“What legends would those be?” Johnny asked. Somehow, though, he was afraid that he might not like the answer.
Meanwhile Sonya had spotted a man wearing a hooded robe of coarse brown material, belted around the waist with a white knotted rope. He was standing on the beach, watching the boats arrive with their passengers, making marks with a stylus on a long parchment scroll that he carried.
Sonya fell in beside the monk as he paced the beach, meeting each boat as it arrived.
“Say,” Sonya began, “can you tell me if there’s a telephone exchange on the island? A police station? A naval base?”
The monk didn’t reply or even seem to notice her.
“Listen,” Sonya said, in a more impatient tone. “I’m Lieutenant Blade, on special assignment–”
The monk stopped walking, unrolled his scroll a little way, found a name and put a line through it.
“Wait a minute!” Sonya said. “That’s my name! What’s my name doing on your list?”
The monk didn’t reply, but began walking again toward another group just landed from the boats.
“Wait up!” Sonya said, taking the monk by his sleeve. His cowl fell away from his face as he turned toward her. She could see that his lips had been sewn shut with rawhide laces, now overgrown with scar tissue. She dropped his arm. The monk turned away, adjusted his hood, and continued on his former path.
“You know, that’s taking the old vow-of-silence thing a little too seriously,” Johnny said. He and Liu had come up the beach to join Sonya. “Learn anything useful?”
“That we may be in deeper kimchee than I thought,” Sonya said. “Anyone have any suggestions?”
“Well,” Johnny said, “if this setup is anything like Club Med, I’d say that the bar was somewhere that way.” He gestured with his chin in the direction of the stairway carved from the living stone up the side of the cliff.
“Gonna hire someone to carry those for you?” Liu asked, pointing at the four suitcases Johnny had left lying on the sand.
“Would you like to…?” Johnny began. He glanced at Liu. “Nah, didn’t think so.”
He went back to the pile of luggage and began to gather it into his arms.
Art Lean looked over at the side of the ship at the tropical island glittering in the morning sunlight. He hadn’t believed that the myths about the tournament were real, not until the uncanny junk had sailed into Hong Kong harbor. Even now he found it hard to accept that he was going to fight the greatest warriors of the world, freestyle, for a “prize beyond wealth or measure,” as the scroll had put it.
Art glanced at his watch, then shook it. It had stopped just a few minutes past three in the morning. About the time the light show in the sky had started.
“Shockproof, waterproof, anti-magnetic,” Art muttered, shaking the thing again. “The people at Rolex are gonna hear about this when I get back Stateside.”
Rope ladders led from the rails of the junk down to the water’s edge, where a succession of longboats was arriving empty and departing full of the men and women who had waited with him on the pier the night before.
They were boarding the boats in an orderly manner. Very few of them were speaking to one another. Art supposed that they were as much in shock over the events of the last twelve hours and in awe of their surroundings as he was. His newfound shipmates were a very mixed bunch, ranging from a group of five high-school kids to a debonair man in a black tuxedo. He recognized a couple of the people on deck from seeing them on the sport-karate circuit, though none of his close friends or rivals were along on this trip that he could see. One man whom he saw at a distance was most likely a well-known football player. Most of the people on the Dragon Wing looked very, very tough.
Well, Art thought, anyone looking at me from out front would think I was tough, too. He put on his meanest scowl and went looking for a longboat.
The ride to the beach went quickly. Four strong oarsmen pulled on the sweeps to make the boat fly over the water. When the boat grounded, Art went ashore with his new companions. No one was talking much yet, but Art had developed the habit of watching people and sizing them up, making something of their way of holding themselves, the way they looked at others.
Most of the people he saw in this crowd he pegged as being overconfident, too sure of their own prowess. They’d each spent their lives, by the look of it, being the toughest man – or woman – in whichever local barroom they hung out in.
Art saw that the fighters were walking toward the cliff, and soon enough he saw that what had appeared to be a natural crack in the black stone was really a cunningly-wrought stairway leading upward. Art started toward it and began to go up.
At first the stairway led back toward the cliff in a majestic curve, the treads easy to climb. But soon the stairs took a sharp twist to the right while the treads grew narrower and steeper.
The stairway climbed steadily along, hugging the side of the cliff. Art noticed that the individual steps were carved out of the rock of the cliff itself, rather than being cut and assembled from dressed stones.
I wonder how long it took to carve this, he thought idly as he continued to climb. The stairway made a hairpin turn to the left in a switchback and became even steeper. Art was in superb physical shape, but even he began to feel the burn of the continued physical exertion. It was like being trapped for hours on the stair-stepper machine at a health club, with the setting turned to maximum.
Art detached his mind and let it float while his body continued its regular motion. He admired the purity of the air, the warmth of the sun on his back, the delicate differences in the color of the natural stone in the stairs and the cliff. From ahead and behind he could hear the echo of footsteps slapping the rock, but the tight switchbacks kept him from looking far enough ahead to see the person who preceded him up the mountain. The stairway had grown so narrow that two could pass only if both turned sideways and slid past one another. No one passed Art as he climbed, but more than once he passed other fighters sitting downcast and gasping.
Art entered a misty region and knew that he had come to the layer of clouds that surrounded the spike of rock. He supposed that he had climbed about two thousand vertical feet by now. Delicate lichens grew on the cliff here, and the steps were slippery with moss. The stairway didn’t have a railing on the outer side. Art edged closer to the cliff. It would be a pity to slip now after having come so far.
The rock face here was different. The dark basalt did not appear to be carved, but odd traceries and patters appeared in the wet stone of the cliff, sometimes looking like animals and in other places looking like the faces of men.
After a while more the mist thinned, and Art could see the tops of the clouds beneath him, blindingly white in the sun. Beyond the clouds he could see the deep blue of the sky ending with a sharp horizon line where it met the deeper blue of the sea. He began to calculate the effects that high altitude would have on fighting in a tournament. Suppose the top of the island was five thousand feet above sea level. That would be the equivalent of a tournament held in Denver or Mexico City.
Art had fought in both of those places, and knew how to adjust his breathing to the thinner air. He smiled a little; he might have a tiny advantage over those fighters who hadn’t had his experience.
The stairway grew even steeper. At the point where Art was convinced that he’d have to start using his hands as well as his feet to climb, it ended. He emerged onto the top of the plateau. Art saw the top of a building ahead of him, its roof glistening gold. A shimmering gong sounded from that direction.
Art turned to follow the sound.
“I surely hope someone is going to explain things to me,” he muttered as he walked across the grass toward the pavilion. “Right now this is all too weird for words.”
The lights were dim red in the communications van. A knock sounded on the door.
“Major, Mr. Chu is here,” a private said, sticking her head into the van.
“Mr. Chu?”<
br />
“The expert on tournaments,” the soldier said.
“Let’s see what Mr. Chu has to say about this,” Jax said.
He fingered the dragon emblem, and left the van.
Several hours after he began, Johnny reached the top of the stairs. His lungs felt like fire and his legs were starting to cramp up. His four pieces of luggage had become only one small case, the others abandoned along the way. Sweat was pouring down his face, running into his eyes in stinging streams he was too weary to wipe away.
When he saw something besides more steps in front of his eyes, he could hardly believe his good fortune. The stairway ended in a pleasant garden, full of bright flowers blooming amid statues of fighters, life-sized and carved of stone, each one standing on a tall pedestal.
Liu and Sonya were waiting there for him, sitting on a low stone wall. Liu was looking winded and weary, but Sonya looked like she was still ready to run a four-minute mile. Johnny went to join them, leaning casually against the nearest pedestal and trying not to appear too winded.
“I know what the first bout in this tournament is,” he said as soon as he got his breath back. “Anyone who makes it all the way to the top without having a heart attack gets to move on to the second round.”
“And the second bout is surviving dinner,” Liu said. He pointed to a huge, gold-roofed hall visible beyond the trees. “The legends say that the next step is something called the Feast of Heroes.”
“Just what I wanted,” Johnny said. “A full platter of submarine sandwiches.”
“I can handle it,” Sonya said. “I’ve had combat experience with food. I ate the chow at Fort Benning and lived to tell the tale.”
“I suppose so,” Liu said. “But from now on we have to be on our guard, and whatever happens, show no surprise.”
“In the course of my misspent life I’ve seen a lot of things,” Johnny said. “There isn’t a whole lot left that could surprise me.”
“Oh, really?” Liu said. “Then look at these statues.”
“What about them? They’re statues.”
“In the legends, they’re supposed to be the great and ancient warriors from all the previous Mortal Kombats.”
“Wait a minute,” Johnny said. He pointed at one of the statues, a figure holding a curved sword. The statue’s head resembled a giant grasshopper, and its legs bend the wrong way at the knees. “You’re saying that all these are meant to be realistic statues?”
“Yeah,” Liu said. “Not all of our opponents are going to be human.”
“Like those two dudes in the hold last night?”
“Worse.”
“You’re only saying that to cheer me up,” Johnny muttered.
Sonya looked at them both exasperation. “Here I am listening to both of you and nodding like you’re making sense,” she said. “Well, I’m not here to fight in any tournament. I’m here to find Kano.”
“If that’s who you seek, I’m sure you’ll find him,” Liu said. “The legends…”
“Oh, bugger your legends,”
“That guy Rayden,” Johnny began, “he made a pretty good case that all of us have to fight in Mortal Kombat.”
“I’ll fight if I have to,” Sonya said. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge yet. But don’t forget what my main mission is. Once I find Kano, I’m going to put him under arrest and then it’s adiós, muchachos.”
They walked on in silence a little way father, heading in the direction of the grand hall. The flowers smelled sweet. The explosion of greenery looked like it kept an army of gardeners employed full-time.
They turned a corner in the path. “Whoo-ee,” Johnny said. “Check this out.”
A woman was standing there under the shadow of a warrior’s statue. She had an exotic look to her, with her tilted eyebrows and delicate coloring. Her body was perfectly proportioned, and covered only with layers of the thinnest translucent silks. Four ladies-in-waiting surrounded her, each as pretty as the next.
As the three companions walked by, the woman raised her eyes and looked straight at them, her gaze catching Liu and holding him as he passed.
“When a woman looks at you like that it means something,” Johnny said after they’d gone by.
“Yeah,” Sonya said. “It means she’s a bimbo.”
“Hey, check this one out,” Johnny said, pointing to a statue as they passed by. On top of its pedestal stood a representation of another alien fighter. It was humanoid, with a gargoyle’s head. The stone was worn smooth with the wind and rain of centuries.
“Old Chinese proverb,” Liu said. “Never fight an ugly man. He has nothing to lose.”
The other two laughed. Together they walked on toward the Great Hall.
CHAPTER SIX
Mr. Chu was a small Asian man, very old, dressed in a rumpled blue suit. He stood and bowed when Jax entered the command post. Jax returned the bow with a nod and indicated a seat.
“I’m told that you know something about the tournaments of Hong Kong,” Jax began, “and something about their symbols.”
He pulled the dragon’s-head token out of his pocket and laid it on the table in front of Chu.
“What can you tell me about this?”
Mr. Chu’s face suddenly grew very pale, and he seemed even older than before.
“This…” he said. “This, I cannot tell you. There are only legends. And they are not mine to tell.”
“Well, whose are they?” Jax’s voice was quiet, but he had raised himself to his feet and was leaning on the table, looming over Mr. Chu. “One of my team is in trouble, and I think this–” he gestured at the dragon in its circle – “is involved.”
“If this is involved, honored sir,” Mr. Chu said, looking at the clay amulet, “more than your team is in trouble. If you wish answers, I suggest you go to the Temple of the Order of Light. Perhaps they will speak with you.”
No sooner had the three companions gone out of sight through the trees than Shang Tsung stepped out from behind the pedestal of the gargoyle statue.
The demon sorcerer looked back in the direction from which the three had come. The woman in silks with her four ladies-in-waiting stood in the open under a tree. She appeared to be examining the fighters who had arrived on board the Dragon Wing as they walked past.
“The Princess Kitana,” Shang said, though who he was addressing wasn’t at once apparent. “She is the emperor’s ward. I don’t trust her. Although, or perhaps because, she is a child of Outworld, she is our most dangerous adversary in the fight against the champions of Earth.”
He paused, looking at the princess and her four maids.
“Watch her carefully, Reptile,” Shang said at last. “She must not make contact with Rayden’s chosen three. Especially the most dangerous of our adversaries, Liu Kang.”
After watching the princess for a moment more, he turned and strode away, his embroidered robes swishing with his gait, in the direction of the Great Hall.
The weathered gargoyle statue opened its eyelids to reveal a pair of pale green eyes. Reptile fixed its unblinking gaze on Shang until the sorcerer, too, was lost from sight, then swiftly clambered down from the pedestal. A scowl flashed across its hideous face, before it ran off, with a hip-swinging motion, deep into the statuary garden.
The sound of drums beating in a deep rhythm swept over the garden. The sound was heartbeat-paced, the tone low. It made the air vibrate, the sound penetrating the bones of its listeners, as if the heart of the world was audible. Those fighters who had not yet passed through the garden picked up their pace and headed toward the place whence the sound originated: the Great Hall.
Among those entering the Great Hall were Johnny, Liu, and Sonya. When they arrived, they found it to be already filled with people – and other creatures – of all descriptions. A busty woman with long brown hair stood near the door. She carried wooden darts, each painted with red enamel, their red points of another material. The darts were arranged in sheaths fitted to her forearms. Nea
r her stood a taller man, with claws on the tips of his fingers. When he smiled, he revealed sharp fangs pointed like a cat’s. The sound of the drums was overlaid by a babble of voices speaking in every imaginable language.
“This place is bigger than a football stadium,” Johnny said, looking around him as he entered. The crowd pressed him in on every side. Thick, spicy smoke clouded the air.
Sonya nodded. “I make it about two hundred meters from here to the back wall. Maybe a couple of thousand people.”
Open beams braced the roof high above their heads. From each beam hung a huge silk banner marked with the sigil of the dragon’s head in the open circle. Beneath the roof beams long balconies supported by carved stone pillars ran along either side of the hall. Musicians filled the balconies, playing drums and flutes in a weird, discordant sound.
The sound of the flute made Johnny’s pulse race, at the same time as it filled him with misgivings. “Just based on the background music,” he whispered, “I’d say we’re in trouble.”
“Gee, I’d already figured that out, bright boy,” Sonya whispered back as they walked, together with Liu Kang, down the middle of the hall.
Beneath the balconies, the walls were all made of carved stone lacework. Torches stood out from the walls and lamps hung from the ceiling beams or stood on iron stands, filling the shadowy interior with flickering light and shifting shapes.
The uncertain lighting kept Liu Kang from noticing at first that the non-human and grotesque figures from the garden of statues were represented here in the flesh. Then he realized that nor far away from him stood a being with the head of an eagle, the body of a lion, and a tail like a snake.
“I hadn’t believed the legends,” he muttered, “not even when I was telling the others about them…”
Johnny Cage seemed unimpressed by the strange creatures that moved among the banquet guests. He swept out his hand to show the ranks of tables along the sides of the hall. “What do you think, do we sit with the friends of the bride or the friends of the groom?”
“Looks like most of the people are over on the left side,” Sonya said. “Most of the humans, anyway.”
Mortal Kombat: The Movie Page 6
