Jeff Stone_Five Ancestors 04

by Crane

  Tonglong's eyebrows raised. He tied the string around his own neck and slipped the crane into the folds of his robe. Hok had no value to him, but Fu and Malao did. They had the dragon scrolls that Ying so desired. Tonglong desired the scrolls, too, but for a different reason. Ying wanted the scrolls to learn dragon-style kung fu. Tonglong wanted them to take over the world.

  In truth, Tonglong only desired one of the dragon scrolls—the one that was rumored to contain a map to a hidden treasure vault. If the rumors were true, the vault contained enough valuables to hire an army large enough to control an entire region. And if conditions were right and things were planned properly, that army might even be large enough to take over the entire country, and who knows what else.

  Tonglong knew that he was going to have to take things one step at a time, as he had been doing. When he had let Hok, Fu, and Malao escape a week ago, he had overheard them discussing Shaolin. If Hok had been here, perhaps her brothers had been here, too. Or, even better, perhaps her brothers hadn't arrived yet.

  Hok had no idea what day it was when she finally woke to excruciating pain. Judging by her parched lips and the swelling in her face and broken arm, she guessed she'd been asleep more than one day. Probably closer to two. The extraordinary number of insect bites on her arms, legs, and head seemed to confirm as much.

  Hok touched her broken right forearm and shivered. It hurt more than any injury she had ever had, and she knew the pain was going to get a lot worse before it got better—she was going to have to realign the bones. She had learned how to treat injuries like this as part of her training at Cangzhen, but she had never done it to herself. Hok stared up at clouds forming over the afternoon sun and decided to take care of it right away.

  She sat up, and the marsh began to spin before her. Hok turned toward the forest's edge and saw nothing but a whirl of birch bark and willow branches. She closed her eyes, counted to one hundred, and opened them again. The world slowly came back into focus.

  Hok sighed. The Dream Dust was still definitely with her. This wasn't going to be easy.

  Hok laid her left hand on her broken right forearm and gently applied pressure to the swollen area with her index finger and thumb. As she felt around the break, her eyes began to water and her hands trembled.

  Hok knew that a person's forearm was actually two separate bones. She determined that only one of the bones had snapped, up near her elbow. The separated pieces were misaligned, but still seemed to be touching. She knew she was lucky. She had assumed a person's elbow would have been dislocated and twisted apart attempting to escape an armlock like that. Broken bones could heal. Snapped sinews in your elbow could not.

  Without giving it a second thought, Hok pinched the break with her powerful fingers. Years of crane-beak fist exercises gave her a stronger grip than most grown men. She felt the broken bone segments in her forearm grind against one another briefly, and she cried out as they shifted back into their intended position.

  Hok collapsed into her marsh grass resting place. Beads of cold sweat coursed through the dirty brown stubble on her head. The sweat ran down her bruised face and mixed with her tears. Her chest began to heave. The marsh started spinning again, and Hok closed her eyes for a long time. When she finally opened them again, she knew what she needed to do next. She needed to make a plan.

  When Hok thought about everything she had experienced recently, her arm suddenly seemed to be the least of her worries. She began to wonder about her brothers, Fu, Malao, Seh, and Long. Where were they? Should she go look for them? Maybe they needed her help? She also thought about all the death and destruction at Cangzhen and Shaolin, and what it might mean to the region. And then, finally, for the first time, she began to think about herself.

  Growing up pretending to be something she was not—a boy—meant Hok had spent most of her time worrying about other people. How they saw her. What they thought about her. Focusing all her attention on everyone else was normal for her, but the only person she could help right now was herself. So, what was she going to do about it?

  Hok felt the presence of another creature nearby, and she stared along the edge of the marsh. It was the red-crowned crane. She watched it wade slowly in her direction in search of its next meal. Hok tried to remember the last time she'd eaten. She thought she recalled having a dream in which Tsung fed her some conjee—rice porridge—but she wasn't sure.

  The crane continued to wade in her direction, and Hok reached for the tiny jade replica around her neck. Her fingers brushed against the tall, open collar of the red silk dress, but failed to connect with the silk thread that held the crane. It was gone.

  Hok ran her fingers along the five razor-thin scabs on the side of her neck, now covered with insect bites. She remembered Tsung had swiped her with his fingernails. That must have been when she lost the crane.

  Fresh tears formed in Hok's eyes. Until that moment, she had never realized how important that little piece of jewelry was to her. She knew it was from her mother, but her mother was only a distant memory.

  Hok decided she needed to do something to occupy her mind. Something to help herself. She stood, and the crane squawked. It stared straight at her, bobbed its head three times, and flew off.

  Hok teetered in the soft soil next to her grass pile, watching the crane fly up a narrow stream not too far away. It was not the same stream she had followed to the marsh. With no other plans, Hok decided to follow the crane again. She regained her balance, took a long drink of water, and began to walk, cradling her broken arm.

  Hok headed back into the forest, following the crane's path up the stream. The crane was nowhere to be seen, but Hok pressed forward. The more she walked, the more cloudy her head became. She assumed it would have gotten clearer, but she was wrong. Between the Dream Dust and stress of her arm break and everything else, she knew exhaustion was setting in. Walking was probably one of the worst things she could be doing to her body right now, especially since she hadn't eaten in a while. However, she didn't know what else to do. She didn't see any point in sitting still, waiting for help that would never arrive.

  Hok continued to follow the stream, hoping it would lead to a house or a trail or something. She knew that if you followed a river or stream long enough in that region, chances were good you would eventually find civilization.

  Overhead, the clouds continued to thicken and it began to rain. She was soaked and chilled to the bone in no time, but at least the rain kept the insects away and washed much of the mud off her body and out of her stubbly hair.

  The evening shadows came early thanks to the rain, and Hok knew that she would have to stop soon. The dizziness was returning, too, and her mind was beginning to play tricks on her. She even thought she heard voices.

  Hok rounded a bend and her thin eyebrows raised. She saw two women, one old and one a few years older than herself.

  “Would you get off that bridge already?” the old woman grumbled from the stream bank. “We are going to be late.”

  “But I want to make a wish, Mother,” the young woman replied from beneath a delicate umbrella. “Give me a coin so I can throw it into the water and—”

  The young woman stopped in mid-sentence as Hok stumbled up the center of the stream, heading for the bridge.

  “What on earth is that girl doing?” the old woman said in a disgusted tone. “She is far too old to be playing in the water, or in the rain for that matter.”

  “I don't think she's playing,” the young woman said. “Look at her face and the way she's holding that one arm. She looks like she needs help.”

  “She needs to learn how to carry herself like a lady,” the old woman snapped. “That's what she needs. She's a mess! There is no excuse for a girl to look like that. I bet she's homeless. Let's go before she starts begging for money.”

  “I don't know …,” the young woman said. She stepped off the bridge, and Hok tried to call out to her. All Hok could manage was a high-pitched squeak. Hok reached the bridge and col
lapsed onto the stream bank.

  The young woman stepped forward and examined Hok, and her eyes widened. “Look, Mother! Her eyes are almost round, and the little bit of hair she has is brown!”

  The old woman scoffed. “Don't touch her. She's a half-breed. No better than a mongrel dog. Come, let's be on our way.” The old woman turned away from the bridge and walked up the narrow road.

  The young woman looked at Hok, then at her mother. She laid her wishing coin in Hok's hand and followed her mother.

  The next morning, Hok found herself still fading in and out of consciousness beside the bridge. The rain had stopped, and numerous groups of travelers had passed over the bridge since daybreak. Many had stopped to stare at her and debate how she had come to rest there, but none had offered any assistance. The only person to come near her did so just long enough to snatch the coin from her hand. She heard the word mongrel many times.

  With her weary eyes closed to the morning light and the indifferent passersby, Hok eventually heard the strangest sound. It was a soft, garbled mumbling, like she imagined a spirit might sound.

  “Xy you zwqd vmxp?”

  Hok opened her eyes, then slammed them shut again. This couldn't be happening.

  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes once more. Hok felt the remaining color drain from her pale face. She decided she must be dead. A ghost was standing over her in broad daylight.

  “Xy you need vmxp?”

  Hok blinked several times. The ghost was still there. It looked like it was waiting for her to say something. Was the ghost trying to communicate with her?

  Hok stared at it. Alive, the ghost would have been a teenage boy. His face would have been pleasant enough, but now it was creamy white and covered with red dots. Its eyes were as blue as deep river water, and its hair was the color of dirty straw.

  The ghost looked frustrated. It mumbled again, this time very slowly.

  “Do … you … need … help?”

  Hok's eyes widened. This wasn't a ghost. It was a boy! A guai lo. A ghost man. A white person. The boy was speaking Mandarin, but with a very thick accent. Hok could barely understand him. She nodded.

  “I am going to pick you up,” the boy said slowly. “Don't be afraid.”

  Hok nodded again.

  The boy lifted Hok off the muddy stream bank and crossed the bridge. Hok noticed that he was very strong. His broad shoulders stretched his gray peasant's robe to its limits. She glanced down and saw that her dress and much of her body were streaked with mud and soaking wet, but the boy didn't seem to mind.

  The boy shifted Hok in his arms, cradling her, and her broken arm pressed against something rigid beneath his robe, across his chest. It felt like a metal pipe. She winced.

  “Sorry,” the boy said, glancing at her arm. “Is it broken?”

  “Yes,” Hok whispered in a weak voice.

  “Don't worry,” the boy said. “I know someone who can fix you up. She's Chinese, but she won't treat you any differently. She understands people like you and me because her husband is one of us … fair-skinned, I mean.”

  Hok felt her heart begin to beat a little faster. She couldn't help but think about her father, even though she remembered almost nothing about him.

  “My name is Charles,” the boy said. “I come from a faraway place called Holland. I usually live on a ship, but recently I've been spending time helping my captain's wife here on land. Have you ever seen the sea?”

  Hok's head began to spin. “I … I …”

  Charles frowned. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask you to talk right now.”

  Hok nodded weakly.

  “Try and rest,” Charles said. “I'll take care of you. I promise. Pale people like us need to stick together!” He smiled.

  Hok smiled back and closed her eyes. Perhaps what Tsung had said about Dream Dust was true. She seemed to be able to see into this boy's heart, and she saw he spoke the truth. Exhausted and comfortable in Charles’ arms, Hok drifted off to sleep.

  Images of a tall white man with a thick brown beard and green eyes filled Hok's head. It was her father. In her dream, he held one of her hands, and a tall, beautiful Chinese woman held the other. The woman had high cheekbones and tiny piercing eyes. Hok could never forget her mother's face. Hok looked up to ask her mother a question, but her dream was cut short by a high-pitched squeal and a young girl's demanding voice.

  “What happened to her?”

  Hok opened her eyes and found she was on a narrow trail, still in Charles’ arms. She was also nose to nose with a fair-skinned little girl who spoke perfect Mandarin. The girl's eyes were Chinese, but her hair was long and brown.

  “She looks like a drowned rat,” the little girl said to Charles. “And what happened to her hair? Does she want to look like a boy?”

  “She does not look like a boy,” Charles replied.

  The little girl scoffed. “Yes, she does, especially with those bruises. Where did you find her?”

  “There is a bridge up the trail,” Charles said. “She was lying next to it.”

  “You're not thinking of having her stay with us, are you?” the girl asked. “Mother is going to be sooooo angry with you.”

  Charles laughed. “She's not my mother.”

  The little girl stamped her foot. “You are going to be in so much trouble. We can't afford another mouth to feed.”

  “We can't afford another mouth to feed,” Charles mocked. “What kind of six-year-old says things like that?”

  “A smart one,” the little girl said. “And one that's very mature for her age.” She stuck out her tongue and ran up the trail, around a bend.

  Charles chuckled and looked at Hok. “That's GongJee, which means Princess in Cantonese. It's not her real name, but that's what she demands everyone call her. She can be a pest sometimes, but you'll get used to her. She's very smart. She can speak Mandarin and Cantonese, and she even learned Dutch from listening to me talk with her father.”

  Hok felt a chill trickle down her spine. The word Dutch sounded familiar.

  “Look,” Charles said, pointing down the trail.

  GongJee appeared around the bend, walking next to a tall Chinese woman who was pulling a small cart. The woman wore a snow-white turban on her head, pulled low across her brow so that it obscured her features. To Hok, it made no difference. She would never forget those high cheekbones and tiny piercing eyes.

  Hok watched in disbelief as her mother, Bing, let go of the cart and began to jog up the trail with long, graceful strides. GongJee tried to keep pace at Bing's side, a confused look on her face. “MaMa, what's wrong?”

  Charles glanced up. “Bing? Is everything okay?”

  Hok's mother glided to a stop in front of Charles. “Nothing is wrong,” she whispered. “Everything is better now. Absolutely everything.” She gently swept Hok out of Charles’ arms, into her own.

  Hok locked eyes with Bing, and suddenly felt three years old again. They held each other's gaze, and nine years passed in a single heartbeat.

  “What's going on!” GongJee demanded.

  Charles glanced at Bing's face, and then at Hok's. A huge smile spread across his lips. “GongJee,” he said, “you know how your mother sometimes gets sad when she thinks about your ‘secret’ big sister? Well, I don't think she's going to be sad anymore.”

  The next several weeks were a whirlwind for Hok. She spent nearly every waking moment with Bing, and felt more like she was getting reacquainted with an old friend than reuniting with a parent. Bing didn't talk much, but Hok felt a level of comfort around her that she'd never experienced with anyone else. That made her feel good. Emotionally at least.

  Physically things were different. Everything was taking longer to heal than Hok would have liked. Her facial bruising was still quite evident, and it took a long time for the effects of the Dream Dust to wear off. She experienced a couple of difficult nights where she lay trembling and sweating uncontrollably. At least that was now behind her.

  Ho
k kept her broken right arm wrapped tight against her body in a silk sling that matched the white silk robe and turban Bing had given her. Her arm remained swollen for days on end, but it eventually shrank back to its normal size after regular treatments with liniments she created using herbs like willow and feverfew. Bing had these items and more in various-sized jars in the cart they traveled with. As Hok was beginning to remember, her mother was an accomplished healer, too.

  Little by little, Hok began to use her injured arm again, keeping it in the sling when she wasn't carefully rehabilitating it. She found the best exercise for it was practicing her basic crane-style kung fu. Using her arms to mimic wings provided an excellent range of movements for reconditioning her elbow. She only practiced under the cover of darkness, though, so as to not draw attention to herself or the others as they traveled along the trail. As Hok had come to learn, they were a secretive bunch.

  Getting specific information out of her mother was sometimes difficult, and Hok often had to ask the same question several times before getting an answer. They stayed at inns along the trail and all four of them usually shared a single room, so most of Hok's information came late at night, after Charles and GongJee had gone to sleep.

  Hok had learned that her mother was still on the run after all these years. Her father was, too. Hok wasn't sure where her father was right now, but wherever it was, it was less dangerous than the region they were currently in. Charles was her father's cabin boy and her father had asked him to spend this summer with Bing and GongJee because of the trouble brewing in this region. Bing was going to get involved firsthand, and Charles was there to help.

  Hok had also discovered that the four of them were currently headed to the region's capital city of Kaifeng to attend the annual Dragon Boat Festival. During the festival, Bing was supposed to meet with some of her “contacts.” Hok wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it sounded potentially dangerous. Her mother had said that she was somewhat concerned about GongJee being with them, but she also said that she had no choice. Apparently, Bing had tried to have other people care for GongJee much like Grandmaster had taken Hok under his wing, but GongJee had always run away. If Bing ever had to do something alone for several days at a time, Charles was the only one who was able to keep GongJee from running off. Though Charles and GongJee argued often, Hok could tell that they actually enjoyed each other's company.