II: THE SWORD MASTERS
"Rotton just call. Say he in Mindanao." Shenhua didn't sound very pleased. Sawyer "the Cleaner" twiddled her thumbs and looked off to the side nonchalantly, as though she had nothing to do with it. After hearing Shenhua's outburst hours earlier in the morning, the little gothic woman had finally mustered up the courage to come back home and sit at Shenhua's bedside.
"I tell him to come back, but he say he on important mission and hang up. So troublesome. I swear, when legs get better, I kicking his ass!" Shenhua swore.
"That's mean..." Sawyer droned, scooting a good extra foot away from her friend. The Cleaner could have sworn she just saw Shenhua's legs twitch under the sheets. Sawyer certainly didn't want to get kicked by accident.
"It not mean. It retribution," Shenhua said. She then placed her hands over her face and groaned. "Crazy girl, why you let Rotton go? He too stupid to go out on own! And with my knives!"
"Rotton had a... plan..."
"Does plan involve making cool speech in front of fighters?" Shenhua asked hopelessly, dropping her hands down at her sides. "Sawyer, why you not talk him out of it?"
"I tried to... but he wouldn't budge. I thought you were going to... talk some sense into him... when he told you about it yesterday, but... you thought it was a joke."
"THAT NOT TELL ME WHY YOU NOT SAY HE SERIOUS!" Shenhua screeched, bending at the waist and grabbing Sawyer by the collar of her striped purple shirt, pulling the small woman towards her until they were looking each other in the eye. Sawyer braced her hands and knees against the mattress, careful not to touch Shenhua's legs.
"He really wanted... to do this, Shenhua... He said something... about wanting to prove himself."
"What crazy boy have to prove?"
"Well, you didn't... take him seriously... when he said he wanted... to do get your blade fixed... He really wants to help you out, but..."
"But? Spit out, Sawyer."
"I think he had... something to prove to himself... too... He didn't say it to me, but I think... he wants to prove... he's a warrior, I guess," Sawyer finished lamely.
Shenhua sighed and let Sawyer go, shaking her head in dismay.
"Crazy boy not need to make trip all the way to training ground for that," Shenhua proclaimed. "Just do good at hunting job in Roanapur."
"Shenhua... why are you so opposed... to him being in... Mindanao?" Sawyer asked with a tilt of her head, still on her hands and knees. The gothic woman had a good idea as to what the answer would be, but it was still worth asking.
"Sawyer, if he not die quickly, you know he going to learn very bad things about me on trip," Shenhua stated with a harsh look. "How you feel if Rotton say he wanted to go to Texas?"
"I will... never... let him go... to Texas," Sawyer said defensively, pushing her nose against Shenhua's with her dark eyes widening in horror at the thought. Upon having her personal space invaded so suddenly, Shenhua instinctively grabbed the side of Sawyer's head and pushed the small woman off the bed. Sawyer rolled on the floor before immediately getting to her knees and resting her forearms on the bed, looking up at Shenhua.
"NEVER," Sawyer vowed.
"Oh, it not feel good thinking about people prying into past, hmm?" Shenhua asserted. "Imagine my feeling now."
"... Okay, I get... your point," Sawyer muttered, resting her left cheek against her forearms. She stuck out her index finger and began drawing circles on the bedsheets. "But even so..."
"What? You going to say he not look at me different? Not look at world different?" Shenhua said skeptically.
"He'll still... be Rotton when he gets back," Sawyer reassured, "just more... educated."
"Educated? That nice word you use for 'broken', Frederica," Shenhua said, using the chainsaw wielding girl's first name. "Assuming he get that chance if he not die first and my companions get lost forever."
"He won't lose... your knives and... he won't die..." Sawyer said, inwardly indefinite about her own words. "He seems very dedicated... to getting your broken blade re-forged..."
Shenhua eyed the girl critically, before letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Talk like this is no use," Shenhua said with a wave of her hand. The Taiwanese woman then reached down to run her fingers through the shaggy black mess of Sawyer's hair."Not like we can follow anyway. My legs not good and you have to clean for Chang da ge. Crazy boy on his own for now. Can only hope he do good job. Let see how he do."
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
The guide book Rotton brought did not lie about the searing heat. The man was cooking underneath his great black leather tench coat on one of the coastal towns of the island. He tried to ignore the humidity. Such a discomfort would not impede him on his journey to find the village of knife fighters.
However, he was becoming somewhat doubtful about reaching that village in the allotted schedule he had in his head. Whenever he went to ask for directions in the native tongue, the locals either gave him a pitiful look and shook their heads, or they paid him no heed at all. The man stuck his nose into his English-Filipino dictionary and arched an eyebrow. Maybe it had something to do with how he was pronouncing the words?
He took his eyes off the dictionary a moment and flipped through his guide book again. All Shenhua had told him about the location of the fighters was that if he went deep enough into the rain forest, he'd find them. Yet it wouldn't be at all wise to go into the rain forest without proper directions and advice from the local populace. Unless it was one of those places where you'd need to be lost to find it...
The silver haired man put the guide book away into his heavy duffel bag and scanned the area. It was one of the more hard-up towns on the island. At first glance, it wasn't all that different from Roanapur in structure, given the exception of an extra palm tree here and there. Instead of tuk-tuks, there was more favor for motorcycles with hooded sidecars mounted on the sides; the guide book had called them tricycles.
Also, there were no frequent gun shots like Roanapur. Rotton looked to his left and saw a man with a machete strapped to his hip. Hm, perhaps that was why, Rotton assumed.
He looked back at his language dictionary, carefully going over the words in his head. Confident he had his intended question memorized, he scanned the area again, analyzing the people from a distance and trying to read them, trying to see who had the information he sought.
It was then that his eyes came upon a small, frail old Filipino woman in a white and purple floral print dress lounging in a white plastic chair by a small, bright yellow shack. Her dark grey hair tied back in a bun, dark eyes gazing at no place and no one in particular, the hard lines of her face hiding any distinct emotion. She fanned herself lazily while a plain, crème colored bag hung loosely from the crook of her right arm.
Rotton blinked. The elderly woman didn't seem to have an intimidating aura, but she didn't seem all that welcoming either. However, the woman's advanced age could yield some interesting knowledge. Perhaps she could help give him directions. Rotton "the Wizard" decided to take his chances and walked up to the old woman. She looked up at him from where she sat, letting him know he had her attention.
"Excuse me, miss," Rotton asked in horribly spoken Filipino, "I was wondering, do you know of any knife fighters in the area?"
The old woman looked at him through half-lidded eyes, saying nothing. Rotton's confidence slowly began to fade, thinking the woman was going to tell him to get lost. She surprised him when she revealed a good natured smile.
"I appreciate your effort, young man," the elderly woman said in heavily accented but understandable English, "but there's no need for that with me. What is it you wish to know about knives?"
A small ball of hope welled up in Rotton's chest. Finally, someone willing to talk to him.
"I only desire to know the location of any people who practice martial arts, preferably those involving blades," Rotton said.
"There are many martial arts being practiced in the islands," the old woman informed him. "Are you speaking in terms of skill? What class of fighter are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for the best," Rotton said. The woman regarded him with a cool glance, cupping her chin in thought.
"Ahh, I see. The best, you say? There is a village of such skilled fighters. If my memories serve me correctly, the place you seek is deep in the forests," she said.
Rotton inwardly beamed at the words while trying to keep his composure.
"There are trails on the island. Many have been formed over the years. Growing tourist industry and such... Yet that village still remains hidden. It is surprising."
"Are there any definite directions that will lead me to it?" Rotton asked.
"Not so little that you won't get lost," the old woman muttered, taking a pen and piece of paper out of her bag and scrawling down some words. She handed him the note. "Take that with you. Go to the town and address I listed at the top. Ask for Gregorio and tell them Constance sent you. Don't worry about what the rest says, just hand the note over to Gregorio when he asks for it. He'll give you more directions from there. If you are fortunate with your time, you will reach the village by nightfall. Use the tricycles when you can, but don't depend on them to take you all the way to the village. You're going to have to walk the last stretch on your own."
"I thank you," Rotton nodded and placed the note in his pocket. The old woman nodded back and sent him on his way.
A much younger Filipino woman in her mid-twenties walked up to the old woman, giving her a strange look.
"Grandmother, why were you talking to that tourist?" she asked in their native tongue. The granddaughter noted how her grandmother looked at the foreign man in interest as he got into the sidecar of the tricycle before it drove away. The granddaughter gasped.
"Oh, no! You sent another one to that village?" she whined.
"That man has a very good eye if he managed to scope me out so soon." The old woman grinned, taking her kalis out of her bag and palming it lovingly. "But he's too trusting. Hopefully, he'll be more wary of his surroundings when the time comes for him to confront the fighters."
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
An American woman with blonde hair and blue eyes walked slowly backwards, her light blue ascot and loose fitting white clothes waving softly in the breeze, a "Save the Children" logo emblazoned on the collar of her shirt. Behind her was a gray, dreary setting of rusted tin shacks and old buildings along the beach.
"Hello, I am Ally Strader. I am here in one of the most poverty stricken towns of the Philippine island of Mindanao," she spoke angelically. She went on to speak of impoverished conditions until she saw a teenage girl with black hair in a red tank top and shorts behind her. Ally Strader quickly walked up to the girl.
"It is already too late for this young woman, an immigrant from China..."
The teenager seemed disinterested in Ally Strader's ongoing description of how her parents died in a mugging incident and how she was left to fend for herself. In all honesty, the teenager looked less pitiful than Ally was making her out to be and looked more like she wanted to throw the condescending American into a wood chipper.
"And now, to earn an honest day's pay, this teenage girl must resort to prostitution in order to—"
It was then that the teenager gripped the back of Ally Strader's head and smashed the woman's face into the wall of a shack.
The scene panned to a smiling show host in a suit with a laughing audience behind him.
"Save the children?" snickered the host. "If they're all as violent as that kid, we're the ones who are going to need saving. Now, for our next blooper..."
Shenhua paused the tape, using the controller, and Sawyer looked at the woman in adoration.
"You knocked out... Ally Strader? Sweet..." Sawyer completed the statement with a high-five to Shenhua's accomplishment.
"Not really knock out. Just hurt very bad. She probably need plastic surgery after that," Shenhua recalled. "She make up sad story about me being hooker to get sympathy, act all nice on camera. She really giant bitch when filming stop. Screaming at everyone like harpy."
"I always knew... there was something off about her," Sawyer said. "Those commercials were... always so patronizing. How old... were you there?"
"Seventeen," Shenhua confirmed. "I remember day well. Not just because I beat up fake celebrity. It day I picked out companions. I so happy then..." She looked down at her lap in sorrow.
"Rotton will... get it fixed..." Sawyer said reassuringly.
"If fighters not kill him," Shenhua sighed. "Sometime masters go on guard duty."
"Masters...?"
"Best of best," Shenhua specified.
"How many masters... are there?"
"There Six right now, including my teacher, Liuyedao. Maybe Rotton be lucky he run into Master Tandang or Master Janrang. They more lay-back types, not have bad tempers. Or Master Iro, he be lucky for that too. Old Master Iro real grouch, but he not really violent."
Sawyer pondered how a master knife fighter can be considered "not really violent", but kept her silence as Shenhua went on.
"Oooh! Or Master Ling," Shenhua brightened. "He best option for Rotton. He play around with opponents a lot, not kill fast, so Rotton be able to talk then."
"If he's... the best option... what's the worst?"
"Liuyedao be very bad. Probably worst to take in fight. But, if it about guard duty, Liuyedao not as bad about it as..." Shenhua trailed off, biting her lip.
"There's someone worse... than your own teacher?"
Shenhua nodded and looked at the young woman forlornly.
"For Rotton sake, I really hope he not run into Master Tora."
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
It was nightfall by the time Rotton walked on a hidden trail in the middle of the rain forest. The cloak of night did nothing to cast away the humidity. Rotton had shed his trademark trench coat and packed it away in his bag, but he still kept on his shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and it was left unbuttoned in a futile attempt to keep him cool. He still wore his bulletproof vest, just in case.
His shoes were covered in dirt, his dark clothes very much in the same condition. His pale silver bangs clung to his forehead and the overpowering scent of sweat and bug repellent lingered on his skin. The chemical did succeed in keeping the smaller insects away, but every now and again, Mother Nature would express her disdain at his presence by flinging a bug the size of his hand in the middle of his face before he smacked it away.
Rotton stopped in the middle of the trail and sighed.
This was not cool.
He looked at his watch (the hands and numbers glowed in the dark), and thought about the progress he had made. The old woman, Constance, had said if time was on his side, he'd reach the village by nightfall.
It was now well into midnight.
Still, Rotton had made it this far in one day, so he liked to think time was being kind with him.
Breathing deeply and looking up at the foliage obscuring the moon, he decided to set up camp for the night. He was exhausted and needed to rest.
As he set his bag down and unzipped it, a sudden thought came to his mind. He moved his zipper back and forth, listening to the sound, then stopped. He took off his sunglasses and scanned the forest. It was quiet. Very quiet...
Too quiet.
He moved his head to the left and a flying dagger grazed his cheek, drawing blood.
"Hahaha! Jackass, you missed!" a deep voice laughed in Cebuano.
"Shut up! My aim was perfect! It was the timing that was off! He moved at the last second!" responded another voice.
A punch was heard in the dark and Rotton readied himself with his Mausers.
"You fools, be quiet. He can't understand us, but he can still hear our voices. He's listening for our locations."
"Noble fighters, please listen. Though I draw my weapons, I shall not be haste with my fire towards you if you lend me your ears. I only ask that you—" Rotton didn't get to finish and another flying dagger came his way. With a "ping" sound, the dagger was deflected off of his bulletproof vest.
"You aimed for the vest? Moron, I'll show you all how it's done."
Throwing stars fell from the trees and Rotton just barely dodged the onslaught, leaping in a zig-zag pattern to avoid the blades.
"That's how it's done huh?"
"Not very impressive."
"A monkey could do better."
"... Shut up."
The Wizard ignored the voices and stopped to strike a pose with his guns.
"Now, listen, all of you, I have come as a favor for— Uh!" Rotton groaned as two large throwing stars embedded themselves into his arms, causing him to drop his guns.
"Master! Where those yours?"
"Yes. Now enough of the daggers and stars. I've disarmed him for you. Go in for close combat."
"Yes, Master!"
Ten men all armed with long blades immediately dropped from above and surrounded Rotton. Trying to ignore the bolts of pain shooting up his arms from the stars, he quickly leaned down the reach for one of his guns. None of the fighters were going to give him the chance. One man swiped at Rotton's hands with a bangkon, just above the Mausers. The silver haired male yanked his hands back and moved in a series of awkward motions to avoid the long blades aiming for his head, arms and legs.
"Come now," Rotton tried to reason coolly, "where is your sense of conduct? Ten against one is hardly fai— Agh!" One of the fighters managed to swipe the back of Rotton's thigh.
"Damn, this white devil moves fast! I wanted to cut the whole thing off."
As Rotton continued trying to avoid getting slashed by the menacing knives, he wondered why their wielders wouldn't listen to his words. Then, it suddenly occurred to him.
"They must not speak English," Rotton said aloud to himself. He had to bite back a groan when another blade slashed at his right bicep, then another hit to his left forearm, the cutting motion knocking out the throwing star embedded there.
His dictionary, Rotton thought, he needed to get to it. But it was in the duffel bag outside the circle the fighters had formed.
Rotton ducked his head underneath a swinging ganyang before rising up and kicking the fighter in the gut, sending the man reeling back and, more importantly, making a hole in the fighting circle. Rotton leaped through the gap and rolled on the ground until he reached his bag, digging inside and grabbing his dictionary, quickly flipping through it.
"Verbs... Conversation... Expletives... My notes!" Rotton exclaimed as the knife fighters made their way over to him. "Ah... I formally request of you that you listen to what I have to s—"
The ten dollars Rotton had spent on that book was wasted when one of the fighters cut the book in half.
"That is the worst Filipino I've ever heard in my life!"
Rotton moved back to dodge another long blade and jumped as someone tried to take a low swipe at him from behind. One more inch and they would have gotten his Achilles tendons...
Now understanding that words would get him nowhere, he wanted to try an evasive maneuver that would let him slip outside the circle once more and let him get back to his guns. Unfortunately for Rotton, he wasn't going to be given that chance.
It took every fiber of Rotton's being not to scream when a bolo knife went straight through his right hand and pinned it to a nearby tree. As he slumped to his knees and grit his teeth in agony, he looked up and saw a fighter raising his sharp knife to deliver the finishing blow.
Rotton hissed and, on impulse, shouted, "STOP! I KNOW SHENHUA!"
"Stop!" came a firm command from the trees. The young fighter looking to take off Rotton's head stopped mid-blow, stopping an inch away from the man's neck.
"Step away from him," the mysterious voice said again.
The fighters parted evenly on each side, making way for a man stepping out of the shadows.
"Master Tora, do you know this man?" asked one of the fighters.
"I do not know him, but he claims he's acquainted with one of our own," said Master Tora.
Rotton looked up at the man, making him out in the blocked moonlight. The man was aged, in his sixties at the least, the hair a mix of black and white and tied into a high ponytail, dressed from the waist-down in some sort of traditional robe. Despite his age, the man was very fit with a muscular build, irezumi tattoos decorating his upper body, stopping at the neck and forearms. He was probably Yakuza at some point, Rotton observed.
It was then that Rotton noticed the katana at the man's side, and the Wizard looked up at his face, seeing a very stern, disciplined and, worst of all, irritated scowl.
"You say you know The Myth?" Master Tora said in English, a slight Japanese accent underneath the words.
Rotton gave him an odd look. The Myth? Wait, that means...
"You say you know Shenhua," the Japanese man clarified.
"Yes, I do. I came to find the village to do a favor for her," Rotton said, tone surprisingly steady for someone with their hand stabbed into a tree.
"Shenhua sending some pretty boy to sacred ground to run her errands?" Master Tora said skeptically. "I've heard better stories from a drunkard."
"What I speak is the truth," Rotton said, digging into his back pocket with his free hand, pulling out his wallet and showing him a picture of Shenhua inside of it as proof that he knew her. The woman was wearing her usual red qipao and white silk jacket, showing a genuinely sweet smile in place of her usual predatory grins.
"Anyone can have a picture," Tora growled. "No one gets into the village without an invitation from a fellow fighter or having proven themselves worthy of entering our grounds. So far, you've shown neither."
"Shenhua finds me worthy of being a companion. Isn't that enough of proving my worth to you?"
"Companion?" Tora asked with raised eyebrows. "If she thinks of you as a... companion, what has she shared that's of any relevance to us?"
"I have her knives," Rotton said. "Check the duffel bag, they're inside the wooden box."
One of the fighters, who understood basic English, went to check the bag for proof, but Tora raised his arm to stop him and said, "That won't be necessary." Tora turned his attention back to Rotton.
"Let us say, for the sake of argument, that the knives you speak of are not fake. They are real. Why is it, then, that you are here with one of our warrior's knives instead of the warrior herself coming with them?"
"Shenhua is injured," Rotton defended. "She couldn't come here in her condition. I took her knives here because one of them needs to be—"
In one swift motion, Tora pulled out his katana and pointed the tip at Rotton's neck.
"Allow me to get this straight," Master Tora started. "You come here, uninvited, in the middle of the night, tell me that one of our own is injured and proceed to inform me that you took her knives?"
Rotton sneered.
"If you're implying I hurt Shenhua to steal her blades, you are severely mistaken."
"Oh, I doubt a fool like yourself is capable of harming a fly, let alone The Myth," Tora stated. "But needless to say, I see no solid proof of you knowing one of our own."
When Rotton saw the master raise the katana, he remembered something Shenhua had told him before he left Roanapur.
She was joking, most likely, but Rotton deemed it was worth a shot. The man did say he wanted solid proof...
Quickly, before Tora brought the sword down, Rotton yelled, "Shenhua still thinks your katana is a giant butter knife!"
Tora pulled the sword back and his eyes bulged at the statement, his mouth contorting in a snarl.
"The hell did you just say, pretty boy?"
Only a few of the knife fighters could understand tidbits of English, but the expression on their master's face spoke loud and clear to all of them.
Tora was certifiably pissed.
Gripping the katana with his right hand, Tora used his left hand to rip out the bolo knife pinning Rotton to the tree. The Wizard moaned miserly at feeling the blade being yanked from his right hand, about to collapse in a heap on the ground, but Tora grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the tree, rattling the leaves above. It was then that Rotton noticed Tora didn't have a left pinky and ring finger.
"You dare insult the weapon of my homeland?" Tora shouted angrily. "The very sword used by the samurai? A weapon immersed in legend? It is one of—No. It is the greatest blade ever forged in history, and you, an uncultured gunman, dare say that one of our own fighters thinks it is nothing more than an oversized kitchen utensil?"
Rotton could not speak through the man's monstrous grip, so he nodded.
The fighters expected Tora to kill him then and there, so they were all very surprised when their master's expression softened.
"... That does sound like something Shenhua would say to me," Tora confirmed. "Very well, I believe you. My students will carry you to the village."
Tora promptly dropped Rotton to the ground and put his katana back in its sheath, satisfied.
"Pretty boy's story checks out. Pick him up and gather his belongings. We're taking him back home. We'll get someone to tend to his wounds and let him rest for the remainder of the night."
"But, Master... he's a gunman," whispered one of Tora's students, the rest nodding in agreement.
"I don't like his choice of weaponry either, but he's a companion of Shenhua. If she trusts him enough to claim him as such, I feel comfortable letting him into the village."
The scowling students picked up a tired Rotton and his items, being not-too-gentle with the man's body. With a shallow breath, a small smile made its way onto Rotton's face before he passed out.
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
When Rotton woke up slowly on a padded mat, he noticed many different things. The first thing he noticed was the soreness in his body. The second thing he noticed were the bandages covered his arms and legs, and he felt a band-aid on his right cheek. Third, he noticed was that he was in a small wooden shack, and judging from the sunlight leaking out overhead, it was the middle of the afternoon. Fourth, he noticed his bulletproof vest was gone and he was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.
Finally, he fully noticed there were five gentlemen of advanced age, that Master Tora guy included, standing around and over him, eye him very critically. Well, that, and his sunglasses were nowhere to be found. Yet he found the men staring at him to be a more unsettling detail.
On his right, there was what seemed to be a short Thai man with a shaved bald head in his early fifties wearing loosely flowing maroon pants, his back tattooed with various Thai scripts. He turned to an extremely tall Javanese man next to him, had to be seven feet at the least, in a loose white T-shirt and jeans.
"Damn, Tora's students fucked him up good," said the Thai man in the local tongue; naturally, Rotton didn't understand a word of it. "Good thing you were here to stop the bleeding, Janrang. They nicked a few arteries."
"It's been a while since I played medic. It was refreshing," responded Janrang. Janrang then turned to Tora, who was across from him, on Rotton's left. "Thank those fighters for me."
Tora just nodded with crossed his arms. Two Filipino men, one Tora's age and one looking to be in his early nineties, flanked him on either side.
"Don't be so quiet, Tora," said the younger of the two Filipinos, dressed in a similar fashion like Janrang. "Are you still a little sore because gun boy here managed to survive or are you dwelling on the insults of Liuyedao's daughter?"
"Daughter? That's a rather loose term, Tandang," said the older Filipino, dressed in light robes.
"Well, Iro..." Tandang started, noticing the dirty look from the older male and quickly correcting himself. "I mean, Mercado. I wouldn't necessarily say it's a loose term. There's proof of Liuyedao's loyalties that—"
"Liuyedao's loyalties aren't the ones in question," Iro/Mercado muttered.
"I agree," Janrang said.
"Why are you all so hard on Liuyedao's wife?" Ling asked.
"That woman is not his wife. She's not anyone's wife," Janrang corrected. "The iron dragon belongs to no one."
"True," Tora agreed. "Yet keep in mind, all of you, that dragons bode well in the company of serpents. It's the only thing that's kept Liuyedao alive all these years..."
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Rotton finally spoke, raising the upper half of his body off the mat. "Forgive me if I interrupted a vital conversation, but may you please tell me where you have placed my guns? ... And, for the matter, my pants?"
"Oh, you're awake," Tora observed, squatting down on his haunches to look Rotton in the eye. "Your guns, and your vest and glasses, if you're wondering about that also, are in your bag; it's right there next to you." Tora pointed and Rotton saw it next to his left leg.
"We took the liberties of searching through it to make sure you weren't carrying a bomb and the like. You passed the search," Tora said. "As for your pants, they along with your shirt were shredded to mere rags in the fight. They were removed and thrown away while your wounds were tended to by Master Janrang over there. You're fortunate he was in a helping mood last night."
"Thank you," Rotton nodded to Janrang. "But..."
"You wallet is here," Tandang spoke up in his accented English, throwing it into the man's lap. "We saw the picture of Shenhua. Liuyedao would be proud to see she's grown so beautifully. Cute friend she has in the other picture, too. Kinda scary, though. Only Shenhua could hug a ghost."
"Sawyer's not a ghost," Rotton said sharply. He opened the large pocket in the wallet and saw that it was empty. "What...?"
"We took money," Ling said in slightly broken English, "Think of it as fee for having Janrang fix you up."
Rotton's eyes went half-lidded at the answer. Is that so?
Suddenly, a pair of old blue jeans hit Rotton in the face. Tandang had thrown them at him.
"Put those pants on, pretty boy. Can't have you running around with the village women and make us take care of a bunch of mistiso kids in nine months," Tandang laughed.
Rotton ignored the somewhat vulgar statement and started putting the jeans on, suppressing a wince when tiny jolts of pain shot out from his multiple cuts every time he moved.
The masters sat in a half circle around Rotton, all of them sharing the same serious expression.
"Now, pretty boy, first things first," Tora said, sitting at the center of the half circle. "As you may well know by now, we are the masters of this village. I am Master Tora, that is Master Tandang, that is Master Janrang, that is Master Ling, and that is Master Iro."
The old Filipino man coughed.
"Or Mercado," Tora specified. "He grew tired of his title long ago for reasons unexplained. It's no matter of your concern. Now pretty boy, what is your name and why have you come here?"
"I am Rotton 'the Wizard,'" the man said without his usual flair. He was too tired for the dramatics right now. "I came here because one of Shenhua's khukri blades was broken in a fight. She's recuperating at the moment, so I came here to see if I could find the man who could re-forge her weapon."
The masters regarded the words with a slow nod, but they seemed skeptical.
"Her blade broke? How badly?" Tora asked, thinking it probably broke off at the hilt. "You say you have the khukri with you. Present it to us and let us assess the damage."
Rotton nodded and unzipped his duffel bag with his left hand, taking out the box that contained her khukri and the key to unlock it. The latches on the front opened with a "click" when he turned the key and Rotton held the box out to them, opening the lid and presenting the broken blade.
Immediately, all of the masters were horrified at the sight, as though they were looking at a mutilated corpse. In all their years, they had never seen a blade in that sort of condition. Even Tora's tough resolve shattered and he cringed at the sight of the broken khukri.
"It cannot be," Janrang started.
"How is this so?" Mercado asked.
"That is the Ang Kola khukri," Ling whispered. "It is known as the unbreakable blade!"
"How in the hell do you break the unbreakable blade like... that?" Tandang asked.
"What class of sword would be responsible for doing something like this?" Tora asked, gathering his senses.
Rotton closed the lid and said, "Well, it wasn't exactly a blade that did this."
"So it was a gun?" Mercado said distastefully.
"No, not a gun," Rotton confirmed, shaking his head.
"Then, what?" Tora asked.
"It was a person," Rotton informed them steadily.
A silence filled the small wooden shack before Janrang spoke up.
"A person... with a boulder?" Janrang pressured in a heavy voice, wanting more information. "What was this person using for a weapon?"
"No weapon. Well, no conventional weapon against the khukri," Rotton said.
"Exactly what 'unconventional weapon' was used?" Tora asked.
Rotton swallowed, bracing himself for their reactions to what he was about to say.
"... Teeth," Rotton said.
"What? Like crocodile teeth or shark teeth?" Ling asked. Rotton shook his head.
"No. Human teeth. It was bitten."
A cold, deadly aura filled the shack and Rotton could sense all the men had a deep urge to kill him at that precise moment.
"We don't take kindly to those sort of jokes, pretty boy," Tora growled.
"It's not a joke," Rotton tried to convince them. "Shenhua went up against a very deadly woman. Named after some sort of dog... Bloodhound, I believe... Yes, Bloodhound! The Bloodhound of Florencia."
The frigid aura began to recede.
"The Bloodhound of Florencia?" Tandang asked. "That hardcore terrorist that disappeared from the FARC a long while ago? You better not be pulling our legs, pretty boy."
"I do not lie," Rotton said. The masters read his body language and tone of his voice, confirming he was telling the truth.
"Did she win?" Mercado asked curiously.
"No, but she survived the encounter," Rotton said. He decided it would be best not to tell them Shenhua was also shot in the legs by ex-Soviet military.
"Too bad she did not win. But still, to go and fight Bloodhound? Unbelievable, that a big name criminal," Ling complimented as he smirked.
"So that little brat grew up into quite a hunter, eh? Liuyedao will be overjoyed with the news," Janrang clapped his hands at the thought.
"It should bring up some memories from his own hunting days."
"Do you think Liuyedao will be concerned about his own student surpassing him? For Shenhua to take on a fish that big so early in her life, that's intimidating."
"Liuyedao's not that competitive. He'd be more proud than threatened. Maybe ask her for a sparring match to see how far she's come on her own. Just like the good old days."
Rotton listened quietly to the conversation, observing how jovial all these fighters were over the topic of Shenhua's hunting career. Seeing how passionate the masters were about the subject, Rotton supposed Shenhua adopted their attitudes toward being a freelancer while she was training here.
"You remember when she was little? When she fell out of the tree?" Ling reminisced, still speaking in English. "Liuyedao made her fight him in the ring for eight hours straight after that. Early morning into afternoon."
"I certainly don't forget that," Janrang nodded. "He broke her leg, heard the bone snap."
"And those were the easy days," Mercado observed grimly. "It got harder for her as she got older. Liuyedao showed no mercy. Broken legs, broken arms, broken ribs, cracked knuckles, flesh slashed to ribbons. Remember that time Liuyedao knocked her off the risen platform and she fell down the mountain? The girl was a walking scab for a while."
"What of the time Liuyedao took her to the smaller islands in the south?" Tandang remembered. "What was she, sixteen? It was one of Liuyedao's big tests. The locals are cousins to those in Roanapur, quite volatile. Knives and guns everywhere. I recall she was shot several times."
"She was, three times in the arm. They almost captured her," Tora recalled. "Liuyedao took me along to keep an extra eye on her. My job was only to observe, but it was quite difficult even for me to stay still. Those men were monsters, trying to violate her... but she killed them all before they could drag her back to their town. She was soaked in blood, had a terrible look in her eye when it was done. Liuyedao seemed satisfied with the results. I admit from what I saw, she fared decently against her first ambush attack."
"Please, stop," Rotton requested, holding up his hand and looking down. He didn't enjoy hearing about the sordid details of Shenhua's training, especially when she was so young.
"What, pretty boy? Too violent for you?" Tandang scolded. The knife masters gave the silver haired man a long stare before they all looked at one another and sighed.
"All right, all right, it is quite bad," Tandang confessed. "A lot of us didn't agree with Liuyedao's methods either. He was... very harsh with Shenhua. Even Tora didn't approve of some of his methods, and he was the one who trained Ginji the Manslayer."
"A lecture on violent training methods from a man who supports cockfighting?" Tora asked with lackluster. Tandang scowled at the Japanese man's reminder of one of his past times, but said nothing.
"We agree, Liuyedao was cruel at times," Tora said. "But it was, in all respects, to prepare her to become a freelance hunter. She suffered, we do not deny that, but in defense of our fellow fighter, Liuyedao's methods did pay off. If Shenhua can thrive in a wretched city like Roanapur, then it is proof that the training worked. It yielded impressive results."
Rotton looked off to side with a frown. The results may have been impressive, but at what cost?
"So how is Shenhua now? Aside from injury," Ling interrupted, looking for a change in subject.
"She was healing well when I left," Rotton said. "She's eager to get back into the field. I suppose it is connected to what she calls 'the spirit of the outlaw'. That is why I brought the knives, the broken one to be re-forged and the solid piece to serve as a model. I want to give them to Shenhua when she's better. Do you know where the man who forged them is? Huo Niu, I believe his name was."
The masters looked on in melancholy.
"Yes, we know of Huo Niu. He was a master bladesmith and he forged many of our weapons," Mercado said.
"Do you know where he is?" Rotton asked hopefully.
"Under a tombstone," Tandang intoned. "He died some time ago, of old age."
Rotton's posture deflated and he tried to hide his disappointment.
"However," Janrang interjected, "there is another man who can forge that blade for you."
Rotton's head perked up.
"Master Liuyedao, Shenhua's teacher, had taken an apprenticeship under Huo Niu. I can say with confidence that any blade made by his hands will be of the same condition as those that were made by Huo Niu," Tora said.
"But there more bad news," Ling said. "There a reason you have not seen Liuyedao with us. He not on island right now. He is abroad."
"Where is he?" Rotton asked.
"Liuyedao travels often. Has been doing more of it since Shenhua completed her training," Tora said. "We do not pry into each other's personal matters. It's none of our business where he goes off to, so we don't bother asking when he leaves."
"In other words, you can't tell me where he is," Rotton said lowly. The masters shook their heads.
"But now there's good news!" Ling exclaimed. "There one person who knows where he is, most likely."
The other masters looked at the Thai man like he was insane.
"We are not sending this pretty boy to her!" Tandang hissed in the local tongue. "That would be murder!"
"Like we've never killed anyone before?" Ling said. "And you don't know if it will end in murder."
"It's likely," Mercado said.
"But not definite," Ling said.
"Even Liuyedao is more merciful than she is!" Janrang argued.
"But there is a chance she may be capable of mercy herself," Ling countered.
"Not likely," Mercado said.
"Still possible," Ling said.
"... I say we send him to her," Tora supported. Mercado, Tandang and Janrang's jaws collectively dropped.
"Tora, you too?" asked Janrang.
"Look at the boy's face. He came all this way, and he is dedicated to finishing what has set out to do. He has the resolve. He just needs a good lead, and keep in mind that it is for Shenhua. Can you imagine having your own weapons broken so severely? Can you not sense it? A part of her spirit is shattered; it needs to be repaired."
The masters agreed unanimously at Tora's words. It was a high risk, but it would be unfair to withhold any valuable information that would help a fellow knife fighter. They turned their attention back to Rotton.
"All right, pretty boy," Tandang sighed. "Master Ling speaks the truth. There is one person who may know Liuyedao's whereabouts. Hell, if you're lucky, Liuyedao will be there with her."
"Her?" Rotton asked. "Who is she?"
"Shenhua's mother," Tora said.
"Her mother?" Rotton registered. "Does she know what happened to Shenhua while she was being trained by Liuyedao?" His voice was raised.
The masters looked at each other, sharing an expression of uncertainty.
"We do not know if she was exactly sure of what was going on," Tora said. "She is Liuyedao's lover, and she met him back when he was still a freelancer, so we assume she knew what Liuyedao was capable of when she sent Shenhua here to be trained by him."
"Her own mother sent her to be trained by Liuyedao?" Rotton asked, failing to mask the shock in his voice. "Why? Is he her father?"
"Liuyedao never told us in depth what Shenhua's mother had in mind when she sent her here. Something about the future, I believe," Janrang recalled. "As for whether or not Liuyedao is her father, that is still a topic of debate among us."
"A topic we shall not get into," Tandang said firmly. "Now, about her mother, she is in Kaohsiung, Taiwan. We will give you the address and you should be able to find a boat that will take you there in short time. Her name is Jin Long. Ask for her once you get to the given address and it's likely she will meet with you."
"I thank you for your help," Rotton said, cradling his chin in his palm in thought. So, her mother was the one who sent her to train with the knife fighters. It was no wonder Shenhua was so bitter when he had asked her about it.
Still, why was she sent in the first place?
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
The digital clock read 8:20 AM, the room dim and tinted a light blue-ish hue. The phone on the nightstand began to ring and Shenhua grumbled at the irritating tones. She looked down at Sawyer; the girl was resting next to her, a wild mess of black curls against the pillow while the chainsaw woman slept soundly. Shenhua swore that Sawyer could sleep through an earthquake. The Taiwanese freelancer sighed, leaning over lazily to pick up the phone.
"Hello? Shenhua, Sawyer? Can you hear me? I couldn't get any reception in the forest. I'm near a coastal town at the moment. I spoke with—"
"Rotton, you get your ass back here or I throw your video games away," Shenhua threatened.
"I shall come back to Roanapur soon enough," Rotton vowed. "But I have to make a stop in Taiwan first."
Shenhua furrowed her brow.
"What you need to stop at my homeland for? Thought you looking for fighters in Philippines."
"I found them already," Rotton said, "We spoke with each other yesterday. Huo Niu is dead."
"Oh, that so sad. Guess that mean journey is done. Now forget trip to Taiwan and come back."
"Shenhua, there's another man who can forge the blade for you! Your teacher, Liuyedao, was Huo Niu's apprentice. He wasn't on the island, but—"
Shenhua rolled her eyes and interrupted him.
"Rotton, Liuyedao my teacher. Let me deal with him for knives. That not your business."
"I'm in this rather deep, Shenhua. I intend to see it through."
"Idiot boy, just come home. Why you need to go to Taiwan anyway?"
"The masters gave me a tip. They don't know where Liuyedao is, but they feel your mother in Kaohsiung knows where I can find him."
Shenhua's irritated expression turned into a blank slate and her grip on the phone tightened to the point of almost breaking the device in half. She said absolutely nothing for a good ten seconds.
"... Shenhua? Are you there?"
"So you seeing my mother," Shenhua hissed, her voice filled with venom. "Hope you have fun."
She slammed the phone down without another word.
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
Rotton looked down at the cell phone, adjusting his sunglasses. The conversation did not go as well as he had hoped.
There was a slight morning breeze coming through, his hair and trench coat shifting in the wind. He still wore the jeans the fighters had given him, and was now wearing one of the spare buttoned shirts he had brought along on the trip.
"Pretty boy, the boat is going to leave soon. It would be best if you get a move on," advised Tandang. Tora came up to his side. Both men had decided to see Rotton off.
"Remember, ask for Jin Long when you find the address, but be careful around that woman. Her temperament can be volatile," Tora reminded Rotton. The silver haired man thanked them one final time before taking their advice and heading off toward the boat. The knife masters turned on their heels, intent on getting back to the village.
"So, how do you think he's going to fare for the rest of the trip?" Tandang asked while they walked away.
"For his sake, he'd better not get into another fight in a foreign land," Tora muttered. "When he tried to speak in another language, he didn't have the right dialect down. Horrible pronunciation as well. What's more absurd is when my students attacked him, he didn't even shoot. He started posing with his guns and kept on talking. The man has resolve, I'll give him that, but he's not incredibly bright."
"He must be a very lucky man if he survived, then," Tandang mused. "So... how do you think Liuyedao is going to react?"
"What? In a fight against him?"
"No, I'm talking about his reaction when he realizes his grandchildren are going to be fathered by that pretty boy," Tandang smirked.
"Grandchildren? Oh, no, that's not going to happen. He won't get the chance," Tora said as he shook his head.
"Hmm? You think Liuyedao is going to kill him on sight?"
"No, not that," Tora said. "We sent him to see the iron dragon."
There was an uneasy pause between the men, and they grimaced as various scenarios went through their heads.
Pretty boy had better be careful.
A/N: 8,000+ words. I didn't think this chapter was going to be that long. Oops.
"Why so many freaking OCs that we don't care about, JAS?" I wanted a fight scene and a way to transition the journey from the Philippines to Taiwan. Also, it can be a theme. The masters show up in the second chapter of the first story (Myth), and then they show up again in the second chapter of the second story (Legend).
There are people who are gifted with the ability to speak multiple languages and dialects – I am not one of them. I am confident you are all a smart lot and used your imaginations for the italicized text.
Cheers.