Phoenix (13 page)

“You are most welcome. Follow me to the temple and I shall show you what remains. Afterward, we will eat and I can tell you tales of Cangzhen Temple, if you would like.”

“Please do!” Hú Dié said enthusiastically.

“Ditto that,” I said.

Grandmaster Long smiled. “It pleases me to know that someone is interested in our history. I may as well begin the lesson right here, in this section of younger trees.” He raised his arms wide, a broken spear half in each hand. “This ground was devoid of anything except ankle-high grass for hundreds of years. Monks like myself took great pains to keep it that way because it allowed us to see invaders and attack them before they attacked us. Not too long ago, I decided to stop maintaining it. I am afraid I’m getting too old for that kind of work.”

He began to walk, leading us through the new-growth patch of forest for another seventy yards or so until we came to the remains of a stone wall that was at least seven feet tall. It was charred and crumbling, and entire sections were missing. Hú Dié and I leaned our bikes against the wall next to one of the larger gaps, which was wide enough for several people to walk through side by side.

I peered through the gap, taking in every detail. The wall had once surrounded a vast space filled with many one-story buildings of various sizes, all of which were made of stone and appeared to have been scorched by fire. Most of the buildings were crumbling, and nearly all had clay roof tiles that were cracked and broken. Cobblestone walks crisscrossed the ground, and some of the stones under the building eaves were splashed with black stains that I guessed had once been bloodred. This was no doubt the site of a horrific attack.

“Two hundred warrior monks died here,” Grandmaster Long said in a solemn tone. “Muskets and cannons were new to China at the time. The monks did not stand a chance.”

I looked at the damaged perimeter wall and couldn’t help thinking about pictures I’d seen of the famous Shaolin Temple nearby. While Shaolin was called a temple, it was actually a walled compound containing multiple temples and other buildings in which several hundred people could live in isolation, just like Cangzhen. The Shaolin compound had also been destroyed, but it was recently rebuilt. Millions of people from all over the world now visit it each year.

“Why don’t you rebuild Cangzhen like Shaolin has been?” I asked.

“I hope to,” Grandmaster Long said. “China is changing, and the time may soon be right to push Cangzhen Temple out of the ashes. However, making it a tourist destination is not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Yeah,” Hú Dié said. “ ‘Hidden Truth Temple’ doesn’t exactly sound like a vacation hot spot.”

I remembered asking Grandfather about the temple’s name and being told that I should ask here. I looked at Grandmaster Long. “What was hidden in this place?”

“Many things,” he replied. “And nothing.”

Hú Dié glanced suspiciously at Grandmaster Long.

“What is it?” he asked.

“My father says the same thing whenever he does not want me to know something.”

Grandmaster Long looked offended. “Do you not trust me?”

Hú Dié folded her arms. “You have done nothing to make me distrust you.”

“But I have done nothing to earn your trust, either, have I?”

Hú Dié didn’t respond.

“Fair enough,” Grandmaster Long said. “It is wise for a young woman to be cautious of strangers. I will show you something to prove my good intentions. Wait here. I will be right back.”

Grandmaster Long hurried deep into the compound, out of sight, and Hú Dié turned to me. “Do you trust this guy?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you just met him.”

“I just met you, too.”

She cocked her arm to punch me, but I stepped backward, out of her reach. She lowered her fist.

“What about your grandfather?” she asked. “Does he trust this guy?”

“I guess so. He sent me here alone, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe I have mixed feelings about him because I just fought with him.”

“Actually, it’s my fault that you attacked him. I went off on my own, remember? Riders are supposed to stick together.”

Hú Dié’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t remind me.”

Grandmaster Long returned carrying an ornate
dragon-shaped vessel made of what looked like porcelain. I felt my pulse quicken. The container was a lot like the one Grandfather had used for his dragon bone, only much larger.

Grandmaster Long removed the vessel’s lid and showed the contents to me and Hú Dié. There was several times more dragon bone than Grandfather had had.

“Dragon bone, I presume?” Hú Dié asked.

“Yes,” Grandmaster Long replied. He looked at me. “I had planned to share this with you in the morning, but I will give you a portion for your grandfather now as an act of good faith and trust. I will find a suitable container and—” He stopped in midsentence, staring back the way we had come.

Hú Dié craned her neck, cocking her head to one side as if listening.

Then I heard it, too—the high-pitched whine of an off-road motorcycle, coming on fast. I looked down at the bits of fern frond still stuck to my legs. I had left a clear trail through the trees that anyone could follow. But who might be trailing us?

An instant later, I caught a glimpse of a motorcycle racing through the trees. It was traveling at an incredible speed. It reached the far edge of the new-growth section of elms, and I saw a second off-road motocross cycle coming up behind it. Both riders wore the reinforced racing jackets and tinted, full face mask helmets favored by sport bike motorcyclists. Even so, I could tell by their physiques exactly who they were.

It was Slim and Meathead.

I pointed into the trees
and shouted, “It’s the guys who stole my grandfather’s dragon bone!”

“Take cover!” Grandmaster Long said.

We raced through the large gap in the wall. Hú Dié and I ducked behind the wall, while Grandmaster Long cradled the large dragon bone vessel under one arm like a rugby ball and headed for a small, windowless building about the size of a backyard storage shed. The shed had no door, but its four stone walls appeared solid, and most of its roof was intact.

One of the motorcycle engines revved, and I peeked through a crack in the wall to see Slim take off ahead of Meathead. The thin man zipped through the young trees like a motocross champion, powering through the gap in the wall as Grandmaster Long slipped into the shed.

Slim gunned his engine and steered for the shed, and I saw him pull a fist-sized cylindrical object from his
jacket and raise it toward his mouth. The object looked a lot like a mountain bike handlebar grip with a metal ring attached to one end. Slim pulled the ring out with his teeth, and as he raced past the shed, he threw the cylinder through the doorway.

BOOM!

A deafening blast erupted from within the stone shed, accompanied by a brilliant flash of light through the doorway that made me see stars. The object was some kind of flash-bang stun grenade.

I blinked several times and turned back to the gap, where I saw movement. It was Hú Dié. She’d gotten her mountain bike and was fiddling with Trixie’s quick-release seat post clamp. I took a step toward her but froze as Meathead reached the gap.

Hú Dié pulled the foot-long seat post out of Trixie’s frame, the narrow racing seat still attached to one end of the post. She gripped the end of the post opposite the seat and hurled the whole thing like a tomahawk at Meathead’s motorcycle. The rigid aluminum seat post caught in the heavy-duty spokes of the motorcycle’s front wheel, then jammed up against the back of the front fork.

The front wheel locked up, and Meathead sailed over the handlebars, just as I had done when my mountain bike’s front wheel tacoed, except Meathead was wearing a padded protective jacket and a fully enclosed helmet. The big man sailed into the compound, his head and shoulders skidding across the cobblestones as he hit the ground. The moment he came to rest, however, he stood up. His tinted face shield was scuffed and cracked, but
otherwise he appeared fine. He tore off the damaged face shield, and I got a good look at his face. It was Meathead, without a doubt.

The engine on Meathead’s riderless motorcycle cut out, and through the ringing in my ears I heard Slim’s motorcycle engine rev. I looked over and saw that he was well past the shed and clear of the grenade’s blast zone. However, his attention still seemed to be focused on the shed’s doorway.

I glanced toward the building and saw Grandmaster Long stumble out of it. The old monk looked dazed and confused. He was staggering like a drunkard, his eyes a blank stare. He still held the dragon bone vessel tightly under one arm, and he now had a broadsword in his other hand.

Hú Dié let loose the same banshee wail she’d used when she’d attacked earlier, and I looked over to see her running full tilt toward Meathead. He was reaching across his body, into his riding jacket.

Hú Dié cocked her arm back as though about to throw a punch, and Meathead jerked his face to one side, out of her reach. However, the place where his face shield had been wasn’t Hú Dié’s target. Instead, she wound up with her entire torso and let fly the most wicked elbow I’d ever seen, connecting with the back of Meathead’s hand, crushing it against his massive chest. I heard the thin bones in his hand snap and splinter like Popsicle sticks.

Meathead howled and dropped something to the cobblestones. It was a gun. Hú Dié bent over, scooping
it up. She had nearly straightened when Meathead kicked like a football player punting a football. His foot knocked the pistol from her hand, sending the gun clear over the perimeter wall, while his shin connected with her chin.

Hú Dié hit the ground, possibly knocked out. I considered running to help her, but Meathead had already turned his attention to Grandmaster Long. The old monk still looked dazed, but he held tightly to the dragon bone as well as the broadsword.

I raced to his side well ahead of Meathead. I made a move to grab the container from Grandmaster Long before he accidentally dropped it, but the confused monk swung his broadsword the moment my hands touched the vessel. I ducked just in time to miss the deadly blow. The grenade must have temporarily blinded him. He didn’t recognize me.

“Grandmaster Long!” I shouted. “It’s me! Phoenix!”

Grandmaster Long must have also been deafened by the blast, because he continued to swing the broadsword.

I took several steps backward, out of range. As Meathead neared, I heard Slim’s engine rev again. I looked over to see the motorcycle spring forward like a hungry jaguar. Slim reached into his jacket and pulled out another grenade, raising its metal ring to his teeth.

I dropped to the ground and curled into a ball, closing my eyes tight and covering my ears with my hands. I heard something hit the cobblestones behind me as Slim’s motorcycle zoomed past and then—

BOOM!

A white-hot flash of unimaginable brightness washed
over me, together with a sonic pulse that punched at my kidneys and rattled the bones of my inner ear. Behind me, Grandmaster Long howled in pain, then fell silent. Meathead howled, too.

I opened my eyes and found the world awash with stars like I’d experienced after the first grenade, only a hundred times worse. My head throbbed, and I was so disoriented that I didn’t know which way was up. I tried to rise to my knees but toppled over.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the whine of a motorcycle engine. The motocross bike swung around and stopped a few feet from Grandmaster Long. I saw that the old monk no longer held the broadsword. He was lying flat on his back, either out cold or dead. Both of his legs had been burned by the incendiary flash.

The dragon bone vessel lay smashed beside Slim’s motorcycle. Slim removed a fabric drawstring bag from his jacket and quickly scooped up all that he could of the dragon bone. Once he’d finished, he tied the bag closed and rammed it back into his jacket.

I looked past Slim and saw Meathead staggering as though he were standing in a stiff breeze. He must have had his bell rung by the blast, too. Beyond Meathead, Hú Dié was getting to her knees.

Slim shouted something to Meathead, and I recognized his voice. These were definitely the same guys who had broken into our house. Meathead stumbled over to the revving motorcycle and climbed onto the back.

I’d never been so angry in my life. I had to do something.

I managed to rise to a squatting position, like a toad. As the motorcycle skittered past me with a squeal of rubber, I launched myself into the air. My plan was to slam into Slim’s torso, knocking him off the bike, but Slim saw me coming and stuck out his leg.

Slim’s foot collided with my shoulder. My forward momentum stopped, and I grabbed hold of Slim’s ankle. He twisted the throttle, and I was jerked forward so hard I thought my arms were going to rip out of their sockets. But I wasn’t about to let go. I began to roll like an alligator and felt the cuff of Slim’s pant leg catch between the motorcycle’s chain and its drive sprocket.

Fearing for my fingers, I let go. Slim’s entire body shifted down and to the right as the revolving sprocket tugged his pant leg down and around; however, he didn’t fall as most people would have. Instead, he seemed to know exactly what to do. He kicked his leg out and then forward, tearing his pant leg up the back from ankle to knee. The slackened fabric spun out of the sprocket teeth, and Slim was free.