by Mark Swaine
Shaozu sees a spinning blue light burst through the haze in the corner of his eye and identifies it as the next symbol. Shaozu lands on his feet and propels himself forward as his leg frosts over. As compressing cold air expels from the vents on the back of his iron calf muscle, his foot impacts the base of the doll whilst engulfing it in cold air bursting from the base of his foot. As the arms of the doll withdraw back into the base, some of them snap off from Shaozu's brutal attack. As a fourth and final segment lowers, he sees no crystallite emblem, only a regular sized Wing Chun doll awaiting his attention. Shaozu deals with his final test deftly and with conviction and with each block from his iron knee and every pounding strike from his trained and durable knuckles, he renders the doll useless. As the fog clears, Shaozu stands humbly over the fallen Wing Chun, and he smiles proudly knowing he has conquered the final challenge. Shaozu exits the arena with his prize, and feeling like a new man, for nothing had been worthwhile than overcoming these past gruelling hours.Mǎkè observes Shaozu's form as he walks as if the metal limb has always been a part of him.
“You didn't have to break it,” says Mǎkè looking with dismay at his bent Wing Chun doll.
“Yes I did,” replies Shaozu with delight.
“Fought well you did, the leg is yours to keep,” says Mǎke bowing his head respectfully.
“You are reckless, and not of sane mind,” says Chika crossly.
“Who, me or him,” says Mǎke pointing to Shaozu.
“Both of you,” says Chika.
“A compliment?” replies Mǎkè.
“My words were not of praise,” says Chika, sternly.
“From a murdering wench, I should not hope not,” replies Mǎkè. “Now, where is Ling Long Song?” asks Mǎkè rubbing his hands together.
“I am here,” replies Ling Long approaching the others.
“Very good, are you ready to attempt dragon string,” asks Mǎkè in an excited manner.
“Dragon string? Ling Long, you never told me Mǎkè had replaced your hand with dragon fibre,” says Yu-Huang, inspecting her metal hand. “Why would you do that?” asks Yu-Huang observing her other good hand.
“Ling Long desires to harness Dragon twine,” replies Mǎkè.
“Dragon twine? Mǎkè, do you realise what you have done?” says Yu-Huang severely.
“He does not,” says Yeman Ren placing a palm over his face.
“You are the biggest fool I have ever met,” laughs Chika realising Mǎkè's error.
“Ó, mā (oh shit),” says Shaozu shaking his head.
“I do not understand,” says Mǎkè.
Ling Long's hopeful face suddenly drops as she glances from her metal hand to her last natural one, and she buries her head in her hands in despair.
“A Guqin is a two-handed instrument, you fool!” whispers Yu-Huang harshly.
“...yes, and?” says Mǎkè still none the wiser.
Chika, no longer able to tolerate Mǎkè's naive tone and dumb expression any longer, cringingly explains the problem as she would to a layman.
“The only way that girl is going to play a dragon string Guqin, is if... another... hand forged of dragon steel suddenly grows from her rear end,” says Chika calmly and strenuously.
“From her rear, how is that possi-”
“She requires two hands of dragon steel. You must replace her other hand also you idiot!” shouts Chika crossly.
“Why must I remove her other hand, she has a perfectly good hand for playing drag... Ooooohh,” says Mǎkè finally realising. “Then let me ask, just how much do you value your other hand, one swift stroke of a blade and problem solved,” says Mǎkè feeling relieved.
“As simple as your solution is, she might have a problem with that Mǎkè,” says Yeman Ren.
“Ling Long do not despair. I will replace the dragon steel hand for one of lesser purpose. I have a spare in my inventory, Dragon twine is overrated...to some people,” says Mǎkè casually.
“No, I want to play dragon string,” replies Ling Long. “I desire to play as you do,” she says whilst looking at Yu-Huang.
“You need not play dragon string. Have you ever considered playing the drums?” asksMǎkè.
“No, dragon string!” says Ling Long firmly.
“The string would slice through the fingers of your good hand Ling Long,” replies Mǎkè.
“Very well, cut it off,” replies Ling Long.
“If that is your wish,” replies Mǎkè.
“No, no more. Mǎkè do you desire to transform every man, woman and child you see into half-machine?” asks the Emperor.
“Only those who wish it so, and are so deserved of it. Who am I to deny the wishes of a desperate man, or woman,” replies Mǎkè gesturing to Ling Long. “How would you feel if you could never again practise the art of something you love, simply because the limits of your body forbids you?”
“What is... is as it should be,” replies Yu-Huang.
“What of Shaozu, where were your words of wisdom when you brought him to me to fit him with a leg?” says Mǎkè.
“Shaozu met with circumstances that should not have been,” replies Yu-Huang.
“And Ling Long Song didn’t?” replies Mǎkè.
“No, but she still possesses one good limb, a limb you would maim would she grant you the opportunity,” says Yu-Huang.
“An opportunity to better herself, and make her dream into a reality, ‘tis ultimately... Ling Long's decision, and I support any decision she makes. But that hand I forged is useless without the other,” says Mǎkè.
“Please Master Yu-Huang, ‘tis my choice, I must to do this,” says Ling Long, removing herself from the Emperor's embrace.
“Ling Long, I am afraid you do not understand. The mortal body cannot withstand the power of dragon string,” says Yu-Huang sympathetically.
“Legend tells of one who succeeded,” replies Ling Long relating to Yu-Huang's father.
“Legend will not tell you what really happened that day: my father was merely a crafter of stringed instruments. He was no more able to harness dragon string than you are,” replies Yu-Huang sternly.
“I can do this, I have heard you play dragon string many times, ‘tis the most beautiful sound in all existence. This is something I have always wanted: I know that now,” says Ling Long.
“You are making a grave mistake Ling Long,” says Yu-Huang realising he is wasting his words. “Yet it appears my words are falling upon deaf ears. Very well, continue, but it is he who must take your hand,” says the Emperor, walking off crossly.
“Where are you going?” asks Ling Long Song.
“I will not watch or take any further part in this lunacy,” replies Yu-Huang.
Later after forging another hand forged of dragon steel, Ling Long holds and presses her good hand on a chopping block as Mǎkè holds a raised Dao sword above his head. Droplets of sweat dangle from his nose and the ends of his long fringe, and his face is one of extreme focus as he imagines separating the beautiful hand from its slender wrist.
“Do it, DO IT!” shouts Ling Long, looking away.
“He is not going to do it,” says Chika, analysing the fear in Mǎkè's eyes.
“Yes he will,” says Yeman Ren.
“I will wager you ten cowrie shells he does not,” says Chika.
“I will wager your life he does,” says Yeman Ren, threateningly.
Mǎkè waits for the two guests to stop talking and finally grows the courage to swing the sword down, and then whimpers slightly and shuts his eyes as he's disturbed once again by the chatting spectators.
“He looks nervous,” observes Chika.
“He need not be, there is really nothing to it,” replies Yemen Ren.
“Would both of you just shut up!” shouts Mǎkè frantically. “I am not like you, I am not some... evil sick wench who takes pleasure in removing limbs and I am not some giant... foul-smelling beast who wears... human dirty... fucking skin for clothing whilst STENCHING OUT MY HOME!” says Mǎ
kè, with the sword shaking crazily in his hands.
As Chika and Yeman Ren are silenced by Mǎkè's outburst, the squeamish and unhinged man swings the sword down with a feral scream, but stops short of Ling Long's wrist. Raising the sword again he pants repeatedly to psyche himself up before attempting a second time, but once again stops short of the fine hairs on Ling Long's wrist. Out of nowhere a flicker of silver flashes before Mǎkè's eyes and he hears a twang of steel impacting upon stone. Mǎkè covers his eyes and looks away as Ling Long cries in small bouts of tortured screams. Mǎkè retches as he quickly grabs Ling Long's cleaved wrist, and as spurts of dark red blood erupt in his face, he heaves repeatedly as he dips her wrist into a bowl of dragon blood and minerals. Chika wipes her bloody blade with a cloth and looks down at Mǎkè, wondering how he has survived in this world for so long in this world.
“What are you staring at, assassin? I was going to do it: I was merely warming up,” says Mǎkè, panting heavily.
“Warming up was a good idea, for the cold season would have arrived by the time you cut of her hand,” replies Chika impatiently.
Mǎkè is all set to reply with a bitter comment of his own when he suddenly begins backing away whilst pointing at the twitching fingers on Ling Long's severed hand resting on the chopping block.
“I have seen severed limbs before, but I have never seen one continue to survive independently,” says Mǎkè wagging his finger at it.“Get it away from me,” he says worriedly as its four nails begin tapping on the stone block.
“Mǎkè, you have worked long and hard. You need to rest,” urges Shaozu. “Go, we shall care for Ling Long,” adds Shaozu kindly.
“Where shall I sleep? You people have tarnished my bed,” says Mǎkè.
“Only one side of it,” replies Chika boastfully.
“Go my friend, you should rest, you have earned it,” insists Yeman Yen.
“Yes... yes perhaps for a short while,” replies Mǎkè, appearing exhausted and edgy.
CHAPTER twenty-EIGHT
Mǎkè's eyes twitch rapidly as a million and one thoughts rush around his tired mind like a never ending twister. Mǎkè momentarily stops outside his bed chamber and then keeps walking, not because the previous sweaty inhabitants had staked their claim on his favourite resting place, but because he has a promise to keep to a certain dragon. Mǎkè continues walking down a wide stair case and along a wide galvanised walkway that opens up into an arched hangar built into the cliff face. Mǎkè appears none too pleased to see the hangar already occupied, occupied by a man staring at an incomplete project dangling by chains.
Mǎkè recognises the trespasser and realises that if any man or Demi-god has the right to see his work, it is Emperor Yu-Huang. But Yu-Huang, ever the humble and patient one, had not crossed Mǎkè's private boundaries. He hadn't so much as peaked under the long stretch of stitched tarp dangling freely over the long suspended jagged object. Mǎkè pauses for a second, then casually drops a lever to allow the chained tarp to lift off the object and rise to the cave roof. Yu-Huang looks at Mǎkè in silent awe at what he has created, and the inventor quietly follows the strolling Emperor around the massive contraption as they study its interesting design. The dual hundred foot wide outstretched iron wings are a sight to behold and they rock gently to and fro as the Emperor analyses the detail of the mechanical construct. The wings are hinged at the arm joints allowing it to dip and rise and adjust to air flow, the cylindrical tubes attached underneath the centre of the wings are presumably to fit the bases of the dragon’s severed wing arms on its back. The sheeted membrane connecting the rodded lengthy bat like fingers together is braided and stitched with dragon steel, and therefore impenetrable. But Yu-Huang, much to his own disappointment, notices one flaw that spells immediate failure for the inventive and eccentric genius.
“The Black Dragon would cry for a mortal lifetime if he could see what you have created for him,” says Yu-Huang reaching up and running his hand across the iron scales.
The black painted wings shimmer and sparkle from the morning stars peering through the giant arched gap at the end of the long wide hangar.
“I cannot wait for the day the Black Dragon takes to the skies using my greatest invention. I have worked long on this creation, using every resource at my disposal, followed the designs to every little detail... until they were perfect,” says Mǎkè proudly.
“Mǎkè, what steel have you forged these wings from?” asks Yu-Huang.
“The arms, fingers and centre body are iron cast, the membranes connecting the fingers are forged with dragon steel and laced with iron scales,” says Mǎkè with an assertive nod.
“MagnificentMǎkè, truly” says Yu-Huang with a slight scowl and folded bottom lip.
“However?” says Mǎkè sensing his apprehension.
“The wings of a dragon are laden with muscles that act in perfect unison with the rest of the dragon's body, ‘tis what makes them such great fliers. A dragon's wings are light when compared to the rest the body, enabling them to take to flight with the greatest of ease. The dragon must be able to lift its wings; the wings you have created are forged from solid steel. Even if the strongest of dragon were somehow able to gather the strength and take to the skies, the weight of the iron wings would ensure a brief flight,” says Yu-Huang informatively.
“I did not factor that possibility into my thoughts when I began construction. No matter, I will find more dragon steel and start again,” says Mǎkè, thumping the arched tip of the wing humbly.
“Dragon steel is a fibre extracted from the scales and skin of the dragon; it courses through their blood stream, ‘tis not part of the external structure. Were you too craft the wings entirely from dragon steel, they would be too light and weak to move the dragon to flight. Even if you were somehow able to craft a set of wings compatible with the Black Dragon, you are still missing the one vital thing that will bond the dragon's flesh to the mechanical wings,” says Yu-Huang.
“The spell that will fuse flesh to metal, and metal to the mind? Surely a spell must exist that would allow the dragon to manipulate the wings without the aid of its muscles,” says Mǎkè in disbelief.
“None that I am aware of, this is the first time I have heard of such a procedure,” says Yu-Huang.
“But, you are all powerful, all knowing... surely you must know,” says Mǎkè.
“‘Tis not so simple. If I were aware of such a spell I would tell you, for the Black Dragon has served me with loyalty ever since I was child,” replies Yu-Huang.
“I have wasted my time,” says Mǎkè gripping the fine edge of the dragon wing, “all these years, all for nothing!” shouts Mǎkè running his hand along the wing and slicing his hand open.
Mǎkè clasps his gushing hand and screams with fury and frustration as he turns away from Yu-Huang.
“Tell me, what exactly did the Black Dragon ask of you?” asks Yu-Huang calmly.
“He told me there is a war coming; he told me he wishes to fly again so he may die with honour in combat. In return for a detailed description of his anatomy, I told him I would present him with the pair of wings I have been working on. A pair of wings that would be more beautiful than his last, I gave him my word... I have failed,” says Mǎkè sadly.
“Wings come in many shapes and forms, ‘tis up to you to create a pair of wings that will take the Black Dragon to flight. According to you the Black Dragon did not specify what wings would suit him best, you have not failed,” says Yu-Huang.
“Of what do you speak? Start afresh, I would not know where to begin, this machine alone I have been working on this project for years on end. It is now useless, scrap metal!” shouts Mǎkè.
“You need not start afresh; you already possess the wings, now you must find a way to make them airborne. ‘Tis not scrap...” says Yu-Huang brushing a thin layer of dust of the edge of the wing, “...merely incomplete, but I remain confident you will discover the answer,” says Yu-Huang patting him on the shoulder.
“Y
ou know the answer to this problem, do you not?” asks Mǎkè.
“It matters not; the Black Dragon presented you alone with this task. This puzzle is for you alone to solve my friend. When you do discover the solution to this problem, and I remain confident you will, the result will be most satisfying I am sure. However, should you find yourself in desperate need of outside assistance; the Black Dragon should be more than happy to accommodate. Heed my advice, keep your visits short, and few,” says Yu-Huang