing,” Bing said. “If you think about it logically, you will understand that it must be done. We must also change your name.”
OnYeen sank into her thin mattress and her eyelids began to quiver. “No, MaMa … not my name. I like my name.”
“I like your name, too. It suits you perfectly. Perhaps too perfectly, given these troubled times. Where you are going, people speak Cantonese. They will know that OnYeen means Peaceful, and that it's a girl's name. I am very sorry, but we have to change it. Only Grandmaster will know that you are a girl.”
OnYeen did her best to choke back her tears. She needed to be strong, like her mother said. She needed to do the logical thing. “What will my new name be?”
Bing pointed to the tiny jade crane around OnYeen's neck. “Hok.”
OnYeen slammed her eyes shut. Tears began to leak from them again. She clinched the jade crane and wanted to cry out, but she didn't utter a peep.
Bing nodded approvingly. “You are a very brave girl. I am proud of you. Sweet dreams, my dearest Hok. Tomorrow we leave for Cangzhen Temple.”
HENAN PROVINCE, CHINA
4348—YEAR OF THE TIGER
(1650 AD)
Twelve-year-old Hok sat perched high in a tree in a dreamlike state. All around her, Cangzhen was burning. Thick black smoke rushed over her on currents of air formed by the intense heat below. Her brothers, Fu, Malao, Seh, and Long, had already taken flight. It was time for her to do the same. Grandmaster had told them to scatter into the four winds, so into the wind she would go.
Hok spread her arms wide and let the warm, rising air lift her into the night sky. She welcomed the familiar feeling and soon found herself soaring through the darkness, circling higher and higher. Yet no matter how high she flew, she couldn't escape the smoke. It burned her eyes and obscured her vision. She had no choice but to descend once more. Maybe she could somehow fly around the trouble.
Below her, the Cangzhen compound came into view again. Through the smoky haze, Hok saw the outlines of a hundred fallen monks. She was as powerless to help them now as she had been during the attack. She frowned, and continued on.
Hok headed for Cangzhen's main gates and saw her former brother Ying just beyond them, his carved dragon face contorted into an angry scowl. Grandmaster was with Ying, and so was her brother Fu. Hok watched as Ying cut Fu's cheek with his chain whip, then blasted a large hole clear through Grandmaster's upper body with a qiang.
Hok shuddered and blinked, and Ying disappeared like mythical dragons were rumored to do. Fu ran away, and Grandmaster slumped to the ground.
Behind her, Hok heard her youngest brother, Malao, giggle. She glanced back, but saw no sign of him. Instead, she caught a glimpse of a monkey demon dancing across a burning rooftop—
What is going on? Hok wondered. She had had strange, vivid dreams before, but never one quite like this. Everything was so clear and so … violent.
The images got worse.
Hok saw Grandmaster suddenly stand, streams of smoke drifting in and out of the bloody hole in his chest. He glanced up at Hok soaring overhead, and his wrinkled bald head tumbled off his shoulders.
Hok shuddered again. She had had enough. She wanted to wake up. She pinched herself—and felt it— but nothing changed. She was still gliding on smoky currents of air. She felt as if she were asleep and awake at the same time.
Perhaps the smoke had something to do with it. If she could just get away from the smoke, maybe she could find a way to wake up. Hok glided beyond the tree line, skimming the treetops. She flew as low as possible, hoping that the drifting smoke would rise above her.
She hadn't gotten very far into the forest when she passed over a large hollow tree and caught a glimpse of herself burying Grandmaster's headless body inside it. Curious, Hok landed on a nearby limb and watched herself finish the job, then drift off to sleep inside the tree.
As Hok stared through the smoky darkness, she saw a soldier with the head of a mantis sneak into the tree hollow and sprinkle something over her sleeping face.
She had been drugged. That was why she was having trouble waking up.
With this realization came a dizzying sensation. Part of Hok's mind raced back to her lessons with Grandmaster concerning certain types of mushroom spores and different plant matter that, if inhaled, could put a person into a dreamlike fog for days on end. Hok grew certain that she was now only half-asleep, which meant that she was half-awake. She made a conscious effort to pull herself into the waking world, and the smoke around her began to thin.
At the same time, Hok watched the soldier's impossible insect head in her dream. It transformed from that of a mantis into that of a man, and she recognized him. His name was Tonglong. He was Ying's number one soldier. Hok watched Tonglong lift her unconscious body and carry it out of the tree hollow.
Hok spread her arms in her dream and leaped into the air, following Tonglong. She glanced down and saw that two soldiers were now carrying her unconscious body along a trail. She was bound and hanging from a pole like a trophy animal.
Hok blinked and the scene below changed. She was now unbound, having a conversation in the forest with Fu, Malao, and a … tiger cub?
Hok blinked again, and a stiff breeze rose out of nowhere. It whisked the remaining smoke away, and the images went with it.
When the breeze stopped, Hok felt herself begin to tumble from the sky. She pinched herself again.
This time, she opened her eyes.
Hok found herself facedown on the muddy bank of a narrow stream. The earth was cool and moist, but the midday sun overhead warmed her bare feet and the back of her aching head. She raised her long, bony fingers to the top of her pounding temples and felt something she hadn't felt in years: hair. It was little more than stubble and caked with mud, but it was undeniable.
How long have I been asleep? Hok wondered. Where am I?
She lifted her head and her vision slowly gained focus. So did her other senses.
Hok twitched. She wasn't alone.
“You've been drugged,” a voice purred from overhead. “Let me help you.”
Hok looked into a nearby tree and her eyes widened. Lounging on a large limb was a lean bald man in an orange monk's robe. The man raised his bushy eyebrows and leaped to the ground with all the grace and nimbleness of a leopard. He approached Hok with smooth, confident strides.
“Dream Dust, I'm guessing,” the man said. “If so, you'll be feeling the effects on and off for days. It's powerful stuff. It blurs the line between dreams and reality.”
Hok stared, unblinking, at the man. If she remembered her training correctly, Dream Dust was derived from the pods of poppy flowers. Powerful stuff, indeed.
“My name is Tsung,” the man offered. “It's Mandarin for monk. A simple name for a simple man. I am from Shaolin Temple originally, but I live outside the temple now among regular folk. Hence, my name.”
Hok continued to stare.
“You don't say much, do you?” Tsung said. He stopped several paces from her, keeping a respectful distance. “That's just as well. I'll tell you what I know. I spied on your captors, Major Ying and Tonglong, for quite some time. I make a habit of keeping an eye on things in this region. I had a feeling you were something special, even before I realized you were from Cangzhen. And once I overheard them discussing the fact that you were a girl, well, let's just say that I was doubly impressed. For fighters as skilled as Ying and Tonglong to go to such lengths to bind and drug such a young captive, that's extraordinary.”
Hok glanced at her wrists and ankles. They were raw and coated with dried blood, but she didn't feel a thing. The Dream Dust must be numbing the pain.
Tsung nodded at her. “Interesting outfit you're wearing. It appears large enough to fit a grown man.”
Hok looked at her oversized robe and ill-fitting orange pants. She'd always worn clothes that were too large, in preparation for the days when loose clothes would better hide her gender. It seemed that didn't matter anymore. She shrugged. She didn't know what to say.
“You really aren't doing so well, are you?” Tsung asked.
Hok shook her head. The movement made her dizzy, and her vision began to tunnel.
“I'm taking you to Shaolin,” Tsung said. “I have a horse nearby, and we will be there in no time. I'll take care of you.” He flashed a toothy grin, and Hok sensed something beneath the surface. Something sinister. He took a step toward her.
Hok formed a crane-beak fist with her right hand, bunching the tips of all four fingers together and pressing them tightly against the tip of her thumb.
Tsung's smile faded. “A crane stylist?” he said. “I should have guessed.”
Hok didn't offer a response.
“They say Dream Dust allows the user to see into the hearts of others,” Tsung said. “Do you think this is true?”
Hok didn't respond. The world around her was growing hazy as if smoke was drifting over her eyes. She felt her crane-beak fist loosen, her fingers relaxing into a limp open hand.
“Very interesting,” Tsung purred, his feline grin returning. “Since it appears as th
ough you're about to drift away again, I'll let you in on a little secret. My brothers at Shaolin no longer trust me, either. In fact, they haven't let me into the compound in years. However, that is all about to change. You shall be my ticket in. The ticket for me, and a few thousand of my closest friends.”
“Open the gate!” Tsung shouted into the darkness two nights later. “A young monk needs help.”
Shaolin's great front gate remained closed. No one replied.
Tsung shook his bald head and climbed off his horse, taking care to make sure Hok's unconscious body remained steadily draped across his horse's back. He untied a small pack from the horse and slung it over one shoulder. Then he slung Hok over his other shoulder and walked up the stone steps toward the gate, which was fashioned like two giant wooden doors. The doors stood higher than two men were tall, and surrounding the door frame was a gigantic brick wall, painted bright red. Set into the wall on either side of the doorway was a huge circular hole filled with intricate wooden latticework. Tsung was certain someone was peeking out through the circle on the right.
Tsung approached the huge doors and kicked them hard enough to echo on the far side. “The monk in need of care is from Cangzhen,” he shouted. “A girl. You don't want her death on your shoulders, do you?”
Tsung waited for a reply. He got none. He kicked the doors again.
“Go away,” a firm voice said through the latticework.
“No,” Tsung replied. “Open up. I am alone. The night sky is overcast, but I am certain you can see well enough to know I speak the truth.”
“We cannot afford to take any chances by letting strangers or questionable guests inside,” the voice said. “Least of all you. There are soldiers about. We believe troops are gathering in the area. You might be part of it.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” Tsung said. “I am alone, and the girl is unconscious. Come see for yourself.”
The person behind the latticework shuffled over to the great doors, and after a series of bolts were disengaged, one of the doors opened a crack.