And I’m on the floor, sitting on my ass. My cheekbone is throbbing. It feels like he hit me, but what the hell just happened? I didn’t see anything!
The ref comes into the ring, and raises my opponent’s hand, pronouncing him the winner, and I’m still sitting there as everyone starts cheering for the other guy. Did I black out or something? I rub my cheek where he must have hit me, and my fingers come away bloody. He broke skin, too. Quite a hit. How did that happen? Why didn’t I see it coming?
I roll up onto my feet and wander out of the ring, and meet with my sifu on the side. He nods at me, proud I’ve done as well as I have, but he can tell I’m disappointed. Years of training, practice, and meditation…to have come this close. I try to smile, but wind up shrugging, and head back to my car.
I get to the studio early to meet up with Sifu to review the video of my match. He meets me in the cramped office at the back of the studio, and moves some paperwork off a stool so I can sit next to him. He pulls up the file the tournament officials had sent him, and we get ready to watch.
“You did really well the other day. Perhaps the best you’ve done,” Sifu said.
“But not good enough, hunh?”
“No matter how good you are, there’s always somebody better.”
“I guess. I just wanna see where I messed up. I was sure I was going to win that match.”
Sifu nods and clicks play on the video. The whole thing is only a couple of minutes, so we don’t have to wait long. I see a few spots where I left openings, and grin a few times when I caught my opponent’s lags. I watch the status bar, and there we are, coming close to the end. He starts his spinning dance thing, inching closer to me, and then I’m on the floor, and his fist is out.
I hear Sifu catch his breath. I turned to look at him, and he’d gone pale, his eyes wide.
“What—” I start.
“You must go,” Sifu said. “Now!” And he practically chases me out of the studio. I stand outside in the slush, looking up at the sign for Kwan’s Kung Fu, wondering what to do now. It’s too early to go to work, and too long a drive to head back to my apartment to study. I pull out my cell phone and call the tournament organizers.
“Hi, this is Pete Jones,” I say to the woman who answers.
“Hi, Pete. How can I help you?”
“Well, I was in the competition last weekend, and have a question.”
“I remember you, Pete. You fought well. What’s your question?”
“Thanks. Um…my opponent that final round. Can you give me his contact info?”
“Aw, Pete, you know I can’t do that.”
“At least his name. I’m really not looking to settle a score outside the ring here.”
“Yeah, but how do we know that?”
“I want to know what happened! That’s all! You saw the fight, right? Where the hell did that punch come from? I want to learn that technique, cuz I’m stuck between furious that I lost and awestruck that he won with one punch outta nowhere.”
“I hear ya, Pete,” she says, and pauses. “Look, I’ll tell you his name, okay?”
I sigh. “I guess that’s a start.”
“And he’s local, so you should be able to find him.”
I perk up at that. She’s clearly trying to help me out. I’ve been competing at their events for years, so they know be by now. Finally, I might catch a break, here. “Thanks! What’s his name?”
“His name is Shun Jian.”
“Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”
I sit in my car outside the address I dug up for Shun Jian. It’s a simple apartment complex on the edge of town. As the late winter sleet comes down on my windshield, I try not to nod off while watching for this guy.
And then I see him. He has a backpack over one shoulder, and a baseball cap on, but it’s him alright. I hop out of my car.
“Shun Jian?” I call.
He spins. “Who are you?” He speaks slowly, with a heavy accent. Chinese, yes, but something else, too.
“Pete Jones. We fought at the tournament last weekend.”
“The match was not personal.”
“I know, I know…I just…”
“This is not a good time for me, Pete.”
“I need to know how you did it.”
Silence. He just looks at me. “Are you sure you wish to know?”
“Damn right I am.” I feel the heat rising.
He just looks at me, then he steps forward. “I am not sure you are ready.”
“Who the fff—”
“Do you want to learn this? This is not everyday training.”
“Fine with me.”
“You do not understand.”
“How can I? You haven’t said anything!”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I must go. Meet me at Edgewood School, Saturday morning at 8. Can you be there?”
“Yeah, I can be there.”
He turns to walk away.
“Hey,” I call. “Thanks.”
“We shall see about that,” he says over his shoulder.
A dusting of snow lies on the ground around the school buildings as I lean further back into the shelter of the entryway, trying to keep from shivering. I can see my breath as I watch the parking lot. I’m early because I don’t want to miss this chance, and some people can be particular about timing.
“You are here. Good,” comes a voice from my left.
I try to conceal the fact that I jumped by coughing into my hand. “Yeah, but the building is closed. Do you have a key?”
“We do not need a key for where we are going to be working.” He leads the way across a courtyard and over to a covered walkway. The whole school was very modernist, and decorated with brightly covered squares and rectangles in the windows and on some of the walls. Every single building seems to be made of brick and right angles, and the walkway, covered by slabs of concrete held up by metal-pipe columns, connects each of these buildings.
Shun leads me over to a corner of the walkway near some stairs, and he vaults onto the metal-tube stair railing, and then up onto the top of the covered walkway. I follow. I’m as nimble as he is. Mostly. He’s probably done this before though, so it’s kind of cheating.
Anyway, I see him on top of the walkway, and we’re now on a tar-covered strip that runs all the way around the courtyard, and changes in height a few times, where there are stairs in the walkway underneath.
“Are you warmed up?” he asks me.
“Not r—” I begin, and find myself pulling back from his first punch.
I sweep at his lead leg. He pulls it out of the way and kicks at my knee. I hop upwards, and flick a front kick at his abdomen. He steps back, just out of range, and lunges in just as I’m coming back down. I stumble backwards, and he takes advantage of that, punches at my face and gut, kicks at my legs and hips, and even throws a blade-hand strike toward my eyes. I manage to get out of the way of all of them. One or two of them tag me, but it’s nothing serious.
I fall backwards as something hits me in the calves. I hop up and back, and realize we’ve gotten to an area where our walkway has abruptly risen a bit. Shun continues attacking, and I keep backpedaling, fending him off.
Until I finally get a shot in. I sidestep a straight punch, duck down and dart forward with my elbow leading. I land a solid shot on his floating ribs. I hear the breath whuff out of his lungs, and I press on. I knee him in the thigh, and shoot out three quick punches: solar plexus, sternum, and throat. I feel him teetering backwards, and cock my leg for an epic, finishing sidekick.
Shun steps back and rights himself, quicker than I thought possible. “Good. It looks like you’re warm now.” He grinned at me. “So, you want to know how I beat you last weekend?”
“Yes. I need to know how you did that.”
“You need to? This isn’t a simple or easy technique. It involves pain and sacrifice.”
“Doesn’t all Kung Fu?”
“Not in this way. This is something else. T
his is more than just Kung Fu.”
“Oookaaaay…” It finally hits me. I finally place what’s been bugging me about his voice. Shun Jian talks like a much older guy. Sifu is in his early sixties, but Shun talks like some of those venerable old Chinese masters in bad Kung Fu movies. It’s almost silly.
“I am serious, Pete. Yes, there are elements of it that hearken back to Bagua Zhang, but there is a completely different element to what is happening in this technique.”
“I—”
“I can see that I am losing you. For now we shall focus on the physical aspect.” With that, Shun demonstrated a series of moves that I mimic. He tweaks and corrects the motions, and we keep at it. For hours. It’s far more complicated than I had thought, and according to Shun, the slightest deviation from the exact, means that the technique will fail and just be a series of pretty moves.
Despite the chill in the air, I’m dripping with sweat. After a while, my vision begins to blur. No, that’s not it. I must be hungry or something because my hands are sliding in and out of focus, but everything else is crystal clear. I stop, knitting my eyebrows, and look over at Shun.
He’s grinning ear to ear. As if reading my thoughts, he asks, “Are you ready for a break? Are you hungry?”
“Yes and yes,” I reply.
“I thought we would be here for a while, so I took the liberty of preparing something for us. They are no longer hot, but should suffice.” He gestures to some old-style stackable metal bowls, held together with a nylon strap. He squats next to them, and opens them up, offering me dumplings, noodles, vegetables, and broth. Simple, but delicious.
“So,” Shun starts as we eat. “What did you see?”
“I musta been tired or something.”
“Why?”
“Well, my vision got all weird. It happens sometimes.”
“Are you tired?”
I stop for a moment. “No,” I realize aloud. “I’m not.”
Shun raises his eyebrows and flashes a brief smile. “So what is it you saw?”
“I saw my hands blur, as if they were moving too fast for a video camera to capture.”
Shun smiles again, and nods. “Very well then, back to work. To stay familiar with the kind of movement you need, we will fight again, and you will only use the circular movements of Bagua Zhang, is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us begin!” And he lunges straight for my throat. I step forward and to the side, slapping his hand out of the way, and dropping into a crouch to grab his lower leg. He pivots, cocks his leg, and brings his heel up into my chest. I hop back and around him. His foot swings out and locks my ankle as his forearm hits me in the throat. I drop backwards into a roll, and come up, grabbing at his lead hand, and spinning into a lock, pushing him away.
The dance continues. Fists fly. Feet snap out. Limbs are locked, and counter techniques applied. The Sun begins to set.
“Good work today, Pete.”
“Thank you, Shun. I…hm.”
“What is it?”
“Well, at first, I thought this was going to be a meeting of equals where I just learn one new technique, but this feels a lot more like I’m working with a visiting Master.”
“You flatter me.”
“No, I’m serious. You have a lot to teach me. Thanks for taking this much time…”
“I sense hesitation.”
“Oh? Well…”
“What is it?”
I sigh. “I’m not trying to push the issue, but are we going to get to the technique you did last weekend?”
“Yes, but not today.”
“I…understand.”
“As you have sensed, Pete, there is more to this that you first thought. Happily for you, your skills are quite advanced already, and you are close. Practice. All week. Do not stop. Practice the form I taught you, and if you go to study with your sifu, practice the Bagua Zhang in class. We will meet here next Saturday morning at the same time.”
Shun raises his hand, so I put mine up for a high five. I realize, though, that he’s holding his hand out for a handshake. I grin, and shake his hand. It’s funny, though, because I first thought Shun was my age, but he’s not: he’s older. As he smiles before we leave the school, I see wrinkles around his eyes, and his black hair is peppered with gray.
It’s been a long week. I pull into the Edgewood School parking lot about ten minutes before eight. It’s a sunnier day this time. Warmer, more humid with all the snow turning to slush. Last week was cold and gray.
Between my part-time job at the local big book store, the two classes I’m working on for my degree, and Kung Fu practice, the past week has been busy. I couldn’t focus on any of it, though. I’d been too caught up in practicing the form that Shun taught me last week. Not only was it a problem that I was more interested in this than anything else, but it appeared to be messing with my perception of things. I’d get into my car after work, and then be home eating dinner, with no memory of anything in between. Then there was the time that I was sitting in the lecture hall, and everything stopped. I sat there, and wondered if I’d dozed off and everyone had left, but no. They were all still there, but sitting and standing like statues, mouths open in mid-sentence. And I blinked and it was back to normal. It was as if time had stopped and started again. The worst was when I’d stopped, but time kept going. One of the junior students punched me in the eye while we were sparring. Everyone said I’d suddenly stopped moving. I’d gone by Shun’s place to try to find him to talk to him, but never found him.
We have lots to discuss today, cuz this is too weird, and I need to know what’s going on. At first I thought I just needed more sleep or something, but as the week moved on, I realized that these episodes became more frequent the more I practiced the form Shun taught me. I’d broken out in sweats when I first realized that. Crazy. Too crazy. How could any of this be real? It feels like a dream as it all happens, but it’s all real. Scary.
Maybe I should have stopped. Maybe it should have made me crazy. Honestly, though, I kinda get excited. I suddenly make a connection…
“You arrived early again,” Shun says from around the corner.
“That’s how you did it,” I say.
“I beg your pardon?”
“How you won the match two weeks ago.”
Shun just watched me and raised an eyebrow.
“You…you somehow manipulated time. That’s what this technique does! Oh my God! I kept slipping in and out, speeding up and slowing down while people around me wondered what the hell was going on. I can’t…I mean…I finally get it.”
“You are quick to understand, Pete. We only need to take the final step now, and you will be able to do it, too.”
“And control it? Cuz I’m not loving the whole spontaneous thing in the middle of sparring.”
“So I see from your black eye. Yes, there is an element of control.”
“Yeah, good. I’m gonna need that.”
“Indeed. Now, to get us into the proper frame of mind…” And he sucker punches me. Or tries to, anyway. The thing is, I have time to think about it as it happens. I’m used to fights seeming slower when you’re in them, because I’ve been doing it for years. This time, though, I actually have time to observe the fist oozing forward. I watch it approach my face, and observe Shun’s body as it starts to settle. I then look to see if I would be better positioned inside the punch, right up against Shun, or outside the punch possibly by his back. I even have time to think back over the week, and I realize this is the first time this is happening to me at the right moment. I step down and inside the punch, grabbing Shun’s wrist and ankle, and I wait for full speed to resume. It does, and I twist and lift Shun. The result is nothing short of stupendous. I no sooner rise from my crouch than Shun is flying beyond me into the slushy mud.
I jog over, trying to hold back giggles. Suddenly I feel like a new superhero. I need to think of a good superhero name. And an outfit. Do I need to keep my identity a secr
et? Hee-hee! Or is there some way to cash in on this? Most importantly, and I almost trip as this one hits me, why am I thinking any of this is even close to normal? I stop where I am, and chills run through me. My gut drops. How the heck can this be happening? I look over at Shun. He’s getting to his feet, wiping mud and slush off of his clothes, watching me.
“You look pale, Pete.”
“I feel like shit, Shun.”
“Why is that?”
“I—”
“You have suddenly realized that this is not accidental, yes? That this is real. And yet, this cannot be reality.”
“Sure…I…I guess. Something like that.”
“Walk with me.” Shun turned and walked to the edge of the school grounds, and steps out into the woods beyond. He set an aggressive pace, and I am half-jogging to keep up with him. I watch how smoothly he’s moving and realize he knows this path very well. He comes this way often.
Beyond the dancing over roots and ducking under unexpected broken branches, I notice that there is a fog building up. The temperature, too, is rising. The woods take on a hazy, dreamlike quality as I follow Shun deeper into the forest.
Finally, Shun stops and turns to me in the middle of a clearing. “Close your eyes and clear your mind, Pete.”
I stop, and suck in deep breaths, closing my eyes. I let my mind quiet. Doubts and fears about what’s happening continue to come up, but I let them slide by. I feel my heartbeat slow and my breathing come back down to normal. I open my eyes.
“There are just a few more steps, Pete. You are almost there, having progressed far faster than others I have trained through the years.”
I grin. “Just how long have you been doing this, Shun? You’re not that much older than me, y’know.”
Shun looks sad for a moment, then he chuckles. “Let it suffice to say I am older than I appear to be. Now…” Shun leaps at me, but the way he moves chills me to the bone. He appears to stretch across the fifteen-foot space between us with a giant leap/step, and his fist is flying at my face. As I have been practicing, I spin and twist out of the way, dropping into a crouch, and I thrust my left leg out at his lead leg.
The Dark Rites of Cthulhu Page 16
