Sage of Heaven

Sage of Heaven is my current work-in-progress (WIP). It's a fantasy young adult (YA) novel about a Chinese-American teenager who is being pursued by some immortal Chinese wizards because he has the power they want;a power he doesn't know he has and a power he posseses by being the descendent of The Monkey King.

Here's an excerpt. I hope you like it.

Chapter Two

Sifu was sitting at his desk, a small grey metal one with drawers only on one side, looking at his watch. The back strap was frayed and the glass face was of his no-name analog was yellowed from years of wear. Sifu squinted as he looked at it.

“Late again,” he said in Cantonese then exhaled forcefully with a loud humph. He stood up and moved slowly to the windows. His movements weren’t slow from age or frailty - although he did look feeble at five feet one and a small body with skinny arms that barely kept his v-neck white undershirt from sliding onto the floor. Instead, his actions were measured with experience and purpose and efficiency. Sifu only moved quickly when and if it was needed.

He placed a hand on the thick black metal grille in front of the window and looked out into the street. There were tourists speaking loudly in English with a Southern drawl. Cameras around their necks, they were a family. The mother went on about how good all the food smelt, coming from the abundance of Chinese restaurants that lined the streets. The kids just walked without saying much, the youngest paying more attention to the handheld gaming device than what was in front of him.

“Watch where you’re goin’ Michael!” The mother, an obese woman in brightly coloured shorts and a sleeveless button blouse, grabbed her son by the arm, nearly making him drop the game onto Chinatown’s concrete sidewalk just as he was about to collide into an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart filled with plastic buckets filled with water and live fish. Sifu shook his head and muttered something disapproving in Cantonese. So, did the fish vendor.

“Jesus, Belle,” the father said, heavy breaths between words. “There’s too many damn hills here.”

“Stop complaining, Burt,” Belle said as she waddled up California Street towards Old Saint Mary’s. “This is good for you. You’re gettin’ some exercise finally.”

Sifu smiled and shook his head again. Muttered something in Cantonese, seemingly towards the woman but really to himself. He peered up and down the street, as far as he could with the bars preventing him from sticking his whole head out the window, and took a deep breath. The aroma of braised duck, coming from the restaurant downstairs, suddenly wafted into his nostrils. Sifu smiled. He inhaled it, deep and closed his eyes. He could see it - golden brown duck on top of a bowl of steaming hot noodles, a plate of scallion pancakes as a side with a bowl of sweet almond soup to finish. A driver tooted the horn of his car down the street. Brought Sifu out of his savoury imaginings. A man dressed in all black - leather jacket, slacks, dress shoes, cotton turtleneck - passed by too.

Sifu turned around sharply. The loud stomping of footsteps running in the hallway outside followed by the crash of the door, swinging open from a forceful push and being stopped suddenly by the immovable wall one hundred and eighty degrees later. Bobby and Joe, falling over each other trying to be the first one in, huffed and puffed in the doorway. They were laughing and smiling but all of that soon faded when they looked up and saw their master standing in front of them.

“Sifu,” Bobby said, straightening up and smacking Joe on the arm to do likewise. “I…we…”

“You’re finally here,” Sifu said crossly. He tilted his head sharply towards the training floor. “Go warm up.”

Suddenly, the framed black and white photograph of an older Chinese man - presumably Sifu’s own teacher, now deceased, but he never offered that information and no one ever asked - crashed to the floor. The glass turned into a million pieces. The frame broke at one corner. The picture slid out next to Sifu’s foot. He picked it up. Cursed in Cantonese. He leant forward to pick up the pieces of black wooden frame but suddenly shot up straight and ran for the changing room.

“Boys!” He yelled in English. There was an accent in how he said the word. He emphasized the B. There was an abrupt cut in how the word ended. It was filled with urgency. “Boys!”

He ran, faster than his old body looked like it could move, towards the changing room. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall. The room shook but he proceeded, carefully, with small steps. His hands walked along the wall in time to the movement of his feet.

“Bobby!” Sifu stuck his head into the changing room. He looked around. Turned his head left and right. Empty. Bobby and Joe weren’t there. Nothing was. Not even walls. Not a floor. “Bobby, nei hai binto?  Joe! Boys, where are you?”

Sharply, he spun around and headed for the door. The same door the boys just stormed through. He almost fell as the floor started to roll the way a wave crashes into the beach. Sifu reached for the door handle, started to turn the knob, when he suddenly stopped and averted his attention to the floor. A small blue flame came from one of the corner’s of the picture of his teacher. Quickly it spread and the entire picture was engulfed in a column of red then blue fire. The fire became a tower of smoke, first grey then white, until it grew and took over the whole room. Sifu raised his hand, covering his eyes, as the white smoke became a white light. It grew brighter and brighter with every second until, like an imploding black hole, it swallowed itself.

Sifu lowered his hand but he wasn’t at the door about to exit. He was standing just where he was when Bobby and Joe arrived. His eyes squinted slightly, crumpling his brow. He looked around. The framed picture of his teacher was intact, hanging where it always did. Sifu looked down. There wasn’t s single shard of glass on the floor. Sifu shook his head and took a deep breath. Turned around and looked out the window. The overweight tourist family was just walking up the street.

Then, as it had done before, the door swung open. Bobby fell onto the floor, his book bag sliding off his shoulder, its weight pulling him down.

“I win,” Bobby proclaimed.

“Damn you!” Joe stumbled in, tripped on his fallen buddy and landed on the floor next to him. Out of breath and panting, Joe sat up. “You cheated. Man, I can’t believe you cheated.”

“Where did you go?” Sifu stepped forward, concern in his voice and body. His shoulders were hunched forward and his head turned and tilted to one side.

“Oh, crap” Bobby said, hurriedly getting up. “Sorry Sifu. I…”

Joe, up and brushed off, jumped in. “Sifu, we were at school and we’re sorry we’re late. We had a study…”

“No!”

The boys became serious and turned to one another then back to their teacher.

“Sifu?” Bobby said, taking a step closer to his master.

“Where did you go?  When the earthquake hit. You were in the changing room but when I looked neither of you were there.”

Bobby moved closer. “Sifu, we didn’t go anywhere. I mean, we just got here.”

Sifu glanced at Joe, who nodded.

“Yeah, Sifu, just like Bobby said. We just got here.”

Sifu took a deep breath and walked to the framed picture. He gently placed his hand on it. There wasn’t a scratch or a chip or a crack on it. Not a single mark was on it.

“Go get changed. We have a lot to do.”

“Yes, Sifu,” the boys said simultaneously.

Sifu watched the boys as they entered and disappeared into the changing room. He turned back to face his master’s picture.

“It’s begun.”

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