"Yeah, I almost died."
"The poison was enough to kill ten men-no, twenty men. But you did not die. Near death, between death, surrounded by your assassins, you vomited up the poison, and so you lived. That's when I knew for a certainty that you were the true avatar of Shiva the Destroyer."
"Because I upchucked?"
"Many are the tales of Shiva," said Chiun calmly, ignoring Remo's outburst. "There was a time in the days before man when the gods of India were at war with demons. The gods of India were strong, but stronger still were the forces they battled. And so the gods took the great serpent called Vasuki and used him to churn the ocean of milk, for to make ambrosia which the gods would drink and so become more powerful. But the serpent called Vasuki, hanging upside down, began to vomit forth poison into the ocean of milk. And the gods, seeing this, knew that Vasuki's poison would contaminate the ambrosia and deprive them of the strength they needed to ensure victory and their continued existence.
"And lo, down descended Shiva, the red god of storms. Now, Shiva was a terrible god. Three faces had he. Six was the number of his arms. Great might had he. And when he saw the poison vomit forth, he stepped under the serpent called Vasuki and caught the awful poison in his mouth. And so Shiva sacrificed himself to save the world.
"But he did not die, Remo. His wife, who was called Parvati, seeing her consort sacrifice himself, flew swiftly to his side, and before Shiva could swallow the poison, she wrapped a scarf about his throat, strangling it, until Shiva vomited up the poison."
"She strangled him so he wouldn't die of poisoning," Remo said. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Shiva did not die," Ghiun corrected. "He vomited up the poison and Parvati undid her scarf. Shiva was unharmed, but for his throat."
Chiun leaned forward and with both hands pushed the collar of Remo's jersey down to expose his throat. "His throat had turned a bright blue. Like your throat, Remo."
"Coincidence," Remo said, standing up suddenly.
"You persist in your unbelief in the face of overwhelming evidence?"
"I don't have six arms," Remo pointed out. "So I can't be Shiva."
"If those who have died amid the fury of your attack were to stand before us, they would swear that you possessed six times six arms," Chiun said.
Doubt crossed Remo's face. "I've got only one face that I know of," he said finally.
"And how many times has the Emperor Smith altered your face for his own devious purposes?"
"Once when I first joined the organization, so I wouldn't look like my old self," Remo said slowly, counting on his fingers. "Once to cover our tracks after an assignment, and one last time when I made him give me my old face back."
Remo looked at the number of fingers he had counted with surprise.
"Three," said Chiun, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
"You see, the legends are but pretty songs that conceal the true reality, like paint on a woman's face."
"If I were a god, I wouldn't come back to earth as a Newark cop," Remo shot back, almost angrily. "I know that much."
"You are not a Newark cop now. You are something greater. Soon, perhaps, you will take an even greater step toward your ultimate destiny."
"It doesn't add up."
"When you were a child, did you imagine yourself a Newark cop?" asked Chiun. "Children cannot comprehend their inevitable maturity. They do not think past today's desires. You are still like a child in many ways, Remo. But soon you will have to grow up."
The Master of Sinanju bowed his head, and added in a wan voice, "Sooner than I would have thought."
Remo returned to his place at Chiun's feet. "Sometimes I hear a voice in my head," he admitted. "It's not my voice."
"And what does this voice say?" asked Chiun.
"Sometimes it says, 'I am Shiva. I burn with my own light.' Other times, 'I am created Shiva, the Destroyer; Death, the shatterer of worlds.' "
"And?" Chiun asked, his face hopeful.
"And what?"
"There is more?"
"'The dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju,' " Remo said.
Chiun relaxed. "You could not complete the prophecy the other night."
"What other night?"
"Why, the night in the burning house, Remo. What did you think we were talking about?"
"In times past, when you heard that voice in your head, it was the shadow of Shiva taking hold of your mind, warning you, preparing you, calling you to preserve your body, for it is the vessel of the Destroyer. Now, Shiva had many incarnations. At times he is Shiva Mahedeva-Shiva the Supreme Lord. And other times as Shiva Bhairava-Shiva the Destroyer. In those times when you heard the voice speaking to you, or through you, you had become Shiva Remo."
"Sounds like a fifties song. Shivaremo doowop doowop."
"Do not jest. This is one of the sacred mysteries of Sinanju. Now, I have always thought the day would come when you would become Shiva Remo for good, and take my place as the next Master of Sinanju. But in that night, with your throat blue and your face smeared with ashes as Shiva's face is portrayed in the histories, you spoke against me, Remo. You were not Remo. Your voice was not Remo's. You were not Shiva Remo. You were Shiva Mahedeva, and you knew me not. Less did you care for me, who have made you whole."
"I'm sorry for the words I spoke, Little Father. But I do not remember them."
"I forgive you, Remo, for in truth you were not yourself. But I am worried. When Shiva is ready, he will take possession of your fleshly envelope. I do not want him to take over your mind too."
"But if that is my destiny, what can I do?"
"You must fight, Remo. You must assert yourself. You must remember Sinanju, and your responsibilities. Above all, you must continue my line."
Remo got to his feet and stood with his face to the wall.
"I don't want to lose you, Little Father," he said, his voice trembling.
"Become the next Master of Sinanju, and I will be with you always," Chiun said sadly. "This is my vow to you."
"I don't want to lose myself, either. I don't want to be anything except Remo Williams. That's who I am. That's all I know."
"You have been chosen by destiny. It is not for us to rail against the cosmos, but you have a choice before you, Remo Williams, my son. You must make it soon. For soon, I may be gone. And at any time the terrible god of the Hindus may return to claim you as his own. And you will be lost forever."
Chapter 9
Colonel Viktor Ditko knew he was near Sinanju when the stink of dead fish filled his nostrils.
He hastily rolled up the window of his Russianmade Chaika automobile.