by Snake
Seh rubbed his sweaty, stubbly-haired head as he thought about the new information Malao had given him. Grandmaster was dead, Fu had somehow managed to obtain the dragon scrolls Ying was after, and Hok was at Cangzhen keeping an eye on Ying and, presumably, Tonglong.
Malao was going to rendezvous with Hok tomorrow, and he had invited Seh to join them. Seh had several reasons he'd like to accept the offer, but he had already concluded that it would be best if he went directly to Shaolin Temple. Seh realized that while it would be good to try and get the bandits to help him and his brothers, the monks of Shaolin Temple would be even better allies. They were stronger and far more respectable than a gang of bandits ever would be.
Then again, maybe he should try and get the bandits and the Shaolin monks to help?
Enough! Seh muttered to himself. It was time to give his brain a rest. He slowed to a fast walk and began to push the items in his mind out one at a time. It was a walking meditation exercise he'd learned at Cangzhen. The more he pushed out, the more he slowed down. By the time the sun began to rise on the second day of his journey, Seh was sound asleep in a fern grove with an empty head.
Seh slept most of the day away and woke with only a few hours of sunlight left. Though he was hungry, he spent the remaining daylight sitting next to a small stream, meditating more. His connection with the world had been strained by recent events. He needed to try and reestablish the harmony he normally felt with the world around him. Not just harmony with other people, but harmony with all living things.
Seh sat with his eyes closed on a small patch of sand next to the stream, letting the endless ripples of sound wash every thought from his mind. His breathing was smooth … controlled. Slowly he began to feel alive again. Once more, he felt the energy of life all around him, flowing freely from one creature to the next. And he was part of it. Chi circulated through his body and through the birds in the trees and through the very trees themselves.
Alone, Seh was one with the universe. But when others were around, he became distracted. The only person Seh could be around and still maintain a perfect connection was Hok. And sometimes when they were alone, Seh would feel even more connected.
As Hok drifted into Seh's mind, he opened his eyes. Not surprisingly, he saw a crane standing on the bank downstream.
Seh watched it closely. It was hunting. Oddly enough, the crane's attention was not focused on the water, but on land. Its eyes were glued to a snake.
From where he sat, Seh could see that the reptile was a young beauty snake, about as long as his arm. Beauty snakes were not poisonous. They had three vibrant, distinctly different color patterns on their bodies that often made them look like three completely different snakes spliced together. This one was no exception. Most of the top half was a brilliant green, and the bottom half was solid black. A yellow stripe began at the back of its head and ran down its spine all the way to the tip of its tail. Stranger still was its head. The entire thing was bright blue—almost the same color as Seh's silk robe—and there was a thick black stripe across each eye.
Seh had never seen a snake that strange or that beautiful. He was considering taking a closer look when the crane struck.
The white head of the crane shot toward the snake with astonishing speed. To Seh's surprise—and relief— the snake sent a powerful ripple through its muscular torso, slithering out of the path of the crane's deadly beak.
The snake slithered off toward the forest. Again the crane thrust its beak at the snake, and again the snake sent a pulse along its spine.
Seh grinned, but only for a moment, as the crane hopped forward and came down over the snake. One of the crane's razor-sharp claws dug deep into the beauty snake's yellow stripe. At the same time, the snake thrust its head up and back, connecting with one of the crane's thighs.
The crane squawked and Seh jumped to his feet, heading toward the battle. He saw the crane release the snake and hop backward. It puffed out its chest and fanned its wings powerfully as the snake rose up, poised to strike again.
“Get out of here!” Seh shouted at the crane.
The crane looked at Seh and flew off. Seh saw a line of red running across its downy thigh.
The snake lay in a loose pile, bright red blood oozing out between green, yellow, and black scales.
Seh cautiously reached down to it. The snake remained limp as he gently stroked its back.
Quickly, Seh removed his hat and tore out the inner silk lining. He bound the snake's wounds with the silk and placed the snake inside the hat. The snake seemed slightly more alert, which was a good sign. Still, it didn't try to escape, even after Seh washed his hands, picked up the hat, and headed into the forest toward Shaolin.
For several days, Seh's routine was the same. He traveled all night, slept all day, and spent the time between searching for food, meditating, and tending the snake. Some of the nights were filled with heavy rain, while others were perfectly clear. It didn't matter to Seh. He accepted whatever came.
Mong had given him a route that went over numerous small, steep mountains instead of around them. It was exhausting travel, but Seh welcomed the exercise.
As the days passed, Seh noticed two significant changes. First, the snake's condition improved dramatically. It began spending most of its time on Seh's left arm. The snake seemed to enjoy resting its head on the warm pulse of Seh's wrist, the remainder of its body coiled around his arm beneath his long silk sleeve.
Seh tried letting it go several times after he removed its bandages, but every time he set it down, the snake would immediately crawl up his leg, around his slender waist and chest, over his shoulder, and down his arm. Since the snake tended to do this beneath his clothes, Seh soon stopped trying to release it and just let it tag along. He figured when the snake was hungry enough, it would leave.
The second change came within Seh himself. Or rather, without. It was his hair.
Ever since Seh could remember, his hair had grown faster than everyone else's. Most of the Cangzhen monks shaved their heads every four or five days, but Seh had to shave his every day. If he waited any longer, his hair would grow back quickly and unevenly, making his head look lopsided. Everyone used to make fun of him, except for Hok, who would shave her head as often as he did to make him feel better.
Seh's black hair was now longer than it had ever been and so thick that his hat wouldn't fit—even without the lining. Seh was trying to decide where to dispose of his hat one morning when he noticed a peculiar, smoky smell. He glanced up at the low surrounding mountains and realized it was probably Shaolin Temple. Seh followed his nose.
As the sun rose above the trees, Seh stepped to the edge of a strange clearing. More than two hundred stone monuments of various shapes and sizes reached toward the sky. He grinned. He was standing at the edge of Shaolin's famous Pagoda Forest. The Shaolin Temple compound must be nearby.
Seh began to weave through the pagodas, but after a few steps, he froze. Something was wrong. He reached out around him with all his senses and noticed … nothing. The area felt dead. He didn't even sense wildlife. He thought it might be the fact that he was standing in the middle of what was essentially a cemetery, but then he lifted his eyes toward the far end of the pagodas. In the hazy morning light, he saw smoke. Too much smoke.
Seh began to run. The wind in his face brought stronger and stronger scents of smoldering wood and rotting flesh. He reached the main gates of the Shaolin compound and stopped in his tracks.
Bloated bodies were stacked five high in neat rows near the temple's open gates. Orange-robed monks with holes in their chests lay piled alongside armor-clad soldiers with splintered spears and broken swords protruding from their necks and armpits. Half-dry riverbeds of crimson crisscrossed the ground in every direction. Seh fought the urge to retch as the smoky, putrid air circulated through his lungs and swarms of flies buzzed around his head.
Seh didn't know what to do. These were Shaolin warrior monks—the best fighters in all of China. What had b
rought about this devastation? Who was responsible? It couldn't have been Ying. This attack was at least a couple of days old. Ying would never have been able to travel this far that fast with troops.
Seh looked over at the compound walls. Near the gates, large sections were crumbling away. It looked as though an angry dragon had smashed them with its mighty tail. He glanced around and saw a line of what appeared to be gigantic qiangs. The hollow end of each was huge—almost as big as his head. Seh realized they must have caused the damage. Those weapons would make their owner enormously powerful. Whoever owned them certainly wouldn't leave them here. He would return to collect them. Seh decided he needed to hide.
He took a deep breath, trying not to choke on the stench, and hurried back the way he had come. He quickly located a large oak near the edge of the Pagoda Forest and shimmied up it. High above the ground, the air seemed clearer. Seh breathed deeply, over and over, until he felt life circulating through him once more. He remained there for the better part of the day, occasionally reaching out with his senses for some sign of life other than the snake around his wrist. Once darkness fell, he would head for the bandit stronghold to report the unbelievable news. Until then, he would wait.
It was late afternoon when the pit of Seh's stomach began to tingle. Oddly enough, the snake around his arm shivered at exactly the same moment. They both sensed the presence of an intruder. Or, more precisely, two intruders. If Seh hadn't known better, he would have thought it was a monkey and a tiger. But he knew monkeys and tigers never traveled together. He listened closely and soon heard familiar voices arguing. It was Malao and Fu.
Seh cast his focus in every direction. He hoped to hear Hok's quiet voice or sense her smooth, calm presence, but didn't hear or feel anything remotely calm.
Seh sighed and slipped down the tree. At least Malao and Fu might have some information for him. And, as frustrating as they might be sometimes, it would be good to see them again.
As Seh approached, he heard Fu announce that he was going to the temple. Seh watched as Fu headed off and was about to follow, but something made him stop. He sensed a large amount of feline chi coming from Fu's direction. Even the snake sensed it and shivered.
If Fu was emitting that much chi, he was bound to be feisty. Seh decided to let him go.
Seh should have paid closer attention to his gut— and to the snake. If he had concentrated harder, he might have realized that the additional chi was actually coming from a second feline kung fu master on the prowl. He might even have sensed the dragon that was about to swoop in like an eagle or the praying mantis that was patiently watching everyone and everything.
Can you hear me, Major Ying?” Tonglong asked. “Are you all right?”
Ying could hardly make out Tonglong's words. Ying was barely conscious, flat on his back among the trees beside Shaolin's Pagoda Forest. The grooves in his face were caked with dirt and sweat, and his robe was peeled open across his chest. His green tattooed eyelids were half closed.
“Listen closely, if you can,” Tonglong said, kneeling over Ying. “General Tsung, the renegade leopard-style master from Shaolin, rendered you unconscious with an unorthodox choke hold. I have since subdued him. The boys now have the dragon scrolls and …”
Ying felt himself slipping away again. Trying to stay awake, he focused on the first thing he saw— Tonglong's straight sword. The long, flawless blade glimmered in the late-afternoon light, and Ying's mind began to wander. A forgotten chamber in the back of his mind opened. In it were secrets from his past. Secrets that centered on another sword—Grandmaster's dragon sword.
Grandmaster's straight sword was generations old and responsible for a thousand deaths. It was almost as famous as Grandmaster himself. Grandmaster was now dead, and he would eventually be forgotten. But the sword … it, too, must be destroyed, just like the five pampered children chosen to carry Cangzhen's torch.
His mind still adrift, Ying thought back to the first time he had seen Grandmaster—and the dragon sword.
A three-year-old boy was playing with a long rope in the center of a bustling mountain camp. It was almost lunchtime, and a woman called out, “Saulong, sic fan! Time to eat!”
Saulong responded to his mother's call immediately. He was hungry. He raced to his family's elaborate tent, making sure he removed his sandals before stepping onto the thick animal skins that blanketed the ground inside.
“Leave your whip outside, Saulong,” his mother said. “You know the rules—only your father can bring his weapon into our home.”
Saulong smiled. He knew his whip was only a piece of rope, but it pleased him that his mother saw it as equal to his father's metal chain whip.
As Saulong dropped his rope and stepped inside, he heard a pain-filled scream. He spun around and peered out the tent's entrance. A few steps from where he had been playing, Saulong saw a stranger. It was a man old enough to be his grandfather, carrying a straight sword. The blade was decorated with intertwining dragons. Bright red liquid dripped off the tip.
Saulong looked behind the stranger and saw Han, the blacksmith, flopping about on the ground. Han was trying desperately to push his insides back into a large slice across his midsection. Saulong shivered but continued to stare.
“Cholong—Loud Dragon!” the old stranger called out in Cantonese. “Come face your destiny!”
Saulong's eyes widened. Cholong was his father's name! What did this stranger want with his father?
“Saulong!” his mother whispered sharply. “Get away from the door!”
“No,” Saulong replied. “I want to watch.”
“Ugh!” his mother said. “There is no doubt you are your father's son. Watch, then, and learn the ways of your ancestors.”
Saulong's mother began to stuff things into a bag while Saulong kept his eyes glued to the stranger. Within moments, it seemed every man in camp had surrounded the old man. Twenty men armed with spears and swords attacked the stranger as one.
It was over almost as soon as it began. From what Saulong saw, the stranger did nothing more than whirl his sword a few times, but nearly every man from the camp had fallen to it. The three men that were still breathing ran off.
Saulong could hardly believe his eyes. He had seen men fight before, but the men would only use their fists, and the fights never ended like this. The men on the ground all seemed to be … dead. Like a rabbit or pig before cooking.
“Nice work, old man,” a deep voice said in the distance. “I assume you're warmed up now.”
Saulong grew nervous. That was his father's voice. His father approached from the edge of camp, leading a horse.
“I found this beast tethered outside my camp,” Cholong said to the stranger. “I recognized it as yours. I'm impressed this old mare is still useful.”
“Some things improve with age,” the old man replied.
Cholong laughed. “We shall see about that.” He pulled his long metal chain whip from his sash and began to swing it. “I'm a bit more of a challenge than my men.”
The stranger didn't respond.
“Any last words?” Cholong asked.
The stranger remained silent.
Cholong hissed like a dragon and spat on the ground. “I've waited most of my life for this, old man. If you don't want to talk, let's just finish it.”
And with that, Cholong attacked. He and the stranger exchanged blows so quickly, Saulong could not follow everything. What he did see clearly, though, was his father's chain whip wrap around the stranger's sword. As his father gripped his chain with both hands and wrenched the sword free of the stranger, the stranger lashed out with a dragon fist.
The fist struck Cholong square in the face, and he crumpled to the ground. His body jerked twice, then fell still.
“NO!” Saulong cried.
The stranger looked at Saulong, expressionless, then turned his attention back to Cholong.
“Saulong!” his mother whispered. “Turn around!”
But Saulong didn't b
udge. He watched the stranger bend over and remove four scrolls from the folds of Cholong's luxurious red robe.
Saulong's mother grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. She was holding a small pack. She looked him in the eye. “We must RUN!”
Saulong's mother bolted from the tent. Saulong followed as fast as his little legs could carry him. “MaMa!” Saulong cried, racing after her. Tears streamed sideways across his face. He'd made less than a dozen strides when someone grabbed the back of his robe and yanked him to a stop.
Saulong jerked his head around and saw the old stranger.
“You are coming with me, child,” the man said in a firm voice.
“No!” Saulong screamed. He looked into the trees and saw his mother stop. She glanced first at him, then at the old stranger. The stranger raised his dragon sword and shook his head.
“NO!” Saulong said again.
Saulong's mother looked back at him. He saw tears falling from her eyes. “Never forget me,” she said in a shaky voice. “And never forget your name.”
And then she was gone.
Saulong let out a hate-filled cry and tore free of the old man's grip. He ran to his family's tent and grabbed his rope whip, then ran even faster back to face the stranger. Saulong lashed out at the man's legs, arms, and face, and the stranger stood perfectly still, silently accepting the beating. When Saulong's right arm grew tired, he switched the rope to his left. When his left arm grew tired, he began to kick. And when his legs finally gave out, the old man lifted him up and carried him to the horse. The stranger climbed on, and off they went.
As they raced down the mountain, Saulong whispered to himself over and over, Never forget my mother, never forget my name….
Saulong—Vengeful Dragon. The three-year-old didn't know what vengeful meant, but he would learn.
Seh found himself running through the forest again. This time, he wasn't alone.
“Slow down, Seh,” Malao said from the treetops. “Give Fu a chance to catch up.”
