Dilkes stopped before a big cave mouth. "In there," he said, pointing.
"Wait here," Remo ordered.
He turned for the caves, but Dilkes stopped him. "Master of Sinanju, I beg for mercy," Benson Dilkes said. "I was retired. I wouldn't even be involved in this if I hadn't been invited to try to kill you." As he spoke, his eyes strayed to Harold W. Smith.
"Let me guess," Remo said to Smith and Chiun. "America had to field a contestant, as well."
Chiun remained impassive. Smith fidgeted uncomfortably.
"It was against my better judgment," Smith offered.
Remo turned to Dilkes. "You already cash the check?" Dilkes nodded. "Good." Remo planted his fist so deep in Benson Dilkes's head the others caught a glimpse of daylight before the assassin dropped to the ground. "Try to get the money back now," he said to Smith.
Alone, Remo ducked inside the cave.
For the next several minutes there issued terrible breaking sounds from inside. When Remo finally emerged back in sunlight, he was surrounded by Korean faces.
There were men and women, old and young. For the first time in days, the entire population of Sinanju stumbled out into daylight. They blinked against the glare as they began trudging back to Sinanju.
The last one out was an old woman.
Hyunsil, daughter of Pullyang, fell to her knees at Chiun's feet, kissing his kimono hems and giving thanks to the Master for liberating the villagers. None of the other villagers offered so much as a word of thanks, which wasn't a surprise to Remo. With their legendary ingratitude, he would have been disappointed in them if they had.
"The praise is not mine to accept, child," Chiun said, gathering the old woman up from the ground. "For it is not I, but my son who deserves our gratitude. Furthermore, the Master's House needs a new caretaker for when we are away. You would honor us to assume the duties of your father."
"The honor is mine, O Master," Hyunsil said. And bowing with great reverence, she headed back to the village.
"Okay, just FYI here," Remo announced once the villagers were gone. "The Time of Succession is officially over for me. I smelled a hundred different stinks from a hundred different nationalities in that cave. I'm gonna have Kim's tin soldiers bag them up and ship them back to wherever they came from. If this doesn't impress the leaders of the world, I don't know what will."
He didn't give time for argument. Turning on his heel, he headed for the village. Smith and Howard followed.
Only Chiun lingered. Eyes trained on a distant hilltop, he padded in thoughtful silence after the others.
Chapter 35
The investiture of a new Master of Sinanju was by tradition a quiet affair. The retiring Master and Master-to-be stood on the steps of the House of Many Woods to face the gathered villagers and pledge support in life and death. Remo and Chiun recited the memorized speeches that had been passed down from generations of Masters of Sinanju.
Harold Smith and Mark Howard had been permitted to witness the occasion. It was the first time since Kublai Khan that a foreigner was allowed to observe the ancient rite.
Children threw cloth flower petals at the feet of the Masters. An ancient song extolling all the dead Masters was sung. After, Chiun beat a gong three times, completing the symbolic transfer of authority to the new Master.
Afterward it was the people who celebrated. The Master and his teacher didn't join in the raucous festivities. This was as it always was, for the lives of the Masters of Sinanju were spent apart from the villagers.
Throughout the ceremony, Mark Howard and Harold Smith maintained a respectful silence, sensing the weight of tradition hanging heavy in the air. When it was all over, Smith shook Remo's hand.
Though unseen, the North Korean army was still nearby. At Remo's order they were up the shore carrying the bodies of the dead assassins from the caves. Despite CURE security concerns, it seemed right that Smith be present for this. They had all been through so much together over the years.
"Congratulations, Remo," the CURE director said, a thin smile on his lemony face. "And to you, Master Chiun."
He offered a bow. With his assistant Smith went to await the submarine that would take them both home. From the front of the Master's House, Remo and Chiun watched the activity in the village.
"I take back what I said about that smelly Russian swami, Little Father," Remo said once they were alone. "He was right after all. The Dutchman was so nuts he thought he was two people. As far as he was concerned, two Masters of Sinanju did die. I guess that's what Assmuffin meant."
"Yes," Chiun said vaguely. "Go inside, Remo. Your skin must be taken care of. I have a poultice that should help. Lie down while I go collect some seawater to mix with it."
Remo didn't argue. The truth was, he was exhausted. He could use some shut-eye.
As Remo went inside, Chiun headed down the front path.
The old Korean's gaze was trained once more on the rocky hill that sat in the shadow of the Horns of Welcome above Sinanju. And on the small man who sat cross-legged watching the activity from his lonely perch.
FROM HIS MOUNTAIN vantage point he watched the celebrations through bitter, hate-filled eyes.
This was supposed to have been the end. The destruction of the village, the murder of the last two Masters of this false New Age.
He had come back from death to witness the destruction. To watch the House fall and the village burn.
But the last hope had failed. When the people returned to the village, he watched them stomp the body of the dead white Master to a flat sack of broken bones before throwing the trampled remains into the cold water of the bay.
There was dark power in that boy. But it wasn't enough. Nor were the summoned Armies of Death. He could see what was left of them even from this distance. They were being carted away by the men who had arrived in the wheeled metal beasts.
Sinanju lived. In the people, in the village, in the five-thousand-year-old tradition. In its newest Master. Atop his mountain, the Lost Master, who had been reborn only to fail, hung his head in disgrace. He sat with his shame for a long time before a voice broke his solitude.
"I will tell you a tale." The Lost Master looked up.
Chiun stood with him on the flat mountaintop, a figure of ancient wisdom. He padded silently over, sitting down before the Forgotten One.
"It is a tale of the earliest days of the New Age," Chiun continued. "It happened after Master Hung of the Old Order had died, leaving no heir. The Great Wang went out into the wilderness, only to return with a vision for a new future for this village." He held a hand out to Sinanju.
The celebrations below continued.
"When Wang returned and found the other night tigers fighting among themselves to see who would succeed Hung, Wang did proclaim that he had discovered the Sun Source. As proof he did use his newfound skill to slay the quarreling night tigers, establishing that from that day forward there would only be one Master and pupil per generation.
"And the bodies of the dead Wang did order brought to the bay, where they were sent home to the sea.
"But when the time came to collect the last body, the villagers were shocked to find that breath still clung to it.
"Wang knew well this last night tiger. Knew him as a creature of jealousy and hate. From a lesser family was this still-breathing night tiger-a family to whom magic and black arts were well-known.
"And this lesser Master and dying night tiger did spit at Wang from where he lay on the damp shore. Though the fire in his eyes was slowly winking out, it burned still, and in his dying moments he did find strength to speak, and he did say, 'You are undeserving of the title Master of Sinanju, Wang the Impostor. You build this new era on a foundation of fraud and so, like you, all who follow you will be illegitimate. Although I will be sent to the sea this day, I will not accept my place in the Void.' And turning to the villagers he did cry, 'Listen to me, people of Sinanju! You have joined with Wang and will therefore suffer with him. I place on the heads of you and your descendants a curse. The Curse of true Sinanju. When comes the end of my bloodline, will also come the day of judgment for this New Age of Wang. Hatred fuels vengeance. I will have my day.'