Martial Art Fantasy Short Story
Author: Hani Law Copyright © 2006
Author: Hani Law Copyright © 2006
SWAN BEAUTY
CHAPTER 17
Incredible though it seems, my wedding day has
arrived. I watch as though in a dreamlike trance
as everybody busies themselves with the
preparations. It promises to be quite an event. My
parents have hired the village hall where the
wedding ceremony will be held, followed by a
banquet. Most of the villagers have been invited,
including all the senior members of the Village
Bureau. Nearly a hundred guests are present on
the occasion and arrangements have been made
to serve them a feast they will not forget in a
hurry. Decorated in ceremonial red for the
occasion, the hall looks magnificent. Red ribbons
arranged in a myriad patterns stream across its
walls and an abundance of scarlet
chrysanthemums spray out of the tall, beautifully-
painted vases adorning every nook and corner.
I am dressed in a traditional red wedding gown
that sweeps the floor. A long red veil covers my
face. Only when the wedding ceremony comes to
a close will the bridegroom be allowed to lift it
and gaze into my eyes. Tied around my waist is
the dance ribbon that has stood me in good stead
for so long. For someone like me, trained in the
martial arts, it is a good-luck charm that
accompanies me everywhere. A bride’s nanny, a
sort of companion for the day, is by my side
throughout. A particular hour, deemed auspicious
by the priests and guaranteed to bring the couple
good fortune, has been set aside for the ceremony.
Custom demands that I do not meet Stepso, my
would-be bridegroom, before the wedding
ceremony. I am required to wait in a small
antechamber behind the hall. All the guests are
assembled in the hall to watch the ceremony. My
parents, naturally, are there. Installed in a pair
of huge armchairs upholstered in red silk, they
look as regal as monarchs. When the time for the
ceremony draws near, the bride’s nanny
accompanies me to the hall, where Stepso comes
forward to meet me formally. Together, we make
our way to the area where my parents are seated
to seek their blessings. We bow before them as a
mark of respect. It is also my way of expressing
my gratitude to them for bringing me up.
The next part of the ritual calls for the bride and
her partner to bow to each other. As we are about
to do so, a hissing sound somewhere to the rear
alerts me that something is seriously amiss. Had I
not been in an emotional frame of mind, the
prerogative of every bride on her wedding day, I
would have recognized it instantly as the sound of
a missile being launched in my direction from
behind and flying swiftly towards me. Caught
unawares, I hesitate for a fraction of a moment,
wondering whether I should interrupt the
proceedings to intercept the object in mid-flight
or simply duck it. Before I can act, however,
Stepso lunges forward, wrapping his arms
protectively around my body to shield me from
harm. I cannot figure out what is happening. Then
his hold gradually slackens and he falls to the
floor with a thud. There is a great uproar around
us, but with my veil obstructing my vision, I have
no clue as to what exactly has taken place. I
snatch off the offending piece of cloth, drop it on
the floor and whirl around. My heart skips a beat.
Stepso is lying on the floor with a short-handled
spear protruding from his back. Someone had
obviously attempted to kill me and my husband
had come in the way. Instinct tells me that my
beloved is dead. For a fleeting moment, I feel as
though a dam has burst inside me. The urge to
sink onto the floor and let my feelings take over is
overwhelming. But fury rises within me at the
injustice of having been allowed to come so far in
life, only to watch everything turn to dust.
Besides, I will never be able to live with myself if
I do not avenge my husband’s murder.
My eyes dart to the crowd of guests in pursuit of
the culprit. Then they home in on an old man
moving furtively through the throng towards the
exit. I try to focus my thoughts on the assassin,
but my emotions are in utter disarray. The picture
of my husband lying dead on the floor keeps
coming back to haunt me. That is why I forget the
dance ribbon around my waist and when I pick my
veil off the floor and swing it towards the man’s
right temple like a lethal missile, aiming to
render him unconscious, it hits him at a spot half
an inch off-target. Momentarily stunned, he
staggers back, but recovers quickly enough to
come charging at me, his upraised hand fisted
around a dagger. Hampered by the voluminous
skirt of my wedding gown, I find it difficult to
assume a combative stance. The man is nearly
upon me. Then I remember my dance ribbon.
Whipping it off my waist, I lash out with it, aiming
straight for a nerve in his neck. My weapon finds
its mark. The assassin emits a strangled sound
and collapses on the floor. Blood gushes out of
his nose and ears. In a hoarse, choking voice, he
curses me. “You should have been dead by now!”
he croaks. “Had it not been for Stepso who
sacrificed his life for you. You deserve to die, you
witch, for the harm you have brought to this
village! It is you who have killed its honourable
tradition, perpetuated for generations by our
revered ancestors!” Then he chokes on a gob of
his own blood and falls back onto the ground.
The village doctor who is one of the invited guests
turns his attention from Stepso to the assassin. He
feels the man’s pulse, then shakes his head. The
man is dead. The village doctor then tells me that
the attacker was the oldest of the four deputy
chiefs in the village and had learned the martial
arts as well. That is why, despite his advanced
years, he had been such a fearsome opponent. I
turn to look at Stepso. My beloved’s face is as
pale as a sheet of paper. I kneel by his side, lay
my head on his chest and wrap my arms around
him. I let the tears flow at last. I whisper into his
ear that I will love him always and be true to him
forever. And then I hear a faint heartbeat and an
even fainter voice whispering, “I love you too.”
Several months after Stepso’s death, I went off to
a remote island just off my village, and started a
martial arts training school, hoping to develop
further my martial art skills and to promote and
spread of the zodiac form of fighting skill to my
pupils. I have named the island Stepso Island.
Years have gone by. I have been given a nick
name by my fellow martial artists, and the name
is Scarred Beauty.
THE END
CHAPTER 17
Incredible though it seems, my wedding day has
arrived. I watch as though in a dreamlike trance
as everybody busies themselves with the
preparations. It promises to be quite an event. My
parents have hired the village hall where the
wedding ceremony will be held, followed by a
banquet. Most of the villagers have been invited,
including all the senior members of the Village
Bureau. Nearly a hundred guests are present on
the occasion and arrangements have been made
to serve them a feast they will not forget in a
hurry. Decorated in ceremonial red for the
occasion, the hall looks magnificent. Red ribbons
arranged in a myriad patterns stream across its
walls and an abundance of scarlet
chrysanthemums spray out of the tall, beautifully-
painted vases adorning every nook and corner.
I am dressed in a traditional red wedding gown
that sweeps the floor. A long red veil covers my
face. Only when the wedding ceremony comes to
a close will the bridegroom be allowed to lift it
and gaze into my eyes. Tied around my waist is
the dance ribbon that has stood me in good stead
for so long. For someone like me, trained in the
martial arts, it is a good-luck charm that
accompanies me everywhere. A bride’s nanny, a
sort of companion for the day, is by my side
throughout. A particular hour, deemed auspicious
by the priests and guaranteed to bring the couple
good fortune, has been set aside for the ceremony.
Custom demands that I do not meet Stepso, my
would-be bridegroom, before the wedding
ceremony. I am required to wait in a small
antechamber behind the hall. All the guests are
assembled in the hall to watch the ceremony. My
parents, naturally, are there. Installed in a pair
of huge armchairs upholstered in red silk, they
look as regal as monarchs. When the time for the
ceremony draws near, the bride’s nanny
accompanies me to the hall, where Stepso comes
forward to meet me formally. Together, we make
our way to the area where my parents are seated
to seek their blessings. We bow before them as a
mark of respect. It is also my way of expressing
my gratitude to them for bringing me up.
The next part of the ritual calls for the bride and
her partner to bow to each other. As we are about
to do so, a hissing sound somewhere to the rear
alerts me that something is seriously amiss. Had I
not been in an emotional frame of mind, the
prerogative of every bride on her wedding day, I
would have recognized it instantly as the sound of
a missile being launched in my direction from
behind and flying swiftly towards me. Caught
unawares, I hesitate for a fraction of a moment,
wondering whether I should interrupt the
proceedings to intercept the object in mid-flight
or simply duck it. Before I can act, however,
Stepso lunges forward, wrapping his arms
protectively around my body to shield me from
harm. I cannot figure out what is happening. Then
his hold gradually slackens and he falls to the
floor with a thud. There is a great uproar around
us, but with my veil obstructing my vision, I have
no clue as to what exactly has taken place. I
snatch off the offending piece of cloth, drop it on
the floor and whirl around. My heart skips a beat.
Stepso is lying on the floor with a short-handled
spear protruding from his back. Someone had
obviously attempted to kill me and my husband
had come in the way. Instinct tells me that my
beloved is dead. For a fleeting moment, I feel as
though a dam has burst inside me. The urge to
sink onto the floor and let my feelings take over is
overwhelming. But fury rises within me at the
injustice of having been allowed to come so far in
life, only to watch everything turn to dust.
Besides, I will never be able to live with myself if
I do not avenge my husband’s murder.
My eyes dart to the crowd of guests in pursuit of
the culprit. Then they home in on an old man
moving furtively through the throng towards the
exit. I try to focus my thoughts on the assassin,
but my emotions are in utter disarray. The picture
of my husband lying dead on the floor keeps
coming back to haunt me. That is why I forget the
dance ribbon around my waist and when I pick my
veil off the floor and swing it towards the man’s
right temple like a lethal missile, aiming to
render him unconscious, it hits him at a spot half
an inch off-target. Momentarily stunned, he
staggers back, but recovers quickly enough to
come charging at me, his upraised hand fisted
around a dagger. Hampered by the voluminous
skirt of my wedding gown, I find it difficult to
assume a combative stance. The man is nearly
upon me. Then I remember my dance ribbon.
Whipping it off my waist, I lash out with it, aiming
straight for a nerve in his neck. My weapon finds
its mark. The assassin emits a strangled sound
and collapses on the floor. Blood gushes out of
his nose and ears. In a hoarse, choking voice, he
curses me. “You should have been dead by now!”
he croaks. “Had it not been for Stepso who
sacrificed his life for you. You deserve to die, you
witch, for the harm you have brought to this
village! It is you who have killed its honourable
tradition, perpetuated for generations by our
revered ancestors!” Then he chokes on a gob of
his own blood and falls back onto the ground.
The village doctor who is one of the invited guests
turns his attention from Stepso to the assassin. He
feels the man’s pulse, then shakes his head. The
man is dead. The village doctor then tells me that
the attacker was the oldest of the four deputy
chiefs in the village and had learned the martial
arts as well. That is why, despite his advanced
years, he had been such a fearsome opponent. I
turn to look at Stepso. My beloved’s face is as
pale as a sheet of paper. I kneel by his side, lay
my head on his chest and wrap my arms around
him. I let the tears flow at last. I whisper into his
ear that I will love him always and be true to him
forever. And then I hear a faint heartbeat and an
even fainter voice whispering, “I love you too.”
Several months after Stepso’s death, I went off to
a remote island just off my village, and started a
martial arts training school, hoping to develop
further my martial art skills and to promote and
spread of the zodiac form of fighting skill to my
pupils. I have named the island Stepso Island.
Years have gone by. I have been given a nick
name by my fellow martial artists, and the name
is Scarred Beauty.
THE END
 |
| |
 |