City of IF

[The Meaning Of Fear]

Patience

“Patience, young one.”

Leo stopped, panting heavily. Looking at the wizened old man who was his master, he wondered how he ever looked forward to one of these lessons.

“Master Fung,” he complained, “I have already learnt these moves! Can we move on to the advanced ones?”

“But, young Leo, you have not yet mastered them…”

“The tournament is soon, Master!” Leo replied heatedly, “If I am to have any chance to win, I must know more advanced moves!”

Master Fung nodded. It was indeed close to the tournament of the Lion, a competition for apprentices, to test their skills, and their courage. It was an ancient tradition, dating all the way back to the Sai dynasty.

Leo had often dreamed of entering, defeating thousands of powerful opponents, and finally emerging victorious… and now he was finally of age. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let his only opportunity for fame, to prove his bravery slip away just like that.

“We shall stop for a break,” His master said, abruptly.

“But…”

“You are in no mood to continue the training, Leo; you must be calm, and flow with your weapon. Right now, you are as stiff as Lea’s cooking.”

Leo winced, both at his Master’s observations and the mention of his friend’s culinary skills (Or lack thereof). However, he had enough sense to know that his master was right. At the moment, he stood tense, sweating, and the wooden sword in his hand felt slow and unwieldy. He needed a break.

Joining his master on the ground, he got his lunch from his silk bag, said his prayers to the God of Prosperity, and started eating.

He gagged after the first bite. It tasted disgusting, like burnt coals and stink-grass (And yes, he did know what those two things tasted like) rolled into one. He recognized it instantly. Lea’s cooking! Somehow, she had replaced his food with hers…

His master looked up from his own lunch in pity. He himself was lucky enough to escape the horror that Leo now held in his hands.

Master Fund offered his some of his rice, and the continued eating in silence.

“Do you remember your parents, Leo?” his master suddenly asked.

Leo was surprised by the question, and almost choked on a mouthful of the rice. He had been an orphan since birth, and the people at the dojo had taken him in. No one talked about it openly, but he was smart enough to know.

“No, master,” replied Leo, once he could breath again, “Why?”

Master Fung had a sorrowful look on his face, and his eyes were not focused, as if he was remembering some distant memory.

“It’s nothing,” he said, “In any case, I think we shall resume training. The tournament shall not wait for those who are lazy!”

“Hypocrite,” Leo murmured under his breath, and got up again.

“We shall be using the bamboo staff this time,” his master told him, showing him a long, thin bit of wood, “It may seem weak to you, but those skilled with it can disarm even the most powerful swordsmen. Are you ready?”

Leo nodded.

Sounds of wood on wood rang through the corridors as they once again began to spar...

On top of the mountain, everything was silent. There was not a bit of life on that cast ledge overlooking the valley. No sign of life, except for a small hut, maybe a storage place, sitting snugly between two large rocks.

A shadow flickered in the half-darkness of the dying light as the sun set. Eyes watched carefully from the top of the tree, waiting. Waiting for his target.

Finally, two figures appeared from the building. A boy and an old man.

“Goodbye, master!” said the boy, who then ran off. The eyes on the tree rested on the boy for a few seconds, but soon stopped. He was not the target.

Instead, the eyes looked at the old man very closely, observing his every twitch. Seeing if he was any danger.

The old man was slightly hunched over, and holding on to a walking stick to steady himself. His steps were slow, but deliberate. Overall, he was the perfect image of an old frail person walking home.

There was something else, however. Something out of place, that made the elderly man seem more, much more, then normal…

The eyes observed the old martial arts master more closely. What was it? What is that feeling, that… pressure?

But his scrutiny drew no further conclusion as the old man’s stance had not changed, nor had his pace. There was nothing, nothing visible at any rate, that should make him hesitate like this.

The thing to which the eyes belonged shivered. It had killed many in its life, whether it was creeping up to some unsuspecting person in the darkness of the night, like now, or maiming and killing in plain sunlight, never had his targets given him trouble like this. Especially before he had even had his attempt to kill him.

It jumped, moving from tree to tree with less noise than that of a creeping mouse. Moving in on the target.

Suddenly the old man stopped. He turned around, looking directly at the tree in which his would-be killer resided. The gaze made it freeze, with something it had never felt before.

Terror.

“Show yourself,” said the man, ever so softly, but his voice carried easily to the canopy above. He no longer stooped down, no longer leaned on his stick for support. The uneasy feeling within the assassin grew, freezing him in place.

“So you are the one I have been hearing so much about,” continued the old man, “The one who has killed many masters and apprentices.” It was a statement. Not a question.

He said it without fear, without any of the paralyzing emotion which the killer now felt. Like he was still in control.

The murderer hissed, like some sort of animal. How dare this old man insult him like this, when he was clearly better off than him! The elder man had been training with that brat, probably exhausted, and he still thinks he is in control of the situation!

The old man was unfazed by the show of anger, and out of nowhere he drew a sword. It was not a brutal weapon of death, but a slim, shining blade with a razor sharp blade that shone in the moonlight. It was very plain, but one could see just by looking that it was a work of art.

The killer saw something else, though. Those age old eyes were filled with a strange emotion. Something similar to reluctance, reluctance to use the blade. Slowly, cautiously, he began to advance again.

“Ah, so you see it,” sighed the old man, “Yes, you are right, I do not wish to use this weapon. I am defenseless. What are you going to do? Strike me down where I stand?”

“You may kill me,” he went on, “But I will die knowing I have done my duty.”

“Stop rambling, old man!” the murderer shouted, angrily. Its voice was loud, commanding, but full of doubt.

Master Fung ignored him, and bent his head down to the sword. He whispered a few words, then, with a sudden, powerful movement, threw the sword over the ledge.

The killer howled, for he clearly coveted the blade that Master Fung held only a moment ago. The gap between man and murderer was closed in the blink of an eye, and with a stab the life of one of the world’s wisest people was gone, his heart pierce with the sharp, cold bite of a dagger.

The killer pulled the dagger out with a tug, letting the body fall backwards into the ground. He had eliminated what was thought to be the master of martial arts, the most dangerous man in the world. And yet… Why was he still shaking?

He turned his thoughts to the sword. He would need to retrieve it, and soon. He didn’t want to chase over half the country looking for it if some greedy merchant found it…

He paused for a moment. Would he need to kill the boy? He was, after all, the apprentice of the supposed most dangerous man in the world. He usually attacked when both apprentice and master were at the same place, but he thought he was going to have his hands full with the master alone. It seems he was wrong.

Or was he? He shivered as he remembered that piercing gaze and the calm passiveness of the man he had just killed. That was something he would never forget.

The boy would be irrelevant, he decided. There would be no need to eliminate him like he had done to the old one. Even if the apprentice was a threat at all, he would be far away by sunrise…


The next morning Leo appeared in front of the hut which he trained in, but to his surprise, Master Fung was not there. He had never been late before.

After standing and waiting for around half an hour, Leo finally decided to try and find his old master. He had probably stopped to feed some birds, or maybe tripped on a twig or something trivial like that.

He kept these thoughts firmly in mind as he went down the path leading to his master’s home. He didn’t really think that way about his teacher, they were simply explanations, comforting thoughts, because no matter how much he denied it, he was worried.

Dead worried.

If anyone else heard this, they would laugh at him for being weak, and tell him about how the master of martial arts wouldn’t be any danger from anything, but he knew that his master’s body was weakening by the day. It didn’t help much that he sparred with Leo every day, and when Leo had tried to tell him to take a rest, he had simply chuckled and replied that it was all the reason for him to train Leo before he was too weak.

Aside from that, Leo had grown rather attached to the senile old man. He was like a fatherly figure to him, albeit a fatherly figure that was a generation too old.

And so, with determination, he walked out to find his master.

He came to a bend in the path, and walked more quickly. The sight that he saw on the ground before him, however, made him stop.

It was Master Fung, sprawled on the ground, hair in disarray on his old head. For a second, Leo’s heart stopped. Could it be? Was Master Fung…

No!, he thought. He forced himself to walk closer. He had probably just tripped up last night, then fainted or fallen asleep on the ground! Because Master Fung couldn’t be dead… He just… couldn’t…

He dropped to his knees beside his fallen master, seeing the dried circle of blood beneath his body. He grabbed the frail, cold, lifeless hand, feeling, desperately for a pulse.

There was none.

Henry felt tears rushing to his eyes, and his chest started hurting, hurting so much, it was unbearable. He cried by the body of his master, the master who taught him not only how to fight, but how to live.

He cried for a long, long time. Then, as his tears dried up, and his heart felt empty, he fell backwards onto the ground. Master Fung was dead.

This was the only thought in his head, as his mind was enveloped by darkness, and he fainted.


“Master Fung!” he shouted as he bolted up in bed. He panted for breath, and his clothes were soaked with sweat.

Wait. Bed?

He thought back, back to that memory still occupying his mind. Master Fung was dead.

He almost cried again, if it not for the strange environment he was in. How did he end up in bed again?

It must have been a dream, he told himself. Of course it was a dream. There was no way in the world his master could die.

Suddenly the door to his door opened, and a short, raven-haired walked in.

“Oh, good, you’re awake…” said the girl. She was holding a plate full of what was probably supposed to be dumplings, but looked more like pine cones.

“Hi, Lea…” he said, trying very hard no to breath in the scent the ‘dumplings’ were giving off, “Where’s Master Fung?”

It had been an instinctive question, one that came immediately from his concern. He inwardly scolded himself, because it was a dream, and Lea would probably be confused. If only it had been that way.

Instead, Lea dropped the plate onto the ground, shattering it and spilling the contents all over the floor. He was about to demand from her what the hell was the matter when he saw her face.

She was crying.

Lea was usually a very strong girl, and as such almost never cried. The only other time he had seen her cry was at her mother’s funeral…

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Leo!” she said as she bent down to pick up the destroyed dumplings and the plate pieces, but she only succeeded in cutting her hand. She didn’t notice, however, and continued, sobbing.

Leo roughly grabbed her shoulders and plopped her on a clear patch of ground that was clear of china pieces and dumplings, and knelt down beside her.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, gently, “Is something wrong?”

“I… I’m so scared, Leo!” she cried as she put her arms around his neck. She cried into his shoulder, her tears soaking the material, “When… When I saw them carrying you and Master Fung back… I…”

Leo froze. Carrying him… and Master Fung? Then the truth hit him.

Master Fung really is dead.

“I was… really scared, Leo!” she continued, “I thought… I thought you were dead!... And… Master Fung… was…”

Tears were leaking from Leo’s eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. They held each other in that room, taking comfort from each other’s presence, and cried.



The funeral was held in the following week.

Everyone in the village, and even from the surrounding cities and towns, attended. Master Fung was famous, not only for his great skill in battle, but also for his kindness and wisdom. There was no one there who did not know him.

And now, he was gone. Gone from the world, leaving behind his friends, the ones who cared for him.

He was placed into a sturdy coffin, which was then lowered into a large, rectangular hole they had dug in the ground.

Leo stood before the grave after the funeral, and gave his thanks.

Thanks, to the great teacher, who gave him the skills to defend himself, and those he cared for.

Thanks, to the wise man, who taught him all he knew.

Thanks, to Master Fung, who, even when weakness claimed him, refused to give up on Leo.

“Thank you, Master Fung,” whispered Leo, “Thank you for everything.”

He turned back, and walked over to Lea’s side.

“What do you plan to do now?” she asked, quietly.

“He was killed by a dagger wound,” replied Leo, “That means he was murdered. I’m going to kill the man who killed him.”

Lea was near tears now, “But, Leo! You… might die! Please, don’t go!”

When he didn’t respond she said, “Leo… would Master Fung have wanted you to go like this? Would he want you to risk your life just for revenge?”

“I’m not going for revenge,” he said, simply, “I am going to get back his Pride. In more than one sense.”

Turning to Lea, he said, “Master Fung has a sword. One he carries with him always. Yet, when I asked, it wasn’t on him. That means it must’ve been taken.”

“You can’t go into danger just for a sword,” she cried.

“It’s not just a sword. Someone, very important to Master Fung, gave him that sword. He said to me, once, that if he was to die, he would die with it. He would die with Pride.”

Lea looked up into his eyes, and saw the determination there. There was no way he was going to give up.

She wrapped her arms around him and whispered, “Promise me. Promise me you’ll come back.”

Leo gave her a small smile, “I thought you weren’t ever going to let me go. Since you did, then fine,” He hugged her back, “I’ll come back”

A long silence came between the two, but it was a comfortable silence. They once again, took comfort from each other.

“…Fine,” she said, breaking the silence, “But where are you going to start? The world is no small place…”

Leo grinned, “There’s one thing that Master Fung told me, taught me, and guess what that is?”

“Patience”

The End (Sort of)

[The Meaning Of Fear]

Well, that was a pain to put spaces into! :shock:

This was my Short Story (4-10 pages) I had to do for my creative writing assessment. I got an A, but the teacher complained because she couldn't see any paragraphs. I used three spaces for each paragraph, but I didn't skip a line before, hence the confusion.

There'll be a couple of mistakes in there, but it should be completely understandable. Read and review~!

[Chinaren]

Nice writing Plates, but you need to be careful about switching POV so suddenly, without a break.

A- from me, 'cos I'm a bast... :shock: ;)