Demon Hunters (Chi Warriors Book 2)

by Ino Lee

  Li examined his knife’s point. “These demons move faster than I expected. It is no wonder they have such reputations.”

  “It is fortunate more Koon Gee have not joined their ranks, at least by the look of their tracks,” Shian said.

  Xiong popped a cracker in his mouth and agreed. “We cannot expect that forever. Let’s catch up before that happens.”

  They finished up and drank more chi water. Li swished the liquid in its container; that too was running low. A long, thin footprint was found and Li scratched another line in a tree.

  “One more push,” he said.

  After a brisk run, a new hope emerged. Xiong stopped and hunched, touching the ground.

  “What is it?” Shian said.

  “A new set of tracks.”

  “More Koon Gee?”

  “No—Kai’s.”

  They gathered around the footprints.

  “They are forcing him to walk,” Shian said.

  Xiong analyzed the distance between the steps. “They are slowing down. Perhaps they are too tired to carry him.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Li said.

  Shian smiled. “At least we know he is well. This is good.”

  Li smiled back. “Yes, this is good.”

  32

  THEY WERE ALL in the Koon Kagi together—Li, Tae, Han, and Ko Hang. Wong was glad they had come, but felt uneasy about their presence, like they didn’t belong and something bad would happen if they remained too long. Suddenly, Renshu and the magaus were there too. Worry grew in the pit of his stomach. He turned and saw Grandmaster Gao and a crew of elders, boisterously scolding him for bringing them into the dark land. Soon everyone was yelling at him. Everywhere he looked he saw angry mouths. Their incessant chide echoed in his head and filled him with rage, driving him mad.

  In an instant they were all dead. He was breathing heavily and saw his crystal sword full of black energy, dripping with blood. Why did he kill them? Why was it so easy?

  There was swamp water next to him, perfect for washing the guilty stains off his sword. His demonic black eyes reflected in the water, but what startled him most was the image of Kai, standing across the way. What was he doing there? Why had he come? Had he come to judge too? He grew angry and lunged.

  Wong’s heart raced. This was the worst one yet. He sat up in the hollow tree and saw Jaguan, Renshu, and Toutoumo sleeping. The opening at the top showed that dawn was about to break.

  Something was on his face. He felt a mask and removed it, finding the red gaze of Shenren. How did it get there? He didn’t remember putting it on. His dream was still fresh and he glanced again at everyone in the enclosure. Was he a danger to them?

  He exited the tree and stumbled out into the dead grove to clear his mind, first checking for danger, then meditating once determining it was safe. His nerves were frazzled. He had temporary bouts of uncontrolled behavior while wearing the masks, but never unconscious activity. This was different. Being in the Koon Kagi, indulging in the dark energy, bathing in the mud pool, and wearing the masks—they all took a toll. He was stronger now than before and wondered if he could even take on the kaigun-shur without Jaguan, but he was losing control. Either the dark chi was fueling a dormant lo-shur within him, or it was just changing him completely.

  The dream was now a distant haze, its details fading as quickly as a stray thought, though he could no longer pretend the nightmares didn’t matter. He wished his brother was there so he could confess to him. What advice would he give and would it even matter? He imagined his brother would say the exact same thing as Jaguan, and he had a tendency not to follow anyone’s advice but his own. The best thing to do would be to shun the dark chi and destroy the masks, but he couldn’t do that until their mission was over.

  He gazed in the direction of the Temple of Masks and distinctly felt the kaigun-shur. It would not be long before the demon’s time came. Just a little longer and it would all be done, then he would destroy the masks and retreat somewhere quiet where he could fade into obscurity, somewhere far away from the Koon Kagi and even Shaolin. Somewhere he could be forgotten. His part in the conflict would be done, left to others more capable. Maybe he could return to weaponsmithing with Ko Hang, but that would make it too tempting to return to fighting. He could become a toy maker, or fulfill his secret desire to become a cook, or even retreat to a deserted island and become a fisherman. He smiled. No more worrying about demonic energy, masks, and Koon Gee. No more internal conflicts and debates. He was tired of it all and already beginning to annoy himself.

  His head snapped in the other direction. What was this? He flinched at the onset of a new feeling, one that shocked and terrified him, one that caused him to forego all caution and don the mask of Shenren.

  When Jaguan and the magaus left the shelter, they saw Wong standing on the high branch of a dead tree as Shenren, silent and unmoving, fixated in one direction.

  “Do you enjoy the view?” Renshu said.

  Wong stepped off the branch and dropped unnaturally to the ground. He took off the mask.

  “I’m sorry, Renshu, our plans have changed.”

  “How changed?”

  “What do you mean?” Jaguan said.

  “The Temple of Masks will have to wait. There is a more pressing matter. Kai is in the Koon Kagi.”

  “What? How?”

  “I feel the mark moving, getting closer. I am sure of it. I don’t know how, but Kai has crossed into the Koon Kagi, I think from the Black Mountain passage.”

  Jaguan turned as if he could see. “What’s happened to Shaolin then?”

  “I don’t know, but we have to abandon our mission. We have to get to Kai.”

  “We are so close,” Renshu said.

  Wong averted his eyes. “We have to go.”

  Renshu appeared agitated. “There is this one chance, as you said. The unan are weak. Unprepared.”

  “We can’t kill the kaigun-shur now. We need its mark to find Kai.”

  “Then Toutoumo and I will go to burn this mask room. For our people.”

  “You can’t. You need us. You were right: it’s a suicide mission.”

  “We will manage.”

  “It’s too dangerous. You said so yourself and the magaus need their king.”

  “He is right, King,” Toutoumo said. “Another day.”

  Renshu stomped. “The time is now. There will be revenge for the escape of the magaus. We must strike. Cripple them.”

  “If you burn the mask room it may take down the entire temple and affect the pool,” Wong said. “The kaigun-shur draws energy from the pool to power the mark, and I need it now to find Kai. You can’t go, for both our sake and yours.”

  Renshu groaned.

  “I’m sorry,” Wong said. “I don’t mean to leave you alone in this, but Kai is more important than the temple. He is why we are here in the first place.”

  “We can’t waste any more time,” Jaguan said. “We have to go now. Renshu, you have my word, you can always find a safe haven on the other side of the Wall. Shaolin will not turn you away. Go back to your people and protect them.”

  “You laughed at this idea in the first place,” Wong said. “Perhaps for the better. At least you can walk away from this having freed your people from the ninja compound.”

  Renshu sighed. “Yes. At least we have one victory.”

  He looked in the temple’s direction and grumbled.

  “Their time will come,” Toutoumo said.

  “This won’t be the last you see of us,” Wong added.

  He approached with his hand out. Renshu shook it, causing Toutoumo and Jaguan to join in.

  As Jaguan and Wong turned away, Renshu stopped them.

  “Wait.”

  He tossed Wong the Dragon Arm.

  “This is not mine.”

 
Wong looked at it hard and said a silent goodbye, another piece of his past falling away. He tossed it back.

  “It is now.”

  Renshu was astonished. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Take care of it. It’s dear to me.”

  33

  TAE TOOK THE long path down from Mount Shaolin to Wong’s cottage. Yinshi accompanied her, much like the night when she first saw Wong and the unan attacked. Though the guardian lion-dog was no longer needed as a guide, taking her as a precaution seemed like a good idea given Shaolin’s troubles. Yinshi’s boundless playfulness and energy also had the additional benefit of cheering her.

  She woke up that morning preparing for the greatest danger of her life, in true Hunters form with full ninja garb and face paint, until realizing that a critical element of her offense was missing: she did not have any ninja stars. Although she was supposed to be a samurai with a Sun Sword, she still fought like a ninja and could not go to the Koon Kagi without them. She briefly wondered how Youta would feel seeing her look and fight as a ninja while carrying a sacred katana, but decided it did not matter—it was who she was.

  After raiding the temple’s armory that morning and also turning up empty in the Commons, she realized that Wong would be the only person in Shaolin to carry such weapons. His stock was probably as good or better than anything she could find back in Shunnan, too, and he would certainly have plenty to spare, so she left with Yinshi to get them.

  She remembered hearing the temple’s horn blasts on that fateful night as she neared Wong’s cabin, and grew more solemn at the thought that things had gotten worse since then. Poor Kai, kidnapped and alone again with the Koon Gee. And who knew what Wong and Jaguan were up to? Would Wong be able to detect Kai moving, and would they be in a position to help? It was something to hope for, but certainly not count on.

  To the left was a rock pit with remnants of the fire that was supposed to heat her tea, surrounded by a log and tree stump where they sat. She stopped at the porch and admired the surprising craftsmanship of the building. Everything looked much nicer and cozier in the morning light than what she had remembered. Perhaps her odd encounter with Wong skewed her opinion of the place, which made it seem borderline scary. She looked over her shoulder, wondering if that old owl was watching.

  At the front door, a series of latches lined the knob-side of the entrance. She sighed. It was a puzzle lock without a key. It would take all day to figure out the right combination, and even if she did, there was bound to be a trick latch that needed to be turned the right way. The whole thing seemed silly since someone could just break a window to get in, but it was a very typical thing for Wong to do. She grabbed the knob and turned it, just to see what would happen.

  The door creaked open. Tae found it odd and unsheathed her sword. She took a step in and her heart jumped, seeing horned figures by the window.

  “Yinshi,” she called, ducking back out.

  The beast bounded up the steps behind her. She felt her katana tingle, and grew strong. Were the unan hiding out in Wong’s cabin all this time? How many were there?

  Yinshi growled suspiciously. Nothing happened, so she kicked the door open for a better look. The figures were still in the same place and had not moved. She held her sword up and stepped in, guarding from all angles. It was then that she realized there was no danger and what she saw were just unan masks placed on a ledge in the window.

  “It’s okay Yinshi. Stay.”

  She went to examine them—a green ogre and a blue devil. They were shockingly beautiful in their own right with bursts of color and intricate detail, but the longer she looked at them, the more frightening they became. It seemed as if evil still lurked within. In another window on the opposite side of the room, an old man with a goatee watched her. On the table, the haunted white mask of a forlorn spirit screamed, as if it were sculpted already knowing its violent end—a hole through its forehead from an arrow. There were more broken masks stacked underneath, collected for some unknown purpose.

  Oh Wong, what have you become?

  Yinshi growled at the door but did not come in.

  “I know Yinshi—scary.”

  She looked at the window masks again and saw no puncture wounds or cracks. These must have belonged to the unan that jumped into the Infinity Pool. She refocused on the interior, almost forgetting why she was there.

  The back of the room looked like a makeshift workshop, with shelves and tables full of weapons and gadgets. A fireplace was used as a forge for Wong’s tinkering, with tongs and metalworking equipment lying on the hearth. A nearby bag of flour probably meant the forge also doubled as an oven.

  She perused the workshop’s contents, confident that a drawer or box full of shurikens could be found. She felt a gnawing discomfort as she searched, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the leering masks or that she was invading Wong’s privacy. She was surprised that she felt this way; they had once been so intimate, though admittedly things had changed since then. It was difficult to even sit through a conversation nowadays. She saw his pain as he pulled away, becoming increasingly withdrawn as his demon powers grew, and could do nothing to stop it. Wong was right; she was scared. The unan masks reminded her why.

  She pulled on a hinged drawer that flipped down, exposing a mounted weapon—two black discs connected by Yaje rope. It was Wong’s cutting cable. She reached for them and squeezed the clutch on both discs, flaring shuriken blades all along its sides. Everything looked in order. She attached them to her sides and flicked a disc in the air only to watch it return again, pulled neatly back in place by Yaje cable.

  Why did he leave it behind? The cutting cable was one of his favorite weapons. First Shin’ichi, now the cutting cables—the only thing left of what signified him as the Weapons Master was the Dragon Arm, and she’d think he’d want to be as prepared as possible going into the Koon Kagi.

  She would bring it with her. If Wong didn’t want it, she sure would. And they would be far more effective than just plain ninja stars, though it couldn’t hurt to have both. The more armed she was going into the Koon Kagi, the better. She eyed the shelf again.

  Ko Hang already had the sword disassembled on a table, the hilt removed from the blade. A hot cauldron of metal burned in the furnace, its composition labored over the entire night. Samurai were especially picky about the metal used for their katanas, and though only a small patch was needed, Ko Hang was eager to get all the details right, knowing how much the sword meant to them. Fortunately, he spent some time in Yomai and studied the art carefully. The forges of Shaolin had also been adapted to produce similar metal to that of Yomai long ago.

  Naruki pointed at the sword’s hilt. “You see: there is already a notch in the nakago for the chi shard.”

  “Ah. I’ve seen that before and wondered why it was there,” Ko Hang said.

  Youta, Takeo, Tengfei, Grandmaster Gao, and Woo all gathered around to watch. It was not often that a chi sword was being made.

  “Will the shard just be placed inside?” Takeo asked.

  “More or less,” Naruki said. “Hot metal will be poured over it, then smoothed out. It will be a patch, hidden within the hilt.”

  “The shard will bond with the hot metal and become one,” Woo said. “That will connect it to the rest of the sword.”

  “Is that how the Shaolin Sword was made?” Takeo asked.

  “No—the shard was unified with the liquid metal first, then formed. Its properties were dispersed more evenly throughout the length of the blade.”

  “When Shin’ichi was made, there was no shard,” Naruki said. “The samurai of the time created the notch, always intending for it to be filled.”

  “How will that affect the blade?” Youta asked.

  Naruki shrugged. “No one knows. It has never been done before. Shin’ichi was tempered by the Sun Pool, so its metal will still be receptive to th
e shard. The Shaolin shard was larger, but Shin’ichi has had time to grow on its own and develop a distinct personality. Such qualities are important to samurai.”

  Youta looked pensive. “I see.”

  “It can only help,” Grandmaster Gao said, sensing his apprehension over using the shard. “Infusing a weapon with the power of such concentrated chi energy can only strengthen it.”

  Ko Hang checked the cauldron. “Okay, are we ready?”

  Naruki had approved of the composition of the metal previously, but double-checked to be sure.

  “Begin,” he said.

  Hot metal was scooped out of the kettle, a few drops placed within the notch. Tengfei carefully set the chi shard, which was then followed by more liquid metal to seal it in. A little time was given for the metal to cool, after which it was worked over and heated again by Ko Hang’s skilled hand, then finished in Infinity water and allowed to soak.

  “Excellent work,” Naruki said. “We could always use skilled smiths in Yomai.”

  “No big deal; it was just a patch,” Ko Hang said.

  “A master swordsmith of Yomai can tell.”

  “Thank you. I wish there was more time to smooth and polish it out.”

  “Unnecessary. It will be covered by the handle and it looks fine. We can alter it more in Yomai, but for now, it will serve its purpose.”

  “How long must the sword rest?” Youta asked.

  “At least an hour for the energy to settle. I would prefer to soak it overnight, but there is no time. Shin’ichi will let us know if it is too early.”

  “That is an hour more than I would like.”

  Youta paced back and forth impatiently while the sword bathed in chi water, eager to test the results. He felt like a father whose child had just come out of surgery. Though it had only been in his possession for a few days, their bond was instant. The feeling of his old sword was already beginning to fade away and he was surprised by it. He thought he understood what it meant to connect with one’s samurai sword before, but realized he knew nothing. When holding Shin’ichi, he felt the imprint of a lineage of Shoguns spanning a century. The sword was meant to be in his hands.