Jeff Stone_Five Ancestors 04

by Crane

  CRUNCH!

  The sound filled the fight club, and the Mauler wilted in an awkward heap, unconscious.

  The crowd went wild.

  Several crowd members began to jump up and down, waving their wager sticks high over their heads, while others threw their wager sticks to the floor in disgust.

  Ignoring the crowd, the Siamese Assassin dropped to his knees in front of his fallen opponent and bowed three times. Hok realized it was a sign of respect.

  The pit door opened and the Assassin stood. Hok watched him walk out through the doorway. She noticed that he appeared to be walking into a dimly lit tunnel. He passed two men with qiangs who were obviously guards, and continued on until Hok couldn't see him anymore.

  Hok continued to stare through the open doorway and saw a lone man approach from the depths of the tunnel. He wore a stained robe, long gloves, and a leper's shroud. The man strolled confidently into the pit without even acknowledging the guards and walked over to the Mongolian Mauler. He wasn't a big man, but he easily hoisted the large unconscious fighter over one shoulder and carried the Mauler back into the tunnel.

  Hok realized that he was a one-man clean-up crew. He was probably dressed in that outfit to protect himself against blood, germs, and anything else that might rub off on him while he did his dirty work. Hok shivered. What a horrible job.

  The crowd began to calm down, and LaoShu took the floor once more.

  “How about that quick piece of handiwork?” LaoShu announced. “Or should I say, legwork? Ha ha! I guess big things really do come in small packages! If you enjoyed that matchup, wait until you see what we have in store for you now. This next competitor is not a criminal, but a promising up-and-comer who is fighting for a position within our esteemed Emperor's ranks. He is undefeated in the pit with a record of six wins and no losses, and tonight he is the favorite. This man is known for his fast hands and even faster feet. Always on the move and constantly on the attack, he's been known to skitter across the pit bricks like a drop of rainwater on a hot wok. Don't blink! You might miss the whole thing! Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Kung Fu Crippler!”

  Hok stared at the open pit doorway and saw a small, wiry man coming out from the depths of the tunnel. He raced round and round the pit in a tight circle, never slowing. His black hair was also cut very short, and he had a large bald spot on the top of his head. Sweat poured out of it like a fountain. The Kung Fu Crippler leaped to the very center of the pit floor and began a random combination of push-ups, squat thrusts, and shadowboxing punches.

  The crowd went wild.

  “What is he doing?” Charles asked.

  “Wasting a lot of energy,” Hok replied.

  Seh smirked. “I don't even have to see him to know that that man is a fool. Do you know who he is fighting?”

  “No,” Charles said. “I didn't get to see the list.”

  “Let's hope it's Fu,” Seh said.

  “Why?” Charles asked.

  “You'll see,” Seh replied.

  The crowd quieted down, and LaoShu spoke again. “I'd like to present to you now the challenger. He's a sizable chunk of fresh meat that we're going to serve up raw for the Kung Fu Crippler! He may be young, but my sources tell me he's tough. You all know the rules. The last one standing wins! Guards, bring in the prisoner!”

  Hok stared into the tunnel and saw the two armed guards disappear into the darkness. A few moments later, they reappeared, prodding the challenger with their qiangs.

  The crowd unleashed a series of boos and catcalls for the challenger, but they abruptly stopped once he came into full view. It was obvious that the crowd didn't know what to make of the man-child who stepped into the pit, snarling like a ferocious beast. Even the Kung Fu Crippler stopped and stared.

  The challenger locked eyes with the Crippler and slowly began to stalk him.

  “It's Fu, isn't it?” Seh asked.

  “Yes,” Hok replied. “I feel sorry for Mr. Crippler.”

  Hok watched as Fu stalked the Kung Fu Crippler near the center of the fight club pit. The Crippler began to jump around again, shadowboxing furiously to the delight of the crowd.

  Hok rolled her eyes and looked over toward the bettors’ table. A mob of people were wagering at a frenzied pace.

  LaoShu cleared his throat and made an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems there's been a huge interest in people betting on the Kung Fu Crippler now that we've seen his opponent. I will wait a few more moments before sounding the gong. Get those wagers in!”

  Hok glanced down into the pit and saw that Fu was now standing still as a statue while the Crippler continued his antics.

  “Uh-oh, Seh,” Hok said with a grin. “Fu is locking in on his target.”

  Seh chuckled.

  “What's going on?” Charles asked. “Why do you two keep laughing?”

  “Fu is going to eat the Crippler for dinner,” Seh replied.

  Charles eyes widened. “Really?”

  “He's not literally going to eat him,” Hok said. “Though it probably appears that way. Growing up, we had an instructor who looked and acted just like the Kung Fu Crippler. He even had a similar bald spot. We called him the Mosquito because he was small and always buzzing around. He never stood still. He taught hand boxing and believed the best way to fight was to constantly be moving. He said it made you a more difficult target. However, larger people like Fu often believe that moving all the time does nothing but waste energy. Fu hated sparring with that instructor. The instructor used to pick on Fu, buzzing around him and jabbing him with short punches, trying to get Fu to learn how to fight someone like him. Unfortunately for the instructor, Fu's training eventually paid off.”

  “What did he do?” Charles asked.

  “Fu was only ten years old at the time,” Seh replied, “but he managed to land a hard right hand to the instructor's jaw. The instructor didn't wake up for a week.”

  “That would have been something to see,” Charles said.

  Seh nodded in the general direction of the pit. “I wish I could watch. It's about to happen again.”

  Charles scratched his head. “Seh, are you sure you don't want to place any wagers tonight? I could go check the bettors’ table and see what the odds are. If you think Fu is definitely going to win—”

  “No, Charles,” Seh said. “Now if you don't mind, I want to listen to the bout.”

  Charles frowned and slumped back into his chair.

  LaoShu shouted, “All right, I can't take the suspense anymore! Let the games begin!”

  The gong sounded, and the crowd roared.

  Hok watched as the Kung Fu Crippler continued his crazy shadowboxing, now moving steadily toward Fu.

  Fu planted his feet shoulder-width apart and raised both his hands. He formed a tiger claw with his left and positioned it in front of his face. He formed a regular fist with his right and cocked it behind his ear.

  Fu growled, and the Crippler chuckled.

  “Well, hello to you, too, Kitten,” the Crippler said.

  The crowed erupted into laughter, but Fu didn't react. Hok knew that Fu had entered a trancelike state. Nothing would distract him now.

  The Crippler moved forward to just beyond Fu's reach, and his own reach as well. He began to throw crisp jabs at Fu's head. The crowd went wild. Hok, however, could tell that the Crippler's punches wouldn't connect. They were meant to test Fu's reflexes and see what sort of range Fu had. None of the punches were actually close enough to hit Fu.

  It was obvious that Fu knew what the Crippler was up to. Fu remained perfectly still.

  The crowd began to boo. They wanted to see Fu throw punches, too. A moment later, they got their wish.

  The Crippler leaned forward and committed to a punch destined for Fu's temple. It was a looping overhand shot, and Fu could have seen it coming from a It away. He shifted his left forearm up to block the Crippler's right-hand punch, but it really wasn't necessary because his own straight right hand connected
with the Crippler's chin first.

  The Crippler's head snapped back so hard, his bald spot appeared to bounce off his spine. He spun once … twice … then fell to the floor, straight as a board, out cold.

  The crowd sat silent for a moment, then exploded with a flurry of cheers, boos, and everything in between. Charles cheered so loud, Hok had to cover her ears. Seh even yelled out a few times.

  Hok looked over toward the bettors’ table and saw a scattering of men race up to it with bamboo sticks held over their heads like trophies. They must have bet on Fu. Most of the crowd members, however, broke their wager sticks over their knees and hurled them at the Crippler, who was still clearly unconscious on the pit's brick floor.

  Hok glanced down at Fu and saw that he stood over the Crippler like a tiger over its kill, growling. At the Emperor's table, Hok could see that most of the group members were clearly disappointed, especially Tsung. HaMo, on the other hand, sat alone at his table, laughing so hard that his massive chins jiggled.

  Hok looked back down into the pit and saw the two armed guards enter it from the tunnel doorway. They raised their qiangs, pointing them directly at Fu.

  “Time to go back to your cage,” one of the guards shouted. “Inside!”

  Fu snarled, but did as ordered. He headed for the pit doorway.

  “Seh!” Hok whispered. “They're taking Fu away!”

  Seh laid one hand on his midsection. “Do you want to make our move?”

  “No,” Charles said in a surprisingly forceful tone. “There's nothing we can do. I might be able to take care of those two guards with my two qiangs, but the Emperor has ten armed soldiers directly across the pit from us. If I start shooting, so will they. We'll have to figure out a different way to rescue Fu.”

  Hok bit her lip. She knew that Charles was right. She watched Fu disappear into the tunnel.

  “I wonder what that rat is up to,” Charles said.

  Hok followed Charles’ gaze and saw LaoShu hurrying toward the main fight club entrance. Her eyes widened. In through the front door walked a petite woman dressed head to toe in black. The woman had long, luxurious hair that was nearly as long as that of her companion—a man with a thick ponytail braid so lengthy, he had the end of it tucked in his sash.

  Hok turned to Seh. “Your mother just entered with Tonglong!” she whispered. “It looks like LaoShu is escorting them toward the Emperor's table.”

  Seh scowled. “I had a feeling they would show up. I'll keep my head down. It's not like I can see anything anyway.”

  Hok patted Seh's arm and saw his snake tense beneath his sleeve.

  Hok turned to watch Tonglong and AnGangseh. They reached the Emperor's table and dropped to their knees, kowtowing. Hok couldn't see the Emperor's face clearly, but she got the impression he was pleased to see them. Specifically, he seemed to fixate on AnGangseh, who appeared to also have the attention of every man in the crowd.

  Tonglong and AnGangseh stood, and attendants brought chairs for them to sit at the Emperor's table. LaoShu stepped to the pit's edge and made an announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you are not going to believe who just joined us! Please help me in extending a hearty welcome to yet another former Fight Club Grand Champion—Tonglong, the Mantis!”

  Tonglong bowed to the crowd, and the people responded with a rousing round of cheers and applause.

  Hok glanced at Seh. He was grinding his teeth.

  The crowd began to calm down, and LaoShu spoke.

  “Let's get back to the action, shall we? How about that last bout? That kid sure packs a punch! It was over a little too quickly for my taste, though. Perhaps this next one will go a little longer and be a bit more … colorful. That color being blood-red, of course! Put your hands together for a battle-hardened veteran. He's returning to the pit for the tenth consecutive year to try his luck at the championship one last time. Because we'd all like to see him achieve his goal, we've given him a few pointers, so to speak. Scar!”

  The crowd cheered and several people stood as a large man rushed through the tunnel doorway. Hok thought he looked to be close to forty years old. He had thick scars up and down his hairy arms, and a long thin one across his pimpled neck. His hair was tied up in some sort of knot, and he held a spear in each hand. In his yellow crooked teeth was a long knife.

  “Look at all those weapons!” Charles said. “Are you sure you don't want to bet, Seh? I don't see how that guy can lose.”

  “You don't even know who his opponent is,” Seh said. “Stop pestering me. Don't you have any money with you?”

  “I do have a few coins,” Charles said. “It's not much, but I suppose I could bet them—”

  “You had better hurry up, then,” Hok said.

  Charles stood and raced over to the bettors’ table.

  Hok sighed and leaned toward Seh. “I don't understand why he is so excited about wagering.”

  Seh shrugged.

  “Guards, bring in the challenger!” LaoShu shouted. “It's time for a little monkey business!”

  Hok gripped Seh's arm and looked toward the pit doorway. She saw the two guards throw Malao through it. Normally Malao would have landed in a tight tuck and roll. This time, however, he hit the brick floor like a tomato dropped from a treetop. The crowd roared with laughter.

  “Was that Malao?” Seh said.

  “Yes,” Hok replied. “Something's wrong.”

  Hok watched Malao stand on wobbly knees and shake his head like he was trying to clear it. He looked around, wide-eyed. It was obvious that Malao had no idea where he was.

  “Malao has been drugged!” Hok whispered. “I was in that same state of mind not too long ago. I recognize the signs. I would fade in and out of consciousness without warning. Malao won't be able to fight in that condition. We have to do something!”

  “Are the two guards Charles mentioned still down there?” Seh asked.

  “Yes—” Hok said.

  “What about the soldiers?” Seh asked.

  Hok glanced across the pit. “Still there.”

  Seh clenched his fists. “Unfortunately, there isn't anything we can do right now. Let's wait and see how Malao does.”

  “Seh,” Hok said, “Malao's opponent is holding two spears and a dagger. His name is Scar. He's seen his share of blade fights. Malao is weaponless—”

  “Unless you want to borrow Charles’ qiangs and jump into the pit, I don't know what else we can do,” Seh said. “Speaking of Charles, where is he?”

  Hok glanced at the mob of people still crowded around the bettors’ table. She couldn't see Charles.

  “I don't know where he is,” Hok said.

  The gong sounded and Malao shrieked. Hok looked down in time to see Scar launch a spear at Malao.

  Hok held her breath, then relaxed as Malao sprawled to the floor, narrowly avoiding the spear's glistening metal tip. Before he could get back up, though, Scar launched his other spear.

  Malao shrieked again and rolled clumsily to one side. The second spear grazed his shoulder before rattling off the wall of the pit.

  Malao howled and Hok saw a dark circle forming through his crimson robe.

  “Malao is hurt!” Hok whispered to Seh. “Scar grazed his shoulder with a spear.”

  “He'll be okay,” Seh said. “He's a clever fighter.”

  “If anything else happens to him,” Hok said, “I'm going to help.”

  Seh didn't reply.

  Hok watched Malao curl into a tight ball and begin to shiver, his eyes closed. The drugs definitely seemed to be controlling him.

  Scar took the knife from his teeth and raised it up. He began to walk slowly toward Malao.

  The crowd began to chant, “SCAR! SCAR! SCAR!”

  Hok stood. Enough was enough. She didn't care about Tonglong or AnGangseh or Tsung or anyone else. She needed to help Malao. “STOP!” Hok cried.

  But no one listened. Scar continued forward.

  Seh grabbed at Hok's arms, but she shrugged him of
f. She adjusted the bag strap across her neck and over one shoulder and jumped onto the table, grabbing one of the drinking bowls. She hurled it at Scar, striking him on the crown of his head.

  “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Hok shouted, but the words and the bowl had no impact. Scar was unstoppable. He positioned himself over Malao's quivering body.

  The crowd continued to chant, “SCAR! SCAR! SCAR!”

  Scar thrust the dagger down, and Hok screamed.

  Malao screamed, too—loud enough to make Scar flinch in mid-swing. At the same time, Malao's hand lashed out, ramming a splintered piece of bamboo wager stick he'd been hiding into the side of Scar's calf.

  Scar cursed and his leg buckled, his knife swing going wide. Malao twisted out of the path of the tottering giant, but Hok watched in horror as Scar twisted in the same direction as Malao. Scar let himself drop to the ground, knees first, and slammed into the side of Malao's wobbly head. Malao was unconscious before he even hit the brick floor.

  A few of the crowd members gasped, but most of them burst into cheers. They began to chant, “FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!”

  Hok stared into the pit, wide-eyed, as Scar planted his knees firmly on either side of Malao's limp head and rose up, hoisting his knife high.

  “NOOOOO!” Hok cried, and she leaped into the pit, landing on the bricks in a tight single roll. She hopped to her feet, and her turban shifted over her eyes. Hok tore it off and screamed at Scar, “What's wrong with you, trying to kill a little boy? Can't you see that he's been drugged! Fight me! Leave him alone!”

  Scar turned and stared at Hok, looking confused and angry. He lowered the knife and stood.

  Scar took a step toward Hok, the broken bamboo stick still protruding from his calf.

  “Stand down, Scar!” LaoShu yelled from above. “We'll count this as a victory for you! Guards, get that crazy girl out of there!”

  The crowd began to boo, and someone shouted, “Scar didn't get to finish! We want a proper ending!”