Martial Art Fantasy Short Story
Author: Hani Law Copyright © 2006
Author: Hani Law Copyright © 2006
SWAN BEAUTY
CHAPTER 2
I must have fainted. For when I wake up, I find
myself lying on a bed. The bed is warm and soft. I
have no way of knowing how long I have been there. I
try to get up and am immediately assailed by a
hacking pain in my head. I struggle against that for a
moment before eventually managing to get out of
bed. The walls of the room I have been occupying are
built of clay. Through a tiny window, I can see the
falling snow. Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder, I
turn, startled to find a person wearing a large black
hat attached to a piece of black cloth that covers his
face. From his powerful build, I gather that this
person is a man. I examine him from head to toe. I
notice that every part of his body is covered,
including his hands which are concealed inside a
pair of black gloves. His feet are shod in heavy
boots. Is he a human being or someone from the
unknown world of ghosts and phantoms? Without
moving or speaking, I wait for his next move. I am
not at all afraid of him. I have felt his warmth and
kindness through his touch. He hands me a bowl of
hot soup which I accept without hesitation. The broth
is delicious and I finish it quickly and hand him the
bowl. To my surprise, however, he leaves the room
without uttering a word. I am puzzled to observe that
although he is wearing heavy metal boots, his
receding footsteps are as light as feathers.
Well, once he leaves the room, I go over to the stove.
Hey, there’s more food here. Delicious meat that
tastes like chicken and soft, soft rice! This, at least is
real! Wow, I think, what luck! Eating my fill is my
first priority! In the dim light, the food does looks
like chicken. Next to the stove, stands a huge chest.
From the feel of it, it appears to be made from logs
of timber. Although the chest is quite heavy, my
curiosity gets the better of me and eggs me on to
open it. What I see inside makes the message from my
brain travel so fast to my stomach that I feel sick.
The chest is full of skeletons! Is that man a cannibal I
wonder? I am scared out of my wits. Then I hear
knocks on the door.
“Are you all right?” I hear the man ask in a soft
voice.
“How is it that you have come to this land? This is no
place for a lady like you.”
“You’re a g-good cook,” I stammer, not knowing
what else to say.
“If you remain here, I’ll cook for you.”
I avoid responding to his offer and ply him instead
with all the questions that come to mind.
“Why do you wear long, thick leather gloves and
heavy metal shoes? You scared me, you know, when I
first laid eyes on you!”
When I finally lapse into silence, I realize that I have
asked too many questions.
For a while, neither of us utters a word. Then the
man gestures at me to follow him. We leave the room
and make our way to an enormous hallway where, in
the fashion of a stately manor, candles light up every
nook and corner. I follow the man down to a spiral
staircase. As we climb up the stairs, I notice that they
lead to a very cozy platform. I look up at the glass
ceiling. Over it lies a thick layer of snow. I try to
imagine how bright and beautiful the sky will look
through the glass roof when the snow on it melts. My
thoughts come sharply back to reality when the man
gestures at me to sit down. The stool I choose is very
peculiar in shape and appears to be made of some
kind of skin. The man then crosses the floor to the
other side of the platform and sits down next to a
small, multicoloured stained-glass window.
I wait patiently for him to begin speaking. His voice,
when he does so, is sad. “I am the son of the man who
owned this land,” he explains. “I was brought up in
this mansion. Ten years ago, from far away came a
fierce tribe that invaded our land. The Chief of the
Black Head Tribe was a cruel devil. He and his men
slaughtered all the people in our land, leaving not a
soul alive. They inflicted terrible wounds on my face
and body and even on feet. While my face was
brutally savaged, my feet took the worst blows. In
fact, the severity of my wounds must have convinced
them I was dead. That is how I managed to escape
alive. I am the only survivor in this place.”
Listening to his tale, I am overwhelmed by
compassion for him and cannot help interrupting him
to ask, “What is your name? How did you recover
from your wounds?”
“In this land,” he explains, “we do not have names.
People always referred to me as the Prince. With so
many corpses strewn around, the idea struck me that
I could use their skin to patch up my severe facial
injuries. The heavy metal shoes I am wearing help to
hold my feet together.” He pauses for a moment
before adding, to my astonishment, “The stool you
are sitting on is made of dead human skin.”
At his words, I feel a tremor start up inside me and
my face loses colour. I pull myself together and ask
in a frightened tone, “Do you eat people as well?”
“No, I don’t,” he replies casually, “but I have found
a way to survive. After all, I have been living here in
seclusion for several years.”
Despite his gentle gesture and sincere manner, I am
terrified of sharing the same room with him. I run as
fast as I can to my room, although my feet feel like
dead weight. I can’t get over the visions evoked by
the Prince’s description of transplanting dead human
skin on a living person. It makes me sick to the
stomach. It is now clear to me why there were so
many skeletons in the chest. I confine myself to my
room the day. When I have regained my composure
the next day, I recall not having seen a single living
plant all along the route to this place. I wish
desperately that someone would put me out of my
misery.
Suddenly, I am overcome by the urge to breathe some
fresh air. I hastily grab my coat, leave the room, run
through the hallway and open the huge wooden door
that leads outside. The sun appears to have just come
out, bringing with it thousands of gentle rays that
catch the morning dew and make it glisten. A
wonderful sense of relief and freedom surges
through me and I want to run forever and ever.
However, when my gaze takes in the large expanse of
barren land stretching before me, I stop short,
wondering whether I should carry on with my
journey to find the Magic Lake or remain where I am
to find out more about this mysterious place and its
sole, ghostly occupant.
I study my surroundings carefully for a while. As the
Prince had said, there are no plants, no living things
in this place. It is just a vast piece of land stretching
to the horizon. It seems strange enough to me that a
large, beautiful estate like this one should have been
standing in isolation in this cold, deserted corner of
the world. The more I contemplate the place, the
more curious I am about the Prince. I stroll slowly
back to the house. As usual, the silence is pervasive,
but this time, I hear the faintest suggestion of
someone sobbing. I follow it and find myself in
another huge room. It is bare of furniture and very
cold. Then I notice the Prince in the middle of the
room.
The moment I pause, the sobbing dies away. The light
is too poor for him to notice me. Without warning,
the man runs out of the room through a tiny exit. I
follow in his footsteps right away, but lose him on the
way in a dark tunnel.
CHAPTER 2
I must have fainted. For when I wake up, I find
myself lying on a bed. The bed is warm and soft. I
have no way of knowing how long I have been there. I
try to get up and am immediately assailed by a
hacking pain in my head. I struggle against that for a
moment before eventually managing to get out of
bed. The walls of the room I have been occupying are
built of clay. Through a tiny window, I can see the
falling snow. Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder, I
turn, startled to find a person wearing a large black
hat attached to a piece of black cloth that covers his
face. From his powerful build, I gather that this
person is a man. I examine him from head to toe. I
notice that every part of his body is covered,
including his hands which are concealed inside a
pair of black gloves. His feet are shod in heavy
boots. Is he a human being or someone from the
unknown world of ghosts and phantoms? Without
moving or speaking, I wait for his next move. I am
not at all afraid of him. I have felt his warmth and
kindness through his touch. He hands me a bowl of
hot soup which I accept without hesitation. The broth
is delicious and I finish it quickly and hand him the
bowl. To my surprise, however, he leaves the room
without uttering a word. I am puzzled to observe that
although he is wearing heavy metal boots, his
receding footsteps are as light as feathers.
Well, once he leaves the room, I go over to the stove.
Hey, there’s more food here. Delicious meat that
tastes like chicken and soft, soft rice! This, at least is
real! Wow, I think, what luck! Eating my fill is my
first priority! In the dim light, the food does looks
like chicken. Next to the stove, stands a huge chest.
From the feel of it, it appears to be made from logs
of timber. Although the chest is quite heavy, my
curiosity gets the better of me and eggs me on to
open it. What I see inside makes the message from my
brain travel so fast to my stomach that I feel sick.
The chest is full of skeletons! Is that man a cannibal I
wonder? I am scared out of my wits. Then I hear
knocks on the door.
“Are you all right?” I hear the man ask in a soft
voice.
“How is it that you have come to this land? This is no
place for a lady like you.”
“You’re a g-good cook,” I stammer, not knowing
what else to say.
“If you remain here, I’ll cook for you.”
I avoid responding to his offer and ply him instead
with all the questions that come to mind.
“Why do you wear long, thick leather gloves and
heavy metal shoes? You scared me, you know, when I
first laid eyes on you!”
When I finally lapse into silence, I realize that I have
asked too many questions.
For a while, neither of us utters a word. Then the
man gestures at me to follow him. We leave the room
and make our way to an enormous hallway where, in
the fashion of a stately manor, candles light up every
nook and corner. I follow the man down to a spiral
staircase. As we climb up the stairs, I notice that they
lead to a very cozy platform. I look up at the glass
ceiling. Over it lies a thick layer of snow. I try to
imagine how bright and beautiful the sky will look
through the glass roof when the snow on it melts. My
thoughts come sharply back to reality when the man
gestures at me to sit down. The stool I choose is very
peculiar in shape and appears to be made of some
kind of skin. The man then crosses the floor to the
other side of the platform and sits down next to a
small, multicoloured stained-glass window.
I wait patiently for him to begin speaking. His voice,
when he does so, is sad. “I am the son of the man who
owned this land,” he explains. “I was brought up in
this mansion. Ten years ago, from far away came a
fierce tribe that invaded our land. The Chief of the
Black Head Tribe was a cruel devil. He and his men
slaughtered all the people in our land, leaving not a
soul alive. They inflicted terrible wounds on my face
and body and even on feet. While my face was
brutally savaged, my feet took the worst blows. In
fact, the severity of my wounds must have convinced
them I was dead. That is how I managed to escape
alive. I am the only survivor in this place.”
Listening to his tale, I am overwhelmed by
compassion for him and cannot help interrupting him
to ask, “What is your name? How did you recover
from your wounds?”
“In this land,” he explains, “we do not have names.
People always referred to me as the Prince. With so
many corpses strewn around, the idea struck me that
I could use their skin to patch up my severe facial
injuries. The heavy metal shoes I am wearing help to
hold my feet together.” He pauses for a moment
before adding, to my astonishment, “The stool you
are sitting on is made of dead human skin.”
At his words, I feel a tremor start up inside me and
my face loses colour. I pull myself together and ask
in a frightened tone, “Do you eat people as well?”
“No, I don’t,” he replies casually, “but I have found
a way to survive. After all, I have been living here in
seclusion for several years.”
Despite his gentle gesture and sincere manner, I am
terrified of sharing the same room with him. I run as
fast as I can to my room, although my feet feel like
dead weight. I can’t get over the visions evoked by
the Prince’s description of transplanting dead human
skin on a living person. It makes me sick to the
stomach. It is now clear to me why there were so
many skeletons in the chest. I confine myself to my
room the day. When I have regained my composure
the next day, I recall not having seen a single living
plant all along the route to this place. I wish
desperately that someone would put me out of my
misery.
Suddenly, I am overcome by the urge to breathe some
fresh air. I hastily grab my coat, leave the room, run
through the hallway and open the huge wooden door
that leads outside. The sun appears to have just come
out, bringing with it thousands of gentle rays that
catch the morning dew and make it glisten. A
wonderful sense of relief and freedom surges
through me and I want to run forever and ever.
However, when my gaze takes in the large expanse of
barren land stretching before me, I stop short,
wondering whether I should carry on with my
journey to find the Magic Lake or remain where I am
to find out more about this mysterious place and its
sole, ghostly occupant.
I study my surroundings carefully for a while. As the
Prince had said, there are no plants, no living things
in this place. It is just a vast piece of land stretching
to the horizon. It seems strange enough to me that a
large, beautiful estate like this one should have been
standing in isolation in this cold, deserted corner of
the world. The more I contemplate the place, the
more curious I am about the Prince. I stroll slowly
back to the house. As usual, the silence is pervasive,
but this time, I hear the faintest suggestion of
someone sobbing. I follow it and find myself in
another huge room. It is bare of furniture and very
cold. Then I notice the Prince in the middle of the
room.
The moment I pause, the sobbing dies away. The light
is too poor for him to notice me. Without warning,
the man runs out of the room through a tiny exit. I
follow in his footsteps right away, but lose him on the
way in a dark tunnel.
 |
| |
 |