4.  Landfall

"I am not getting into that leaky rowboat…" Sandy said petulantly.  I closed my eyes and counted to ten.  It didn't help.  "…it could sink and then I'd get salt water on my clothes, and there are flies and its dirty and…"

Ok, that's enough.  Ignoring her protests, I simply picked her up, hoisted her over my shoulders, and clambered down the rope ladder into the rowboat.  I can't believe I had to put up with her crap.  By the time I got into the boat, she had elbowed me in the side of the head twice, and I was getting pretty pissed.

"Listen up, Sandy!  You are here because YOU demanded it, over my objections.  I didn't want you here, but now you are, and if you are going to make my life difficult, I'm just going to throw you over the side and LEAVE you here!  Now SHUT UP, sit down, and for God's sake stop throwing a tantrum.  You sound like a four-year-old."

The fact that she actually did shut up was a bit of a miracle.  In fact, she said nothing at all for the entire boat ride, for which I was very grateful.  My camera crew was sitting with us (their gear and my luggage taking up an entire separate rowboat on its own), and it would have been embarrassing if she had caused a scene.

I noticed briefly that Lt. Blade and her crew had ignored the offer of a boat, and were climbing into an inflatable raft, complete with a little outboard engine.  The soldiers weren't joking any more – they had their weapons out and looked ready to rock n' roll, eying our destination with outright hostility.

Because Sandy was pouting, I got a chance to look at the island.  It wasn't terribly large – I could see from the rowboat both ends of the island, and it was roughly circular in shape.  The beaches were dark, coarse sand, and where the beaches ended, a thick forest sprung up.  The center of the island was all steep, jagged mountains; pathways cut into the forest were paved with stone and all seemed to lead to the central, and highest, mountain.

At the far end of the island, nearly out of sight, was a large coliseum, made of the same gray stone.  I assumed that the arena was where the tournament would actually take place.

When the rowboats hit the shore, the silent, red-robed oarsmen began unloading our luggage without being asked, and bringing it up one of the stone trails to the mountain.  I told my camera crew to follow them, make sure nothing got broken or lost, and I'd catch up with them later.  Sandy followed them, still sulking – I breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, where to now?" I asked myself quietly.

I had no idea, of course.  Eventually, I turned to another one of the fighters I had seen briefly on the boat – a slim, almost Mongolian looking fighter, wrapped entirely in blue and black robes.

"Do you know where we are supposed to go?"  You idiot, I thought to myself, as soon as the words came out of my mouth.  He probably doesn't speak English.

He looked at me, appraising.  I returned the favor.  He was slightly shorter than I was, and very lean.  I couldn't see much of him because of his robes, but what little I could see showed pale skin.  Though his eyes slanted in a way that showed his Asian background, they were an unbelievable, harsh shade of gray-blue.  As though carved from ice and diamonds.  When he looked at me, I felt suddenly cold.

"We must find the master of the Tournament," he said quietly – in Chinese.  I don't understand Chinese.  That didn't stop me from understanding just what he said.  "The fighters are to meet at the arena, dawn tomorrow, and Shang Tsung will begin the tournament."

It was a sign of just how off-balance this whole had made me, that the fact I could suddenly speak Chinese didn't even bother me… well, hardly at all.  I just sort of blinked, and took it in stride.

"Ok," I said, and stuck out my hand.  "Johnny Cage, international superstar.  And you are?"

He didn't shake my hand.  Instead he gave a small bow, and murmured.  "I am Sub-Zero, of the Lin Kuei.  My profession is death."  I retracted my hand quickly.  That seemed to amuse him.  "Oh, not yours, so long as you do not interfere.  I will win this tournament, and challenge its grandmaster."  I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes – all these fighters were so arrogant.  Obviously, I was going to win the tournament. 

The ninja continued.  "And then I will rip his head off."  He seemed pleased at the prospect.

Okay, he's a little creepy.  What kind of a name is Sub-Zero, anyways?  Is everybody in this tournament a nutcase?

"Well, good luck in the tournament, Mr. Zero," I said, pulling my sunglasses out of my pocket and putting them on.  Sub-Zero bowed again, and silently slunk off into the evening.

I watch the sun set, and glowered up at the threatening sky.  I hoped the rains would hold off until after the tournament started tomorrow.

***

I was in no hurry to head up the road and bunk down with Sandy and my crew, so instead I wandered the beach under the darkening sky.  I was unsurprised to find several other fighters on the beaches and cliffs, meditating, practicing, or just looking apprehensively at the sunset.  Nerves, I thought.

The warriors came from all over the globe, and though a few were remote or hostile, I found that most were willing to chat if I approached them.  I discovered that my new talent for languages included not only Chinese, but German, Lithuanian, Russian, Japanese, and some Polynesian dialect I can't even pronounce.  A few had even seen some of my movies, which gratified me to no end.  It seemed a shame that after finally finding myself in a community of equals (well, almost), I'd spend the next few days kicking the crap out of them.

Night had fallen completely, and I was about to turn back for the mountain when I heard the distinctive snarling of a certain blonde I had become familiar with.  Peering down the cliff where I was standing, I saw her, still dressed in her black fatigues, pointing her gun at an old man in red robes.

"You'll tell me where Kano is, and then you'll let my people go, you bastard," she shouted.  "Or I'll put you down right now."

"Kano has entered the tournament, Sonya," the old man said calmly, his voice carrying perfectly to where I was standing.  "He is therefore under my protection, and I cannot let you simply kill him – unless you fight him in Mortal Kombat."  He shrugged.  "And as for your threats…" he shrugged, and almost casually seemed to gesture at her.

I wasn't sure that I was what happened next – what I thought I saw was a flash of light, and then a stream of fire leapt from his hands and blasted the gun out of Lt. Blade's hands.

But, of course, that was impossible.  Everyone knows that you can't just throw fire.  Right?

On the beach below me, Lt. Blade seemed just as stunned as I was.  "God damn you, Shang Tsung!" she screamed, raising her fists.

"The only way to get your revenge is to enter in the tournament, Sonya.  And it is the only way to save your men – otherwise, I will make sure that you will never see them again."

"Alright, you sonuvabitch, sign me up for your tournament.  And know this: I don't forget an enemy, and someday you are going to get yours."

The old man, Shang Tsung, almost smiled.  "Should you defeat my champion, you, of course, have the right to challenge me.  I doubt it will come to that, however.  I will see you tomorrow at dawn in the arena – I recommend that you get some rest, you will need all of your strength for tomorrow."

"Go to hell."

Shang Tsung turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving Lt. Blade standing on the beach, looking helpless and angry and afraid.  I quickly throttled my first impulse, which was to climb down to her and try and say something, anything to help.  Instead, I turned and began climbing the nearest path to the mountain barracks where the fighters slept.

Perhaps I would try and talk to her before the tournament tomorrow.