The sharp, weighted tip of the chain whip sliced through the air, severing pine boughs and tree limbs in every direction. He continued until he had cleared a wide circle that would allow him to swing his chain whip any way he chose without interference. Then he began to create a deadly new dance.
Between long, slashing swings of the chain whip, Ying thrust his practice branch forward again and again. The chain connected with the end of the branch more often than not, and in no time he was left with a short practice dagger as opposed to a long practice sword.
Ying tossed the stubby stick aside and looked around the forest floor once more, this time gathering an armload of branches that would serve his purpose. This was going to take time. He would give himself two weeks to practice, and another two weeks to find himself a real sword. Then he would have to locate Tonglong and face his destiny.
Long heard the voice as if in a dream. The accent was odd, but the words were definitely Chinese.
“Put on all she can wear, mateys! We can do this! The wind is in our favor!”
Long forced his eyes open and found himself lying flat on his back, the ground rolling and pitching violently beneath him. The sun was high overhead, and the crisp scent of salt water invaded his nostrils. He was in a boat.
But whose boat was it? And what day was it?
Long rolled onto his side and tried to raise himself up onto one elbow to take a look around. He’d made it halfway there when his arm slipped on the boat’s slick deck, and he flopped back down with a groan, dizzy.
“He’s awake!” a familiar voice shrieked from somewhere nearby.
Long raised his head, tilting it left and then right. Strangely, he did not see anyone. Then he gazed up. At the very top of the boat’s single tall mast, he saw Malao’s dark-skinned face beaming down at him.
Long grinned.
Malao raised a hand and waved, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his perch was swinging wildly back and forth through a full ninety degrees of motion as the boat rolled in the wind-driven seas. “Hello, Big Brother!” Malao shouted down to him.
Long nodded a greeting and mustered as much strength as he could, struggling again to lift himself onto his elbow. This time, he succeeded. He glanced over the side of the boat and saw that they were tearing along at an impressive rate. He’d had no idea a boat could move so fast.
“Lie down, Brother,” urged a gentle voice behind him. A moment later, his younger temple sister, Hok, appeared at his side. She took his wrist in her hand, searching for his pulse.
Long glanced at Hok’s smooth pale skin and spiky brown hair. He had learned from Grandmaster that Hok had a Chinese mother and a Dutch father. That accounted for her light skin, but he had never seen her with hair. It looked nice, but made her look as out of place as she had probably felt growing up pretending to be a boy.
“Conserve your energy,” Hok said to him. “Charles has everything under control.”
“Charles?” Long asked.
Someone began to grumble from the front of the boat. “Charles has everything under control? Hmpf.”
Long smiled as he recognized that deep, complaining voice. He glanced at the boat’s bow and saw Fu expertly rearranging a complicated series of ropes. Fu was shirtless despite the cold weather, and Long was surprised to see how much Fu had thinned out, and how much muscle mass he had gained. Fu’s chest might have been even larger than his own, which really was impressive considering Long had the build of an eighteen-year-old and Fu was only twelve.
“Hello, Fu,” Long called out in as loud a voice as he could manage.
“Ahoy,” Fu replied. “I would come over to say hello, but I’m kind of busy right now. I’m helping Charles.”
Long wondered if Fu might stalk over to wherever this Charles was standing in order to give Charles a piece of his mind, or possibly a piece of his fist. Instead, Fu did the strangest thing. He laughed. Then he shouted, “Sorry, Charles. I’m only teasing.”
Long blinked. What had happened to Fu? The Fu he knew never apologized for anything.
Things grew even stranger when Long twisted his head around toward the back of the boat. Behind the ship’s wheel stood a white teenage boy with straw-colored hair and eyes the color of the sea. Towering next to him was Xie.
Xie clapped the foreign teenager on the shoulder and said, “We are in fine hands, Long. This is Charles. Or should I say, Captain Charles?”
Charles smiled warmly and nodded to Long. “Nice to finally meet you. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you,” Long replied. He felt Hok release his wrist, and he turned his attention back to her.
“Please lie down,” Hok said. “You need to conserve your energy. Your pulse is very faint and you have lost a lot of blood. You are lucky to be alive. It took more than one hundred stitches to close your wounds, and I had to sew them while the boat was moving. It is not my best work. Some of them are bound to split open if you do not lie still.”