GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two

by J. Gabriel Gates

  The couch was at least a foot below him; then two feet, then three. He was floating, suspended in mid-air. He could feel hands on him, holding him up, but when he looked there was nothing there. Then, his broken arm started to burn and then to twitch. The pain grew until it was almost unbearable—a hard, cold ache that went through him and threatened to snap every bone in his body into a thousand pieces, like some kind of human jigsaw puzzle. He looked at his broken arm and to his horror, he saw movement under the skin, like the pieces of bone were twisting, grinding, rearranging themselves. The pain was beyond anything, beyond everything he’d ever felt or imagined. He was screaming with all his might but all that came out of his choked airway was a pathetic, high-pitched moan.

  Orias was standing in front of the sofa, his arms spread wide, his eyes closed. His long hair floated up and away from his face as if it were also levitating. His brain starved for air, Rick felt himself sinking into a hell of darkness and soul-rending agony.

  I blacked out, he thought a moment later as he sat up on the couch. Orias was looking down at him, smiling.

  The substance in his mouth was moving now, loosening, and he could feel hair on his tongue and scurrying little feet scratching against his teeth. At last he was able to get his lips apart and he opened his mouth as wide as his jaw would go.

  A fat, black rat scrambled out, tumbling from his saliva-soaked chin down to his chest.

  Rick screamed, and the disgusting rodent leaped to the floor and took off into the shadows. He leaned over the edge of the couch and retched until his eyes felt like they would pop out of their sockets. And then he jumped up and grabbed Orias by the front of his shirt.

  “You think that was funny?” he shouted and he cocked back to punch Orias in his smug, pretty face. But when Orias looked directly into his eyes, Rick forgot why he was angry.

  “Ah . . . are you going to hit me with that fist?” Orias asked calmly. “I thought your arm was broken.”

  Rick blinked. He let Orias go. Looking at his hand in awe, he opened and closed it. Then he stretched out his arm. The cast now lay on the floor beside the couch, split in two. His arm didn’t hurt at all. He made a motion, like he was throwing a football, and there was no pain. His arm felt stronger than ever. He was completely healed.

  “I can’t believe it,” Rick said. He could hardly wrap his mind around it. “This is awesome. How much do I owe you?”

  Orias put a brotherly arm over his shoulder. “For now, let’s call it a favor between friends,” he said as he led Rick toward the door. “When the time comes, you’ll do any favor your friend requires—won’t you? Just like you promised.”

  “I will,” Rick said, and he meant it. “Whatever you ask, man, it’s yours.”

  Chapter Ten

  The following afternoon, Raphael stood in Master Chin’s kwoon, practicing his attack approaches. There had been flurries the night before, and they’d left a thin layer of powdery snow on the grass and the trees, but Master Chin had stoked the wood-burning stove that sat in one corner of the barn, filling the place with a comforting warmth.

  Raphael’s training was going well—he had even caught his normally invincible sifu with a few good strikes. This time, though, when he went in for the attack Master Chin easily intercepted him and countered, rapping him on the forehead with one knuckle. Raphael stepped back, rubbing the spot.

  “Ow,” he said.

  “Ow is right. Imagine if I had a knife, then you’d be saying more than ow!” Master Chin laughed good naturedly. “Break time. Sit.”

  He pointed to two beanbag chairs near the wood stove. Raphael walked over to one of them and plopped down, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. As he watched, Master Chin poured some apple cider from a plastic jug into a saucepan and put it on the wood stove to heat up. Warm apple cider had been a wintertime tradition in Master Chin’s kwoon for as long as Raphael could remember; it was the reward for a long day of hard training. But when Chin came over and sat down opposite Raphael, he didn’t look entirely pleased.

  “On the last attack your mind was elsewhere, Raphael. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

  Raphael nodded, but he wasn’t sure how to respond. Ever since the Flatliners had battled the Toppers a few weeks before, he had wanted to talk to his sifu about some of the weird things he and Zhai had seen—and fought—but he hadn’t known how to bring it up. Sure, he and his kung fu teacher had discussed Shen and magic and the All—primarily, Raph suspected, so Chin could prepare him for that fight.

  But since Halloween, things had settled into a comfortable, complacent normalcy and the events of that night felt less real, less believable, even to him. And Master Chin seemed more committed than ever to keeping Raphael focused and centered, wasting not one moment of their training sessions, which didn’t leave much time for questions.

  If Raphael had been waiting for the right time to talk to him, this was it.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I was thinking about something. But it’s kind of strange.”

  Chin chuckled. “I would be surprised if it were otherwise.”

  The old kung fu master poured their warm cider into mugs and added a stick of cinnamon to each. When he rejoined Raphael at the chairs and gave one of the cups to him, Raph spoke again.

  “Well, first—I went back to the gym the other day and took another look at the hole that opened up when that wall collapsed.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Aimee went with me. We went down there and looked around. There are tunnels under the entire town, Sifu. Man-made tunnels, like some kind of excavation.”

  “Interesting,” Master Chin said. As usual, Raph couldn’t tell whether he was surprised or not. “How far in did you go?”

  “Far. The one we were in went under Middleburg and all the way to the North Tunnel.”

  “And then?” his sifu prompted.

  “Then we heard Aimee’s mom calling out to her—she’s been missing for eight months, you know.”

  Master Chin nodded.

  “We followed her voice toward the Wheel of Illusion. She has to be lost in one of the worlds—or times—that the Wheel connects, we figured. That must be why we could hear her. But the place the Wheel took us . . . it was horrible.” Raphael shook his head, remembering it.

  “And Emily Banfield wasn’t there.” Master Chin surmised.

  “No,” Raphael said. “I promised Aimee I’d help her get her mom back, but if we keep winding up in random places—or times—sooner or later we’re going to get ourselves killed. I need to learn how to use the Wheel, to get it to take us to the right time. I was hoping you could help me.”

  Master Chin went to the stove and refilled their mugs. He gave one to Raphael, then sat down again.

  “The Wheel is a manifestation of Shen, the All,” he began.

  “Wait,” Raphael said. “You mean Shen and the All are the same thing?”

  “They are,” Chin agreed. “Shen exists constantly, in all things. It is a purely good, creative force. Those who move with Shen, in the direction it leads them, will reap its blessings. Those who follow it perfectly, with perfect purity of heart, will be filled with its power and become invincible. Those who depart from it, or who oppose the pure goodness of its ways, will reap suffering and, in the end, death. That principal is sometimes called the law of nature, the law of karma, or the law of sin. Cause and effect. What you reap, you sow. This is why I teach you and Zhai the Wu-de. It is the part of the law of Shen that applies to martial artists. Follow this law, and you are protected. But even if you are the most powerful warrior in the world, yet you oppose the pure and good will of Shen, you will ultimately meet your destruction. Does all that make sense?”

  “Yes, Sifu,” Raphael said. “I mean, I understand but I still don’t see how it will help me work the Wheel.” As he blew on his cup of ho
t cider and took a tentative sip, he noticed Chin’s smile.

  “I think ‘work the wheel’ is not quite the way to approach it,” said Chin. “You don’t work it. You tap into the power, the power of Shen, so Shen can work through you. Then you will be able to control the Wheel—instead of having the Wheel control you.”

  “How do I learn to do that?” Raphael persisted.

  “Meditation,” Master Chin said, and slurped his cider.

  Raphael nodded. He’d tried to meditate every day since his battle with Oberon, but with everything going on in his life, getting his mind quiet, tranquil and receptive seemed almost impossible. “Okay,” he said. “I can do that. So how long will it take until I’m able to control the Wheel?”

  “How long does it take for a caterpillar to become a butterfly? Or to make a lying man honest? How long does it take for a miser to become generous? Answer those questions and you will know how long it will take.”

  Raphael sighed, sat back in his beanbag, and took a big sip of his drink. Sometimes he hated it when Master Chin started getting all Zen and wise, especially when all he wanted was a simple answer. Besides, if the only way he could learn to use the Wheel was to meditate every day until someone like Jack Banfield decided to start being honest and give all his money to charity, he’d be waiting a long time.

  The lesson was clear enough, though. If he was going to learn to tap into the power of the Wheel, he’d have to develop his connection with Shen. And to do that, apparently, he’d have to learn patience. Not the greatest thing for a guy like him, whose favorite thing in life was throwing punches and kicks at the speed of light. But if that’s what he had to do to help Aimee, he’d do it.

  “All right,” Raphael said. “I’ll meditate every day. But I have to wonder if it was really Aimee’s mom’s voice we heard . . . last time Aimee heard it, Oberon was using it to lure her into the tunnels. What if he comes back?”

  “Raphael, you cannot live your life on what-ifs. The truth is in you—you can feel it. What do you believe? Is Mrs. Banfield lost in one of the tunnels, or somewhere beyond?”

  Raphael hesitated. “Well, I heard the voice, too. And Aimee believes with all her heart it was her mom.”

  “Is hers a heart you can trust?” asked his teacher.

  “Yes,” he said, finally understanding. “It is. We’ll find Emily Banfield. I’ll meditate every day.”

  Chin nodded, satisfied. “A wise man’s questions surpass the answers of the fool, but the silence of the enlightened is divine. Meditation is the key.”

  “I understand,” Raphael said, setting down his cup of cider. “Oh,” he added eagerly as he shot to his feet. “I think I might have figured out the Strike of the Immortals. You want me to show you on the punching bag?”

  But Chin was already shaking his head. “Nope,” he said. “That’s not it.”

  Raphael frowned. “But I haven’t done anything yet!”

  His sifu only gave him an enigmatic smile. Raphael sat down again and finished his cider. Then, feeling renewed and focused, he stood and bowed to Master Chin. After he called Beet to come pick him up he headed out into the snow.

  

  Not long after Raphael left, Chin heard a knock on the thick wooden door of the barn. His eyes were closed and his mind was distant, lost in the deep folds of a meditative journey. It was with some reluctance that he ended his session and opened his eyes. He already knew who was knocking, and he stood to greet her.

  “Come in,” he called, and the door swung open.

  She wore a puffy white vest with a fur collar, designer jeans, and leather boots that came up to her knees. Her hair was short and dark, her frame petite—a bit too thin, perhaps—but there was an unmistakable gleam in her eye that Master Chin liked instantly.

  “Hi, Master Chin? I’m—”

  “Aimee,” Master Chin said with a smile, “I know who you are. Raphael has told me a lot about you. Welcome.”

  At the sound of Raphael’s name, a lovely blush swept across Aimee’s cheeks, but she continued. “I’ve come to ask you something. A really big favor.”

  “Yes?” he replied.

  “I . . . I’d like to train with you. To learn kung fu. Please.”

  Chin stared at her blankly, waiting to see how she would respond to his intransigence.

  “Pretty please?” she said.

  Chin couldn’t help but laugh, but before the girl’s confidence deflated he said quickly, “Now, now. I’m not laughing at you because of your request, only because I’ve never had anyone ask me quite that way before. Tell me, why is it you would like to learn my art?”

  “Well . . .” She looked away for a moment, but Chin saw the pain in her eyes. “I guess everyone knows my mom is missing. Raphael promised to find her for me, but I can’t let him do it alone. I mean, she’s my mom, not his. I have to help him, but there’s no way I can do it unless I get stronger. So I thought maybe you could show me a few things.”

  Master Chin nodded slowly, taking the girl in again. It wasn’t just the light in her eyes—there was an unmistakable depth about her, too. A depth of which she was not yet entirely aware. And her sorrow and longing for her mother were genuine and haunting.

  “Well,” he said. “Your request is certainly sincere, but I have reservations. First, learning kung fu the way I teach it is not something to be taken lightly. I cannot simply show you a few things. This is an art. A lifestyle.”

  “I understand,” Aimee said. “I’m totally committed. I already went through a lot to be here. I had to sneak out of my house, walk all the way downtown, get a taxi, and follow Raphael out here because I didn’t know where you live. Then I had to hide outside, freezing my butt off until he left. And if my dad finds out I’m not at home, he’s probably going to kill me—literally. Trust me, I’m committed.”

  Chin’s smile faded. He could see she had potential, but she wasn’t ready for training. Not yet. “You’re very small, even for a girl,” he observed. “You really think you can learn to be a formidable fighter?”

  “I know I can.”

  Chin looked into her eyes, and he knew she believed it. She might not know if she could fight, but she was willing to die trying. Maybe too willing.

  Chin turned away from her, looking around the barn.

  “I can pay you,” she said quickly. “Whatever you normally charge, you can double it. I have a trust fund from my mom and when I turn sixteen, I’ll have access to some of it—a lot of it. If you can extend credit until then.”

  Finding what he was looking for, Chin crossed to an empty horse stall beneath the hay loft. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, returning with a board about an inch and a half thick. “If you can break this board with your fist, I’ll train you.”

  The girl looked at the board, her eyes wide. “Right now?” she asked meekly.

  “Right now. You break this board, I’ll train you—for free. We’ll start today.”

  Pensively, Aimee looked at the board, clenching and unclenching her right fist.

  “What do you think?” Chin asked. “Can you can do it?”

  “Yeah,” Aimee decided, unzipping her vest and removing it, revealing a soft, cashmere sweater beneath. “I can do it,” she said.

  Chin watched with mild amusement as she stretched out, hopped up and down, and paced back and forth across the barn’s worn floorboards, psyching herself up.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Chin said, smiling.

  “Okay,” she said. “Now.”

  He held the board out in front of her, gripping it solidly in both hands, and she stood in some approximation of a martial-arts ready position and took a few deep breaths. She bared her teeth, looking truly savage for a moment, and cocked her arm back. Then, she struck with all her strength.

  There was a tock sound like a rock being thrown against the side of a hou
se, and Aimee pulled her little fist away, wincing in pain.

  Master Chin looked down at the board in his hands. There was a tiny dent where one of her knuckles struck, and a small smear of blood. Otherwise, the board was completely undamaged. Aimee was cradling her hand.

  “Let me see,” Chin said.

  He took her hand and looked at it. A couple of her knuckles were swollen and red, but nothing was broken.

  “I can do it,” she said quickly, trying to hide her pain. “Let me try again.”

  Master Chin chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. “It was a very good attempt,” he said. “I’m glad to see you have spirit.”

  “So . . . does that mean you’ll train me?”

  “No, I’m sorry. A deal’s a deal. But when you’re ready, the board will be here.”

  

  Aimee took a taxi back into town. Feeling empty and sad, she stared out the window at the ghostly outlines of snow-covered trees. She had thought Master Chin might not be willing to train her, but the possibility had at least given her something to hope for. Now she felt powerless. She’d felt that way her whole life, and she was sick of it. She knew Raphael was only trying to keep her safe, but no one was doing anything to keep her mom safe. And if she had to go back to Mountain High Academy without knowing what had happened to her mother—especially after hearing her voice in the tunnel—she would go crazy for real.

  The knot of frustration in her stomach seemed to shift suddenly, and she realized it was more hunger than nerves. She was ravenous—she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and then it had only been a slice of toast and some juice.

  “Hey—excuse me,” she said to the driver. “Would you pull over in front of Little Geno’s? Just wait outside for me. I want to get some food.”

  She’d already been gone for hours; her dad or Rick had had probably found out by now and she was already in big trouble, but she was too hungry to care. The cab stopped at the curb and as she crossed the sidewalk, she realized there was something different about Little Geno’s. She paused, staring at the yellow and red sign and the plate glass of the storefront, perplexed, until she realized that it wasn’t Geno’s that was different; it was the building next to it.