Rayden turned to Sonya. “You, Sonya,” he said, “are afraid to admit that even you sometimes need help. If you are afraid to trust, you will lose.”
“And what about me?” Liu asked.
“You fear your own destiny. You already fled it once, when you went to America. And now that fear has brought you guilt for the death of your brother.”
“I am responsible for Chan’s death,” Liu stated simply.
“No!” Rayden all but shouted, eyes blazing. “Every mortal is responsible for his own destiny! Chan believed this. Why can’t you?”
“I’ve tried,” Liu said. “I can’t.”
“Then know this,” Rayden said. “Despair is the most dangerous fear of all. Guilt over the past. Dread of the future. These are your enemies.”
He turned to address the three as a group. “I know all this. And so does Shang Tsung.”
“How?” Liu asked.
“He can peer into your souls and use the fear he sees there against you. Tomorrow the tournament begins. You must be prepared!”
CHAPTER TEN
Art Lean rose from the futon on which he had been sleeping. He felt rested and refreshed.
The early sunrise tinted the translucent walls of the little house in which he slept a delicate shade of pink. The dark wood of the framing made gentle traceries among the white panels.
Art rolled to his feet and performed some simple stretching exercised. He rolled his shoulders forward and back, flexing his arms. Then he lowered himself to the floor in a complete split, and bowed forward until his palms were against the floor. He remained in that position, feeling his tendons relax and his muscles grow limber.
It was good. He was ready.
Art returned to his feet in a forward somersault and picked up a goblet from a low enameled table which stood at his bedside. The pitcher beside it held clear, sweet water. Art drank some, then opened his small overnight bag. He removed his silk fighting uniform from the bag and put it on. He wrapped his black belt around his waist, cinching it tight. That done, he turned, and slid open the door.
The sight which greeted him was calm and beautiful. The air was mist-cool. The grass was damp but firm under his bare feet.
Art threw back his shoulders and breathed in the cool air. It held a slight salt tang from the sea, but it was pure. Not a hint of pollution. He breathed in deeply again. Yes, the top of the island was about a mile up. Good.
“I wonder where a man might find breakfast around here?” he asked himself, walking in what he believed was the direction of the Great Hall. At that moment he heard the crash of a huge gong somewhere off to his right. Art turned toward the sound and was surprised to see one of the monks standing nearly at his shoulder.
The monk had arrived silently. Now he bowed low, beckoned to Art to follow him, and walked off toward a grove of trees.
“I guess breakfast is that way,” Art said. What he found, though, when he passed through the screening trees, was a field in which fighters were gathering, each conducted by a monk.
Art saw Johnny and Sonya arrive together, led by a single brown-robed figure.
“Oh, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” Art said to himself. “Did you get lucky last night?”
Art looked more closely at Sonya. Her mouth was set in a humorless line. There were worry lines between Johnny’s eyebrows.
“Nope,” Art concluded, “probably not.”
Another gong sounded. Shang Tsung stepped forward, a line of monks pacing him on either side. Sub-Zero and Scorpion, the two ninjas, kept their usual pace just behind him.
The demon sorcerer walked to a throne overlooking the field and sat. He opened a large green fan and held it in his lap. The low buzz of conversation from the gathered fighters slowed, then ceased.
Shang stood.
“From this moment forward,” Shang said, “my island will be your battleground.” Shang held the fan above his head, then swept it down again before him. “Let Mortal Kombat begin!”
The sorcerer seated himself. As Shang Tsung settled onto his golden throne, behind the line of monks and another line of guards, Liu saw a monk come up to him and bow.
“Don’t tell me,” Liu said. “Let me guess. I’m up for a bout. Right?”
By way of an answer, the monk turned and escorted Liu to one of the fighting rings that dotted the plain.
The torches that had burned around the rings the night before had been replaced with silk banners rippling in the gentle wind. Liu shucked off his shirt and removed his shoes, stacking them neatly beside one of the poles marking a corner of the ring, then slipped between the ropes and in.
The interior of the ring was filled with soft bark chips, which gave his feet a firm grip. There he waited.
With a loud cry, another warrior bounced into the ring, leaping high above the ropes to clear them, rather than slipping in between as Liu had done.
The Outworld fighter was shorter than Liu, but far more powerfully built. Thick ropes of muscle lay on his arms and legs, and his abdomen was flat and hard above the simple twist of the loincloth he wore.
The Outworld fighter was shorter than Liu, but far more powerfully built. Thick ropes of muscle lay on his arms and legs, and his abdomen was flat and hard above the simple twist of loincloth he wore.
Liu bowed to the newcomer. The Outworld bowed back. Then, without pause or warning, the stranger began his attack.
The shorter man flung himself forward at Liu, coming to rest on his hands, feet in the air. Those feet began to whirl with blinding speed, kicks coming from right and left at Liu’s heat, torso, and legs. Liu blocked the first blow, but the rest came too fast. To evade them Liu jumped high above and over his opponent, landing beyond the man’s reach. He threw himself to the ground and spun, his legs scissoring out to take the shorter man’s arms.
But the Outworld fighter hadn’t remained in one place. He fell toward Liu, seeking to pin him beneath his weight. Liu rolled aside, then performed an elbow strike as his opponent came near.
The Outworlder didn’t appear to feel the strike. To Liu, it felt like he had struck a concrete wall.
Once again, the Outworlder took his odd position and began to kick.
If that’s the way he wants it, Liu thought, I can stay out of his reach long enough for him to tire himself.
Liu swayed forward, attracting a vicious flurry of blows, then leaned back, allowing them to miss. But the Outworlder was clever, too. He rolled toward Liu, leapt into the air, and made a forward snap kick at Liu’s head.
Liu blocked with his crossed wrists before him, trapping the other man’s ankle. Then he grabbed the extended foot and twisted it before the other could withdraw his leg.
The Outworlder fell to the ground, catching himself on his hands, and sprang backward at Liu with a reverse fist strike.
Liu ducked and drove the heel of his hand into the other’s elbow as the blow flew by.
The two closed. Liu’s high punches were blocked by his opponent, but his reaping circle kick landed. The Outworlder grunted with pain.
“Ah, so you can be hurt,” Liu said. Liu’s superior training and endurance were becoming important now. The other man was still flinging kicks and punches with great force, but he was noticeably slowing down.
Liu delivered a one-two-one combination of kicks to the man’s chest and belly, retreating before the counterattack could come.
The Outworld fighter was slowing, but he was still formidable. He came to the attack, springing hand over hand in a blur of motion. Liu was forced to retreat, unable to punch or kick effectively.
Yet if Liu was unable to attack effectively, he could still block, so none of the other man’s blows landed. The attack ended with the Outworlder facing the ropes on the far side of the ring. Liu reached in and grabbed the fellow’s wrist, jerking it sharply downward. He smashed a knee strike to the small of the other’s back at the kidneys, then a heel strike to the man’s throat.
The Outworlder fell on his back. Liu leap
t up and landed on his knees on the other’s chest.
The fight was over.
Liu retreated, staying in stance, eyes alertly scanning to left and right for other opponents. There were none. Instead all he saw was the monk outside the ring.
The monk opened a scroll and, with a quill pen, made a quick stroke on the paper. Then the monk closed his scroll, bowed, and departed. Liu looked over at his opponent. The man was still lying where Liu had left him.
“I guess that’s it for this one,” Liu said.
He bowed to the still form lying on the bark and slipped away between the ropes.
Johnny walked through the tournament grounds. Bouts were in progress on all sides of him. His own first round hadn’t been much of a challenge. He’d been matched against a limber creature with thin, spidery arms and legs. The creature had seemed more impressed with its own flexibility than interested in landing effective strikes, and Johnny had dealt with it through an easy combination of leg holds and punches.
Now Johnny was looking for Sonya. He wanted to see her fight, but more than that he wanted to cheer her on. He had spotted Art Lean already. Art had been fighting a green, carapaced Outworlder armed with a pair of sais. Art himself had used a set of nunchucks. As Johnny watched, Art had twisted one sai away from his opponent by catching it with the chain of his nunchucks. Art threw the metal weapon out of the ring. The bout hadn’t lasted long after that.
Up ahead, Johnny spotted Sonya. She was still in uniform, but had stripped off the bulky jacket and pistol belt and laid them outside the ring.
The ring here was made of flagstones set among the short grass of the rest of the field. Sonya stood relaxed in her uniform trousers, the outline of her ILN visible beneath her Army-issue T-shirt. She still wore her tightly-laced combat boots.
Facing Sonya was an Asian woman with long black hair. Wherever the woman’s flesh wasn’t covered with shimmering green silk, it was covered with tattoos showing leaping tigers and coiling dragons.
The woman swayed slightly from side to side and spun two flashing half-moon daggers around her body in a dazzling display of skill. Her knives made a whirling sound as they split the air, and the early morning light glittered from their edges. They made a cage of living steel around the woman, which it would seem impossible for anyone to penetrate.
Sonya watched, bare-handed, as the woman demonstrated the knives’ effectiveness.
“That’s Jade,” Johnny said, as he came up, catching Sonya’s eye. “Tough girl.”
Sonya looked through Johnny as if he wasn’t there. Then she turned her attention back to her opponent. The display was over; the woman took a ready stance, her weight on her back leg, one of the half-moon daggers held behind and above her head, the other at waist-level before her.
The Special Forces soldier took a step forward, then bowed low toward the woman with the daggers. After holding the deep bow for a moment, Sonya stood again, feet together, looking calmly at her opponent.
The Asian woman pulled herself in from her guard position and returned the respectful acknowledgement. When Jade was at the deepest part of the bow, Sonya kicked her in the head with the toe of her left combat boot.
The daggers flew from the tattooed woman’s hands as she was knocked upright then over so that she lay on her back, eyes open, blood oozing from her mouth, nose, and ears. Sonya turned and walked back toward Johnny Cage.
“Not that tough,” she said.
A little farther away, Shang Tsung was waiting for her. “Excellent,” Shang said. “Flawless victory.”
Sonya scowled and stalked past the sorcerer.
Liu had not rested long after his first bout before a hooded monk found him.
“So soon?” Liu asked, but he neither expected nor received an answer. The monk led him to a raised platform of wood, longer than it was wide. No guardrails prevented a fighter from taking a nasty fall from its sides. Liu climbed up the ladder at one end and began to warm up, stretching his muscles while calming himself through meditation.
He turned when he heard a rustle of cloth from the other end of the platform. He was surprised to find that the opponent he faced was Princess Kitana.
Kitana eyed Liu coldly. Here in the light of the sun she didn’t look as soft and alluring as she had in the garden the day before, or at the high table in the feast hall, or in the caverns of Shokan where she had tried to save Liu and his friends from the guards. Instead her face was stern, and she moved carefully, keeping her body centered and her weight balanced. Her technique, Liu reflected, was excellent.
The monk led Liu and Kitana to the center of the wooden platform. There they bowed to one another and started to circle.
Kitana was the first to attack with a jabbing punch. Liu blocked the blow to one side with his forearm, but didn’t counterattack. Her next attack was quicker and came from an unexpected direction. She swept her leg behind his in a reaping kick. Liu jumped over the attacking leg and moved back instead of moving in to make his own attack.
The two fighters continued to circle. Kitana made a series of jabs to Liu’s head, but he evaded them, never taking the opportunity to make an attack of his own, even when an opening appeared. Liu was unwilling to hurt someone who, he was certain, was on his own side.
Another jab punched toward his head, but this time it was a feint that masked the motion of her legs sweeping toward him. He tried to leap away, but she anticipated his action and took him down. Liu landed on his back with Princess Kitana on top of him, pinning his shoulders down.
“If you don’t fight with all your heart,” she hissed in his ear, “there is no hope!”
The monk was approaching to give the victory to Kitana. Liu realized that if her were eliminated now from the tournament he would lose all hope of fighting against the person who had killed Chan. He rolled and twisted, his hand flashing out to take Kitana in the side. The blow drove the breath from her lungs, forcing her to loosen her grip.
Liu threw her off and sprang to his feet.
Now he fought in earnest, but the princess was a good fighter, as good as anyone Liu had ever faced. A second time she put him on his back, his shoulders forced into the rough wood of the platform.
“This is the only way I could find to speak with you,” she whispered in his ear, even as his muscles groaned with agony under her grip. “To win your next match, use the element which brings life.”
Liu got his hand beneath her chin and forced it up and back, his fingers digging toward her eyes. Her grip broke, and Liu rolled to his feet. He looked up just in time to see a flying side kick aimed at his head. His only chance was to dive under it and roll. The move brought him to the side of the platform. He stood for a fraction of a second teetering on the edge, before he could spin and take a step back toward the center. As he did so, he saw Shang Tsung standing nearby, watching the fight.
He wants to see me defeated, and he wants to see Kitana destroyed, Liu thought. No matter who wins this match, he thinks that he is the winner.
Kitana was facing Liu again.
Liu took a step toward her, then another. He launched a punch toward her head. She blocked it and counterpunched. Liu used an outside block to keep it from touching him, his other hand grasping her wrist. Then he leapt, snapping out his right leg so that the ball of his foot took her in the belly. He let the momentum of his kick turn him around before he landed, still holding her wrist.
He bent forward, propelling her over his shoulder. She landed face down, full-length on the platform. Liu fell on top of her, pinning her wrists together with one hand while raising her head with his forearm held against her throat. She was pinned and helpless.
“Remember my words,” she managed to whisper before the monk approached.
The monk marked down Liu’s victory on his scroll, the plumed head of the pen wagging as he wrote.
Liu stood and backed off to his end of the platform. Princess Kitana rolled to her feet, then climbed down the ladder. She walked by the place wher
e Shang Tsung stood. Shang bowed to her with mock courtesy as she walked by, but she did not acknowledge him.
Liu also hurried from the platform and began to follow Kitana. She was far ahead of him, her dignified but rapid pace covering the ground with a smoothness that made it hard for Liu to believe she’d been in the fighting ring with him only a few moments before. Her four ladies-in-waiting took station around her as she walked, surrounding her with a wall of colorful silk.
Liu broke into a run, hoping to catch up with her.
At that moment two palace guards, long teeth gleaming under their bone helmets, stepped forward to block his way. Before Liu could deal with them, Shang Tsung approached.
The sorcerer’s eyes were burning. “I cannot allow you to… bother… Princess Kitana.”
Far off, Kitana entered the woods. Liu watched, frustrated, as she vanished into its darkness with her maids around her.
“Tell me, Liu,” Shang continued, “why do you not fight for me, instead of against me? You have seen how weak Rayden is here on my island. Here I could give you great honor and great responsibility.”
“All I wish to do here is fight the one who killed my brother,” Liu said, disgusted.
“Be very careful what you ask for, young Liu,” Shang said. “In Mortal Kombat, challenges cannot be refused without the greatest penalties. If you were to challenge someone, that one would fight you. And – I speak to you as a friend, now – you are not ready for the fight you so much desire.”
“I have no use for such friends,” Liu began, but then he stopped.
Shang Tsung had vanished.
Elsewhere on the field, a brown-hooded monk approached Johnny Cage.
“Time for my next bout,” Johnny said to no one in particular. He followed the monk to another ring. This one was of grass, separated from the other parts of the field by a circle of trees. Orange and yellow paper lanterns hung from the trees, giving the place a festive appearance.
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