by P J Tierney
‘It doesn’t matter that you don’t believe it,’ Mr Fan said. ‘We cannot know yet whether you are or aren’t the Spirit Warrior, but our immediate problem is that you haven’t been ruled out. There is someone who will be tracing you right now, monitoring the disruptions in the Way. He will come looking for you.’
‘Zheng,’ Jamie breathed, and with that there was a thunderous knock on the cabin door.
Jamie jumped, banged his knees into the table and sent its contents flying. He scrambled to his feet and squared up to the door in what he thought was a pretty good fighting stance.
From behind him, he heard a low chuckle. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Jamie,’ Mr Fan said, ‘but I’ve asked someone to join us.’
There was another knock, and after double-checking with Mr Fan that it was safe, Jamie opened the door. A teenage girl was standing there; the breath caught in Jamie’s throat. She was beautiful in a scary sort of way. She wore cargo pants slung low on her hips and a top that exposed more of her shoulders than covered them. Jamie couldn’t help but notice she was all muscle, and he could tell by the fierce look on her face and the way her hand curled in a fist that she was not someone to mess with. He was conscious of his mouth hanging open.
The girl spotted Mr Fan and relaxed her stance a little. ‘Sifu,’ she said, bringing her palm and fist together to bow.
Jamie swivelled to see Mr Fan do the same in return.
‘Is this the one?’ the girl said, inclining her head towards Jamie.
She peered at him, tilted her head slightly and seemed to stare at a spot just above him. She expanded her focus to include the area either side of his head. Bewildered, Jamie glanced up to see what she was looking at. Just as he was about to ask Mr Fan if this girl was okay, she blinked and shook her head.
‘I can’t see anything,’ she said, and Jamie couldn’t stop himself from turning around to look as well.
She bowed again to Mr Fan and turned to leave, her ponytail flicking Jamie in the face.
‘Whoa, whoa, Jade, not so fast,’ Mr Fan said, reaching past Jamie to grab Jade’s shoulder.
The girl shrugged and entered the cabin. As she squeezed past Jamie, she said, ‘Nice knife-throwing technique earlier.’
Jamie’s cheeks burned. ‘You saw that?’
She shrugged. ‘You could say that.’
‘Jamie,’ Mr Fan said, ‘may I introduce Jade. She is a student of the Way, one of the young people I was telling you about.’
Jade nodded in Jamie’s direction, a gesture that was never going to be mistaken for a bow. Jamie held his hand out, just like his father had taught him, and she looked long and hard at it before she shook it.
‘Jamie is preparing a meal for us,’ Mr Fan said in a measured tone, implying Jade should try to be nice.
Jade looked past Jamie to the cans of soup on the counter. ‘I thought you said dinner?’
Jamie nudged the cans behind the wok and took her words as a challenge. He drained the noodles and the shrimp, heated the oil in the wok until smoke rose from it and threw the noodles in. The oil spat and hissed with a crackling sizzle. Jamie tossed the noodles till each one shone from the oil. Then he mixed soy and oyster sauce, a dash of water, a little sugar and a drop of sesame oil in a small bowl, stirring the sauce with one hand and tossing the noodles with the other. He knew Jade was watching.
Jamie tossed the vegetables and shrimp through the noodles, mixed the sauce in, and finally drained some tofu to put on top. He let it sit just long enough for the flavours to combine and the tofu to warm through, then he slid the whole lot onto a serving plate and turned to present the dish. Although he didn’t say it, every cell in his body was crying ta-dah!
Mr Fan applauded, but Jade was staring pointedly out the porthole. She feigned a look of mild surprise when Jamie put the dish down in front of her.
She pushed the food around her bowl for a while, but then ate every morsel. The compliment of the empty plate gave Jamie confidence to speak to the surly girl. ‘Jade?’ he said. ‘That’s Yu, in Chinese. So why Jade and not Yu, like the stone you’re named after?’
Jade glared at him with such ferocity he wished he could take it back.
‘I don’t know, Jamie,’ she said. ‘Why aren’t you called Jamieson like the whisky you’re named after?’
‘I’m not named after —’ but Jade had picked up a chopstick, flicked her wrist and sent the stick flying at his head. Jamie ducked, but not quickly enough; it scratched a line in his scalp. It then lodged point-first in the side of the hull.
‘Whoa.’ Jamie stared gobsmacked at the chopstick sticking out from the wall. He felt the scratch on his head: that stick could just as easily have been sticking out of his skull. Yet he couldn’t help but be impressed. ‘How’d you do that?’
Mr Fan glared at Jade and slid the other chopstick out of her reach. He said to Jamie, ‘You learn to do that by first mastering the knife-throwing technique.’
‘Will you teach me?’ Jamie asked. ‘Not just that but really teach me kung fu?’
Mr Fan nodded and Jamie beamed, but Jade was still glaring at the chopstick in the hull. Jamie followed her gaze and his eyes darted between the stick and the shelf beside it. On a small ledge above the sink was a single bottle of his father’s whisky.
‘Jamieson’s whisky,’ Jade read from the label.
‘Jamieson,’ Jamie said slowly, as a knot formed in his stomach. Could he really be named after a bottle of liquor?
Later, in the engine bay, Jamie unrolled his mattress and brought his mother’s tapestry to his cheek. But, instead of drifting off into dreams of flying kicks and miraculous rescues, he listened to Jade and Mr Fan. They were talking on the deck, unaware that the extraction ducts from the engine bay brought their whispers directly to Jamie’s ear.
‘He’s not who you think he is,’ Jade said.
Jamie tensed and leaned in close to the vent, waiting for Mr Fan’s denial. It didn’t come.
He heard pacing, then Mr Fan said, ‘But, Jade, he Rode the Way.’ With great emphasis, he added, ‘Through the water.’
‘Through the water?’ Jade said in a way that implied she was mildly impressed. ‘And the birthday too — it’s no wonder you called me. But, Sifu,’ she said in a voice that sounded almost apologetic, ‘I didn’t recognise him.’
Jamie leaned in so close his ear brushed the vent. There were more footsteps. ‘Through the water,’ Mr Fan said again. ‘And the Summoning of the orbs too. These things are not insignificant.’
‘He’s a Warrior,’ Jade said, ‘I don’t doubt that, and probably a pretty good one too. But he’s not who we are looking for.’
When he spoke, Mr Fan’s voice sounded far off, like he was thinking about something else. ‘Maybe not who you are looking for.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ Mr Fan said and his voice returned to normal.
‘Sifu, you know I’m not wrong, and you know it’s not the first time you’ve thought like this.’ Jade sounded older now, as if she was the adult speaking to the child.
Mr Fan sighed. ‘It’s different this time, Jade. There is something about this boy.’
‘Have you thought,’ she said, spacing her words out and choosing them carefully, ‘that maybe you’re supposed to feel like that?’
There was a very long silence.
‘Sifu,’ Jade said, ‘what if Zheng planted him here? We’ve searched the globe and here he is, right under our noses. Don’t you think it’s a bit of a coincidence?’
Jamie gulped. There are no coincidences, Mr Fan had told him.
‘And, Sifu,’ Jade added cautiously, ‘you’ve got to wonder why Zheng isn’t here right now. Perhaps this boy is his spy.’
‘The boy’s been hidden,’ Mr Fan said quickly. ‘The water on one side, the mountain on the other. There aren’t any records of him. That’s why we hadn’t found him.’ He sounded desperate.
Jamie felt sad: for himself and for Mr Fan too. He pulled the blanket ov
er his head. But the blanket was thin and Jade’s words carried through.
‘Begin by seizing something which your opponent holds dear; then he will be amenable to your will.’
‘You quote The Art of War to me?’ Mr Fan said.
‘You taught it to me.’
‘You think I’m being manipulated then?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jade said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know who he is.’
‘Then we need to find out, and his kung fu may give us a clue. If he has any natural ability, then that may expose an allegiance.’
The silence on the deck lasted so long Jamie thought the conversation was over. But then Mr Fan said, ‘He may not be who we need, Jade, but he needs us.’
There was a silence broken only by the lapping against the hull. Then Jade said, ‘The bruise on his face … You think we need to teach him self-defence?’
Jamie felt the tender skin on the bridge of his nose.
‘More than that,’ Mr Fan said. ‘To teach him self-respect.’
Deep in the engine bay, where the water lapped at the hull, Jamie felt small and pathetic. He wiped his eyes with the blanket, blotting the tears before they could swell. He was someone, even if he wasn’t who they were looking for, even if he couldn’t fight, even if he couldn’t read. He didn’t need their pity.
Jamie vowed that whatever it took, he’d show that girl she was wrong about him.
Chapter 13
The early morning mist clung to the bay as Jamie and Mr Fan stood at the bottom of the jungled mountainside.
‘Is that the only way to the top?’ Mr Fan asked, gesturing towards the escarpment path on their left.
‘Uh-huh,’ Jamie said, his mind on kung fu and proving himself.
‘Then let’s begin.’
Jamie turned towards the path. The rustling of plants and vines made him look back. Mr Fan was forcing a gap in the intertwined curtain of green that formed the thickest part of the undergrowth.
‘Um, the path?’ Jamie said, pointing to the left.
Mr Fan ignored him, stepping instead through the gap and into the jungle. The curtain closed behind him, leaving Jamie hovering on the outside, undecided as to whether to follow Mr Fan or take the cleared path. He thought of spider webs and bamboo snakes, reminders of the times he’d hidden from Hector’s fury in there. He sighed, then clenched his jaw and plunged into the jungle.
The air was dense and stagnant and smelled of musty decay. Only dappled sunlight filtered through the thick canopy, bringing little light but casting eerie shadows. Dark, quiet and a little scary too; it was the perfect setting for fears to come real. Jamie thought of Zheng and hurried to catch up to Mr Fan.
‘Shouldn’t we use the path?’ he asked again.
Mr Fan gave no sign of having heard. He continued the climb, leaning into the incline and pushing aside the plants in his way. Jamie gritted his teeth and followed.
The dark shadows played on Jamie’s mind and he stayed closer to Mr Fan than he normally would. This meant that whenever Mr Fan pushed a branch aside, it flung back into position, whipping Jamie. Some of the larger ones really hurt. The narrow bendy ones were the worst: they left red welts where they slapped him. But the large, flat ones held their own torment too: they showered him with the cold dew they’d collected overnight.
Then there were the mosquitos. They loved the moist, warm air, and seemingly Jamie’s ankles as well. He swatted at them and looked enviously at Mr Fan’s canvas boots, which wrapped all the way up his calves.
Jamie’s shins were scratched. He bent over to inspect the damage and noticed a fat black leech attached to his ankle. He cringed. He forced his fingernail between his flesh and the sucker and prised it from his skin. The leech popped off and Jamie flung it as far as he could. He pushed on the bite mark to stop the fine trickle of blood.
‘You know, the path’s probably quicker,’ Jamie said. ‘Where are we going anyway?’
Mr Fan didn’t answer; he just kept walking.
After they had climbed all the way to the top of the mountain and skirted around the headland to the next bay, Jamie suspected the old man was lost.
‘Maybe we should go to the crest to get our bearings,’ he puffed.
Mr Fan turned around and headed back in the direction they’d just come from. He patted Jamie on the shoulder as he passed. Jamie gritted his teeth.
By the time they’d walked all the way back to the escarpment path, Jamie was scratched, bleeding and fast losing patience.
‘If you’d just tell me where you want to go, I can get you there,’ he said.
Mr Fan waved a slight acknowledgment and quickened his pace. Jamie exhaled impatiently and jogged to catch up. A particularly whippy branch whacked him across the face. ‘Ow,’ he yelped, clutching his cheek.
Mr Fan finally stopped and turned to him. ‘I thought you would have learned to block by now.’
‘What?’
‘Block.’ Mr Fan positioned his forearm vertically in front of his face and swung it across his body, bringing it to a sudden stop at his side. He did it again and Jamie recognised a very basic side block.
‘You mean I should block the trees?’ he said.
‘Not if you would prefer to be hit by them.’
‘I thought we’d be training by now,’ Jamie said, barely containing his frustration.
‘Yes,’ Mr Fan said. ‘And we start with the basics.’ He swung his arm across his body again. ‘Basics like how to block.’
Jamie wasn’t stupid, but he was tired and wet and disappointed. Mr Fan sighed. He positioned Jamie’s forearm parallel for him, swung the arm across and brought it to rest in his own palm.
‘The block, Jamie, concentrate on the block.’
Jamie copied the move but in an impatient, halfhearted way.
‘Respect starts with the self,’ Mr Fan said. ‘This attitude will not help you.’
Jamie huffed and repositioned his feet, then he concentrated and swung his arm across his body. It made a satisfying slapping sound as it hit Mr Fan’s waiting palm.
‘Ahh,’ said Mr Fan. ‘The boy knows his basics, but they are tools only if they are used.’
Mr Fan turned and leaned into the thick jungle again. A branch ricocheted back and Jamie quickly brought his forearm up to block it.
‘Well done, boy, you have learned the first lesson.’
Jamie shook his arm to lessen the stinging impact. ‘Oh, I learned that ages ago, Mr Fan. I know how to block and kick and do most of the basic punches.’
‘Your lesson was not the block, Jamie. Anyone can learn to block or kick or punch.’
Jamie’s pride was deflated. Mr Fan stopped and turned to face him. ‘The master does not need to call on his skills; they are with him at all times. Your lesson, Jamie, was to use the tools you have, not to carry them around and still get hit in the face.’
Jamie held his hand to his cheek. It was burning, both from the welt from the branch and Mr Fan’s words.
Mr Fan walked on, seeming to find the largest and whippiest branches to fling back at Jamie. Jamie saw the old man nod to himself each time his assault was met with the dull thud of Jamie’s forearm instead of the high-pitched snap of his cheek. Mr Fan walked faster and Jamie rose to the challenge. He couldn’t help getting a little cocky and started spinning to block backwards, or jumping high and blocking low, and letting out a few ‘hiyas’ for good measure. He was too busy imagining himself a kung fu movie hero to notice the next branch was very thick and strong. It made a whistling sound as it sped through the air and he took the full brunt across his belly. He was knocked to the ground, a little bit winded and suitably humbled. Jamie didn’t need that lesson explained to him. He went back to doing just the basic block.
By the time the shadows were growing long, Jamie’s forearms were red and swollen, his muscles ached from repetition. He could barely raise his arms to shoulder height. His head swirled with exhaustion and his empty tummy churned. He swayed under the impact of the
bigger branches and stumbled and tripped on the slippery undergrowth. But there wasn’t a tree, or branch, or palm that would ever get the better of Jamie Reign again. He sure knew how to block.
It was early the next day when Jade took Mr Fan and Jamie to the clearing behind the Leungs’ house. She had set up some short Meihua poles: timber poles stuck into the earth and used for balance training. Jamie had never seen a real Meihua pole before. When he practised with Feng Chow, they used tin cans.
Jade had set the poles up at chest height in a tight grid pattern.
‘By training on these poles,’ Mr Fan told Jamie, ‘you will learn to balance and the stances vital to kung fu. I must warn you, though, it is very difficult.’
Jamie nodded and suppressed a smile. He thought he’d have an advantage here because he had excellent balance from a life spent at sea.
Mr Fan directed Jade to the poles first. She placed her hands on top of one of the narrow circular poles, then levered herself up with a jump. She landed deftly on top of the pole, centred herself and closed her eyes. She made it look easy.
‘Watch closely, Jamie,’ Mr Fan said. ‘Watch how she moves and how she centres her weight. This is the secret to the poles and to kung fu.’
On her inward breath, Jade brought her arms forwards and bowed. Then she swung her arms in opposite directions in simulated blocking movements, getting faster, snapping her blocks from high to low and inserting punches in between. Her face was a picture of concentration. Jamie noticed how her arms crossed over, ensuring that her chest and head were always protected. She was never vulnerable.
‘Every attacking move is counterbalanced by a defensive one,’ Mr Fan said. ‘Do you think you’ve got that, Jamie?’
Jamie nodded as he went through the sequence in his head.
‘Thank you, Jade,’ Mr Fan called. ‘That will be all.’
But Jade didn’t stop. She snapped her arms into a strike position, bent her knee and jumped into a flying roundhouse kick. Jamie felt the rush of air as her foot passed his face. She pivoted in the air, landed on her kicking foot and held her arms wide to catch her balance. Jamie was conscious of his mouth hanging open.