Chapter Seven: Fate's Rend
Trees whispered with voices of wind. The river kneaded in a slowly calming reverie. Grainy sand speckled loose, broken wood, and Crane stared at a moonlit peacock.
The peacock.
Don't panic. Don't panic! He thought as he began to panic. His head brimmed with questions and ugly uncertainty. Lightheadedness took him.
Okay, calm. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breath.
In… 2… 3… Out. The routine was boring and predictable, like many of Crane's favorite things.
He straightened his back and regained control. Master Shifu's techniques really came in handy. With a few more breaths, he sat up, a decision that defied his worn hamstrings.
Lord Shen. Unclothed, splayed belly-down in the sand. Nasty burns rent his feathered back. Cuts criss-crossed his tapered neck along with bruises and char. And his white face was blackened on one side, brow-feathers missing around a bulbous eye. It was a hideous sight.
Crane moved morbidly closer. The measured rise and fall of the peacock's battered trunk indicated life had not left him. He had survived.
The possibility had never occurred to Crane, let alone that he would be the one to discover it. For the moment, Crane watched him breathe. That round, pointy, scowling face reminded Crane of the hatred he felt. That face had brought him close to death, but worse still, his friends. That face was the terror of innocents, and belonged to a maniacal menace who would not stop until he got what he wanted.
And Crane pitied him. His long black throat constricted and he sunk his talons in the sand.
What to do, what to do? Where's Tigress when you need her. What would she do?
Crane knew. She would let him die.
He deserved it. But the thought was repulsive. The battle was over, and he was no threat.
No. Lord Shen had to answer for his actions.
I have to get him back to the city. And fast. The wolves might find him, or that yellow-eyed nightmare of the dark.
He scanned the moon-soaked wreckage until he spotted a wide red strip of canvas sail. He hopped for it and verified its integrity—the corner of a black insignia was inked in the ripped fabric. Carefully, he laid it over the peacock and rolled him over. His wings flopped, feathers tattered or gone completely. He smelled of wet bird and dried blood.
Crane shuddered; It didn't look good. There was little time. He grabbed the fabric in his talons and went airborne, each tight flap sharp and painful.
Only mist struck his hatless head. Satiated clouds remained stagnant above him, the slightest disturbance sure to send them back into a stormy fury. He felt like he was carrying one of the hills around him, both inside and beneath. Silver river and twisted razor tree slowly swept below. Crane had always prized himself on his sense of direction, and he was lost.
But there, through the mist, a familiar shape came into view. It was an archway, and it made its precarious backbend over the river Yangtze. Crane hazily remembered it from when he first entered Gongmen City with the Five. The city should be just beyond it.
He let out a strained sigh, for it was almost over…
Startled awake, his wings snapped behind his back. With a yell, he pulled out of free-fall. Had he dozed off... while flying?
"That... isn't... good..." he said between pants.
The archway was dead ahead now. And on the rock, the parting clouds revealed a single solitary building. It seemed abandoned. No light shone from the two storied structure, but it was of Gongmen City architecture. This, he had not seen before.
Biceps engulfed in weary fire, Crane beat his wings and made for the top of the archway. A graceful tailwind supplemented his efforts. Stone steps cut down from the building, overgrown and neglected. At last, Crane reached the beckoning mud of ground. He fought the urge to throw Lord Shen down, and instead set him lightly in the small courtyard. Mud engulfed his knees as he landed next to the dreaded peacock.
Everything hurt—not unlike the time he had carried every one of the Five across China. Only this time, he was alone—and carrying an enemy.
"I hate you," he panted in the mud, glaring at the mangled Lord Shen. Little white feathers lie like snow in the muck. Crane pried himself away.
Where am I?
Around him, squat stone lanterns scattered the edges of the dirt yard. The diminutive shrines were a little spooky. Vines poked and cut through their sturdy frames, but they remained standing nonetheless.
Crane rose from the strange place he found himself in. With a tentative takeoff, he looked beyond the brush toward the lights Gongmen City. He yelped when his left wing buckled and made a popping sound, forcing him to make a half-helix to the wet earth.
"Come on, seriously!" He said with frustration, inspecting his wing. It seemed it hadn't fully healed from Lord Shen's cannonball attack. Crane glared at the peacock again.
"This is ridiculous." He rubbed the tips of his primary feathers in little circles on his closed eyes. The lids sagged as he brought his wings down across his face. Massaging his left wing with the other, he turned to view the abandoned building near the courtyard. He was out of options.
Distasteful as it was, he grappled the dethroned lord and made for the dilapidated structure. As he made his way up the steps, he saw blood on his wing, and wasn't entirely sure if it was Lord Shen's. Above him, an octagonal shape rose, almost like a mini version of Gongmen's tower. It was rather expensive looking, but in obvious disrepair. Vestiges of rainwater flowed from the crumbling roof. Far off thunder told of the storm's abatement.
Carrying Lord Shen was surreal. He had never been this close to a peacock before. It was quite large, with a pronounced midsection and thick trunk. Heavy for a bird, but still, for lack of a better word, soft. His greyish legs were long and cambered, not unlike his own. One was bent the wrong way: broken. Something about him seemed to be missing, but Crane refrained from dwelling on it. Touching the bird made him shiver.
The door of the building was unlocked. It creaked ominously, but there was no one inside.
Abandoned. Crane huffed with relief. Blue light emanated from torn paper walls and onto the wooden floor. A patterned rug was centered in the eight-sided room. Low tables with bottles and scrolls were strewn by the walls, but there were no chairs. To the right, a fireplace protruded from the wall. And a bamboo framed bed was nestled on the furthest side.
Crane widened his stance to balance as he walked the muddy Shen across the rug. The wooden floor groaned in protest.
"Up," he said, lifting Lord Shen onto the bed. Crane almost never used his wings to hold things. It always felt sort of wrong, and worse, reminded him of his days as a janitor. It then dawned on Crane how truly wrong the situation really was. Here he stood, laying Lord Shen, a bird who would have gladly killed him and his friends, to bed. Crane stood back and started laughing humorlessly.
"Why me?" he asked the air, engulfed in despair. Lord Shen didn't respond to his stupor, of course. Instead, the peacock lolled his scuffed beak on the pillow, limp and lifeless. Crane's sour humor was replaced by ice-like consternation.
Wait, is he... dead?
He reached a tentative wing to check for breath. Short puffs struck his black-tipped feathers.
Alive, he said inwardly, for now.
He would have to return to the city alone. With the other masters help, then, Lord Shen would have his judgement.
Crane whipped his body toward the door. But at that moment, a scent caught in his nares. It was a familiar scent, reminiscent of his early training at The Jade Palace. It was the musty scent of sleepless nights and sore muscles. Of friendship and revelry, so very familiar…
The scent of a recently extinguished candle. Sure enough, by Shen's bedside, a candle with a shimmering pool of melted wax sat dumbly on a table.
Oh shit, does someone live here? He had put Lord Shen in some stranger's bed. Stumbling upon that sight would be disastrous.
He ran across the rug with legs like stilts. As he reached for the door handle, it started to open.
"Woah!" He exclaimed as he arrested his movement. Both of his wings fanned so as to block the view behind him. Standing before him was a quite peeved looking, bearded old goat.
"The bird?" She said, head cocked in utter confusion. She looked Crane up and down, from his mud-caked feet to his frazzled scalp feathers.
"The Soothsayer?" He said, equally confused.
She eyed him skeptically. "What in the world happened to you?"
"Who, me?" He cringed at the dumb response.
"My rug!" The Soothsayer cried, stepping toward the splattered wool. She slung a bag over one shoulder, and walked jerkily with a twisted cane.
"Wait, you can't go that way!" Crane said, attempting to shield her view. She gave him a shrewd glance, and whacked his wing away with her cane. Crane yelped and grabbed the stinging appendage. His chest tightened as she easily circumvented his block.
"You can't presume to order me about in my own home," she said with a whimsical timbre, "whatever you're doing, it would be best that you..."
Her cane clattered to the ground. Crane winced before rounding. The Soothsayer was frozen, gaze locked on the marred white peacock nestled away in his bed.
"Uhh," she said, stuck.
"I- I can explain," he said, stumbling over the words. The Soothsayer approached the bed without a word.
"There was this bar, and these wolves, and a huge storm. I lost my hat, but I found the wreckage of Lord Shen's ships. And he was just lying there. I tried to carry him, but I got too tired, and—"
"You talk too much," the old goat said as she opened her bag. She produced a strange mixture of supplies that Crane didn't recognize, aside from some acupuncture needles.
"What are you doing?" He asked tentatively.
"Light a fire." The Soothsayer said, ignoring him. She tossed two spark rocks his way. One rolled to his foot, and he absently grabbed it.
"Actually, I, um, should get back to the city."
"Then go. Why are you still here?"
He stayed silent.
"Hmm." she said with a glare. "That's what I thought. Now light a fire."
"Wait," he said, "I can't stay. I have to bring the others."
"His end is mere minutes away. And unless you help me, he will perish."
"But—"
"Light a damn fire!" The Soothsayer said, and began tending to the once proud Lord Shen.
It was one of those uneasy early mornings that brought Crane back awake. A tint of blue faded through his closed eyes, unwelcome and unavoidable. No stranger to waking before dawn, Crane puffed his feathers and set his curled leg back down. His joints creaked with anguish, causing him to moan hoarsely. It felt like he had run a training gauntlet a hundred times back to back.
An odd, savory smell wafted in the blind air. Tongue parched and head splitting, Crane cracked a wary eye. His vision was greeted with an unfamiliar interior. At the other side of an octagonal room, a small figure hunched over a steaming pot.
Crane stared for a moment, dazed. He looked to his side where he might normally set his hat, but there was nothing but wood boards around him. His left wing hurt terribly, and was covered in a light bandage.
"Where's my hat?" he muttered, groggy. It wasn't on the dirty rug in the middle of the room either—
The previous night suddenly returned. He bolted upright, glancing around the room with quick turns.
"Good, awake. I must say, you do sleep strangely." The figure, a goat, said.
"Gah!" Crane exclaimed. He then groaned and set his skull in his wings. The bandage hugged his bicep.
Between his frizzy wings, Crane heard the goat ladle some liquid. He slowly parted his feathers and looked to his right. At the wall, a heavily bandaged, acupuncture-ridden peacock slumbered peacefully.
"Have some." The Soothsayer said, walking up to him with a steaming bowl.
"Oh dear…" Crane held his head in his wing and tried to keep his composure.
"How long was I asleep?" he asked as he accepted the broth.
"A few hours, if that. I'm impressed that you managed to stay awake as long as you did, bird."
"Name's Crane." He said, bringing the bowl to his beak. He hesitated for a moment, as one should when accepting food from a stranger. The goat raised an eyebrow and walked away. He relented and tasted the hot liquid. It was salty, and quite good.
"Tasty?" she said, returning to her pot, "your friend Po made quite a fuss about it."
The Soothsayer. A supposed fortune teller. Her form was aged, indicated by her beard and massive twisting horns. She wore the same layered coat as before, furnished with bold colors and patterns. Crane had seen her in the throne room, but no one had seen her since. Po had told them about how she helped him heal, but her trustworthiness was questionable. For one thing, she did not hesitate to help Lord Shen.
Crane looked to the bed-bound peacock and tried to make sense of the past night.
How did he survive?
The goat guessed his thinking. "It doesn't make any sense to me either."
He set down his bowl and crept toward Lord Shen's resting place. Linens surrounded the entirety of the bird's body. Only his curling beak and half a leg escaped the twisting bandages. He looked like a messed-up porcupine from all the acupuncture needles. Many of them, Crane had helped administer himself.
"Why heal him?" he said, hunched over the peacock.
"I healed him because I could. No other reason. Thank you for your help with that."
"I should have left him on that beach."
"Maybe you should've. But you didn't."
"Wolves might've found him."
"Oh, trust me. They want him dead as much as you."
"What about that other bird? The one with the glowing yellow eyes. It was looking for him, too, I think."
"Yellow eyes…" the Soothsayer eyed the ground, then waved a hoof, "it sounds like you have been reading too many stories. Now, don't you have somewhere to be? You seemed in a hurry to leave earlier."
"Yeah…" he said. He looked back to the pile of taught linen, and the peacock hidden somewhere within it. He was surprised that he wasn't beset with the usual, simmering hate. It was indeed there, but duller and more distant. No, it reigned with the unsettling tinge of pity. Spots of red on the bandages mirrored the peacock's once prideful tail, like blood drops on a snowdrift.
That's when Crane realized: "His tail…"
"Gone, burned away it seems," was the Soothsayer's solemn response.
Crane cursed and walked to back to his bowl.
"He deserves what he got," he said. The biting words felt good to say. That peacock had caused him continual anguish over the past few days. Still, the feathers of Crane's lanky body stood on end. Lord Shen was in the same room as he, defeated. Helpless. He clenched his wings and took another sip before rising.
"Well, thank you for the help, I guess. But I better get going. Lots of scolding to receive. And possibly exile."
"Very well, Crane. I bid you well." She said in a peculiar tone. She kept stirring her pot and didn't look up.
"I'm leaving to bring the other masters here. They'll want him in custody immediately, you know."
"Yes, yes, good, good."
"…And their verdict won't be good."
"Mhmm."
Crane walked away, off put by the goat's apparent lack of worry, or emotion in general. He headed for the door, adjusting his wings in the process. The blue of the paper walls reddened slightly in the dawn. Too long had he lingered, and the toil was nearly at an end. Just as he was about to exit, he stopped, lidded his eyes, and tilted his head back.
"Fine, what aren't you telling me?" he asked, angling around with weariness.
"I don't catch your meaning," she said with an innocent grin.
"I know what a soothsayer is." Crane walked back toward her with an angered strut.
"You can see the future. Tell me what's going to happen."
"Can I? Well, fate is a tricky thing. I would have to cast a fortune first. But I doubt you would find yourself satisfied either way."
"Please, humor me."
"Hmm." The Soothsayer propped herself up on her cane and stroked her beard, smile fading. She reached for her bag on the floor and produced a cylinder of straight rods. Crane watched, impatient, yet curious.
The old goat shook the rods in a circular motion until two vacated its vessel. She cocked her head, and picked the sticks up. They shifted in her hooves while she clicked her tongue.
"Well?"
"Just as I thought. There is death in his future."
Crane noticed that he had been holding his breath. He filled his lungs and eyed the ceiling.
"I don't know what I expected."
"Strange. This other fate stick says 'good fortune in lessons.' I would guess that your next test will be a success." She beamed like a child.
"Wonderful," Crane said, heavy with petulance, "some help that was."
"Trust me, it never is." She set to her cauldron once more. Crane left her to her devices, wondering whatever it was she was on about.
"I'll be back soon," He called behind him, irritated.
"I know," the Soothsayer said, whimsical as ever, "oh, and good luck finding your hat."
A/N:
Back to the present. Short and sweet chapter! Packed it densely, this. Writing Crane is a whole lot of fun; I love his sassiness and sarcasm. Soothsayer is fun too, she doesn't put up with anybody's crap.
No, this isn't going to be anything like Forgotten Hope. Yes, there are a few parallels, but they are inevitable in some Shen-survives storylines, of which the interactions work in mine. I took some itty-bitty inspirations from that story as sort of an homage since it was the first fic I read on here.
As always, should any find something to be out of line, or even a bit odd, drop it in a review for me! Thank you for waiting for this, see you next time.