Verge of Darkness

  *******

   

  Standing on the deck as the ship set sail, Pagan watched the shoreline slowly dwindle in the distance. It occurred to him it was unlikely he would ever see it again. Xiang Tse had said his land was far away. He wondered how far it could possibly be. Four to five day’s journey perhaps?

  Pagan was astonished by the size of the ship, and the number of men aboard. Apart from the sails, it also boasted two banks of oars. Xiang Tse had called it a bireme. It had a crew of one-hundred and twenty sailors, including the oarsmen – tough looking wiry men who always seemed to be scurrying about on various duties.

  Pagan enjoyed the journey immensely. Xiang Tse was a thoughtful and entertaining host with an astonishing breadth of knowledge allied with an inquisitive mind. He listened attentively as Pagan recounted how his people lived, and the harrowing events of that last night. He was particularly interested in Pagan’s relationship with Sagayetha.

  Xiang Tse told him about his land, the kingdom of Chenghuan. Pagan’s eyes widened in disbelief when Xiang Tse said it numbered over three million people. He was also incredulous at the news that there were untold millions of people of different skin colour who lived in different parts of the world.

  He heard of Xiang Tse’s journeys to lands where people lived high in the cold of the mountains, lands where all was sand and rock, and lands that were so crowded, people lived in houses as high as trees.

  He was incredulous when Xiang Tse told him the world was round, and circled around the sun. Pagan’s people believed the world ended beyond the great waters of the Crocodile people's land. But then, here he was, sailing on those very waters on his way to a land called Chenghuan. He learnt that the stars were not simply holes in the sky but other worlds, unimaginable distances away.

  At other times, they exercised on a roped-off area of the deck. With both men stripped to the waist, Xiang Tse taught him deep breathing techniques that helped slow the heart rate, control emotions, focus concentration, and harness a mysterious internal power his tutor called shi.

  When not with Xiang Tse, the ship captain, a scar-faced small man named Lin Po, allowed Pagan to stand on the bow of the ship where he watched the prow cut through the water. In the evenings, he would stand on deck and watch the sunset. It was a spectacular sight. The sun, a red ball in the distance, slowly merging with the sea, with the clouds verging between many colours – purple, deep red, orange, deep blue, and yellow.

  The journey to Chenghuan lasted sixty days with frequent stops on small islands to replenish water stores.

  Xiang Tse lived in a castle some distance to the south-east of the capital city, Chengpian. Built of white stone, it had five stories with green-slated slopping roofs on the top three levels. Tall trees surrounded the grounds, which were about three times bigger than Pagan’s village back in Amadou-Zongai.

  Xiang Tse was one of Chenghuan’s foremost philosopher-warriors, and his home the Jade Castle, was one of the finest learning centres in the land, teaching various disciplines.

  The top two levels of the Jade Castle contained Xiang Tse’s private quarters, and the other three housed students’ and tutors’ living quarters, lecture and practice halls, kitchens, dining halls, and libraries.

  Pagan couldn't read or write, so Xiang Tse thought it prudent to assign him a personal tutor before he was able to join the other students in various classes.

  Xiang Tse led Pagan to a small room to meet the man charged with the task of teaching him these basics. The scrupulously tidy room held a small desk before an uncomfortable looking straight-back bamboo chair, and a large hard-wood desk behind which sat a fierce-eyed small man with a wispy chin-beard and long moustache drooping past his chin.

  The man rose, moved from behind his desk and bowed to Xiang Tse who introduced him to Pagan. Patting his young charge on the shoulder, Xiang Tse turned and left the room.

  Pagan's heart sank as he looked into the dark unfriendly eyes of his new tutor.

  Ho-Jun Rhee looked at the figure before him, his face wrinkling in distaste. “Aieee-yaaah,” he exclaimed, “my sins must have been great in a previous life for the esteemed Xiang Tse to give me this task of teaching a black round-eyed devil! Tell me black gwai-loh, how am I supposed to teach you anything when you don't even speak our glorious language?”

  Ho-Jun Rhee's jaw dropped in shock when Pagan bowed low, and replied in near-perfect Cheng. “I speak your language teacher, and will do my best to be a good student.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, for it was clear the mean-eyed little man didn't like him. But he knew he had much to learn if he was to survive in this new world he found himself in, and furthermore, he didn't want to let down Xiang Tse.

  “What is this... sorcery?” Ho-Jun Rhee spluttered “How come you can speak our language, black devil?”

  “The honourable Xiang Tse taught me a few words on our journey here,” Pagan replied, keeping his eyes downcast. “I am a quick learner, teacher.”

  Ho-Jun Rhee stood silently for a while, glaring at the young man before him. Finally, he ran a thumb and forefinger down his long moustache. “We shall see gwai-loh, we shall see.” Turning on his heel, he moved toward his desk, then stopped and spun around. “And here is your first lesson, black devil. It is bad manners and unseemly to boast. Now, what are you called?”

  “They call me Pagan, teacher.”

  Ho-Jun Rhee paused, stared at Pagan, then nodded. “Ah, what else,” he muttered to himself.

  He pointed at the small desk. “That is yours. Now sit and be quiet while I consider where to start.”

  Ho-Jun Rhee sat behind his desk, studying the young man sitting quietly at the small bamboo table before him. He had heard of the black savages who lived far away at the other end of the world, but never imagined he would ever see one, let alone have one thrust upon him as a student. Aieee-yaaah, the gods do test a man in strange ways. Whether it was good or bad joss for him, would unfold in time.

  Pagan's lessons with Ho-Jun Rhee didn't start well. He had no concept of reading or writing, and Ho-Jun Rhee wasn't the most patient of teachers. The seemingly random strokes, lines and squiggles of the Cheng writing made little sense to him, and were hard to decipher. Copying them on parchment using a quill – a writing implement made from the wing-feathers of a large bird – was the devil's own task. Dipping the sharp end of the feather in a small clay-pot of black ink, Pagan's initial attempts at writing resulted in a mess of lines and squiggles interspersed with blotches and smudge marks. Each mistake brought a sharp rap across the knuckles with a bamboo cane, resulting in more blotches.

  His raw and bruised knuckles didn't make his task any easier, but he persevered, grimly setting his jaw, dipping his quill in the ink, and painstakingly tracing the calligraphy on the parchment.

  In time, Pagan improved both his writing and reading, as the hard-to-please Ho-Jun Rhee looked on, ready to offer more painful encouragement with his bamboo cane.

  Impressed with his student's stoicism and willingness to learn, the long-moustached teacher gradually warmed to Pagan, and much to his surprise began to enjoy their time together. But perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised he mused, for the esteemed Xiang Tse had undoubtedly seen something in the young barbarian, and wouldn't have brought a complete numbskull all that way across the seas to the Jade Castle. And he had heard tales of Pagan coming to Xiang Tse's aid when he was attacked by flesh eating black-skinned devils with filed teeth. Aieeeee... what else would a man expect to come across if he insisted on sailing to the darkest corners of the world?

  Pagan in turn, found a new exciting world opening before him. He learned it would take a man travelling on horseback from Chengpian, the capital city of Chenghuan on the western coast, two months to reach the eastern end of the kingdom. To the north, beyond the great mountains called the Pillars of the Sky, lay the rival kingdom of Gaekche with which Chenghuan had fought many wars over the years. Far to the south east was the great impassable Kovra-Sa desert. Accord
ing to the writings, two explorer-brothers had managed to cross it hundreds of years ago. One returned years later, wild-eyed and raving about the squat swarthy people who lived at the far edge of the desert and sacrificed their enemies to a dark god. He said their numbers were vast, but split into hundreds of different tribes constantly at war with each other.

  The seer, Lao Tzu had foretold of the coming of a feared leader who would one day unite these warring tribes into an unstoppable horde, and lead them across the desert into the rich fertile lands of the Kingdom. He advised the building of a great wall stretching the entire southern width of the Kingdom to keep the tribes out in such an eventuality. The vast undertaking beyond scale and imagination had taken over a hundred years to complete, costing over a thousand lives. The talk of such vast distances, rival kingdoms, and wars, had made Pagan's head swim.

  He also read with incredulity of the white-skinned gwai-loh who lived in the lands far to the west across the sea. They apparently had different hair colouring, ranging from black, brown, red and yellow, which was the colour of corn or gold. Surely this couldn't be true, for his people had uniformly black curly hair, and the Cheng had straight black hair. The idea of gold-or-red-coloured hair was outlandish. But perhaps one day he would get the opportunity to travel to these strange lands across the sea and see for himself.

  When he wasn't studying, Pagan joined other students in various physical exercises, open-hand combat, and weapons training. A large exercise area was set up for the students at the rear of the Jade Castle.

  Being of slight-build and having little aptitude for physical activities, he found the whole thing daunting, but had little choice in the matter. Dressed in the traditional exercise-wear of black Cheun Zow Saam – long-sleeved loose-fitting shirt, and Cheun Zow Fu – loose-fitting mid-calf-length trousers, and thin-soled black canvas slip-on shoes, he pushed aside his fears and did the best he could.

  A legacy of his upbringing in the open-air of the grasslands, his lungs were strong, and he could run long distances effortlessly. He excelled in the training runs through the rolling hills surrounding the castle.

  But there was little strength in his thin arms and bony shoulders, and the exercise instructors went about ensuring this changed. At first, he particularly disliked the arm and upper back strengthening exercise. With a number of the other students looking on, one of the instructors had led him to a frame consisting of two thick weather-beaten poles hammered vertically into the ground with a thinner smoothed pole fixed horizontally across the top.

  Told to stand on a small wooden stool and grasp the overhead pole, the instructor whipped away the stool, leaving him dangling, his thin arms supporting his entire body-weight. He had to pull himself up, touch his chin to the pole, then lower himself in a controlled manner. Arms quivering, he managed to pull and lower himself twice before his strength failed and he fell to the ground to the amusement of the watchers. Another student, no bigger than him, but with his arms showing lean corded muscle, leapt, grasped the pole and completed fifteen pulls.

  Pagan’s embarrassment was complete, but he reasoned if the other, no bigger than him, could do it, so could he. Within fourteen days, he could manage six pulls, and within a month, ten.

  To strengthen his shoulders, he had to hoist a long iron bar with a rounded stone fixed to each end, up to his shoulders, then push it overhead until his arms were straight. Though he used the bar with the smallest and lightest stones, he could only push it a quarter of the way up before his arms and legs buckled under the weight.

  Just like the pulls, he got stronger over time and was able to use heavier weights and complete more and more overhead pushes.

  His body changed. His shoulders widened, with rounded deltoid muscles, and the triangular shaped trapezius muscles that formed the upper part his shoulders, flowed into a strong corded neck that months earlier had been as thin as a stork's leg.

  He began to revel in his new-found strength and found himself enjoying the various weapons drills. Growing up in Amadou-Zongai, he had viewed the use of sharp objects to pierce another's body as barbaric, but the senseless slaughter of Amla and his people by the Crocodile tribe had taught him a valuable lesson. The value of learning how to use weapons to protect oneself and loved ones from the evil strong. That wasn't barbarism, but simple prudence in a violent and often cruel world.

  He also learned open-hand fighting skills that involved using various parts of the body as offensive or defensive tools. Intrigued by the almost magical skills Xiang Tse had used to incapacitate the fearsome Crocodile-warriors in the jungle clearing, he now found himself acquiring the basic skills.

  Pagan didn’t see much of Xiang Tse in his first two years at the Jade Castle. However, he dined with him in his private quarters every ninety days. He looked forward to these occasions when Xiang Tse enquired about his progress, and they continued the discussions they had started on the long journey to Chenghuan.

  Life at the Jade Castle was strict and structured, with students expected to adhere to a code of discipline. Used to a much more carefree life, it took Pagan some time to adjust.

  After initial curiosity about his skin colour, he had few problems with the other students, with one exception.

  Chan Ki-Hon was a brute who delighted in inflicting pain on those smaller and weaker than himself. Tall and well-muscled, with the lean hips of an athlete, none of the students liked being paired with him in the fighting drills, but Chan Ki-Hon took special pleasure in tormenting Pagan.

  One-step shadow-fighting gave the students the opportunity to practice offensive and defensive skills in a controlled format. It involved one student stepping forward with a strike of choice, and the other, evading or blocking the strike before counter attacking. Only light contact with the opponent was permitted. Pagan suffered the edge of Chan Ki-Hon's ire the first time he was paired with him.

  Stepping forward, he had launched a right-hand punch at Chan Ki-Hon’s temple. Shifting his weight, the other blocked the punch with a painful knife-hand strike to the inside of Pagan’s forearm, before sinking a right uppercut into his belly. As Pagan doubled up in pain trying to catch his breath, Chan Ki-Hon moved closer. “Did that hurt my little barbarian friend?” he hissed. “Your presence here offends me. That was your first lesson for daring to think you belong among civilized people.”

  There were many more of these lessons over the months as the drills often left Pagan with bruised ribs, a bloody nose or split lips.

  His anger grew. He had previously believed a man’s features reflected the inner person. But Chan Ki-Hon's finely chiselled face with wide-spaced dark eyes that often sparkled with humour, masked the malice and cruelty within him. He longed to smash his fist into that mocking face, to humble the arrogant pig, but Chan Ki-Hon was simply too big and strong, and infinitely better skilled.

  Chan Ki-Hon’s hatred and cruelty knew no bounds. One day, as Pagan sat on his bunk taking a break between lessons, he felt a sharp pain high on his right hip. Swinging around, he saw a deadly red-tailed scorpion scurrying away. The pain was blinding, and the effect of the arachnid's venom almost instantaneous. As he rose to his feet to shout for help, his head swam and he collapsed onto the floor.

  Fortunately, Ho-Jun Rhee, concerned about his student's unusual lack of punctuality came looking for him. Pagan later learnt how lucky he had been, for had he not passed out, and ran off seeking help, the poison would have spread through his body faster, resulting in his death in no time.

  As it was, he had lain near-death for four days in the castle's healing room. All thought it was an unfortunate accident, mere bad joss, but upon his recovery, one look at Chan Ki-Hon's malicious dark eyes and mocking knowing smile told Pagan all he needed to know. He kept his suspicions to himself, for he had no proof, but bade his time, watching and learning.

  Harnessing his anger, Pagan pushed himself harder, determined that one day he would humble his tormentor. Long runs and short sprints in the fields and hills of the Jad
e Castle improved his endurance and explosive power. He grew stronger still, with the pull-up and overhead pushing exercises. He spent endless time practising the various fighting skills the tutors taught them so they became instinctive.

  At the end of each summer, the Jade Castle held competitions in free-form shadow-fighting, sword play, staff fighting and various other disciplines, to gauge the progress of the students. Somewhat to his surprise, Pagan progressed to the finals in the shadow-fighting. Facing him was Chan Ki-Hon

  The finals were held on a late-afternoon in the large grounds before an audience including students, tutors and various dignitaries. It was unusual for the Emperor to attend these events, but rumoured to be intrigued by the dark-skinned gwai-loh in their midst, had decided to grace the Jade Castle with his Imperial presence.

  Both fighters faced off in the fighting square and on the adjudicator’s instructions bowed to each other before turning to face, and bow to the Emperor. Workmen had constructed a special stand for the Emperor and his retinue; topped with red silk awnings to shield their delicate skin from the sun, and red silk cushions to protect pampered backsides from the hardwood benches.

  As Chan Ki-Hon locked eyes with him, Pagan knew his opponent would do anything to take the first prize. Defeat by the detested dark-skinned barbarian before such an August audience would result in a loss of face and respect beyond imagining.

  Both students circled each other looking for openings. Chan Ki-Hon was the first to attack, launching a series of quick punches to the head before feinting a turning kick to the ribs followed by a full-force kick to the head. Aware they were meant to distract him, Pagan ignored the first strikes and dipped his knees as Chan Ki-Hon’s foot lanced at his skull. The kick would have rendered him senseless had it landed as intended, on his temple. Chan Ki- Hon's foot swept above his head, leaving the bully off-balance and exposed, allowing Pagan to counter with a side kick to the ribs, which sent his enemy sprawling on the floor.

  A murmur of appreciation came from the audience, as the larger boy arched his back, and catapulted himself to his feet, eyes blazing.

  Pagan probed his opponent’s defences with a left jab followed by an overhand right hand to the head. Chan Ki-Hon contemptuously ignored the jab, and swayed away from the right-hand punch. Grabbing his foe's now overextended right arm, he turned his hips into Pagan, and flipped him onto the ground. As Pagan sprawled, Chan Ki-Hon leapt high with his right knee upraised before driving it down toward his opponent’s prone body. Pagan rolled to avoid the strike and regained his feet.

  As the adjudicator stepped in to admonish Chan Ki-Hon for the use of excessive force, a member of the Emperor’s retinue left his well-upholstered seat, approached him, and whispered in his ear. The adjudicator then turned to the combatants, signalling that full contact was permitted.

  Chan Ki-Hon grinned malevolently at Pagan. “I am going to break your bones, heathen,” he growled.

  Pagan ignored the taunt, deepening his breathing and concentration. Both came together in an exchange of strikes of bewildering speed. The sound of flesh impacting on flesh resounded in the still summer air, as open palms and forearms blocked most of the strikes.

  Most, but not all. Pagan reeled backward as a palm-heel strike bloodied his nose and drew water from his eyes, but he managed to block the follow-up elbow-strike to his jaw. Springing forward, he staggered Chan Ki-Hon with a short hooking punch to the jaw, but missed with a reverse spinning kick to the head as the other ducked.

  With Pagan momentarily unbalanced, Chan Ki-Hon surged upward with a reverse knife-hand strike to his groin – a brutal offensive technique usually restricted for use in real combat situations. Fortunately, Pagan saw it coming and shifted his thigh to deflect and cushion the impact.

  Angered, Pagan launched himself forward, throwing wild punches that Chan Ki-Hon easily avoided before responding with a powerful combination capped with a straight right between the eyes that sent Pagan sprawling on the ground.

  As Pagan climbed unsteadily to his feet, Chan Ki-Hon snapped out a turning kick that caught him high on the head. The world spun and he went down again.

  Satisfied he had got the better of Pagan, Chan Ki-Hon stood over his hated enemy, prodded him with his foot, spat contemptuously in his face, then turned and walked away.

  Pagan propped himself up on an elbow and shook his ringing head. Looking up and beyond his opponent, he saw Xiang Tse standing in front of the royal enclosure, his face expressionless as their eyes locked. Pagan breathed deeply, wiped the spittle from his face, and rose to his feet.

  Xiang Tse nodded in encouragement, and a murmur rose from the audience.

  Chan Ki-Hon turned around, his dark eyes raised in mock surprise. “Ah, you are strong my barbarian friend,” he hissed. “But I am going to enjoy breaking you a piece at a time.”

  Pagan raised his hands and beckoned him in. Chan Ki-Hon stormed forward, throwing lightning fast strikes and kicks.

  Pagan moved – ducking, twisting, turning, and flowing around Chan Ki-Hon strikes. Just like Xiang Tse had flowed around and through the Crocodile-men. He didn’t quite know how, but he managed to avoid or deflect most of Chan Ki-Hon’s attacks.

  Then he launched his counter-attack.

  Feinting a jab, he leapt high, spun in mid-air, and drove his right foot into Chan Ki-Hon’s chest. Catapulted backward, the bully hit the ground with a thump. Desperately gasping for breath, he lurched to his feet.

  Pagan took three running steps and launched into a flying kick – left leg tucked under him and right leg extended with the foot flexed to present the hard outer-edge and heel.

  Recovering swiftly, Chan Ki-Hon sidestepped Pagan’s hurtling body, then adroitly spun around and launched himself upon his unbalanced opponent’s back. Curling his forearm around Pagan’s neck like a steel trap and locking his legs around his waist, he bore him to the ground.

  Pagan struggled vainly, hands scrabbling at Chan Ki-Hon's corded forearm, but was helpless as his enemy squeezed like a constricting snake. With the pressure on his carotid arteries restricting blood-flow to his brain, he began to weaken. His hands fell from his enemy’s forearm and he lost consciousness.