Jeff Stone_Five Ancestors 02 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Other Book by This Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The Legend continues…

  Prolodgue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgment

  Prologue

  Copyright

  For more than forty years,

  Yearling has been the leading name

  in classic and award-winning literature

  for young readers.

  Yearling books feature children's

  favorite authors and characters,

  providing dynamic stories of adventure,

  humor, history, mystery, and fantasy

  Trust Yearling paperbacks to entertain,

  inspire, and promote the love of reading

  in all children.

  for Tristen and Owen,

  my Little Monkeys.

  Five young warrior monks have survived the destruction of Cangzhen Temple. Each is a master of a different fighting style, and each is appropriately named. Disappearing into the forest, the five are determined to follow their Grandmaster's instructions to seek out the secrets of the past.

  But one year before, an older boy was exiled from Cangzhen. Also a master, he swore he was not appropriately named. It is this boy who has led the massacre and vowed vengeance on his former temple brothers. He will not rest until he has killed those destined to be … the Five Ancestors.

  For the first time in a thousand years, there was thunder in the temple.

  Hidden inside the heavy terra-cotta barrel at the back of the practice hall, eleven-year-old Malao flinched with every BOOM, every CRACK! Thunder inside their compound could only come from one source. A dragon. A very angry dragon.

  Malao shivered. According to legend, dragons controlled the wind and the rain, the lightning and the thunder. Stay in a dragons good graces, and your crops would receive enough rain for a bountiful harvest; anger a dragon, and your crops would be washed away—along with you, your house, and your entire family. Push a dragon too far, and it would deliver a special kind of storm, smashing everything it could with its powerful tail, igniting everything that remained with its fiery breath.

  A dragon must be the reason Grandmaster had made Malao and his four “temple” brothers—Fu, Seh, Hok, and Long—squeeze into the barrel. Grandmaster had told them they were under attack by soldiers, but Malao knew men alone could never defeat the warrior monks of Cangzhen Temple. The attackers must have formed an alliance with a dragon. What could those thunderclaps be but the crack of a dragon snapping its enormous tail?

  A dragon lashing its tail reminded Malao of his older brother Ying and his chain whip. Ying had left Cangzhen in a rage the year before, upset because he had been trained his entire life as an eagle but had always wanted to be an all-powerful dragon. Swinging his chain whip was the closest Ying had ever come to having a dragon tail of his own.

  Malao shivered again. Ying had vowed to return to Cangzhen to punish Grandmaster for training him as an eagle, but Ying was no fool. He would never attack Cangzhen and its one hundred warrior monks unless he was guaranteed victory. And for that to happen, he would have to have acquired power beyond that of mortal men—

  Oh, no! Malao thought. Maybe Ying has figured out a way to transform himself into a real dragon! Maybe he has grown scales and a tail and—

  KA-BOOM!

  Malao raced through the moonlit treetops, nervous energy driving him deeper and deeper into the forest. He had to put as much distance between himself and Cangzhen Temple as possible. Ying had returned— and was more dangerous than ever.

  Malao leaped off the gnarled arm of an ancient oak and soared through the night sky.

  He landed on the limb of a young maple and paused. He was lucky to be alive, let alone to have escaped uninjured. The same was true for his brothers Fu, Seh, Hok, and Long. Cangzhen Temple was in ruins, and its warrior monks—Malao's older brothers and teachers—were all dead.

  Malao began to tremble. The thunder he had heard was a devastating new weapon called a qiang. With the twitch of a single finger, a soldier with no training at all could now kill a kung fu master. Ying carried a qiang, and with it the power of a dragon. Still, that hadn't been enough for Ying. He had carved his face and filled the grooves with green pigment. He had forked his tongue and ground his teeth and nails into sharp points. Ying now looked like a dragon. A crazy, vengeful sixteen-year-old dragon.

  Malao shuddered and grabbed hold of a thick vine. He pushed off the slender maple and swung feetfirst toward a large elm.

  “Scatter into the four winds and uncover Ying's secrets, as well as your own,” Grandmaster had told them. “Uncover the past, for it is your future.”

  Malao released the vine and somersaulted onto one of the elm's upper limbs. Why did Grandmaster hide only us five? he wondered. What makes us so special?

  Grandmaster had provided only one clue. He'd said that Malao and his four brothers were linked to each other, and to Ying. Malao guessed it had something to do with the fact that all of them, including Ying, were orphans. Still, that didn't explain much. It wasn't like any of them could have had the same parents. They were all too different.

  Malao glanced down at his small, dark hands. He was a monkey-style kung fu master, nothing at all like Fu, the oversized, over-aggressive twelve-year-old “tiger,” or Seh, the tall, secretive twelve-year-old “snake.” He differed even more from Hok, the pale-skinned, logical twelve-year-old “crane,” and Long, the wise, muscular thirteen-year-old “dragon.”

  Malao sighed. He missed them already.

  A twig snapped and Malao froze. He glanced around but couldn't see anything from high in the tree. Cautiously, he swung down to the elm's lowest limb for a closer look. He peeked through a clump of new foliage and his heart skipped a beat. This part of the forest looked awfully familiar. His plan had been to travel in a straight line away from the temple, but he'd always been really bad with directions—

  Another twig snapped.

  Malao crouched low on the large limb and held his breath. A moment later, he saw a soldier on patrol. One of Ying's soldiers.

  Malao shivered. He'd run in a big circle, and now he was right back where he'd started, near Cangzhen!

  The soldier was headed in Malao's direction. Malao watched him closely. Heavy armor covered the man's body, and he carried a short wooden stick about as long as Malao's arm. Malao got a good look at the stick as the soldier passed through a pool of moonlight. The stick was nearly as big around as a monk's staff and was made from a very light-colored wood, white waxwood. The entire surface was decorated with intricate carvings that had been colored brown with a hot piece of metal. The soldier was still some distance away, but Malao knew exactly what those carvings were.

  Monkeys.

  Malao's upper lip curled back.

  The warrior monks of Cangzhen Temple—or any temple, for that matter—were not allowed to have personal possession
s. Personal possessions meant a tie to the greedy world of men, so the monks owned nothing and shared everything. However, within Cangzhen, weapons were an exception. Though they weren't supposed to favor any one more than another, Cangzhen's warrior monks almost always did. Malao's favorite was called a short stick, and the specific stick he preferred was now in that soldier's right hand.

  Malao hugged his knees tight and began to rock back and forth. That soldier had helped slaughter Malao's friends and family and burn down the only home Malao had ever known. And now the soldier planned to walk away with a souvenir. Malao wasn't about to let that happen.

  As the soldier passed under his tree, Malao focused on the rhythm of the soldier's strides. When the soldier's right arm went backward and his weight shifted to his left leg, Malao dropped from the tree like an anvil.

  THUD!

  Malao's feet smashed into the back of the soldier's left knee and the knee buckled, slamming to the ground. Malao grabbed the stick and flipped forward, twisting it out of the soldier's hand and leaping onto a low-lying branch. He grinned at the soldier and waved the stick.

  “Get down here, you little monkey!” the soldier said, staggering to his feet.

  Malao shook his head and scurried to a higher branch.

  “Don't play games with me, monk. I see your orange robe. You better not make me climb up there after you.”

  Malao turned to leap to another tree when the soldier raised his voice. “I said get down here!”

  Malao stopped. If the soldier raised his voice any louder, reinforcements might come. Malao had no interest in fighting an entire garrison of soldiers. He needed to do something, fast. He zipped to the opposite side of the tree so that he was directly behind the soldier, facing the same direction as the man, and jumped straight down. He landed with one small foot on each of the soldier's shoulders.

  The surprised soldier tilted his head up and grabbed on to Malao's robe. Malao slipped his stick under the soldier's chin, pressed his knee against the base of the soldier's head, and leaned back.

  The soldier choked and teetered backward, letting go of Malao's robe. He swung his arms wildly, trying to knock Malao off his shoulders. Malao responded by shifting his weight forward.

  The soldier toppled over, hitting the ground face-first. He struggled, but Malao held the stick firm until the man's body relaxed. Malao slid the stick out from under the soldier and rolled him over.

  The soldier was breathing slow and steady. Cautiously, Malao rested one of his bare, dark-skinned feet on the man's nose and wiggled his toes. The man didn't flinch.

  The soldier was definitely unconscious.

  Malao giggled softly and slipped his stick into the folds of his robe. He paused and looked around. Cangzhen was close. He might as well check to see if any of his brothers had circled back. Perhaps he could even spy on Ying and “uncover some of his secrets,” as Grandmaster had instructed.

  Grandmaster!

  The last time Malao had seen Grandmaster, he'd been alone with Ying inside the burning practice hall. Those two would probably fight until only one was left standing!

  Malao darted forward, silently following the soldier's tracks back toward Cangzhen.

  Inside the smoke-filled practice hall, student and master stood toe to toe in a fight to the death. Flames rolled like waves over the rafters high above, casting shadows across Ying's carved face. His black eyes burned hotter than the fire overhead. He popped his knuckles one at a time.

  Grandmaster stood solid as an eighty-year-old oak.

  “You know the real reason I've returned, don't you, old man?” Ying spat.

  “From the look in your eyes, I can tell,” Grandmaster replied.

  “I hate you!”

  “I know.”

  Ying spread his arms wide like an eagle and began to circle Grandmaster. “Why did you raise me to be something I'm not?” he said.

  “I thought it was best,” Grandmaster said in a calm tone. His head turned slowly, his eyes following Ying.

  “Best for who?” Ying snapped.

  “Best for me, I suppose,” Grandmaster replied. “Cangzhen needed an eagle. Perhaps I should have chosen something else. Something less … aggressive.”

  “Then what should you have raised me to be?” Ying asked sarcastically. “A dog to follow you around and jump at your every command? You should have raised me as I was meant to be raised!”

  Grandmaster shook his head. “No, that would have been disastrous. Of that I am certain.”

  “You will pay for robbing me of my birthright!” Ying said. “And you will pay for changing my name. Others shall pay, too. My vengeance will fall on every person whose life you touched with warmth and compassion, for that is my destiny.”

  “That is indeed your destiny,” Grandmaster said. “But you have the power to change it.”

  “Never!” Ying shouted. He stopped circling and stood behind Grandmaster. “After my man retrieves the dragon scrolls from your library, I will learn what I was born to learn. And when I close the final scroll, I will take with pride the name my father gave me. The name you tried to bury beneath the feathers of an eagle. Arrogant fool!”

  “Do not follow in your father's footsteps,” Grandmaster said. “I urge you to forge your own path. Your father was a sick man. Only a sick man would give his son the name—”

  “ARRRGH!” Ying lunged straight at Grandmaster's back. His pointed teeth stopped a hair's breadth from Grandmaster's thin, wrinkled neck. “Don't you dare talk about my father that way!” Ying hissed. “He did nothing wrong, and you know it. It was all your doing. You set the events in motion, and you've been trying to reverse your wrongs ever since. That is why you took me away from the clan and raised me yourself, isn't it?”

  “No,” Grandmaster replied, turning to face Ying. “I took you in because I wanted to give you hope.”

  “You didn't take me in,” Ying said. “You took me. You did it because you wanted to rewrite my future. Admit it!”

  “I did it because I felt sorry for you,” Grandmaster said, folding his bony hands. “And because I feared what you might become if you were exposed to the wrong people.”

  “Exposed to the wrong people?” Ying said. “You mean people with passion? People with vision? People like the Emperor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should never have taken me along to help him last year, you foolish—”

  “I know,” Grandmaster said, turning away. “I know. …” He lowered his head.

  “Turn around and fight, old man!” Ying said.

  Grandmaster shook his head.

  Ying snarled and stepped around in front of Grandmaster. Grandmaster closed his eyes and turned away again.

  “Face me!” Ying demanded.

  Grandmaster raised his head high but said nothing.

  Ying took a deep breath, rooting himself to the earth. “Then prepare to meet your ancestors. …”

  Ying raised both hands ceremoniously and extended his fingers. Slowly he brought his fingers together and curled them down while stretching his thumbs down and curling them up. He snapped the perfectly formed eagle-claw fists back and drew a lifetime's worth of angry energy from every corner of his body, pushing it up through his shoulders, into his arms. Driven by hate, he slammed his clawlike fists into Grandmaster's back. There was a tremendous CRUNCH, and Grandmaster slumped to the floor.

  Ying spat and walked out of the burning practice hall without bothering to give his father's killer a parting glance.

  Malao slowed as he approached the tree line across from the Cangzhen compound. He picked a large maple and scurried up the trunk. Peeking through the new leaves at the end of a branch, he saw Ying standing in the smoky moonlight, just inside Cangzhen's main gate. A circle of soldiers surrounded Ying. Even from a distance, Malao could sense Ying's anger and hear bits and pieces of his ranting.

  Ying seemed most upset with a man he called Tonglong, who looked to be about thirty years old and had an extra
ordinarily long, thick ponytail.

  Nice haircut, Malao thought, and giggled to himself as he watched Tonglong formally present his straight sword to Ying. Ying unsheathed the sword and swung it dramatically over Tonglong's bowed head. Then he reached down, lifted a large, round object, and threw it at Tonglong.

  Tonglong caught the spinning object and placed it on the ground, next to his feet. As Tonglong wiped his hands across his chest, Malao stared at the object. He couldn't figure out what it was. He thought there might be something else on the ground near Ying, but the soldiers were blocking his view. Malao scratched his head and looked back at Tonglong.

  Malao knew Tonglong meant “praying mantis” in Cantonese Chinese. He also knew how rare it was for people in their region to have a Cantonese name. Most people spoke Mandarin Chinese.

  Malao wondered how Tonglong got his name. Malao and his four brothers all happened to have Cantonese names—thanks to Grandmaster—and each was named after his spirit animal. The same was true for Ying. Malao meant “monkey” in Cantonese. Ying meant “eagle.” A praying mantis seemed like an odd spirit animal to Malao, yet it suited Tonglong perfectly. He had a strange, insect-like quality.

  For some reason, Malao couldn't take his eyes off Tonglong. It may have been the way the smoke mixed with the moonlight, but Tonglong reminded Malao of someone. …

  Malao shook his head and tried to focus on something else. He stared at the object on the ground again. The smoke cleared for a moment, and Malao noticed that the large, round object was flesh-colored and streaked with red. It was someone's head! And it looked a lot like—

  “Grandmaster!” Malao gasped.

  “Hush,” a voice whispered from behind Malao.

  Malao jumped. He turned and saw his brother Hok on a limb behind him.

  “Hok! Did you see—”

  “Not here, Malao. Follow me.”

  Malao watched Hok drift silently through the trees, his robe fluttering against his slender frame like orange kite paper. Malao swallowed hard and followed.

  Hok stopped in the forked limbs of an enormous, half-dead elm. The dead half had a large hollow in its massive trunk, high off the ground. Hok eased inside. Malao scurried in after him.