War (Chi Warriors Book 3)

  By Ino Lee

  Chi Warriors

  The Mark (Book 1)

  Demon Hunters (Book 2)

  War (Book 3)

  War: Chi Warriors (Book Three)

  Copyright © 2018 by Ino Lee.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-9915895-4-8

  e-ISBN 978-0-9915895-5-5

  1

  TING NIMBLY SLICED bitter melon into bite-sized chunks.

  “Chop . . . chop . . . chop,” she said as she cut.

  “Honey, you’re cutting too big,” her mother, Siew, said. “Try a little smaller.”

  Ting scrunched her face. She refocused on the gourd and chopped twice as fast.

  “Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!”

  “Aiya! What are you doing? I said smaller, not faster.”

  “I’m trying to cut like Hojin.”

  Siew put a hand on her shoulder. “Slow down or you’ll hurt yourself.”

  Ting made another face. “Ma, I’m going to the Shaolin Temple next year. I think I can handle it.”

  Siew laughed. “First of all, young lady, you’re not accepted yet. They said you were too young and they’d reevaluate you next year. Second, your cuts are all uneven now.”

  “I’m just as good as Hojin; I’ll get in.”

  “Don’t be in such a rush to grow up and leave me. And if you were as good as Hojin, all your pieces would be even.”

  Ting gasped. “I don’t even like bitter melon. That must be why my cuts are uneven. I thought we were supposed to have string beans anyway.”

  Siew looked out the window. “Daddy was supposed to get some from old Chang’s farm. He should have been back by now. I wonder what happened to him.”

  “If I pick something else, can we have that, too?”

  “Only if you come back quickly. It’s getting dark. I’ll finish up here.”

  “Yippie!”

  Ting ran to the front door and smacked together her favorite working sandals, shaking off the dirt before putting them on and exiting to the fields. She grabbed a satchel along the way and wondered what kind of produce to fill it up with for dinner; eggplant would be nice, or perhaps some lotus root. At a break in the road, she hesitated and chose left—lotus root. The freshness and crunch of the tubers would be a nice change from the nastiness of the bitter melon.

  She reached the lotus pond, her favorite part of the farm, and realized her mistake. Harvesting lotus root meant wading into the mud and water, especially unappealing since it was almost dark out. She sat on a nearby rock, deflated. How dumb. Where was her mind? Probably too busy thinking about Hojin and the Shaolin Temple, and how in a year she’d have to demonstrate her chi power to prove she had what it took to become a disciple. She was certain she could do it. She picked up a pebble and stood, aiming for a pink lotus flower in the pond. After a few deep breaths, she launched the rock through the air and hit the flower squarely. She smiled. How could they deny her skill? It would only be a matter of time before she was training with her brother again on a daily basis at the temple.

  She left the pond for the eggplant field on the other side of the farm, mindful of the fading sunlight. Fortunately, her speed and endurance were exceptional, further proof of her chi abilities. She reached the field quickly and was able to pick out a plump, ripe specimen, big enough to satisfy her appetite should she successfully avoid bitter melon. Should her father manage to bring home some string beans, so much the better.

  Home was not far away. She saw the expansive window of their kitchen with her mother inside, a lantern casting extra light on her chattering lip as she made final dinner preparations. Ting found it funny how her mother always talked to herself whenever she cooked, whether it was reciting the ingredients of a recipe, commenting on its quality, or describing, step-by-step, exactly what she was doing. The thought suddenly crossed Ting’s mind that it might be too late to add eggplant to the meal, so she quickened her step, but soon froze after seeing something move inside the house.

  The face of a red devil appeared behind her mother.

  The monster struck and her mother’s lips stopped moving, the two then disappearing from view. Ting squealed and dropped her satchel, then ran forward in a terrible panic, unsure if what she saw really happened.

  Slowly, the devil rose back up again—its body tall, thin, and black, and its face bright red and menacing. There was no mistaking it. An unan demon had attacked her mother, its slender form and eccentric mask a thing of nightmares.

  She stumbled down the path without thinking. Another figure crossed into view—a long, lanky leg stepping into the path—an unan with a grinning white mask and red cheeks. The added threat snapped Ting out of her panicked state and she dove into the foliage. The demon stared in her direction briefly but turned away.

  Ting hunched low among the crops. She crawled on the ground, then stepped nimbly toward the cottage. Getting close to the demons was a bad idea, but she had to help her mother.

  An unnaturally high-pitched voice called out, “Raikahn, what are you doing in there? Raikahn . . . what is your status?”

  The red devil mask stuck its head out of the window. “All threats eliminated.” Its voice was smooth and eloquent.

  “Excellent,” the white mask said, then giggled eerily. “Did you have much trouble?”

  “No, Lafay. Just one female. An easy kill.”

  Ting cupped her mouth and held back tears. She bent low and felt her forehead touch soil.

  “One?” Lafay replied. “That seems too few for this farm.”

  “I searched the house. There is no one else here.”

  Lafay glanced in Ting’s direction again. “Perhaps in the fields, then.”

  Raikahn stepped outside. “It’s getting dark. There shouldn’t be anyone working this late. Are the other farms cleared?”

  “Yes. This is the last. Our forces can enter undetected, but first we must be sure it is clear.”

  The white mask spread its arms and swayed, feeling for energies. It hummed like a child.

  “Do you sense anything, Lafay?”

  “There is something here. Nearby.”

  Ting started crawling frantically.

  “Where?” Raikahn said. It lifted a pitch fork. “Is it another farmer?”

  “No. Something smaller.”

  “This is a farm. Might it be a pig? A chicken loose from its coop?”

  “Perhaps. It could be a child. I cannot tell. It’s moving away. That way.”

  Lafay pointed with long fingers.

  “Whatever it is, I’ll skewer it. The job is mine to complete,” Raikahn said. “You prepare the farm. Our forces will move in soon.”

  The red devil took off with long strides into the field.

  Ting angled her body across the field, careful not to make any noise. She wanted to circle back home to see her mother one final time, but knew it would be foolish. The demon was on her tail and more danger was coming. What would a Shaolin warrior do? What would Hojin do?

  She crossed a trail and picked up her lost satchel. Leaves crunched as she reentered cover.

  “Who’s
there?” Raikahn shouted.

  The unan pursued. Ting knew its kind well—powerful, demonic beings bound to frightening masks. Her brother had told her all about them and she knew that getting away would be difficult. She waited and listened, curling up into a tight ball.

  Raikahn called out again. “Is there a child out there? Hiding in the weeds? In the dark?”

  She tensed.

  “Don’t you worry,” the demon continued. “For I will find you soon and skewer you like I did your mother!”

  Crops rustled and footsteps crashed violently through the field. It sounded like the unan was flailing its arms and striking the plants purposely with its trident in an attempt to flush her from position. Its words stung, but she held back. She was training to become a Shaolin warrior.

  She took the eggplant out of her satchel and tossed it the other way, temporarily redirecting the unan so she could flee. Leaves and branches whipped past her face in the darkened night. Her diversion did not last long and she could hear the demon behind her.

  Up ahead, pigs squealed. She opened the gate of their pen and tried to chase them out, but the animals were stubborn. Time was running out; the unan called for her. She found a pail of feed to get the pigs’ attention and started them moving out the door, smacking one on the rear to send the pack scattering. The pigs would throw Raikahn off her trail and might even trick the demon into thinking they were its prey all along. Brains over brawn, her mother would always say.

  She loaded her satchel with a few readily available supplies, wishing she could retrieve her favorite doll from the cottage, then took the nearest road away from the farm. She didn’t know where she was going, but kept moving, intent on putting distance between her and the demons.

  A few miles passed before she felt safe again. She stopped and looked back at the farm after coming across a good vantage point, her tiny silhouette hidden among the shadows.

  She dropped to her knees and cried.

  2

  VICTORY FELT CERTAIN. If the demon horde was able to secure a few more passages into the heart of the Tangled Root forest, the magaus’ demise would soon be at hand. The wily monkey-men were difficult to combat against in their homeland, able to attack and retreat back into the deep tangle, but with secret lines running behind the main battlefront that were jungle-free and wide enough to move troops and supplies, there would be no place to hide.

  Six burly zhuks hacked away at wood and foliage with axes and blades that looked like monstrous meat cleavers. Old wood split and cracked as the beasts lay waste to the forest’s gnarled roots—appendages of giant banyan trees that curled in and out of the ground and knotted the landscape, making it difficult for Koon Gee troops to mobilize. The beasts wound around the thicker tree trunks, whose frames were much too difficult to take down, content on clearing a navigable path through the roots. A dozen dagwais with machetes followed, clearing up debris, vines, reeds, and thorny brush, the leathery green tint of their hides making an excellent camouflage.

  Gaiman raised a hand. The unan demon with the face of an old man shifted its head repeatedly, shaking back and forth the ghostly white hairs on its mask as it examined the forest suspiciously.

  “Quiet, you fools!” the demon barked.

  Another unan approached. This demon wore the mask of a poisonous tree snake. “What is it?”

  “I thought I sensed something. The magaus could be close.”

  The viper examined the same area as Gaiman. “I see nothing. These creatures . . . they are not subtle. They travel in force.”

  “A scout, then.”

  “The crow vultures keep guard. They would notice a spy.”

  Gaiman’s voice heightened. “That’s right, but where are they?”

  The demons surveyed the area, but the lookout birds were nowhere to be seen. The forest was eerily quiet.

  “This is odd,” the viper hissed.

  “We must go on the hunt to investigate. This passage cannot be discovered.”

  “And leave the forest clearers?”

  “Let them to chop wood. There is no force nearby and a simple scout would not dare cross six zhuks and a bevy of dagwais.”

  A zhuk howled and pointed up with its cleaver.

  Gaiman’s head snapped up. “What is it?”

  The viper pointed. “The scout. Houzon.”

  Wong dangled upside down by a leg, his foot crammed into the nook of a branch while he watched the forest-clearing troop work below. The invaders were a formidable bunch, well-armed and with good numbers, but Wong wore the unan mask of the former magau king, Houzon, and this made him bold. He glanced at Shiki, who was hidden in the treetops nearby, and smiled behind his mask. The blue-faced magau guessed his intentions and shook his head in anxious disapproval.

  A zhuk howled and pointed, and then Houzon did the unthinkable. He let go.

  He landed on the zhuk’s head and buried his red crystal sword through its skull, then leaped high into the air at another. The second zhuk flinched and knocked him to the ground, but Wong sprang up and scurried through its legs, pulling out a thin spike and stabbing an acupuncture point on the back of its knee to paralyze it. Two zhuks were down in an instant.

  Wong’s mission was straightforward. If he could take out the zhuks, their ability to hack through the thick banyan roots would be crippled and their operation would come to a halt. They could not afford to let the Koon Gee make any more gains through the forest, so taking down the brute beasts was critical.

  A cleaver diverted him, then a machete from a dagwai. He blocked a follow-up strike from the lizardman with the arm shield of his gauntlet, then slashed its leg before shifting his attention to more converging Koon Gee. Another dagwai was almost on top of him and he raised his sword to defend when the sound of cutting air caused him to jump back off his feet.

  A zhuk sliced its six-foot cleaver through the dagwai in an attempt to catch him off-guard and struck his upturned sword, fracturing the sharp crystal coating and sending the weapon airborne.

  “Woah,” Wong said, as he landed on his back.

  The zhuk recoiled its blade and was about to butcher him on the ground, but a satchel of knock-out powder hit its face. Shiki followed from the heights with a thump from the curved end of his stave and landed next to Wong. The zhuk fell flat on the ground.

  “You’re welcome,” Shiki said.

  “I had that.”

  Wong rose and grabbed the fallen dagwai’s machete to replace his sword. He tested the edge with his finger. It had been dulled from chopping wood and was a far cry from the exceptional sharpness of his crystal sword, but would do given the circumstances.

  Shiki analyzed the crowd of converging warriors. “Here come unan.”

  Wong rethought his approach; perhaps he had been too hasty before. “Let’s get into the woods.”

  They rushed through the tangle, drawing their pursuers into the maze of growth. The unan and dagwais followed easily, while the large zhuks were slow and encumbered. Wong and Shiki’s strategy for fighting the forest clearers went unspoken but was mutually understood: draw the Koon Gee deeper and higher into the trees to separate them, then circle back on the vulnerable zhuks.

  “Wait!” Gaiman yelled. His gray face looked back at the zhuks, his white hairs seemingly full of wisdom. “Zhuks return to the clearing! Don’t let them lure you into the forest. Leave them to us.”

  Wong stopped as the zhuks began to retreat. “The old man is onto us.”

  “New plan?” Shiki said.

  “Divide and conquer. You occupy them; I’ll go after the zhuks. Be careful, though—Gaiman is dangerous. The last time we met, it stabbed me through the shoulder.”

  “Will it chase you?”

  “Not if you get its attention.”

  Shiki grinned. “I can do that.” He tapped a blow gun.

  They separated
.

  The unan forged ahead, their gangly black limbs able to bend and step lively through the growth. Gaiman pointed a spear when it spotted Wong, who hung upside down on a branch as he had moments before.

  “Wong! Are you so eager for another skewering? I know it is you behind the mask.”

  Wong swayed like a pendulum. He let out a monkey cackle.

  “What is your game?” Gaiman yelled.

  Wong pointed at Shiki, who stood off to the side with the blow gun in his mouth. A dart spewed forth and hit the demon squarely in the chest. Gaiman shrieked and pulled out the dart, which burned, but another followed, stinging again.

  “Sembu slime,” Shiki taunted.

  The unan swatted a third dart out of the air and charged with the others before Shiki could fire again.

  Shiki grabbed another satchel of knock-out powder, spun it by the cord, and let it fly. The bag arched toward the approaching party before Wong, who was still hanging upside-down, launched a knife. It split the satchel in midair, showering the Koon Gee with a fine dust. A few dagwais coughed and wheezed, stumbling shortly before succumbing to the toxic powder. The unan moved through undisturbed.

  Wong used the distraction to break off toward the zhuks, but the unan with the viper mask pursued. Wong figured it was better that way since leaving Shiki alone to fight Gaiman and a few straggling dagwais would be more manageable without the snake. Part of him was curious, too, to see what new skills this unfamiliar enemy brought.

  He moved up the trees and circled back toward the cut-away part of the forest. The snake mask kept pace, which surprised him; though he wasn’t sure of what to expect from a demonic spirit bound to a viper mask, he didn’t think it would move so well on two feet, the image of a slithering reptile with a tail crossing his mind.

  The zhuks loomed ahead. The viper hissed out a warning, but its voice was too frail to be heard, allowing Wong to unexpectedly explode from the treetops and end a zhuk with a single stroke of his machete.

  The remaining two zhuks were startled—a brown giant with an ax, and a gray beast with crooked horns and a cleaver—but they regrouped and retaliated with massive hacks of their heavy blades, which Wong dared not attempt to block or parry. The earth was torn to shreds as Wong dodged metal.