War (Chi Warriors Book 3)

by Ino Lee

  He hopped a wide span between two trees and bridged the gap with a magau stave, which he used to hook onto a branch and swing away safely. It had replaced his sword as his primary weapon, made from an extra-long and gnarly piece of petrified Zhigao wood that seemed like an odd choice for a weapon. Wong had stumbled upon it, thinking the nubby end looked like a bird’s head, so he kept it and fashioned it further, giving it eyes and a beak, and painting it organically with rainbow hues like the feathers of a rooster. Other juveniles in the village admired it and began to paint their staves as well—much to the dismay of many adults—but it was allowed on the condition that they not stray far beyond the colors of the forest to keep them better camouflaged.

  Wong crossed over a narrow branch and held the stave horizontally for balance, taking full advantage of its length to keep pace with the magaus. Its weight was well-distributed despite its uneven form. He could often tell within the first few moments of holding a weapon whether or not it would meet his standards, and this weapon did not disappoint. What would have been even better was if he was also wearing Houzon—a magau mask for a magau stave—but he worried the demonic mask would absorb too much of the radiance pool’s energy and cloud his focus.

  They passed through a sea of trees, analyzing anything in the terrain that could be used against the Koon Gee, though nothing stood out, the forest the same tangle of growth seen throughout. The closer they got to the dark pool, the greater the anticipated danger.

  The demonic energy intensified and electrified Wong’s body even without a mask, giving him strength, but also making him wild and unfocused. Such was his experience with radiance pool energy ever since turning fully demonic. He fought hard to maintain composure, relying on his Shaolin training to suppress the energy, willing to embrace it only when needed.

  Silhouettes of defenders bounced in the distance. They danced at multiple levels in the trees, gaining proximity and buzzing like a swarm of oncoming flies.

  “We’re spotted,” Shiki said.

  Koku squinted. “Lo-shur ninjas.”

  Wong silently cursed, wishing they had gone unnoticed longer. He had anticipated a possible skirmish while testing their defenses, but not until after they had a chance to properly survey the area. A new plan was needed. They would have to fight their way through, which was fine with him. He carried a big stick.

  “Scatter them,” he said. “I’ll find a way through.”

  Koku suddenly gasped. He stopped and looked at them with wide-eyes, then fell over, an arrow sticking out of his back.

  “Koku!” Shiki screamed, and then dropped after him.

  Wong looked through the canopy past several trees and saw a white mask with markings of black and red, highlighted by a single painted tear.

  “That damned archer,” Wong said to Renshu. “I’ll handle this. Go after them.”

  He snapped on his mask and became Houzon.

  Renshu leapt away.

  A sensation of magau agility shot through his limbs as he flew across the treetops, ability bestowed upon him by his unan mask. Excitement grew within. While he shunned using the mask before, caution became an afterthought when Koku went down and enemies swarmed. He tried to maintain composure and not get lost in the action, but the giddiness of Houzon was hard to contain.

  He smacked an arrow out of the sky with his stave, and then a second, keeping his pace despite being targeted. The Lady of the Painted Tear dropped from position to regroup, uneasy of his proximity, but he followed without restraint, drawn dangerously toward the main force.

  “Where are you going?” Houzon yelled playfully.

  He ran across a young branch with enough spring to catapult into the air ahead of the demon. Though the mysterious enemy moved well in the trees, it was not fast enough to escape a demonic magau.

  Houzon cut off the path and studied the creature up close for the first time, noting its long hair and color of flesh. “Human?” He concentrated and felt a demonic presence within. “Possessed.”

  A voice behind the mask spoke. “You take one of ours, we take one of yours.”

  The lo-shur must have been referring to his unan mask as one of theirs. Possessing a human was retribution.

  He pondered a response, then held out his stave. “Have you met my pet chicken?”

  The Weeping Arrow wasted no time to talk, whipping a knife at his head and charging. Houzon deflected the blade with his arm shield, then back-pedaled to avoid a jump-kick and a roundhouse, followed by two thrusts of sai. The possessed human was quick. Houzon took the offensive and rolled out three strikes that were dodged just as easily, the last strike blocked with a sai and followed with a thrust that made him step off the bough. He hooked the beak of his staff in the crook of the tree limb and swung underneath, lifting up on the other side with a slash of his arm shield, causing the demon to flip high off the branch to another level.

  A treetop battle played to his strengths. He pursued with excited monkey laughter and rooster crows, bouncing lively from tree to tree as he scuffled with the Lady of the Painted Tear. He jabbed and landed a kick, then whirled his stave high and lashed out, jumping away to find a better angle when he did not connect.

  A chain suddenly wrapped around his leg. The Painted Tear yanked hard and sent him sprawling into a bough below, where he landed flat on his back. Two airborne sai knives immediately followed and were blocked with his shield, while an arrow had to be dodged with a quick flinch of his head. The arrow split through the wood loudly, inches from his ear. There was no time to waste as he rolled off the bough and held his shield overhead, feeling the punch of another arrow against the steel.

  He cackled, fortunate to still be alive, yet oddly confident, moving stealthily under the cover of leaves. The demon kept firing somewhere above him, with more whistles piercing the cloud of foliage directly on target despite his evasive maneuvers. He twisted and curled, falling awkwardly through the air, then hooked onto a branch to control his drop and regroup.

  Who was this enemy? Not just an ordinary human. The lo-shur must have possessed someone with great skill and mastery. A trained warrior. He had an idea of her identity and was eager to find out.

  Houzon scurried up a tree to the Weeping Arrow’s level, as only a magau could, and burst into view. The possessed warrior was crouched with her bow primed, and redirected upon seeing him, letting loose her ammunition. Wong caught the arrow solidly with his Iron Fist and flung it back clumsily, paving the way for a rapid assault. He hooked onto her leg and tripped her, then swiped at her face and knocked the mask clear off.

  He examined her delicate features, fully demonic eyes, and broken lip from his de-masking blow, affirming his suspicions.

  “Aiying.”

  Screams sounded as a flush of demons came at him. He had almost forgotten about the others; the radiance pool defenders arrived. Aiying used the distraction to roll away and drop.

  Ninja stars came at him and he made himself small, hiding behind his shield and flaring the blades to extend his cover. Pelts of metal pinged against his trusty defense—his most reliable possession—nicked up and dented after many months of battle.

  He stepped off the branch, then moved laterally through the treetops. Four lo-shur ninjas pursued. He wanted to thrash them for trespassing in his forest, but something gave him pause—the image of Aiying, the trickle of blood on her lip humanizing her. He had to free her from the lo-shur’s grip, and the only chance he had of doing so was to take out the pool.

  Houzon altered course and made directly for the radiant energy. It would be guarded by an army of Koon Gee and he would have to find a way past them, but how could they stop a creature as nimble and quick as he was? The pool would give him power, and there was always the other mask.

  Warning cries rang out. He let the dark energy guide his movement over branches and leaves, streaking across the dense forest as if he were moving
in open ground. His head pulsated and his blood felt like it was about to boil as he drew near. The last tree arrived and he exploded into a clearing, flipping head over heels from up high, arching his back, and landing solidly on metal, the radiance pool beneath his feet.

  The dark water was encased in a thick metal carriage, solidly built and fortified, its grated metal doors closed for protection. The Koon Gee must have locked it down after hearing the lo-shur ninjas’ warning cries earlier. Disabling the pool did not seem possible without a concerted effort, something he did not have time for under the given circumstances.

  Houzon stared at the startled soldiers with his silly, psychotic grin and stood tall. Six lo-shur zhuks surrounded the carriage, with many more forest-clearing zhuks nearby and a large host of dagwais. Fighting them all would not end well. He pulled the mask off his face with one hand, replacing it with another in a single fluid motion that yielded the demonic fire god, Shenren.

  A flush of anger overcame him. He shifted out of the way of a downward chop of a zhuk’s swordaxe, then moved in to bash its head with his staff. The lo-shur ninjas arrived and stopped in the treetops, avoiding the sun-filled clearing, but the entire field of dagwai and zhuk combatants converged. He dodged and parried and remembered pounding enemies in a flurry of violence that seemed like an angry blur. His magau stave was not an efficient killing weapon, and he thought to disarm a zhuk to take its swordaxe, when a dagwai tackled and threw him into a tree.

  The opposition was too great. He needed more power and the time had come to realize his full demon ability. The gift of radiant energy was his for the taking. He took off his mask and breathed in the chi, but instead of turning, the swell of anger passed for a moment of clarity. There were too many enemies. Taking on an army of Koon Gee was an act of pure lunacy. He was badly outmatched and there was no way to take out the pool, even if his eyes turned black and he became fully demonic.

  He bolted into the trees again, wondering why he had attacked in the first place. Multiple lo-shur ninjas pursued as soon as he re-entered the darkened cover of leaves, causing him to put back on his magau mask. Fortunately, the zhuks and dagwais could not follow in the treetops, and all he would have to do to escape the ninjas was move beyond the range of the radiant energy. The folly of his incursion would be put behind him. His thoughts shifted to Renshu, Shiki, and Koku, and he made his way back to their last location, hoping they were safe.

  A sharp pain shot through his leg without warning, and he stumbled off the bough, hooking onto another branch with his stave to land safely on a lower level. He tried to maintain balance, but had difficulty putting weight on his injured leg. He’d been struck by an arrow.

  In the distance, Aiying acknowledged her shot with a mocking gesture—she pretended to wipe the painted tear from her mask. If she had aimed it at his head, he might have sensed it coming with unan ability, but the arrow was purposely placed in his calf, which was nearly as bad in the given terrain; restricted movement while hunted by a pack of lo-shur ninjas was a sentence of death. Wong removed the arrow with a grimace, then dropped to the ground to escape another barrage of projectiles.

  The pet chicken was now his cane. He limped through the forest, winding between trees and under roots to provide cover from Aiying’s deadly bolts, finally stopping to listen after finding a protected nook. Footsteps could be heard stalking somewhere above.

  How did it end up like this? He was once ready to take on the entire army and now he was running from a lone archer, hiding in the dirt. He took off his mask to clear his head. This was no ordinary hunter. This was Aiying, arguably Shaolin’s most gifted archer, magnified with tremendous lo-shur power. He had to fight smarter. He treated his wound and dressed it with a clump of healing mud, then bound his leg with a branch and some vine. Next, he uncorked a small canister of dark chi water and drank down its contents. It wasn’t as effective as when he used to drink a vial of Shaolin’s Infinity water, but it gave him a boost.

  Light movement from multiple assailants indicated that the rest of the lo-shur ninjas had caught up. This was bad. Houzon’s ability in the trees would do no good with an injured calf, and he could no longer just run away. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Perhaps the time had come to make a stand. He did have enough maneuverability to fight, but four possessed ninjas and a Shaolin warrior was a stretch to take on. Was Shenren enough? He meditated and let in the radiant energy, fortifying his body and giving him time to sense what was happening. Two lo-shur ninjas circled in front, most likely an attempt to cut off his escape, while the remaining ninjas headed straight for him. He could not tell for sure where Aiying was, but she was certainly lurking somewhere nearby. Beyond them approached something else at an alarming speed.

  He made up his mind and stumbled through the roots again. Shenren would be his aide. He managed a brisk gallop with his oversized cane and heard an arrow whistle past his head. Leaves rustled and wood croaked as the lo-shur scrambled to pursue. Pain shot up from his wound at each step, irritating Shenren’s already volatile temper, but Wong used the rage and redirected it back at his leg, willing the gimpy limb to move faster. Just a little further, he thought.

  He suddenly dropped his pace and prepared for an unavoidable reckoning ahead—Aiying waited silently on a high root. Her bow arm was relaxed, seemingly content on letting him know she was there.

  Shenren stopped. “Is it time?”

  Aiying nodded silently.

  He jabbed the magau stave hard into the ground so that it stuck vertically, then reached behind his back and pulled out a large hunting knife.

  “Come here.” He motioned with his Iron Fist. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

  Aiying pointed. “Your knife is no match for my ninjas.”

  Lo-shur ninjas jumped from the trees in that instant, but Wong held his ground. He was glad to stand and fight. A ninja came at him with a sword, but he repeatedly bounced it back with his arm shield. He flared the shield blades and moved in slashing, alternating with weapons from both arms. A second ninja attacked from behind and he redirected, engaging both in a wild scuffle.

  Aiying circled and tried to line up a shot, but the melee was too frenzied. She waited and moved closer, pulling back on her bow for the right moment. After following the movement a little longer, she understood the flow and found the right spot—a pause in the action and an unobstructed view of Wong’s back. She held her breath and prepared to release.

  Shadow flashed above her. The Dragon Arm lashed out and knocked the bow out of her grip, followed by a few more swings that chased her away.

  Shenren whipped his knife into the collar of a ninja and followed with an uppercut of his Iron Fist that caused the spirit to explode from its body, the lo-shur separating before it could be killed. The other lo-shur tried to retaliate with a downward slash that Wong caught with his metal hand. He held it in place and struggled for a second when Shiki stabbed it through the back with his stave, killing both the dark ninja and spirit at once.

  Aiying took stock of the situation and decided not to press further. Wong, Renshu, and Shiki all looked on. She jumped higher in the trees.

  “It’s not over,” Wong said. “I’ll be back for you.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  She ran off.

  Wong watched her disappear. “That did not go well.”

  “We must leave this place,” Shiki commented.

  “Koku?” he asked.

  Renshu shook his head solemnly. “Gone.”

  Wong removed his mask with an anguished look. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shiki is right, we must go. More lo-shur will come.”

  “Your leg is hurt,” Shiki said. “Can you run?”

  “I’ll be fine. We’re almost beyond the range of the pool.”

  “What happened?” Renshu said.

  “I paid a visit to the main force.”
r />   “What did you learn?”

  Wong looked away. “We don’t have long.”

  7

  THE INFINITY POOL blinked white, the luminescence signifying a connection with another pool. Grandmaster Gao, Jaguan, and elders Woo, Riyon, Lin, and Dai-dao all gathered around in anticipation as an image crystallized in the water. It was of Xiong and Han, who could be seen looking through the other side, from a chi pool in the Great Wall at Shandong.

  “Greetings, Shaolin,” Xiong said.

  “Greetings,” a collective voice returned.

  “Shoukui, Han, we received your initial message,” Jaguan said. “The council has been briefed.”

  “Forgive us for grave tidings,” Xiong said. “Perhaps we should start with good news first. Our foray into the Koon Kagi was a success. The main siege tower and a secondary was disabled.”

  “Excellent news,” Gao said

  “What were your losses?” Jaguan asked.

  “Just a handful of dead and injured.”

  “That is nothing short of miraculous. Your strategy on the Wall has been exemplary,” Woo said.

  “My strategy would be nothing without the strength of Han’s sumos.”

  “Yes, Han, your service has not been forgotten.”

  Han grunted.

  Xiong continued. “Of course our victory was tempered by the sight of smoke rising from Hanai and news that Tengfei is injured and Tanjin is on the brink of collapse.”

  “Which brings us to this meeting of the Minds,” Gao said. “What is your proposed strategy?”

  “I will go to Tanjin at once with a portion of soldiers. The Sword is most needed there. It is likely the invaders broke through Tanjin to get to Hanai, so we must focus our efforts on controlling the breach. And while the presence of Koon Gee in Hanai is shocking, city troops may weather a storm of several hundred invaders. We will also send a small contingent to help, but we do not have enough troops to defend the Great Wall, Hanai, and Tanjin, all at the same time.”