War (Chi Warriors Book 3)

by Ino Lee

  “Many buildings are on fire, but the damage is mostly in the southern quarter. Their purpose is unclear. They have spread out and settled inside of buildings and may resort to guerrilla warfare.”

  “Their purpose is chaos,” Xiong said, looking up from the note. “A supply run was supposed to arrive this morning. Did it make it?”

  “No,” Shin said glumly.

  They remained silent for a moment.

  “The implications of our victory at the canyons is magnified,” Han said. “There is now a war on two fronts. Where would we be if the war towers were still in play?”

  Xiong shook his head uncertainly. “Not a good place.” He stared in the direction of Hanai again. “Several hundred Koon Gee could not have made it over the Great Wall without notice. Where did they come from?”

  “I would guess Tanjin,” Han said.

  They looked at Shin.

  “It’s likely,” he said. “Tanjin is on the verge of collapse, though it has not yet fallen.”

  He passed another message to Xiong, who perused it with the same care as the first letter without looking up again.

  “Shoukui?” Han finally said.

  Xiong sounded glum. “It’s Tengfei.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Remember what you said about returning home to Guilin someday?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t plan on it anytime soon.”

  5

  THE UNIVERSE COMMUNICATED in a myriad of ways; sometimes he saw light and images, other times it came in the form of sound: a hum or a buzz, a loud cry of some far-off creature, and occasionally a voice or a whisper. He attributed the flashes of light and humming noise to that of the universe’s sheer energy; somehow he had tapped into its cosmic frequency. The images and voices, however, were representations of actual happenings in the world, whether it be the recent past or present, and on very rare occasions, the future. Master Woo referred to them as echoes of the universe. They were often random and meaningless—a woman’s laugh, the hiss of a dagwai, or the sight of clouds passing over the moon. One time he thought he heard his parents laughing.

  This particular echo, however, startled and unnerved him. He heard a little girl’s voice, one that sounded somewhat familiar, one that cried out a single word: Hojin.

  Kai’s eyes popped open and he stared blankly at the Emerald Pool’s clear waters. He had often come there to meditate alone, seeking the solitude and openness of the mountainside over the closed chambers of the more potent Infinity Pool. It was, in fact, by the Emerald Pool that he experienced more of the universe’s echoes, whereas he felt more of the universe’s energy by the Infinity Pool. He supposed the milder energy and isolation of the Emerald Pool made him more receptive to echoes.

  How should he interpret this latest echo? The cry sounded like it came from Hojin’s sister, Ting. Although he had only met her a handful of times, he was sure of it. She sounded like she was in pain and anguish, and needed her brother badly. Could there be some other Hojin in the world that was the intended recipient of the cry? Could he have mistaken the sound? Was it imagined?

  He shook his head. He had to trust his abilities. His powers of sense and perception were among the strongest in Shaolin, which, according to the elders, showed the most promise since Grandmaster Tienkow. When Wong freed him from the mark a little over a year ago, he felt it immediately, like a shackle had been loosed on the flow of his chi. Soon after was he able to pick up his first echo. He remembered it clearly. He had just been rescued from the Koon Kagi and placed in the Great Wall’s northern tower for safekeeping, finding nothing else to do but meditate. The image of a wild and demonic Wong slaying kaigun-shur flickered in his brain. He meditated longer, hoping to see more, but the echo was gone. That was his most significant vision, and ever since then, he’d been only able to see fragments of echoes and random events, most often of things occurring nearby. Until now.

  This echo seemed far away. He couldn’t shake the feeling of panic, like he was there with her when she screamed. It was impossible to ignore and he had to tell Hojin about it.

  He left the Emerald Pool and made for the temple, where Hojin was now living and training. Ever since Hojin had been stabbed in the leg and kidnapped by unan, he’d become a different person. He worked like a madman, day and night, completely focused on increasing his skill. One morning Kai found him climbing and descending the temple’s steps on his hands, only to run into him again at night and learn that he had gone the entire day without stopping. The temple elders rewarded his dedication and progress by moving him from a warriors’ quarters into the temple, making him the second youngest resident besides Kai. Though Kai suspected part of it had to do with Grandmaster Gao’s desire to keep him closer to the temple instead of wandering off with Hojin, he held his tongue. Hojin was deserving and would be able to receive better training at the temple regardless of how he got there.

  He descended a hill and crossed a bridge before taking a path to the temple’s western wall. It was still morning, and Mount Shaolin came to life with the strengthening sun: rays bounced off the sweeping rooftops, courtyards, gardens, and the bright white walls of the Shaolin Temple. The scenery fell flat on him that morning, however; the echo still gnawed on his mind. It wasn’t just the fact that he heard Hojin’s name, or even the sound of the anguished voice that cried it—there was something more to the echo, a feeling he wasn’t sure how to interpret, a feeling that made him think he was needed. He wished he could have talked to the monks about it, but the last person to have had true expertise in the subject matter was their former grandmaster, killed when the unan attacked on the night of the One Hundred and One Demons. He sighed. Even if Grandmaster Tienkow were still alive, there was probably not much he could do. Visions and echoes were extremely personal. After all, how could someone else help him interpret his own feeling?

  The outer walls of the temple loomed large and he passed through its open gates. A guard greeted him and he waved in return. Inside, Shaolin warriors trained in the courtyard.

  Jung, a temple steward, passed his way.

  “Hello Kai,” she said.

  “Hi, Jung. Do you know where Hojin is?”

  “Oh, I was just about to get him. Well, not Hojin, but Master Riyon.”

  Kai looked confused.

  “Master Riyon is training with Hojin,” Jung clarified. “They’re in the northwest warriors’ quarters.”

  “Oh, I see. I just passed it. I can get them. I know where they practice and I need to talk to Hojin.”

  “Could you? Can you tell Master Riyon he is being summoned to the Infinity Chamber, at once? I think it’s important.”

  “The Infinity Chamber? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. All I know is that we received a message from the Great Wall. Something about Hanai and Tanjin. A council is being organized.”

  Kai looked lost in thought.

  “Kai?”

  He snapped back. “Did you say Hanai?”

  “Yes. Why? I can get them if you like. I shouldn’t delay any longer.”

  “No. I’ll go.”

  “Are you sure—”

  Kai turned abruptly and ran off. Jung watched him suspiciously.

  “Whirl. Cross. Whirl. Cross,” Riyon said, twirling a three-section staff.

  Hojin mirrored his movements with an identical weapon: three sections of wood that were joined by metal links.

  Riyon continued his movement. “The three-section staff is a most complex weapon. Concealable. Versatile. It can flail, block, trap, choke, disarm, and whip at three different ranges. It can strike over a shield or wrap an opponent’s legs. It is, of course, hard to control.”

  He wrapped the weapon around his back and held it in place, locking it with both arms.

  “Use it as you would your arms.”

  Hojin
did likewise, and nodded.

  “Now attack!” Riyon commanded.

  Hojin moved forward and lashed out at long range, which Riyon simply slapped away with the short sections of his staff. Hojin advanced his attack by whipping the weapon around his back and lashing out, then hauling it in and rolling out strikes in short range mode.

  Riyon was forced to adjust his position and trap Hojin’s weapon.

  “Aha. You’ve been practicing. When?”

  “All week.”

  Riyon looked surprised. Hojin broke free and rattled off a new round. Wood clacked and sounded off at such a furious pace they might as well have been playing musical instruments. Though Riyon was advanced in age, his movements were strong, controlled, and deliberate, a stark contrast to Hojin’s unrestrained and frenetic form.

  At a break in the action, Riyon saw the opportunity to tangle their weapons again. He spun their arms around and disarmed Hojin.

  Hojin huffed.

  “Excellent,” Riyon said. “Now how did I beat you?”

  “You’re too good.”

  “No. I didn’t beat you with skill. I beat you with this.”

  He tapped his head with a staff end.

  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t headbutt me,” Hojin said.

  Riyon shot him a look.

  “Sorry, master.”

  “Would you joke like this with the other instructors?”

  “No, master.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because then they wouldn’t think I took practice seriously.”

  “Yes.” Riyon stared longer to make his point. “Now how did I beat you?”

  “You trapped my weapon and disarmed me.”

  “What did I say the three-section staff could do?”

  “Block, trap, and disarm.”

  “You are faster than me, Hojin. I hardly moved, yet you came at me so I could block, trap, and disarm. Why did you do this?”

  “Normally I wouldn’t, but I didn’t think you would be prepared for my moves.”

  “I am an elder fighter and a master of the three-section staff. Did you think one week of practice could overcome my skill?”

  Hojin grinned. “No. But I came close.”

  “Many of my enemies could say the same. They are dead now.”

  Hojin dropped his head. “I see, master.”

  Riyon sighed. “You can’t force things, young one. What is your rush? Once your skill arrives, and you are not far, the thing that will set you apart is your brain, not your skill or effort. Many strong and skilled warriors have entered into battle. The smart ones survive.”

  “I will try to fight smarter.”

  “Why do you think I agreed to train you?”

  “Because I said I’d do your chores.”

  Riyon smiled. “Ah, yes. That too. But also because I knew you were clever. I knew your potential. Don’t lose that part of you.”

  “Yes, master.”

  Hojin retrieved his fallen weapon, twirled it, then locked it behind an arm. “Can we go again?”

  “No more training for today,” Riyon said.

  “But why?”

  “You are training too hard. You will burn out like a candle.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You need more balance. It’s good to practice to increase skill and get chi flowing through your veins, but you need balance, too. Meditate and channel your chi. Increase your power, then use training to hone it.”

  Hojin nodded, but looked disappointed.

  “Why are you in such a rush to train so hard?”

  “I need to be effective.”

  “Your work ethic is commendable. Now heed my words.”

  “I won’t be caught helpless again.”

  Riyon knew Hojin’s fears and sympathized. He tried to imagine what it was like for him when the unan attacked on the Night of the One Hundred and One Demons.

  “Hojin, that was a difficult time for all of us. Many fell, but you survived. You can’t always be in control.”

  “I can try.”

  Riyon sighed. “I am too old to be your trainer. Here, come sit. I need rest.”

  He gestured toward a bench. They took seats in the quiet courtyard, the white cobblestone ground a favorite training location of Riyon’s because he believed its blank canvas allowed warriors to better focus on their tasks. Normally, there would have been Shaolin warriors practicing in groups or performing tai chi, but most of the warriors in this particular part of Shaolin had been deployed to Tanjin or the Great Wall.

  Hojin opened a canteen and offered it to Riyon, but he waved it off.

  “It’s cold chrysanthemum tea,” Hojin said. “Your favorite.”

  “Ah,” Riyon said. “You’re a good kid.” He took a sip. “Now tell me, Hojin, I explained why I agreed to train you, but now it is your turn. Why did you ask me to train you, of all the warriors in Shaolin?”

  “Because you are the greatest fighter here. You’re the only one on the council of elders.”

  “I am old. Surely there are better fighters, better trainers. My time has passed.”

  Hojin smiled. “At least you’re the smartest.”

  “Now you are finally learning.”

  “Can I ask you something? Who do you think the best fighter is?”

  “The best fighter? You mean besides me?” He laughed and took another sip. “That is a tough question. It’s hard to say for sure. Who do you think?”

  Hojin thought for a bit. “The Shoukui?”

  Riyon hesitated. “Yes, the Shoukui. Strong, skilled, and a master tactician. You do know that I trained him? He may even be smarter than me. A good choice for the best fighter in Shaolin.”

  “What was he like when you trained him? Was I like him?”

  “No,” Riyon said bluntly. He laughed. “But not everyone is the same.”

  Hojin frowned and took back his canteen.

  They relaxed for a little while longer. Hojin was tempted to start practicing with his staff again. Not long after, Kai appeared.

  “Master Riyon,” he called out. “Jung said you were needed in the Infinity Chamber. It’s important. Something about Hanai and Tanjin.”

  “That’s strange,” Riyon said. “I can understand Tanjin, but what about Hanai?”

  “I’m not sure. That’s all Jung told me.”

  Riyon found it concerning. “Well, it seems like our lesson is truly over for the day.”

  “I need to talk to Hojin, but Jung made it seem like you were needed now.”

  Riyon nodded. “Okay. I will leave you two to go about your business. Remember to meditate, Hojin. Perhaps you can do it with Kai. I understand he is an expert.”

  He got up and touched Kai on the head as he walked by.

  “Riyon,” Hojin called out.

  The elder fighter raised a brow.

  “When I asked you about the best fighter before, you were going to say Wong, weren’t you?”

  Riyon smiled. “No, I fully agreed with your assessment. Xiong is the best fighter in Shaolin.”

  “But Wong’s no longer part of Shaolin.”

  Riyon grinned again, tapped his head, and walked away. Hojin didn’t like his vague response.

  Kai looked at Hojin like he was crazy. “Of course Wong is the best.”

  Hojin rolled his eyes, then held out his canteen. “Chrysanthemum tea?”

  Kai shrugged. “Sure.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about anyway?”

  Kai took a sip. “Oh,” he said in a more serious tone. “This is going to sound strange, but I think Ting is in trouble.”

  6

  THE TANGLED ROOT forest teemed with activity: jungle birds pecked at tree trunks to snap up scurrying insects and pick out delectable morsels from their
hidden nooks; furry primates groomed their young and kept them cautiously near for fear of the forest’s many dangers; wild hogs tore through the underbrush, clearing neat little tunnels with razor tusks. Amid all this, the magau squadron moved covertly, gliding in perfect unison through lush tree boughs that intertwined midair, intent on carrying out their daytime mission in secrecy.

  Wong could feel a hint of energy hum through his body, signifying their proximity to the lo-shur’s radiance pool.

  “We’re getting close.”

  “Within the lo-shur range?” Renshu said.

  “Soon.”

  The monkey-men came to a stop in a giant banyan, lean and muscular figures with shades of brown, blue, and gray that were scattered across various levels of branches, barely making a sound and rustling the leaves as gently as a summer breeze. Wong noted all this and was impressed, even though he was already familiar with the way these particular magaus moved—Renshu, Shiki, and Koku—having seen and fought with them on many occasions.

  “Which way?” Renshu asked.

  Wong pointed between trees. “That way.”

  “Why don’t you wear the Houzon mask? There may be trouble.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Renshu shot him a questioning look, then stood with the Dragon Arm and addressed the others in a hushed voice.

  “Be ready. Lo-shur may be close. We have come to look and see. Master Thief will make a plan.”

  The magaus nodded and were off again.

  Wong considered Renshu’s words and was amused at being referred to as a master thief, something the magau king often called him whenever a plan was needed. The thought only offered a brief moment of levity, however, as the gravity of the actual task began to weigh in. If he could not find a way to break the Koon Gee’s main advance, the Tangled Root Forest would fall. There would be no easy solutions. Many months of battle had made the Koon Gee wise to their tree tactics, making their raids increasingly futile, and the latest push by the Koon Gee was their most powerful and aggressive yet. Wong hoped careful surveillance would unearth a weakness or a vulnerable section of their advancing path. He was skeptical that something meaningful could be found, though he wouldn’t know unless he tried. At this point, he had nothing left to hang their hopes on.