The Leader. His pearl eyes burned with a chill fire.
"We meet again, Korean," he rasped.
The blackness of the sky was forming a pool on the ground nearby. Something was drawing Chiun toward the orifice.
"Begone, vision!" he commanded. "I am leaving this place. Do not dare attempt to prevent me."
The Leader merely leered. "You will never leave this place."
Chiun met the leer with a confident smile. "I will-now that you are here to take my place."
The Leader flew at him. Chiun struck a defensive posture. They collided, twin furies unleashed.
The fight was extraordinary, impossible, titanic. The heavens cracked with the sound of mighty blows. Five thousand years of history flowed perfectly and precisely together from their limbs. They danced with death, every muscle coming into play, the neurons of their brains sparking like flashbulbs.
Their fingers, palms, wrists, forearms, elbows, upper arms, shoulders, necks, chins, heads, torsos, waists, hips, thighs, knees, calves, feet and toes intermingled, striking and blocking at the same time-each thrust countered like two faucets of water opened full, melding together in one fantastic waterfall.
They fought furiously in the space of their two bodies, their arms making intricate patterns and their legs swinging up, around, in front, to the side, and behind, as if attached to their pelvis by rubber bands. They spun in space, their fists striking each other in furious rhythm, always connecting with impotent blows.
Neither won, but neither lost. They mirrored each other, clashing in perfect harmony. Their blows became faster and faster and faster still, until everything in their heads became a blur. The sound of their movements buzzed, interrupted only by the continual, closely-spaced slaps of contact. Their fight became a strange, aching song of violence.
"Live!" a voice boomed in Chiun's head. It was deafening, but Chiun had no time to pay it heed.
The battle continued.
"Live!" the voice commanded again. It seemed somehow familiar. "I was poisoned years ago. I was unconscious. Near death. You thought I didn't hear you, but I did. Live!" ordered the voice, which was no longer unfamiliar. "It is all you told me, it is all I tell you. You cannot die unless you will it, and I will not allow it. I need you."
Chiun had no choice but to ignore the voice. The battle still raged. He could not pause, lest he be slain.
They would have fought forever if Remo had not appeared above them. He dropped toward them, ready to strike. He wore the black, beltless two-piece fighting garment of the traditional Sinanju pupil.
"Remo!" Chiun cried. "My son! No! Leave this place!"
"Kill him, gweilo!" the Leader shouted. "You are heir to Sinanju! Do as your destiny commands!"
Remo smiled, his expression deadly, raising his hand as he prepared to cleave one of the combatants in half.
For one horrible instant, the Master of Sinanju believed that his worst nightmares were about to come true. Feared that Remo did indeed seek his throne, his treasure, his honor. He had never believed it before. The charge was just his way to compel obedience in the wayward white.
Then Remo fell upon the fear-struck Leader, crushing him to nothingness and disappearing into the pool of blackness that endlessly spilled from the heavens.
For a moment Chiun stood alone in eternity, his breathing difficult, his chest aching.
"I'm not going to wait all day, Little Father," Remo's voice whispered in his ear.
A sensation of warmth spread up from the pit of the Master of Sinanju's stomach. It radiated outward across his torso, seeking his heart. The pit of the Oriental soul met and joined forces with the Occidental seat of love.
For an instant Chiun was a young man again-standing at the edge of his village with the voices of celebration behind him, his father's back vanishing into the mountains before him.
But he no longer felt the same isolation. The same feeling of loss.
The Master of Sinanju looked up at the heavens, put his feet together, and took a small hop. He disappeared into the inky blackness.
Chapter 27
Chiun's old, old eyes fluttered open.
Remo stood beside his bed, two strange paddles in his hands. He hooked the paddles into two slots on the side of an upright wheeled cart.
"How are you feeling?" Remo asked. His voice was filled with concern, but his face beamed with joy.
Chiun saw the ghostly image of the orange gyonshi mist thinning and spreading along the ceiling. "The bad air is no more?" he said wonderingly.
Smith lay on the bed across the room. He had turned so as to look at Remo and Chiun. His eyes were rimmed in black, his skin a paler gray than normal. Most would have smiled at Chiun in encouragement, but Smith managed only a formal bow of the head. "Master of Sinanju," he croaked.
"Emperor Smith," Chiun said, returning Smith's gesture with a barely visible nod. "I trust you are well."
"I seem to have suffered a heart attack," Smith returned weakly. "But I am on the mend, the doctor says, thanks to a timely electrical restimulation of the muscle."
"You have the heart of a lion," Chiun said loud enough for all to hear. "Let no one doubt this." Then, beckoning for Remo to come closer, he lifted his head slightly.
Remo leaned over the bed, tipping his ear close to Chiun's mouth. "Yes, Little Father?" he asked.
"Be a good boy, and see that I get a private room."
Two weeks passed before Remo and Chiun were able to return to the Catskill Mountains.
The press had long since departed, explaining away the deaths at Poulette Farms as an unusually severe political statement by some concerned but nutritionally unbalanced vegetarians, out to avenge the food-poisoning epidemic that the USDA had officially traced to Poulette Farms and only Poulette Farms.
Henry Cackleberry Poulette had been officially blamed for the epidemic. His personal psychiatrist had held a press conference, explaining his late patient's pathological hatred of chickens.
Within the hour, he was fielding multimillion dollar offers for transcripts of his private sessions with the Chicken King.
Smith had had the gyonshi victims at Three-G carted away in secret. Remo didn't ask how. He didn't care. Smith had told him that so many bloodless, butchered bodies would be difficult to explain away. Let the world simply think the vengeful Vegans had closed up shop after visiting justice on Henry Poulette.
Remo and Chiun climbed the mountain above Poulette Farms, and it was several minutes before they exchanged a word. They moved in harmonious unison, letting the warmth of the spring afternoon wash over them in cleansing waves.
It was a gorgeous day. The sun shone brightly through the swaying branches and broad green leaves. Fragrant blossoms mingled their scents in the air.
"How did you know that the gyonshi virus could be purged by electricity?" Chiun finally asked.
"A cat told me," Remo said nonchalantly.
Chiun nodded in satisfaction. "Cats are very wise, my son," he said. "Although sons are wiser at times." His eyes shone as they gazed upon his pupil.
Remo offered a small bow of his head.