Kira cut off a section of the red curtain and tied it over her leg to stop the bleeding. With a deep breath, she headed through the brass doors.
The third chamber was as vast as the others, reminding Kira of the unnatural magic that must have been used to create the temple. It was all white and well lit by numerous lanterns in every corner. At the very farthest corner of the room, she spotted a small wooden door. It called to her. She started toward it but halted abruptly.
Her challenger was already there, awaiting her in the center of the room. But this monk was female, with short hair and a sharp, intelligent face. She wore a sleeveless jacket that crisscrossed tightly across her chest and formfitting trousers. Thick leather-braided bands were tied to both of her wrists, but she held no weapons.
She studied Kira when she entered, her eyes filled with animosity.
The monk bowed and then moved into a fighter’s stance. Her shoulders widened and the muscles in her arms stood out in sharp relief.
Kira returned the bow with caution. Her eyes darted about the room. Seeing no weapons anywhere, she prepared herself mentally to fight in hand-to-hand combat.
The first blow came out of nowhere. She hadn’t even seen the monk move, but she felt the sudden kick to her chest. It sent her skidding across the floor. Rolling onto her feet, Kira took a second to catch her breath, her chest sore from the attack. Everything hurt. All the wounds on her body screamed with pain. The laceration from the spear on her arm and the gash on her leg both burned intensely.
The monk was now watching from the other side of the room, and a smirk played on her lips. Kira took a shaky breath, trying to control her pain. She kept her eyes trained on the monk the whole time.
One second she was across the room, and then a split second later she was right in front of Kira, letting loose a torrent of blows before Kira could make one move to defend herself. With a shrill shout of anger, Kira stepped into the attack and spun around viciously, striking the monk in the face. Before she could connect again, the monk disappeared. A moment later, she was leaning against the far wall, wiping away the blood from her mouth.
They reassessed each other. Kira tried to control her temper. The monk was using a type of magic similar to the one she’d seen Shaman Ito use on the cliffs of Hansong, right before she’d had to kill the imoogi, the deadly half-dragon, half-snake creature that had nearly destroyed the entire city.
“You need magic to defeat me?” Kira growled. “Not sure of your own abilities?”
The monk magicked herself in front of Kira again. This time Kira was ready. When the monk threw her first punch, Kira sidestepped it, raised her arm high, and bashed her knuckles into the top of the monk’s fist. The monk shrieked. Kira savored the look of shock on her opponent’s face. She knew from the blow that she’d broken the monk’s hand. It hung limp and useless from the wrist. Before she could follow it with another blow, the monk vanished, reappearing on the other end of the room. Kira didn’t wait, she charged forward. But the monk was nowhere to be seen.
Kira whipped around, seeking out her opponent, but she could find no one.
“Hiding?” Kira sneered. “Your magic can’t protect you from broken bones, can it?”
Her gut twisted in warning and she whirled around. She was already too late. The monk had captured Kira by the neck, her nails digging into the pressure points. Crippling pain caused Kira’s legs to buckle, sending her to her knees. She waved her other hand before Kira’s face. It was no longer broken.
“Now you will know the true extent of my magic,” the monk hissed. The monk pressed her fingers into Kira’s temple, right above her scar. Kira felt a jolt of heat, like a lightning bolt, sear into her brain. It felt like her brain was going to explode.
And then Kira was in a vision, a memory of the past. She was in the Hansong palace throne room, lying on the floor. Her body writhed and shuddered in agony. She was Eojin and the cursed dagger was deep in her abdomen. The pain was so horrendous that Kira couldn’t even scream. Was this the agony Eojin suffered in his last moments?
She had to stop it. Smashing her forehead into the monk’s face, she broke the hold and staggered away. The pain vanished along with the vision.
Tears were streaming down her face as Kira stood trembling in horror.
“What are you?” she asked. “Are you a shaman?”
The monk was cradling her hand and her nose was spewing blood. She wiped the blood away, leaving a macabre mark. She spat blood on the white floor.
“I’m no dirty shaman,” she replied. “But you have no idea what I am.”