by null
“It is purged of the evil one’s essence. Cleansed by the blessings of Po-Lin and imbued with the warrior spirit of Kuan-Kung. I have called upon all my powers to sanctify it.”
He held the amulet high in the sunlight; for a moment it seemed to radiate pure light. He fastened it around Sing’s neck.
“Remember, to the Forceful One all things are reversed. Night is day. Evil is good. The laws of the universe are turned upside down; only chaos reigns. Reverse the eight trigrams and you will triumph. Let the yin become the yang, black become white. When the strong become the weak and peace becomes war, then all things will be possible.”
He handed back the folded red paper. “Send your message. It will find him and he will come to the appointed place at the appointed time.”
Sing sat on the rock as the faint flush of sunrise turned the low moon pale as milky jade. Half an hour more and Ah-Keung would face her here. She could hear the words of Master To: The crane can never match the tiger’s strength and ferocity … but the tiger cannot guess the speed and cleverness of the crane. The tiger’s power lies not in its jaws or its claws, but in the keenness of its eyes.
As the sky lightened and threads of cloud stretched like strands of colored silk above the horizon, she sensed his presence and called out, “I am here, Ah-Keung. The sun is rising. I am ready to meet the Forceful One face-to-face in its pure light.” The challenge echoed among the crumbling pagodas.
“I could think of no better place,” his voice replied. “There is no one to know what happens here but the abbot and his thousand monks without a voice among them.” His words were spoken quietly, yet echoed like those of a whispering giant among the rocky pinnacles, invading deserted burial vaults of pagodas from another age, to be lost among the great, dark pines that rose in sweeping tiers beside them.
Her heightened senses tracked down the voice to its source behind her. In the atom of time it took to turn and face him, Ah-Keung had stepped from the shadows of the Pearl Pagoda, wearing the loose black garb of the master wu-shu fighter, trimmed and cuffed with white, smiling at the element of surprise he had so cleverly created. “The crane becomes careless, she does not see the tiger in the reed bed nor hear its breath nor sense its smell.” He drew a breath through closed teeth with exaggerated disapproval. “Have the comforts of fame and fortune made the Red Lotus less vigilant?”
As he spoke, he loosened the corded loops that fastened the jacket across his chest, laughing at her. “Did you think me a fool to meet you on ground I had not trod, in a place not known to me?” Without haste he folded the tunic and set it aside with a water gourd. “For eight days I have slept on stone as you have done, here in this Pagoda of the White Pearl. I have watched you call upon the old one, and heard you speak with him beneath the fading moon. I learned the movements of the crane, as you have studied the secrets of the tiger.”
He sniggered, once again the herd boy from the hills. “You are a vision to watch in the sun’s first light; it is a riddle yet to be solved that one so beautiful should be so dangerous. The same golden shell shines around you that once shone around our beloved master. He has taught you well.” His tone was so even, his movements so normal, that the purpose that had brought them to this high place among the honored dead seemed suddenly unreal.
“I did not wish this day to come,” Sing replied evenly, “but have always known that it must.”
He stepped into the strengthening light, kicking the canvas slippers from his feet. “It is written in our stars, Red Lotus. We had no hand in it.” He smiled at some inner thought too big to question, grinding his bare soles into the rock to find its texture. “From the moment my twisted foot led my family to cast me out, they left me with nothing but the heart of a survivor. The way of the warrior is the only path before me.”
He picked up a piece of broken tile fallen from a pagoda roof, grinding it to dust between the millstones of his palms, not boastfully but in preparation for what must come. “And you, Little Star,” he continued, dusting his palms and stretching the sinews of his neck. “Did the gods of happiness not turn from those who gave you life because they wore a different skin? What of the gods who spoke to the old woman who carried you to the lake? Was it not they who brought you into the world of the White Crane?” His voice had risen in anger, his eyes a well of sadness that made her silent heart reach out to him.
“If this time and place are not of our making, and its purpose none of our choosing, then why must we fight, Ah-Keung? There is great truth in what you say, but this irony has given us great strength. We two have the power to change the course of our stars. We have learned to take control of the sun and the moon of our existence—to defy the voices of destiny if we must. There is no dishonor in this.”
He shook his head, and in that rare moment, the eyes that looked into hers were the eyes of a deserted child. “Such a decision will be blessed by the abbot,” she said, “of less importance to the monks than a quarrel of the hawk and the sparrow. No one else will know that we turned our backs to the face of karma.” Was the child in him within her reach? “Must one of us die for the bad joss sticks of our parents? We have given our hearts and minds to the mysteries of earth and sky, devoted our lives in search of perfection in mind, body, and spirit. We can challenge the will of the gods, you and I.”
Ah-Keung shook off her words as a dog sheds water from its coat. “We cannot change the Way of the Warrior. Once the path is taken, there is no turning back.”
He padded catlike around her, in his wide-legged pants tied by a crimson sash. “We have waited far too long for the sun to rise upon a rock that knows no master. Our si-fu is not here to judge us; only you or I will know who leaves this place and who does not.”
Sing made no reply, knowing her words had failed. Her eyes entered the black depths of his without fear, seeking the weakness she knew was there. There is a fraction of time faster than a blink that shows the intention before the act. This is true of the cobra before it stikes… . We must not miss this fragment of eternity, or it may be our last. It is the infinite space between life and death. We must not allow this to evade us.
There was a clatter of something tossed at her feet—the birth bracelet once worn by the Fish. “A pity the old witch can no longer advise her precious piglet.” His words were now brutal in their mockery.
The threads of cloud had woven themselves into molten strands to celebrate the coming of daylight. “As our beloved master looks down from his temple in the sky, he will see Red Lotus, his last disciple, face the skills of Black Oath Wu.”
She turned with him, never taking her eyes from his, as he moved in a wide circle. “He is here,” she said coldly. “My si-fu lives through me. The amulet no longer holds the cobra’s venom. You are a coward, Forceful One. The challenge of change is too great for you. You could not face the master on the rock, so you poisoned him. A defenseless old woman was easily felled with a single blow. Now you prepare to face a woman in mortal combat. There is nothing for you to be proud of, dog boy.”
He seemed not to hear, but his smile had flown. “All great masters must eventually fall to the hand that once obeyed them. It has been the Way of the Warrior for a thousand years.”
Sing answered with studied contempt. “Eye-to-eye and hand-to-hand, not by deception and betrayal.” She played on his anger. “You are a thief and a liar, Ah-Keung. While I have pursued a life of hope and found my truth, you seek only the darkness of false gods. I am no longer the child afraid of spiders, but you are still the herd boy with a twisted foot.”
Ah-Keung strutted before her, stretching and testing his limbs. “I have often wondered what he taught you that he would not teach me. Have you remembered? Do you practice the art of spiritual boxing? Do you fight me in your dreams?” His tone was confident, almost frivolous, a man speaking to a wayward child before punishment.
As he closed his fists, the muscles of his chest and abdomen twitched and the snarling face of the tiger seemed to spring to li
fe. She stood perfectly still, silhouetted against the vivid sky. Time and distance dropped away for those alone upon the forgotten plateau of Lantau Island. The great temple bell boomed like the voice of Buddha, rising with a distant mantra, the shimmering vibrations of a thousand throats at prayer.
The tiger circled the crane, murmuring soft threats meant to unnerve her. They were meaningless words she did not hear, like the screech of gulls carried on the wind, as she awaited his first move.
It was a cautious move, merely testing her reflexes, and was easily repelled. They analyzed each other’s strengths and weaknesses, attuned to the slightest sight or sound that might betray a flicker of fear; observing the steadiness of breath, the depths of stamina, the cycle of chi. In lightning strikes too fast to see, the claws of the tiger took the measure of the wings of the crane. Iron bone clashed with iron bone, as grasps and locks were evaded, grips broken, kicks that would shatter any ordinary limb or destroy an internal organ deflected and returned. The defensive dance of the crane rose with ease from the path of the tiger, its feet as deadly as tooth and claw, its lethal beak sheathed like a sword.
The words of her master were as much a part of her as the measure of her chi: To take the upper part, first feign at the lower; to cut the lower part, first feign at the upper. To attack the left, be aware of the right; to attack the right, be aware of the left. Take care of both upper and lower parts; correlate the left and the right. Block and then attack at the first instance; attack and then block at the first instance. Defense should be accompanied by attack; attack should be accompanied by defense. It is an expert who wins without blocking in advance; it is the defeated who only blocks the opposing strike but does not attack simultaneously.
Ah-Keung spun away, whirling to face his opponent at a distance of several paces. “We have tried each other for many precious moments, yet we hardly sweat.” He grinned his slanted grin. “Perhaps there is something to be said for the barrel of a gun and the speed of a bullet to settle old scores.”
Turning his back on her, Ah-Keung lifted the water gourd by its tasseled cord, pouring its contents over his head. He swilled water in his mouth, spurting some at her feet, tossing the gourd for her to catch. “Drink, Red Lotus. Taste the sweetness of water while you can.”
Sing widened the space between them before pouring cold water into her open mouth. Her eyes left his for the sliver of time it took to lift the gourd, closing in less than a blink as the water splashed her face.
A blade sliced viciously through the air, so instantaneous she had no time to recognize the lethal buzz of the Shaolin Dart, only the silver blur of its passage and the scarlet streak of its flight. Too late she leapt high, but his timing was perfect. As if her ankles were bound by steel, she crashed to the rock with no hope of balance, striking her head in a blinding flash and rolling sharply into a chasm of blackness.
Ah-Keung’s voice reached her from afar—from the Place of Clear Water, perhaps, or the shadowy corner of the herb shed. Her face was slapped from side to side until the warm, metallic taste of blood began to choke her. The slapping ceased, and his hard hand patted her cheek affectionately. “That’s better, my Little Star. It would be an insult if you slept before I am finished with you.” Consciousness returned to Sing in a wave she was careful not to show, as his fingers closed upon her throat.
She knew with absolute clarity what had happened. She had heard many times of the Shaolin Dart, a weighted blade kept straight by a swallowtail of red ribbon and secured to a length of twine supple as silk and strong as steel. Easily hidden by wide-legged trousers or about the waist in the folds of a sash, it was the tongue of the snake in the hands of an adept. That he would conceal such a weapon had not occurred to her, and she cursed herself for a fool. That which the eye can see should not trouble you. It is what you cannot see that you should fear.
He slapped her harder. “Wake up, Little Star. Did the old one not warn you to beware of tricks? I am disappointed. I did not think it would be so easy to overcome the Red Lotus.” His thumb shifted from her jaw, probing behind the carotid artery. “But did you really believe that a disciple of the black Tao would allow a girl with the heart of a chicken to stand against him in the mortal combat of masters?”
As the ball of his thumb found the silent pulse that would paralyze her limbs but leave her senses heightened, she called upon the words of the hook-maker: Let yin become yang, black become white; reverse the eight trigrams and you will triumph. She feigned the tremor and wide-eyed stare of paralysis as he loosened the cord that bound her legs. She felt the garments ripped from her limbs, his knee forcing her legs apart. The pressure of his thumb increased; her vision swam as her life-force began to drain like blood from an open wound.
His breath was hot on her face as he searched her blank eyes with an ugly grin of triumph. “I have wondered for so long who would steal the precious cherry of the great Red Lotus … or would it be given freely? Was it the boys from the reed-cutters’ camp? Did you yield to the Japanese whore and her wooden prince, or barter it for old money bags at the Nine Dragons?” He shook his head wisely. “I do not think so. The taipan Ching would not pay so highly for soiled goods. So, has the one with golden hair and the eyes of a woman been there before me?”
He leaned closer, his foul tongue lapping at her face as he pulled the drawstring of his pants. “We shall see. If he has been the one to make you squeal, then I will kill him slowly.” She felt his stiffened shaft jabbing, prodding to enter her. She called upon the source of her chi, the crucible of power reserved for just such a moment. The words hissed through his teeth in an ecstasy of hate. “When I have finished with you, the sun will be gone and you will think you have been mounted by a herd of mountain goats.”
In his haste he did not detect the sudden movement of her cupped hands. They flew wide and with explosive force struck his ears simultaneously. A stream of bloody mucus shot from his nose, plastering his cheek like a weeping scar, his wide-eyed shock instantly eclipsed by a thunderclap of blinding pain. She knew precisely what he felt: The implosion of the blow within his brain cavity would rupture both eardrums in a sea of vivid stars; the vibrations would ring in his deadened ears and penetrate his head like a white-hot blade, crowding his skull like the boom of the temple’s great bell, persisting with endless peals of pain.
The agony would take only seconds for one as trained as Ah-Keung to control—long enough for her to roll from beneath his weight and find her feet, kicking aside the loosened cord. The ear slap of the iron palm could have been fatal, but the keenest edge of her chi had been deflected by the pressure of his thumb. She had time to draw upon the pristine currents of mountain air, nourishing her internal strength with every vital breath.
The strike had left him unsteady, shaking his head to clear his vision, his nose flowing like a spigot as he drew a forearm across his face, flicking the bloodied flux from his fingers as he rose to face her. “You are clever, Little Star—your chi flows like a river.” He grinned hideously, groping for the water gourd, his burning eyes absorbing hers, unblinking as he poured the remaining water over his head. “No longer afraid of the forest cobra.” He spat copiously at her feet, smearing his chest with a bloodied hand. “Or the tiger in the reed bed … The old one taught you well.”
Red Lotus was beyond the reach of hate, awed by the sense of power that welled within her like a boiling spring. Her heartbeat barely quickened, she felt humbled by the damage she had done with such immediacy and ease. She stepped away from Ah-Keung’s advance. “It is not too late. You have struck, and so have I. None but the gulls will know we parted here.”
He tossed the empty gourd away, its hollow rattle loud among the rocks, shaking his sodden hair as a wolf would shake a rabbit, as though he had not heard her. “I once thought of granting you a sudden and silent end—of letting you die with a warrior’s dignity.” His words were slurred as he dropped into the crouching tiger form, shaking his head to clear his vision. “But now I want to h
ear you scream. I want the monks of Po-Lin to stop their chanting, to search the skies for the hawk and the sparrow, and listen to you howl before I have done with you.”
She breathed in his words as she would a sudden gust of sea air. Such naked fury could spell his downfall—all skill and discipline, all stealth and strategy, a lifetime of training tossed aside in the lust to kill.
Red Lotus waited calmly for the frenzied charge she knew must come. Her arms rose like arcs of steel, loosely erect, as the rising sun tipped the eastern horizon, flooding the oceans with its pure light, sweeping the rocky summit like a vast blade of fire. Red Lotus felt it hot across her back, reaching over time and distance to protect her with its radiant aura as it had done upon the Rock of Great Strength. She drank the air to replenish her chi, and drew upon the forces of the universe to enter her body through the Heaven Door at the top of her head.
Her feet were bare upon the rock, the grip of her toes summoning its ageless power to feed her roots—to anchor her, solidly, immovably … or to release her as lightly as the smallest feather is lifted by the slightest wind. The shadow of the crane grew in dimension, long and wide until it dominated the battleground like an avenging gargantuan, inviting the tiger’s attack with open arms. She felt the great bird enter her, lifting her on rippling wings, surer, lighter, and higher than ever before, evading his wild rush with the mechanism that had been set and coiled within her for so long it had become a second sense … a force much greater than her woman’s body that needed to be freed.
The full glare of the sun smote the twisted face of the herd boy as she heard the shrill cry of the crane echo through the old pagodas. Her arms arched higher, dropping with the swiftness and weight of the hammer that strikes the anvil. The right blocked the tiger’s strike to her throat, absorbing the full shock of its power upon her forearm. She willed her chi into the marrow of the slender bone, turning it for that fraction of an instant to steel, as her hooked fingers struck his dazzled eyes. Her blow drove deep, the heel of her hand breaking the bridge of his nose with a meaty click. She heard the words of Master To spoken from a place deep within, but as real as the burning stroke of the sun: The power of the tiger is in its golden eyes.
