How long have I been asleep? Hok wondered. Where am I?
She lifted her head and her vision slowly gained focus. So did her other senses.
Hok twitched. She wasn't alone.
“You've been drugged,” a voice purred from overhead. “Let me help you.”
Hok looked into a nearby tree and her eyes widened. Lounging on a large limb was a lean bald man in an orange monk's robe. The man raised his bushy eyebrows and leaped to the ground with all the grace and nimbleness of a leopard. He approached Hok with smooth, confident strides.
“Dream Dust, I'm guessing,” the man said. “If so, you'll be feeling the effects on and off for days. It's powerful stuff. It blurs the line between dreams and reality.”
Hok stared, unblinking, at the man. If she remembered her training correctly, Dream Dust was derived from the pods of poppy flowers. Powerful stuff, indeed.
“My name is Tsung,” the man offered. “It's Mandarin for monk. A simple name for a simple man. I am from Shaolin Temple originally, but I live outside the temple now among regular folk. Hence, my name.”
Hok continued to stare.
“You don't say much, do you?” Tsung said. He stopped several paces from her, keeping a respectful distance. “That's just as well. I'll tell you what I know. I spied on your captors, Major Ying and Tonglong, for quite some time. I make a habit of keeping an eye on things in this region. I had a feeling you were something special, even before I realized you were from Cangzhen. And once I overheard them discussing the fact that you were a girl, well, let's just say that I was doubly impressed. For fighters as skilled as Ying and Tonglong to go to such lengths to bind and drug such a young captive, that's extraordinary.”
Hok glanced at her wrists and ankles. They were raw and coated with dried blood, but she didn't feel a thing. The Dream Dust must be numbing the pain.
Tsung nodded at her. “Interesting outfit you're wearing. It appears large enough to fit a grown man.”
Hok looked at her oversized robe and ill-fitting orange pants. She'd always worn clothes that were too large, in preparation for the days when loose clothes would better hide her gender. It seemed that didn't matter anymore. She shrugged. She didn't know what to say.
“You really aren't doing so well, are you?” Tsung asked.
Hok shook her head. The movement made her dizzy, and her vision began to tunnel.
“I'm taking you to Shaolin,” Tsung said. “I have a horse nearby, and we will be there in no time. I'll take care of you.” He flashed a toothy grin, and Hok sensed something beneath the surface. Something sinister. He took a step toward her.
Hok formed a crane-beak fist with her right hand, bunching the tips of all four fingers together and pressing them tightly against the tip of her thumb.
Tsung's smile faded. “A crane stylist?” he said. “I should have guessed.”
Hok didn't offer a response.
“They say Dream Dust allows the user to see into the hearts of others,” Tsung said. “Do you think this is true?”
Hok didn't respond. The world around her was growing hazy as if smoke was drifting over her eyes. She felt her crane-beak fist loosen, her fingers relaxing into a limp open hand.
“Very interesting,” Tsung purred, his feline grin returning. “Since it appears as though you're about to drift away again, I'll let you in on a little secret. My brothers at Shaolin no longer trust me, either. In fact, they haven't let me into the compound in years. However, that is all about to change. You shall be my ticket in. The ticket for me, and a few thousand of my closest friends.”
“Open the gate!” Tsung shouted into the darkness two nights later. “A young monk needs help.”
Shaolin's great front gate remained closed. No one replied.
Tsung shook his bald head and climbed off his horse, taking care to make sure Hok's unconscious body remained steadily draped across his horse's back. He untied a small pack from the horse and slung it over one shoulder. Then he slung Hok over his other shoulder and walked up the stone steps toward the gate, which was fashioned like two giant wooden doors. The doors stood higher than two men were tall, and surrounding the door frame was a gigantic brick wall, painted bright red. Set into the wall on either side of the doorway was a huge circular hole filled with intricate wooden latticework. Tsung was certain someone was peeking out through the circle on the right.
Tsung approached the huge doors and kicked them hard enough to echo on the far side. “The monk in need of care is from Cangzhen,” he shouted. “A girl. You don't want her death on your shoulders, do you?”
Tsung waited for a reply. He got none. He kicked the doors again.