The Martial Tales of Lee Song - 001

  The Crane and the Boy Under the Moonlight

  Song adjusted his fur jacket and fur-lined toortsog – the nights were getting chillier – and took stock of his equipment.

  His sling-staff sat ready on his back, his boot heels were in good condition, and he felt limber and well-rested. His belt pouch held twenty sling-stones as well as one iron-banded wooden ball that he’d begged his father to have forged. He had rope, flint and steel, argal dung-fuel, and a small supply of food and water if worst came to worst.

  He was ready.

  Just one more thing left to do.

  He stopped by his mother and father’s personal yurt and dithered for a while, until his father coughed and called, “Stop digging a track outside my door and come in.”

  “Mother, Father, I’m going out on my first hunt alone,” Song peeked around the flap. “Hunter An sent me to bring her back a jackal.”

  “My little star!” There was a patter of feet before his mother reached through the flap and dragged him full into the tent. Before he could say another word, she swept him into a hug and clutched him tight. “Isn’t our Song worthy of praise, San?”

  The Patriarch stepped forward, dressed in a set of black silk pajamas. He scratched at his beard. “It’s just a jackal.”

  Chohee nailed him with a glare worthy of An Iseul, and San coughed, “Which is admirable! Very admirable! Jackals are terrible eaters of foals and worthy of death!”

  “We’ll see you at breakfast, and you can regale us with tales of your success.” Chohee said, grabbing Song’s shoulders and holding him at arm’s length. Her eyes poured over her youngest son with matronly pride.

  “Do you want me to have Kkongi watch after you?” San asked, pointing out towards the coop.

  Song shook his head. ‘No, I’ll be fine, Father. I’m not afraid.”

  “Song doesn’t need that vicious thing’s help,” Chohee tutted. “He’ll do fine on his own.”

  She let Song go with a peck on the cheek. “Now, you go catch your jackal.”

  Song left the village in high spirits, the warmth in his heart driving away the cold night more effectively than any fur coat ever could.

  —

  For all his talk, this was Song’s first time leaving Changpo alone at night, and fear warred with the eagerness to prove himself.

  His walk to the river was tense, but at least it wasn't too dark. It was the first night of the full lotus moon, and it dyed the plains in a warm yellowish-orange sheen. Sparkling stars and cosmic clouds of every colour filled the sky, unbroken out to the horizon in every direction. It made Song feel very small indeed.

  Soon, he began seeing other signs of life as marmots, ground squirrels, and other various small animals emerged to forage for food. Every so often, the chirping of crickets was interrupted by the haunting hoot of a great grey plains owl somewhere nearby. The night was full of the hunters and the hunted.

  When he reached the riverbank, Song set about searching for spoor between the stones and grasses. He almost immediately found some – fish bones and fresh jackal leavings! He felt a surge of triumph and began following the trail; the Heaven were looking kindly upon him tonight!

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  Every so often he’d lose sight of the jackal’s tracks, but he always managed to find fresh spoor by continuing down the river. A footprint here, some transfer there. He used every one of the techniques he’d been taught over the past few weeks. It was stressful and painstaking work.

  If only he could've brought Bongbong; riding during the full moon was always a magical experience. But the big gelding was just too noisy for hunting a jackal.

  The night wore on, and Song’s eagerness turned to impatience. The moon now felt like the baleful eye of the Azure Scholar, watching his pathetic chase with mocking amusement. He was running out of time! He couldn’t return empty handed on his first solo hunt; it would be such a loss of face!

  Suddenly, the chirp of crickets was met by the yap of a jackal a short distance away. There you are!

  Song checked the direction of the wind, then inched slowly forward. He stepped as Hunter An had taught him, his softly padding feet making nary a sound on the wet stones. Roughly a hundred meters downstream, the riverbank rose in a sharp incline, and Song climbed it gingerly, taking care not to knock any pebbles loose.

  His breath caught as he crested the ridge and peered down. His first thought was one of confusion. Before him the river widened out into a deep black pool, with deathly still and perfectly mirrored waters. The moon reflecting off its surface looked as though it’d been plucked from the heavens and placed there by the Dark Dreamer itself.

  Song had spent the last week scouting this entire area with Hunter An, and there hadn’t been so much as a pond here the other day. There’d been no rains, and no swelling of the river, so where had the pool come from?

  A faint motion at the corner of his vision drew Song’s eye to a tall and graceful crane that stood at the pool’s edge. It had pure white feathers and a black neck and tail, accented by an elegant red and grey crest. A common red-crowned crane, though there was something about the wicked hook of its beak and the graceful sweep of its neck that lent it an otherworldly air. And Song could just make out the faint glow of starlight around the crane’s crest as well, like it wore a crown of stars.

  It’s a Demonic Beast! He thought. With a weak Sign. Refinement level, from the looks of it. What’s it doing so far from the wetlands?

  Cranes mostly lived in the far west of Nakjo, where it bordered Sichuan province. The ground was more fertile and wetter there, with plenty of the frogs and pond fish the big birds preferred to eat.

  Unease crept into Song’s heart. The jackal tracks led right past the pool. Hunter An hadn’t taught him anything of demonic cranes. Should he count tonight as a loss?

  No, failure was unthinkable!

  The crane didn’t seem to have noticed him, preoccupied as it was with something beneath the water’s surface – fish, perhaps. Hunter An had taught him that an animal was at its most vulnerable when it was hunting. The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind!

  Song fingered his staff. Surely his teacher wouldn’t complain if he returned with such a prize instead. And he could request one of the Jo’s craftsmen to make its feathers into a fan for Mother. They owed him a favour, after all.

  Song’s hand slipped into his belt pouch. His fingers brushed stone, but they didn’t stop questing until they wrapped around the cold of iron. When he found it, he gripped the metal bullet tightly and deposited it in his sling.

  The moon far overhead was silent witness to the tableau as Song slowly, oh so slowly, raised his sling into the ready position for a Crack Shot. His motions mirrored the deliberate stalking of the crane as it slid through the still waters.

  In his mind, Song counted down. Three… Two…. One!

  --

  Inside Song's mindscape, a silver and wood floor mirror sat within a field of infinite darkness. A single constellation of seven stars sparkled far above, making the rough shape of a dipper. It was silent and serene, as befitted a mindscape touched by the Dark Dreamer.

  Inside the mirror was far from quiet.

  "Song! NO!" Cyrus screamed, beating on the mirror with his fists.

  Outside, down by the edge of the pool, a shifting kaleidoscope of shadows formed the rough outline of a crane with far too many wings. Tendrils of ravening Void licked out from it to probe and brush its surroundings. Even now, one long tendril was snaking out towards where Song stood on the ridge. At the crane-thing's center were the four bright lights of its crest, hanging down like the lure of an angler fish.

  Cyrus threw his full weight against the glass, but it didn't even shift. "It's a trap!!!"

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