Tiger (9 page)

Out of the corner of his eye, Fu saw that the first hunter had run around to the opposite side of the pit.
The man stepped up to the edge, grasped his spear with both hands, and raised it up as he had done earlier. The tiger growled again and lifted its head, baring its teeth.

“What are you doing?” Fu cried.

“Mind your own business, monk,” the first hunter said. “This hunt doesn't concern you.”

“I'm making it my business!” Fu said.

“Then you will be sorry,” the man replied, and thrust his spear into the tiger's thick neck. The tiger roared no more.

Something inside Fu's head snapped. The world went black before his eyes, and his ears closed themselves off to everything around him. For the rest of his life, Fu would never remember everything that happened next. For the rest of their lives, the others would never forget.

Fu attacked with lightning speed. He lunged at the second hunter so fast, the man only had time to push his spear out before him with both hands held wide, the spear parallel to the ground. It was a pitiful attempt at a defensive maneuver. Fu bent his elbows and drew both hands in to his chest with his wrists flexed up and back. He spread his fingers wide and curled them down and in, like tiger's claws, then exhaled powerfully as he thrust both hands forward, side by side. Fu's palms met the center point of the spear's shaft at full force and the shaft broke in two. His clawlike hands continued forward, clamping down powerfully on the hunter's throat as his weight
and momentum sent them both tumbling to the ground. Fu released his right hand—his most powerful hand—and formed a fist. He smashed it into the side of his opponent's head, knocking the man out cold. Fu looked over at the first hunter.

The first hunter yanked his spear out of the tiger, its metal tip dripping blood, and ran around the pit toward Fu. Fu sprang to his feet, picked up one half of the second hunter's broken spear in each hand, and raced forward to meet his next opponent head on.

Three paces from Fu, the first hunter leaped high into the air. That was a mistake. Fu retained a balanced, level plane, bent his elbows back and up beyond his ears, then swung both halves of the wooden spear straight up into the first hunter's groin. The man's eyes bulged and he cried out, pulling his knees up while still in midair. He landed in a heap on his side, immobilized. Fu was about to continue his assault on the man when he heard the Gentleman speak.

“It's okay, Son,” the Gentleman said. “I understand your reservations. Turn away, if you wish.”

The boy turned away from his father, and his eyes locked on Fu's. Staring coldly at the boy, Fu dropped the spear halves and picked up the whole, bloodstained spear that the first hunter had let fall to his side as he hit the ground. The boy cried out.

“Father!”

Fu quickly covered the distance between where he was and where he wanted to be. He swung the blunt
end of the spear as hard as he could with both hands, into the boy's left ear. The boy fell to his knees, and his head slumped down. Blood began to trickle out of his ear. Seeing his son go down, the Gentleman lost all composure.

“Be gone, evil monk!” the Gentleman shouted. “I hope you've made yourself feel powerful, attacking an unarmed child!”

The man's words brought Fu back to his senses. In a daze, he watched as the tiger cub ran off.

“Look!” the Gentleman said. “You've accomplished your mission! The cub is free! Now leave me to tend to my son.”

Fu didn't know what to say.

“I'm putting down my weapon,” the Gentleman said as he laid down the decorated spear that he had taken from the boy. “Please, leave us be. I do not know where you learned such brutality, but where I come from, we care for one another. We do not beat one another. Now I wish to care for my son. Will you let me?”

The Gentleman's voice was strong, but his eyes were weak. Unsure of what he should say or do next, Fu resorted to doing what he always did when he was filled with uncertainty. He walked away.

F
u leaned over a pool of clear spring water, tilting his head to one side until he saw his reflection. He looked as horrible as he felt. He lowered both hands into the cool water and rubbed them together, scraping off as much dried blood and dirt as possible. Then he scooped up a double handful of clean water to quench his thirst. His throat was painfully dry, and Fu realized as he drank that he hadn't had a single sip of fluid since early the night before, yet he had exerted himself more than ever before. He felt light-headed, and that feeling had been with him for some time. That must be the reason he could only remember bits and pieces of what happened earlier with the hunters. He seemed to recall that the hunters deserved
everything they got—and then some—but Fu wasn't so sure about the boy. After all, the boy had done nothing to either him or the tiger in the pit, and the boy only poked the cub a couple times after the adults pressured him. As a Cangzhen warrior monk, it was his duty to dispense Justice—but he must take great care to dispense the right
amount
of Justice. Too much would make him and all Cangzhen monks look bad. The boy's father seemed to think he had gone too far. Perhaps he had.

Fu lowered his hands into the water again and watched as ripples radiated out far and wide across the pool's surface. What had he done? More importantly, what was he going to do next?

Too tired to think, Fu took another long drink and inspected the slice in his cheek. It felt like most of the bloodmoss had fallen out, and a quick check of his reflection verified that. What little moss remained was stuck securely inside the wound, intermixed with dried blood. It didn't look infected, but you could never be sure with bloodmoss. There was only one way to find out. Fu reached down into the pool and scooped up a single handful of cool, clean water. He rested his wounded cheek in his wet hand to soften the congealed mass, and after a few moments it appeared sufficiently soft. He hated this part. Fu picked at a corner of the wound until a small flap of bloodmoss and scab came loose, then he ripped the mass out in one continuous motion. Fu shuddered, his eyes watering for a moment.

Fu checked his reflection again. The slice in his cheek bled slightly, but it was clean blood. It wasn't infected, and it looked like it would scab over again soon enough. It also looked like it was going to leave a nasty scar. The image of Ying's hideously scarred face suddenly popped into his mind. He knew how much his own cheek hurt, and he couldn't imagine what Ying had endured—intentionally, no less.
What a fool,
Fu thought.

It was at that very moment Fu's heart skipped a beat. Where were the scrolls?

Fu quickly checked the folds of his robe, which had loosened during the fighting. To his relief, all four scrolls were still there. Wiping the newly formed sweat from his brow, he stood, feeling a stinging sensation on his backside. He had just made sure that his face wasn't infected, but perhaps his other cheeks were. His butt really hurt. Tigers were notorious for having rotten flesh embedded in the undersides of their claws, and anything they scratched was highly susceptible to infection. Fu struggled as he had earlier to see around himself in order to assess the damage. Finally, he decided to use the reflective properties of the water to aid him. He waded out into the pool a little ways and squatted, trying to get a better look. In the midst of his efforts, he heard a rustling in the undergrowth near one edge of the pool. Taken by surprise, Fu slipped on a moss-covered stone and splashed down in the pool.

In an effort to remain as inconspicuous as possible,
Fu rolled over onto his stomach and lay motionless with only his bald head visible above the waterline. A slight movement in the brush caught his eye. He strained to make out exactly who was spying on him. It turned out to be the tiger cub.

“What are you looking at?” Fu called out angrily as he stood, certain that he would scare the cub off. Instead, the cub cocked its head inquisitively to one side, listening.

“Look what you've made me do! My clothes didn't even have a chance to dry out from lying in that stupid barrel last night, and now the scrolls are soaked, too!”

The cub tilted its head the other way.

“I save your life, and this is how you thank me?”

The cub stepped a little closer to the pool, and Fu noticed for the first time two large blotches of bright red on one of the cub's sides. Both spots were definitely blood, and they looked bad. The wounds from the spear must be deep. The cub was still bleeding. It took another step toward the pool, wobbling slightly, and lowered its head to drink.

Watching the cub slowly lap up the water, Fu wondered what it ate. He hadn't eaten since supper the night before, and he had worked up a ferocious appetite. Now that he had quenched his thirst, he needed to find some food. Perhaps the hunters had had a camp, and maybe they had left some food there. Fu decided to take a look.

After a little more bending and twisting, Fu felt
confident that the long scratch from the mother tiger was not infected. He stuck his backside down into the cool water and wiggled around to flush out the wound—just in case—then sloshed back onto dry land.

Fu shivered. It was the season of Plum Blossoms, and the air was chilly. At least the days and nights would be growing warmer. If it were the season of Falling Plums, he would have nothing but colder days and very cold nights to look forward to. Fu nodded to the cub and headed back toward the clearing where he had encountered the hunters. For some reason the cub followed on its unsteady legs. Curious, Fu called to it several times, but the cub wouldn't get close to him. In fact, it lagged farther and farther behind with each step. Fu soon gave up.

Fu made it back to the large clearing, and the cub was nowhere in sight. It must have moved on alone. Or perhaps it just didn't want to go near its dead mother in the pit. Fu decided to steer clear of the pit, too. He already had enough bad memories.

While crisscrossing the clearing, Fu found the bag of antiseptic herbs the first hunter had mentioned. It must have fallen to the ground during their fight. He picked it up. He made a couple more passes across the clearing but found nothing more.

Fu decided to try and locate the hunters' camp next. As he looked for tracks left by the hunters on the hard ground, he thought he heard something. No, actually it was more like he felt something. It felt like
someone was calling him. Fu looked around, but there was no one there. Still, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. He had never felt anything quite like it. He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it. An image of the tiger cub suddenly popped into his mind. A memory. The tiger cub stood on wobbly legs next to the pool, then it followed him unsteadily for a short while until Fu finally lost sight of it. Had something happened to the cub? Fu decided to go back and take a look.

Fu only had to backtrack a little ways before he found the cub collapsed on the forest floor. It was panting heavily, its eyes rolled back in its head. Fu approached cautiously, but it became obvious almost immediately that caution wasn't necessary. The cub didn't seem to notice he was there.

Fu realized he was still holding the herb pouch. He untied the cord that kept it closed and dumped the contents onto a bed of damp leaves next to the cub's head. Fu didn't recognize all of the items, but there was one thing he noticed immediately: bloodmoss. He had no idea if it would work on a tiger, but he figured it couldn't hurt to try.

Fu quickly searched the ground and found two rocks that would serve his purpose. As fast as he could manage, he pounded, lubricated, and applied the healing paste. To his surprise, the cub's panting slowed after he plugged the first wound. The bloodmoss seemed to work for the cub, just like it worked for him. After he patched up the second
wound, the cub's eyes rolled back to their normal position, and the cub stared at him as if trying to tell him something. Fu leaned his face in close to the cub's face, their noses nearly touching. The cub's raspy tongue rolled slowly out of its mouth, and Fu saw a thin line of blood lazily run out of a small cut near the tongue's tip. Fu did his best not to flinch as the rough tongue slid up the side of his right cheek, tearing open a small section of the long cut from Ying's chain whip. Fu knew in his heart that the cub's grateful thank-you had just made them blood brothers. The cub seemed to know it, too. It blinked three times in quick succession, then closed its eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Now what?
Fu thought. He couldn't just leave the cub there in the middle of the forest. But at the same time, he couldn't stay there himself with no food and no shelter. He decided to take the cub with him in search of the hunters' camp. He figured the cub could use some nourishment, too. Fu reached down and grabbed both of the cub's front paws with one hand. The cub didn't wake, so he took its back paws in his other hand, squatted down, and hoisted the sleeping cub across his shoulders. Then he stood.

The cub was larger up close than it appeared from a distance, but it was lighter than Fu thought it would be. He had no trouble carrying it to the clearing with the pit. Once there, he walked in concentric circles looking for the hunters' tracks, eventually finding two sets: an older set leading to the clearing and a fresher set leading away. Fu chose the older set and started
tracing the hunters' steps backward. After some time, they came upon the hunters' abandoned camp in a grassy area. It seemed the hunters had left the pit and headed directly back to their village without returning to the camp. Still, they hadn't left much at the camp. In fact, the only thing they'd left was a smoldering fire.