"As did you, Son. Why do you torment yourself?"
"My ancestors were shamed by my deed," Chiun said, his head bowed.
Chiun the Elder spread generous arms. "I am not ashamed. Am I not your most cherished ancestor?"
"You do not understand," Chiun said, his wrinkled face still downcast.
Chiun the Elder extended one hand, raising his son's chin until their eyes locked. "Know you this, my son. I understand more than any other. You think you have performed the most despicable of deeds. But it is only so here." He placed his fingertips against Chiun's forehead. "You know in your heart that the act you were forced to perform was just and right. As do I. You will never have peace nor leave this place until you come to understand that the greatest battle a man can win is the one within himself."
Old Chiun the Younger remained silent, contemplating his father's words.
"How is it you come to be here?" the old-man-who-was-young asked finally.
"I was protecting the boy, Father. My son is very strong in body, but not yet powerful enough in mind. Had he been banished to this place he would have built a home, married an angel, and fathered strapping boys with properly shaped eyes. He still yearns for peace, and the things he cannot have. He accepts what he should not and does not accept what he should." Chiun's words were more for himself than anyone else.
"Like you, my son?"
Chiun seemed uncertain. "Perhaps."
The handsome young old man clasped his hands behind his back. "We sacrifice for our children," he said simply. "It is the most difficult duty we are called upon to perform. And the most noble. Fortunate are those who are called to the temple of fatherhood."
Chiun's hazel eyes glistened in the starlight. "I missed you, Father."
Chiun the Elder smiled. "Yes, my son. I know. Your devotion sustained me in my last days in these mountains. When I looked to the sky, I saw you. The eternity of nothingness, was filled by you." He shook his head. "For me there was no emptiness, no suffering. I survived in you. And in your promise."
Chiun looked into the eyes of the man who had taught him so much in so precious little time. "I loved you, Father," he whispered. "I have abandoned mercy, pity, remorse, but I do know love. That was your greatest gift to me. Thank you, Father. Thank you."
The handsome visage of Chiun the Elder turned to his son, and his smile lit the heavens. Then he became the heavens, his face turning into the sky and stars.
Chiun looked up at the night, which now hemmed in the mountains, and felt all eternity around him. But it was no longer cold and distant.
At last, he understood.
The Leader had opened the recesses of Chiun's mind with his gyonshi poison. It was no wonder that no one returned after glimpsing this. Their bodies were merely empty shells for the poison that raged in their systems, driving the victim to attack without conscience or compunction. Their minds lived on in the hell or paradise of their own imaginings.
To remain was tempting. Here, anything was possible.
Chiun heaved a sigh and turned his back on eternity. There was still much he had to do. The work on Remo's body was all but finished. It could hardly grow any more skillful. But there was much yet to be done with the potentially limitless power of his mind.
"Sinanju swine!"
Chiun spun when he heard the taunt in Korean. "Who dares call me thus?" he shouted. The darkness had become total, bathing the mountains until they were immersed in a sea of sludge.
There was something about the darkness. Something vague. Something . . . inviting.
"I dare, puny one! Prepare yourself!"
The voice was getting closer. Chiun spun in the opposite direction. "Show yourself!" he demanded. He expected to see Nuihc once more, returned to goad him into battle. Instead, the figure that seemed to step through a slice in the darkness was wrinkled, small, and dressed in a mandarin's robe. He had a fringe of steel-blue hair, like a metallic halo that had fallen, and his skin was the color of a Concord grape.
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.