Tiger

by Jeff Stone

  Grandmaster remained silent.

  “Oh, come now,” Ying said. “Your eldest prodigy has just returned after being gone nearly a year. Don't you have anything to say?”

  “I am sorry I have failed you, Ying,” Grandmaster said. Fu thought he saw tears forming in Grandmaster's eyes.

  “Oh, now you're sorry,” Ying said. “After I've destroyed nearly everything you care about—just like you've destroyed everything I care about. It's a little late to apologize, don't you think?”

  Grandmaster said nothing.

  Ying scowled. “You haven't changed one bit, old man. Somebody asks you a question, and you respond with a blank stare. Like a stupid child, as the Emperor would say. You know, you could have learned a thing or two from him last year, but you decided to leave his palace. Why?”

  “Because our job was complete,” Grandmaster replied.

  “Was it?” Ying said. “The Emperor asked us to stay and serve as his full-time protectors. He was going to pay us with gold. But you refused his generous offer. You even refused to accept the gold he offered as payment for what we had already done. Why?”

  “We are monks, not bodyguards or warriors for hire,” Grandmaster replied.

  “Then why did we go there in the first place?” Ying asked. “You made me and thirty other Cangzhen monks risk our lives to save him and his throne. One of us didn't make it back because of you! What was the point? What was our reward?”

  “Your success was our reward,” Grandmaster said calmly.

  “And what did we gain from that success?” Ying asked. “I know for a fact you do not approve of the Emperor.”

  “This is true,” Grandmaster said. “But our efforts saved our region from someone far worse than the new Emperor.”

  “Who are you to judge that one man is worse than another?” Ying shouted. “Your decisions are foolhardy! You should have taken the gold. Everything would be different if you had. My best friend would still be alive, and so would all your monks!”

  Grandmaster said nothing.

  “Fool! When I take that blank stare of yours to the Emperor with your head attached, my reward will be the title General. Then I will make all the decisions in this region you've secretly influenced for so long. What do you think of that, old man?”

  Grandmaster stared back, silent.

  Ying spat and turned to face Long.

  “What do you think, Dragon Boy?”

  Long paused, and Fu saw the same pity in his eyes that he saw in Grandmaster's. Long folded his hands as if in prayer and said, “Though I share your grief for the brother we lost, Ying, I think you disgust me.”

  “My sincerest apologies for having turned your stomach, dear brother,” Ying replied sarcastically. “I realize my appearance is quite striking.”

  “You misunderstand,” Long said, unfolding his hands. “It is your motivations that disgust me. Your appearance is simply ridiculous.”

  “That's right,” Seh added, walking over to Long's side. “Grandmaster always said you would catch the eyes of the girls if you ever left Cangzhen. That is certainly true now. An eagle with a lizard's head is absurd.”

  “I have very little eagle left in me, blind fools,” Ying said, spreading his arms wide. His bloody silk robe glistened in the smoky firelight. “I have changed quite a lot since you saw me last, and soon my transformation will be complete. My number one man is gathering the dragon scrolls as we speak. I am confident I will learn the ancient dragon arts in no time.”

  Fu looked over at Grandmaster and saw him shaking his head slowly.

  “You are no dragon, Ying,” Grandmaster said. “To be a dragon, you must first be wise. You are certainly clever, but being wise and being clever are two very different things. You would be far better off stealing the secret eagle scrolls and learning from them instead. Perhaps they would guide you onto the right path. I might consider allowing you to take them with my blessing.”

  “Ha!” Ying said. “You offer me things I can take at will. Perhaps you should have offered them to me before you destroyed my world. No matter, your gifts are surely worthless by now. I have instructed my man to take the dragon scrolls and burn everything else in the library.”

  Fu saw Grandmaster stiffen. Hok began to shift from foot to foot, anxiously bobbing his head up and down. Fu couldn't see Malao, but Long and Seh stood still as stone, staring coldly at Ying.

  What's going on? Fu wondered. Then it hit him. Those scrolls were the only source of information for further training for them—or for anyone else. The library contained advanced scrolls for every kung fu style imaginable, holding a thousand times more information than could fit even inside Grandmaster's head. Without those scrolls, their kung fu might disappear. Forever.

  “Hey, Lizard Face,” Fu called out as he stood up. “Why would you burn all the other scrolls?”

  “I have no interest in them,” Ying replied casually.

  Long's eyes narrowed. “You would destroy one thousand years of history simply because you did not find it of interest?”

  “Absolutely,” Ying replied.

  “That is most unwise,” Long said in a solemn tone. “A dragon you will never be.”

  Fu watched Ying's carved face grow dark. Ying shouldered his qiang and pointed it at Long.

  “Enough of this idle talk!” Ying shouted. “When you are gone, Brother Long, I will be the last dragon!”

  “That is not true,” Grandmaster interrupted. “For I, too, am a dragon.”

  Ying turned the qiang toward Grandmaster.

  “Thank you for reminding me,” Ying said. “I nearly forgot. I shall kill you first, then. It seems most fitting, anyway, that you—the old man—should be on the receiving end of my new weapon.”

  Grandmaster paused. Fu assumed he was taking a moment to analyze the qiang so that he could figure out how to counter it.

  “Your toy does not concern me,” Grandmaster said. “What harm can come from a hollow metal staff?”

  Ying laughed. “A hollow metal staff? Is that all you see? This weapon is the future. With a single finger, someone who's never trained in the fighting arts can destroy a warrior monk with sixty years of training!”

  Ying waved a finger at Grandmaster as if scolding him. His voice lowered. “There is no defense against this weapon, you sneaky old man, so stop trying to figure one out.”

  Fu saw Grandmaster smirk as the old man's voice boomed, “My young monks, when I count to three, run for the door!

  “ONE!”

  Ying took aim.

  “TWO!”

  KAA-BOOM!

  There was an explosion of light and sound as Ying fired the qiang at Grandmaster's chest.

  But Grandmaster was no longer there. The instant Ying's finger began to move beneath the qiang, Grandmaster had hit the ground and rolled toward Ying. Grandmaster lashed out with a vicious leg swipe.

  Before Ying even hit the floor, Grandmaster yelled, “THREE! RUN!”

  The young monks ran. Hok sailed through the flame-filled doorway first. Seh followed, quick as a whip, with Malao scampering close behind. Fu bounded powerfully through the flames, and Long zipped outside last, fast as lightning.

  After just a few strides, Long was out front, leading the others through the smoky darkness toward the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas. Fu thought they should head in the opposite direction, but he knew no one would listen if he protested—so he kept his mouth shut and followed as best he could. His body was built for power, not speed. He had a hard time keeping up.

  The scene unfolding before Fu was worse than anything he could have imagined. Flames leaped from every building. In the eerie glow, he could see orange robes everywhere, filled with dead monks. Hundreds of armor-clad soldiers lay flat on their backs with long spears extending straight up into the air from their throats. Fu choked on smoke and the stench of burning bodies that had been ignited by flaming arrows. He wanted revenge so badly now, he could taste it. But he knew he'd be of no use to himself or anyone
else if he were dead. He picked up his pace as best he could.

  Fu made it to the back door of the Thousand Buddhas hall only a few strides behind the others. He knew what Long was thinking—they would cut through the hall on their way to the main gate. But when Long thrust the door open, burning air rushed out to greet them like a kiss from a dragon. Long jumped back, and Fu heard mortar cracking and bricks exploding inside from the tremendous heat. They would have to take the long way around.

  Fu shook his head. He knew they should have gone the other way!

  With Long in the lead, they ran once more. They raced along paths of bloodstained bricks, and Fu saw the dining hall, the toilets, the bathhouse, and the library—all burning.

  Fu was surprised when they made it through the maze of buildings without encountering any soldiers. He was even more surprised when Long stopped ahead of him at the main gate. The others were stopped, too.

  Beyond the gate lay a grassy moonlit area that separated the walls of the compound from a distant tree line, which was the beginning of a great, mountainous forest. Fu knew this grassy “moat” was kept treeless and well trimmed so that an enemy attacking Cangzhen would have nowhere to hide.

  Fu caught up with the group. “What are you doing?” he asked Long, panting heavily. “Why did you stop?”

  “There may be soldiers positioned in the tree line,” Long replied. “They could shoot us with arrows as we run across the open space, or they could wait and attack us as soon as we reach the trees.”

  “So?” Malao said. “There are probably soldiers still here on the temple grounds. What else can we do?”

  “Malao's right,” said Seh. “We have to take our chances over the grass, and then in the forest.”

  “What does everyone else think?” Long asked the group.

  “We should run for the trees,” Hok said softly. “And then separate as Grandmaster wished.”

  “Brother Fu?” Long said.

  “I think we should stay and fight!” Fu replied. “If we—”

  “Sorry, Fu,” Long interrupted. “Fighting is not an option.”

  “Fighting back is an option!” Fu roared.

  “Keep your voice down, Fu!” Seh said. He turned toward Long. “Malao, Hok, and I say we should run for the trees. Three is a majority vote. That means we run.”

  “And then separate,” Hok added quietly.

  “Then it is decided,” Long said, nodding his head. “We must make haste. Goodbye, brothers. We shall meet again.”

  Without another word, Long turned and ran like the wind across the open expanse. The others raced after him. Pumped full of adrenaline, they reached the tree line at more or less the same time. There were no soldiers there.

  Without looking back, Malao, the “monkey,” let out a soft, high-pitched screech and took to the treetops. He was gone in the blink of an eye. Seh, the “snake,” slipped away through a patch of ferns, low to the ground. Hok, the “crane,” glided off into the wind, while Long, the “dragon,” seemed to disappear, like the mythical creatures were rumored to do.

  Fu, the “tiger,” turned to run headlong into the forest, but his feet would not listen. It seemed they were connected to his heart, which was determined to stay and do something.

  Fu spotted an enormous tree at the edge of the grassy expanse and clawed his way up as high as his weight would allow. Then he went out on a limb to evaluate the situation.

  Back inside the smoke-filled practice hall, student and master stood toe to toe in a fight to the death. Though Ying was covered with battle stains, he had actually fought very little that night. He was young, rested, and extremely quick and strong. Grandmaster was unbelievably quick as well and normally had the strength of ten men. Tonight he alone had fought and defeated more than one hundred soldiers before sneaking back into the practice hall. But the fighting had taken its toll. Grandmaster was weak. He had no secret potions or ancient methods to regain his strength in the blink of an eye. Those things did not exist. He was just a man who had worked very hard and learned many skills in his lifetime.

  Ying popped his knuckles one at a time.

  “You know the real reason I've returned, don't you, old man?” Ying spat.

  “From the look in your eyes, I can tell,” Grandmaster replied.

  “I hate you!”

  “I know.”

  Fu lay on his stomach, his arms and legs wrapped tightly around a thick tree limb. He stared down at the Cangzhen compound. Every single building was burning. Fu strained his keen eyes, searching for movement in the smoky moonlight.

  Way back in the far-left corner of the compound, small groups of soldiers walked from the weapons shed to the sleeping quarters. That's where they are, Fu thought. But what are they up to? There were weapons to steal in the shed, but there certainly wasn't anything worth taking in the sleeping quarters.

  Then Fu remembered the secret escape tunnel. It stretched underground from the sleeping quarters to beyond the back wall of the compound. It was rigged with numerous traps to stop an enemy from trying to sneak through it. Ying must have disabled the devices. He was one of the few people who knew how. Fu could picture Ying disarming the crossbows armed with poison arrows and unhooking the swinging pendulum blades as his men followed.

  Fu growled. He decided that if he couldn't defeat Ying directly, he would hurt him indirectly. Since the soldiers appeared to be leaving through the tunnel, they probably already had the dragon scrolls. Fu decided to retrieve them, no matter what the cost.

  Fu leaped down from the tree limb and landed in a silent roll at the forest's edge. Then he ran low to the ground across the grassy expanse back toward Cangzhen's main gate. He made it through the gate without seeing anyone and headed for the bathhouse, which was on the left side of the compound, not too far from the weapons shed. He had seen something there that gave him an idea.

  Fu reached the bathhouse undetected and cautiously approached a fallen soldier he'd noticed when he'd run by with his brothers earlier. The soldier was heavyset and about the same size he was. Fu's hand quivered as he reached down to take the man's helmet. He had never been this close to a dead person before. Fu looked away as he laid his hands on the helmet and caught a glimpse of his fallen brother Sing. Sing was an older brother and had taught Fu how to use edged weapons. He was the kindest teacher Fu had ever had.

  The dead soldier would have to wait. Fu stood up and headed for Sing.

  Sing lay with his favorite pair of tiger hook swords still in his hands. Fu felt tears of hatred and grief well up in his eyes, but he did not let them fall. Instead of crying, he would do something. In life, those tiger hook swords had meant everything to Sing. They were an extension of his body as well as his soul. Fu would honor Sing's spirit by keeping the spirit of his weapons alive. He took the paired swords from his brother's cold hands.

  Fu inspected the weapons quickly as he walked back to the dead soldier. Except for some fresh bloodstains on the silk handle wraps, the tiger hook swords were in perfect shape. Both sides of the long, straight, double-edged swords were razor-sharp, and the large hook on the end of each sword resembling a tiger's claw showed no signs of fatigue. The crescent-shaped hand-guard daggers were also still sharp, as were the single daggers that protruded from the bottom of each sword's handle. Sing's tiger hook swords were perfectly weighted and felt powerful in Fu's hands. Fu laid the swords next to the soldier and got to work.

  Fu removed the soldier's helmet, then his heavy, flexible armor. Fu was slipping off the man's boots when someone suddenly spoke behind him.

  “What are you doing?”

  Fu spun around and saw an average-size man. The man looked to be nearly thirty years old and had an extraordinarily long ponytail tied in a thick braid. He appeared to be wearing the uniform of the new Emperor, but Fu couldn't be sure in the smoky blackness. The soldier, however, saw that Fu was wearing an orange robe.

  “Where have you been hiding, young monk?” the soldier asked in a calm, deep voice. />
  Fu responded by picking up the tiger hook swords.

  “Put the weapons down, boy,” the soldier said. “I have no interest in killing a child. I'll only take you prisoner. I'll ask you again, where were you hiding?”

  Fu snarled and leaped at the soldier.

  The soldier jumped backward gracefully and pulled a straight sword from a sheath slung at his side. Fu stopped and took notice. That jump was impressive, and only the most elite fighters carried a straight sword.

  “Stand down, young monk,” said the soldier as he draped his long braid forward over his shoulder and tucked it into his wide red sash. “You are no match for me.”

  Fu's mind began to race. Swordplay was his strong suit, but he knew nothing about this stranger's skill. And what he knew about the stranger's weapon worried him. While broadswords took one thousand hours to master, straight swords, like this soldier's, took more than ten thousand. The soldier had unsheathed it perfectly and held it in one hand instead of two—one hand to swing the long, rigid double-edged blade, and the other to counterbalance and fight. This man knew what he was doing.

  Despite the night's coolness, Fu began to sweat. The tiger hooks he held were specifically designed to counter weapons like the straight sword, but he had never fought with Sing's pair. He had only fought with his own tiger hook swords, and every weapon had a spirit of its own. Fu put his faith in the spirits within Sing's hook swords and rushed forward.

  The soldier took a defensive posture as Fu swung one hook sword high and one low, attempting to confuse his opponent—but the soldier expertly jumped over the low swing and blocked the high swing with his straight sword. On his way back to earth, the soldier let loose a terrific kick straight into Fu's exposed chest. Fu stumbled backward and groaned from the impact of the soldier's hard-soled boot. Fu was quite sure he had never been kicked that hard in his entire life.

  A smile rose from the soldier's thin lips. “I will give you one more chance, monk. Lay down your weapons.”

  Fu took a deep breath and attacked again. This time, he slashed low with both swords. The soldier jumped high over Fu's sweeping weapons, but Fu twisted both wrists up powerfully and continued his swing toward the airborne soldier. The soldier swung his sword down to protect himself.