by Jeff Stone
“Greetings,” Cang said to Long. “I have been expecting you. Or at least I think you are the one I am expecting. Xie told me that someone meeting your description would be coming my way. Do you have any means of identifying yourself?”
Long removed his heavy leather gloves and held up his left thumb. The ring Xie had given him glistened in the late-morning sun.
“There it is,” Cang said. “The mark of my lord. You must be the chosen one.” He winked.
“Your lord?” Long asked.
“My warlord, if you prefer. My leader. I may live in Kaifeng with its bountiful grass and endless supply of water, but I consider myself a loyal subject of Xie’s desert family. Since his father has passed away, I now serve Xie.”
“What about the Emperor?”
“Xie’s family roots run much deeper than those of the ever-changing Forbidden City. In the city of Tun-huang, the Western Warlord is much more revered than the Emperor.”
Long had had no idea Xie was so powerful. He eyed Cang’s magnificent horse, and Cang smiled. “Have you ever ridden a horse, young man?”
“A little, sir.”
“How many different horses?”
“Two.”
“What kind were they?”
“Workhorses.”
“What kind of workhorses?”
Long thought for a moment. “Old ones.”
Cang chuckled. “I mean, what breed were they?”
“I am sorry, I do not know.”
“That is what I guessed you might say. Do you have any idea what you are in for?”
Long’s shoulders slumped. “Probably not.”
Cang’s eyebrows furrowed and he locked eyes with Long. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“By the looks of you, I would have guessed older—perhaps sixteen. I am not sure you are ready for a journey like this. However, I will give you a chance. Prove to me that you can ride, and I will help you.”
Long breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank me later. First, I need to make sure you won’t kill yourself.” Cang began to swing himself out of the saddle.
Long’s eyes widened. “You want me to ride that horse? Right now?”
“Yes,” Cang said. He hopped off the horse like a man half his age and handed the reins to Long. “Let us see what you can do.”
Long looked at the horse with its saddle and stirrups. “I have only ridden bareback, sir.”
“Did you use reins?”
Long nodded.
“What about kung fu?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Have you ever practiced kung fu?”
Long stared at Cang, dumbfounded. “You could say that I know a little about the topic.”
NgGung laughed out loud. “That’s pretty funny, Long.”
Long ignored him.
“All right,” Cang said. “I take it you know how to do a Horse Stance?”
“Yes.”
“Here is what you are going to do, then. Get up on the horse and put your feet in the stirrups on either side of the animal. Then lower yourself into a Horse Stance—or Horseback Riding Stance, as some kung fu instructors call it—and use your legs as springs to help absorb the shock of the horse in motion. It will be hard on your thighs, and even your stomach and back muscles, but the longer your tail is up off the saddle, the less bruising and saddle sores you are going to get. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, your legs cannot hold you up like that all day long, so you are going to have to get a feel for when you can sit and when you should not. It will take time, but you will figure it out.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Get up there and show me.”
Long turned to face the horse’s left side, taking the reins in his left hand. He placed his left foot in the stirrup, sprang into the air off his right leg, and raised his right leg high, swinging it forward in order to throw it over the horse’s back. Unfortunately, the horse was no longer there. It was leaping sideways away from him.
Long felt himself falling backward, and there was nothing he could do. He dropped his chin to his chest to protect the back of his head and hit the ground high on his upper back, his left foot still stuck in the stirrup and the reins still in his hand. Fortunately, the horse did not run off. It just stood there, looking back at him.
Cang rushed over and took the reins from Long. NgGung hopped off the fence, pulling Long’s boot free of the stirrup. Long sat up and felt his wounded right thigh begin to throb. “What just happened?” he asked.
“Rule number one,” Cang said. “Pay close attention to the reins. When you hopped into the air, you let your left hand drop. The reins are attached to something called a bit, which is a piece of metal between the horse’s teeth. Pulling down like that hurts.”
“Sorry,” Long said. He stood and brushed himself off. “Lesson learned.”
“Hmpf,” Cang muttered, handing the reins back to Long.
Long tried mounting the horse again, this time paying close attention to the reins. He made it up and into the saddle in one smooth motion. He glanced over at NgGung, who had climbed back onto the fence, and NgGung nodded his approval.
Long turned to see Cang’s reaction and felt his weight shift to one side. His new silk pants caused him to slip wildly in the smooth leather saddle, and he squeezed his thighs against the horse’s sides in an effort to regain his balance.
The horse took off.
“Hey!” Long yelled as they trotted inland along the fence line. Slipping worse now because of the bouncing gait, Long fought the urge to pull on the reins for support. He did not know if this would hurt the horse or not, but he took a chance and grabbed a handful of mane, heaving himself to a balanced sitting position.
The horse seemed fine with it, and Long gave a sigh of relief.
Unfortunately, they were now moving along at a fairly quick pace, and he was still slipping every which way, even with his feet in the stirrups. Maintaining a Horse Stance, as Cang had said, seemed to help, but keeping both of his feet parallel to the ground was proving to be far more difficult than he had imagined, because the horse rocked from side to side with every step.
Long repositioned his body repeatedly in an effort to find which posture worked best, but had little success. Hunching forward and bringing his heels up did not help. Leaning backward and pushing his legs forward was even worse. But eventually, he figured out that it was best if he kept his body in a straight line, perpendicular to the ground, just like in a proper kung fu stance. He kept his legs long, dropped his heels, and aligned his ears, shoulders, and hips with his heels. It worked like a charm.
Once he was confident going forward, Long decided to work on turning the horse. Cang and NgGung were already out of sight, and he needed to turn the horse 180 degrees to the right, because the fence was still close on his left. He slid the reins across the horse’s neck to his right, and the horse began to turn in a large arc.
Things were going well until there came a point when the horse’s changing angle caused his silk pants to slip again. He pressed his right leg against the horse’s right side in order to maintain his balance, and the horse suddenly turned hard in that direction, nearly throwing Long from the saddle. He instinctively squeezed both legs hard to keep himself atop the horse, and the horse bolted again, this time breaking into a full gallop.
Long threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck, hanging on for dear life. The horse whinnied loudly and snorted, running like mad along the fence line toward the river. In less time than Long thought possible, he saw Cang and NgGung straight ahead. Both men were gesturing frantically, motioning for him to pull back on the reins.
Long reluctantly released his grip on the horse’s neck and gripped the reins as best he could. He jerked them backward, perhaps a bit too hard, and the horse stopped dead in its tracks, dropping its head.
Between Long’s
forward momentum and his slippery pants, he shot forward over the horse’s lowered head like a New Year’s firework. He tucked into a roll that would have made an acrobat proud, bounced across the soft pasture grass three times, then popped onto his feet. He rubbed the old wounds on his sore right leg and left shoulder, and looked at Cang.
Cang began to laugh so hard tears ran down his leathery face. “I have been watching people ride for more years than I can count, and that had to be the worst dismount I have ever seen. Congratulations.”
Long frowned and looked at NgGung. NgGung was laughing almost as hard as Cang.
Long kicked the dirt and walked over to the horse. It stared back at him as though nothing had happened.
“What is wrong with this crazy animal?” Long asked.
“Why do you think something is wrong?” Cang said, wiping away tears. “He is one of the best horses I have ever worked with. You do not even need to hold the reins with this one. You can control his speed and steer simply by using your legs. It is a trick the Mongolians use out on the plains so that they can ride their horses and shoot their bows at the same time.”
Long thought for a moment and realized what had happened. “So if I press one leg into the horse’s side, it will turn in that direction, and if I squeeze both legs at the same time, it will go faster?”
Cang’s eyes sparkled. “That is correct. You are a fast learner. The way you handled those falls was impressive, too. I think you will be fine, even with those silly pants.”
Long looked down at his legs. The fine silk was now as dirty as anything NgGung had pulled out of his tent, and the clothes no longer smelled much better than NgGung’s, either. He was beginning to reek of horse.
Cang waved something in his hands, and Long saw that he was holding the map NgGung had given him.
“NgGung pulled this from your saddlebag while you were out proving yourself,” Cang said. “There are many routes to Tunhuang, but I believe this is indeed the best one for you to take, as it is the shortest. However, it is also the most desolate. There are no cities or villages along the way, only a small outpost on the edge of the great Gobi Desert. If I give you one of my horses, you must agree to stop there. The outpost is little more than an inn with a small blacksmith shop, and the owner is my friend. His name is DingXiang, and he has a great knowledge of horses’ hooves. Tell him that I sent you, and ask him to inspect the horse. I never shoe my horses, but where you are going the terrain is much different. Show him your map, and he will determine what course of action should be taken, if any. Ask him to sell you a pair of riding pants, too. You do have money, don’t you?”
“I have a little,” Long replied.
“A little will be all you need. DingXiang will not charge you for attending to GuangZe.”
“GuangZe?” Long asked. “Sheen? Luster? What does that mean?”
“That is the name of the horse you just rode. I had a different one picked out for you, but I think you should take him. He is afraid of loud noises, but otherwise is a very reliable mount. Best of all, I believe he likes you. I can walk back to my stables.”
“Likes me?” Long asked, looking over at the horse. It still had that intense gleam in its eye. “How do you know?”
“He has not tried to bite you.”
“Horses bite?”
Cang groaned. “You really do not know what you are getting yourself into, do you? Get out of here before I change my mind.”
Long rode faster than the wind, crossing li upon li of open grassland. At first, he loved every moment of it. It felt as though he were flying, the ride igniting feelings he had never known were locked away inside him. It must have been his inner dragon, soaring for the first time.
The feeling didn’t last long. The farther he rode, the more uncomfortable he became. The terrain quickly grew arid, and cold, dry breezes made his skin crack. He began to see pockets of barren earth dusted with sand, the sand somehow managing to find its way deep into his eyes, ears, nose, and hair, even though he wore a hat pulled down over his head and most of his face. Fortunately, GuangZe seemed immune to these discomforts.
On his third day out, he reached the outpost and the edge of the Gobi Desert, where there was nothing to the west but sand as far as he could see. It was a strange place, this desert in the north. While he had previously associated deserts with tales Grandmaster had shared of hot places, here on the fringes it was beginning to snow.
The outpost itself was little more than two weather-beaten buildings, one fairly large and one small. Thick smoke poured out of a chimney attached to the small one, and Long heard the sound of metal being hammered within. That was obviously Ding-Xiang’s blacksmith shop.
Attached to one side of the larger building was a small stable containing three squat Mongolian horses. Long headed for the stable in the approaching dusk, and his dan tien began to warm. There were people inside.
As Long neared, two short men stepped out of the stable’s shadowed interior. They were covered from head to toe in tattered black silk, their faces hidden by an extension of the black turbans on their heads. The only thing showing was their narrow eyes. Each man held a long, curved sword unlike any Long had ever seen. The swords were sheathed, but held in an aggressive manner.
Long did not want any trouble. However, if there was to be some, the last place he wanted to be was atop a horse. He dismounted quickly and tied GuangZe to a post as the men approached. One of them said in heavily accented Mandarin Chinese, “That is a fine animal.”
“Thank you,” Long replied, unable to determine what country the man came from. “Do you know where I can find DingXiang the blacksmith?”
“He is not here.”
Long pointed toward the small building. “Who is in there, then?”
“His apprentice, but he is very busy right now. Perhaps we can help you?”
“I appreciate your offer, but I prefer to wait for DingXiang.”
“He is not expected back for many hours. What is it you need from him?”
Long did not reply.
The man turned away from Long and looked at GuangZe. “That sure is a fine animal,” he said again. “Would you consider selling him?”
“No.”
“We would be willing to give you a handsome sum for him, along with one of our horses so that you would still have transportation. Where are you headed? Tunhuang?”
Long didn’t answer.
“Of course you are. There is no other reason to be out here. Our horses know the way to Tunhuang blindfolded. They have spent their entire lives upon the sands. You would be much better off with one of them.”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
The man shook his turbaned head and nodded toward his companion. “I guess we will have to take it by force, then.” Both men drew their swords and advanced toward Long.
Long was not surprised. He glanced toward the stable, hoping to see a pitchfork or shovel or some other implement to help him fend off an attack, but the walls were bare.
As the men neared, Long’s eyes fell upon the stable door. Tall and wide, it slid along a track hung across the top of the door. A cord ran through the track, one end tied to the door, the other tied to a small counterweight. This counterweight made the door easier to open and close.
It might also help save Long’s life.
When the men were three steps from Long, he grabbed the half-filled water skins slung over GuangZe’s rump and hurled the containers at his attackers. The men turned to protect their faces, and the water skins collided harmlessly with their backs and shoulders. By the time they straightened and poised once more for attack, however, Long had reached the door.
He leaped up and grabbed hold of the cord near the center of its length. As he came back down, the counterweight went up, stopping abruptly when it reached the first pulley.
The cord snapped in Long’s hand, just as he had hoped. He released his grip and let the cou
nterweight fall to the ground, the broken cord snaking out of the pulleys and landing in a pile on top of the counterweight.
Long grabbed the broken end of the cord as his two attackers sprang into action. Coiling the cord in his left hand, he took the counterweight in his right and cocked his right arm back. When the first attacker was within range, Long hurled the counterweight at the man’s head, letting the cord out while maintaining a tight grip on its end.
It was a direct hit. The man dropped to his knees and the cord went slack. However, the man was only dazed. His turban had absorbed more of the impact than Long would have liked.
Long switched the end of the cord to his right hand. He took several steps backward to make additional space between him and the second approaching man, and swung his right arm in a wide arc, the counter weight lifting off the ground and flying through the air like the weighted end of a chain whip or, more precisely, a rope dart.
Long had always been quite skilled with the chain whip and rope dart. Both mimicked the powerful sweeping motions of a dragon’s tail. He aimed the airborne counterweight at the second attacker’s head, and the man raised his sword in front of his face in an effort to protect himself.
The swinging counterweight wrapped the cord around the weapon’s hilt. Long gave a vicious yank, pulling the sword from the astonished man’s hands.
Long glanced at the first attacker and saw that he had stumbled to the stable and was fumbling with a saddlebag. He produced a pistol and aimed it at Long’s chest.
“I should have used this from the start,” the man said. “Drop the rope and—”
Long’s dan tien began to twitch. He heard hooves pounding behind him. He turned to see an elderly man much like Cang roar past on what appeared to be a Heavenly Horse. The rider halted in a cloud of dust in front of the stable and pulled two pistols from his sash. He pointed one at the armed man inside the stable, and the other at the unarmed man.
“Drop the pistol,” the rider said to the man in the stable.
“I don’t think so, DingXiang,” the man in the stable replied. “I believe this is a stalemate.”