Tiger (8 page)

“But—”

“But what?” Ying said.

“There is something else, sir,” Commander Woo said, his eyes wide. “The men are convinced they are being watched. That is all they keep talking about. I believe them, too. I feel it myself. The men think that some of the dead have already become hungry ghosts, and that they are watching—waiting for us to go to sleep so that they can devour our souls.”

“Then tell the men to stay awake!” Ying shouted. “NOW GET TO WORK!”

Ying turned away, shaking his head.
Superstitious fools,
he thought. For a moment, Ying considered telling Commander Woo that he was right to believe something was watching because he felt it, too—and he was pretty sure he knew what it was. In the end, however, Ying decided against it. He didn't want his men to be any more distracted than they already were.

F
u tossed and turned on the chilly, damp ground, stuck somewhere between awake and asleep. Each time his mind sank below the waves of consciousness, the same three questions would arise and his brain would bob back to the surface.

Why did Ying do this?

Where are my brothers?

What should be done with the scrolls?

The questions were relentless. Nothing in his previous training had prepared him for this. He had always relied on instinct, reacting to outside forces. Never before had he battled forces within himself. And never before had he been in a position to choose his own path. Even though he hated it, a course had
always been laid before him by Grandmaster. But Grandmaster was gone. Fu would have to forge a path of his own.

“Always remember, you represent Cangzhen.”
That's what Grandmaster had said back at the temple during the attack. Fu knew that
Cangzhen
meant “hidden truth” and that Cangzhen's founders had once been wanderers like he was now. Wherever the founders traveled, they had been the defenders of Truth and the deliverers of Justice. Fu realized that he was obligated to do the same.

But where should I go?
Fu wondered.
What should I do next?

Fu pleaded to his ancestors for some kind of sign, and as his mind sank into the depths of unconsciousness one more time, he thought he heard an answer.

Somewhere in the distance, a tiger screamed and men cheered. Fu awoke instantly, springing to his feet, his large, bald head narrowly missing the low rock outcropping that had sheltered him while he struggled with sleep. Someone was torturing a tiger. He could hear it. He could feel it. And he wasn't about to stand for it. After all, he was a Cangzhen warrior monk. It was his duty to defend Truth and deliver Justice. With the sun just beginning to show itself above the treetops to the east, Fu checked to make sure the scrolls were secure in the folds of his robe and raced down the rocky mountain slope back into the heavy forest.

Fu was well aware that knowing your enemy is
often the key to victory. As he ran, he struggled to remember what little he knew about tiger hunters. Hunters—if they could be called that—would dig a large pit in the middle of a tiger trail, line it with sharp bamboo stakes secured deep in the ground, and cover the pit loosely with brush. Then they would set up a “drive.” Armed with long spears, the hunters would walk in a group along a tiger trail, making a tremendous commotion. Tigers preferred to steer clear of people, so the tiger being hunted would run ahead of the group in an effort to stay out of the way, usually sticking to the path it routinely followed. If it wasn't careful, it would fall into the pit, landing on the spikes, impaled and stuck at the bottom with little or no mobility. The hunters would come running—but not to end the animal's suffering. Instead, they would slash the tiger repeatedly with the razor-sharp metal tips of their long spears, tormenting the tiger for hours until it slowly bled to death.

Men did this simply to make themselves feel powerful. They called themselves “sport” hunters. Fu was not about to let any man make himself feel powerful at the expense of an animal. Especially a tiger.

Before long, Fu was close enough that he could hear men talking. He slowed down. There seemed to be three men and a boy—one of the voices was quite small. Two of the voices were so loud and brash, Fu thought half of China could hear their boasting. Those two were certainly hunters.

“How strong you are, good sir, standing before the beast's offspring so calmly,” the first hunter said.

“And how brave your son is at your side, wielding his spear,” said the second hunter.

Fu grew enraged.
Bravery? Strength?
These men had dug a hole and tricked a tiger. What did they know about bravery and strength? Fu's eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. He would teach these braggarts something about bravery and strength.

Just then, something whimpered. Softly once, then louder a second time.

“Stick him again, brave boy!” the second hunter shouted.

“No, no!” the first hunter said excitedly. “Don't
stick
him,
finish
him! Finish the little monster while I finish his mother in the pit!”

There was a short grunt from the person with the small voice, and then another whimper—followed by a huge roar. So there were
two
tigers! A mother in a pit and her cub off to one side. Fu rushed toward the voices, scanning the ground as he ran. Without breaking stride, he reached down and grabbed a fallen tree limb about as long as he was tall. He snapped several small twigs off the old, dried-out branch, throwing them to the ground. What was left in his hands was a makeshift staff that was so old and dry it would most likely shatter upon its first impact. But all he needed was one shot. Fu lowered his head and bounded through a line of tall, dew-drenched ferns.
When he burst out the other side, he was running at top speed.

Taken completely by surprise, the hunters saw a large, robust, orange-robed boy racing toward them carrying a long, crooked stick. His head was bald, and large beads of dew clung to it, glistening in the early-morning light. The collar of his robe was streaked with crusted, dried blood on one side, and his cheek on that side seemed to have a patch of moss growing out of it. Fire burned in his eyes as he headed first one way, then changed direction slightly and went straight for the hunter standing closest to the pit.

Sometimes a slight change of direction can make all the difference—for better or for worse. When Fu first burst into the clearing, he saw a large tiger cub off to the right, cornered against a wall of rock by a Gentleman clad head to toe in shimmering green silk. A small, similarly dressed boy about Fu's age stood next to the man, holding a decorated spear. The boy timidly poked at the cub while the man stood stern and silent, his arms folded across the front of his elegant robe. Fu was on his way to stop the boy when he saw two hunters standing over a large pit. One of them was poised to launch a spear with both hands. Fu recognized that position. That was a final thrust stance. That hunter was about to finish the mother tiger. Fu changed directions in mid-stride.

Uncertain of whether he should act or react against his oncoming attacker, the hunter with the
raised spear hesitated as Fu approached. Fu recognized the man's hesitation and threw himself to the ground. Fu rolled forward hard and fast over his right shoulder, then popped up onto his feet and lunged forward, powerfully thrusting one end of his stick straight out with both hands. Fu anticipated significant resistance when the end of the stick met the hunter's midsection, sending the man flying backward into the pit. One cannot even begin to imagine Fu's surprise when the stick met no resistance whatsoever.

The second hunter had managed to knock Fu's target out of the way the very moment Fu started his roll. With nothing there to receive the energy from his mighty thrust, Fu's unchecked momentum carried him directly into the pit.

T
he mother tiger lay on her side at the bottom of the pit, a long bamboo stake sticking straight up from the ground through one of her hindquarters. A second stake protruded from her abdomen, standing firm as the skin of her belly rode up and down its shaft every time she shifted positions or took a deep breath. Embedded in her shoulder was the broken shaft of a decorated spear.

Without warning, a large man-child suddenly sailed into the pit headfirst with his arms out before him. The tiger roared in anger and twisted her head up and back, eager to latch onto something with her ferocious jaws. When she felt the man-child's sleeve brush against her muzzle, she clamped down with all
her might. There was a tremendous crunch, and the man-child twisted in midair. His arm came loose from his body, shattering into a thousand pieces. Two heavy, bare feet stomped down hard on her rib cage, and the man-child sprang back up into the air, pushing off the side of her chest. The man-child never uttered a sound. That was strange. He was nearly halfway to the upper edge of the pit before she realized why. She had not ripped a limb from his body. She had shattered some kind of tree limb. She roared as she lifted her entire body up as best she could and slashed out at the retreating man-child with one of her monstrous claws. This time, the man-child yelped in pain.

Fu landed on the far edge of the pit, toad-style. He hopped forward twice in an effort to get some space between him and the pit, his backside stinging with each thrust of his legs. He stood and turned to inspect the damage. The very tip of one of the tiger's daggerlike nails had ripped a gaping hole in the back of both his robe and his pants, and skimmed along the surface of his skin. He didn't seem to be bleeding, but it was hard to tell—he couldn't see around himself. As he stretched and turned in every direction trying to complete his inspection, he realized that the hunters on the other side of the pit were roaring with laughter. Fu glared at them.

“Iron Toad Escapes the Claw of Death by the Seat
of His Pants!” the first hunter laughed. “What a great story!”

“I am no toad,” Fu growled. “I am a tiger.”

“Sure you are, kid,” the first hunter replied. “Look, that was pretty amazing what you just did. So out of respect for your skill—and your amazing luck—I'm going to forget that you nearly killed me. Okay? Here, let me give you some of the antiseptic herbs I brought along … BUTT—you're going to have to apply them yourself!”

The first hunter howled with laughter. The second hunter howled along with him.

“I need nothing from your kind!” Fu spat.

Both hunters stopped laughing.

“Excuse me?” the first hunter said.
“Our kind,
you say? And just what kind would that be?”

“Cowardly peasants with no respect for life!”

The first hunter raised an eyebrow. “Look, little man,” he said, “I just offered to help you after you attacked me for no apparent reason. If you keep this up, you're—”

“Enough!” Fu roared.

The hunters looked at one another, disbelief on their faces. The first hunter slammed the blunt end of his spear into the ground and began to walk around the pit toward Fu. Seeing this, the Gentleman spoke from behind the hunters.

“STOP! Do not take another step. Please.”

The first hunter stopped, and the Gentleman
turned to his son beside him. “Do not let this cub get away. Understand?”

The boy nodded his head quietly, and the Gentleman turned toward Fu.

“Excuse me, young man. Just who do you think you are, talking to these men that way? You should treat your elders with respect.”

“I have no respect for their kind,” Fu sneered. “Or for yours. In fact, I am certain I have even less respect for you.”

“Why do you say such things?” the Gentleman asked.

“Why? Because you're planning to kill these tigers! That's why! And because you're pushing your son to do something that he doesn't want to do. What has that cub ever done to him? Or to you? Or to anyone else?”

“It's not what the cub has done,” the Gentleman replied. “It's what he might do.”

“What he
might
do?” Fu said. “That's crazy!”

“You do not understand, young man. If you would just—”

Fu had heard enough. He roared and ran straight toward the pit, leaping high into the air when he reached the edge. He landed with plenty of room to spare on the other side of the pit and spun around to face his closest opponent—the second hunter. The man stood several paces away, armed with a spear.