Immortal Divorce Court Volume 2: A Sirius Education

by Kirk Zurosky

  “Sonam!” I cried out, peering over her shoulder into the Inner Sanctum and seeing a figure writhing about wildly, despite it being chained to the wall. “He did this to you?” I yelled, feeling the strength of a good rage welling up inside me. It felt good to muster up the energy to beat that monk’s ass from here to Timbuktu, or more likely Kathmandu, since it was probably a whole lot closer. Any tu or du would do!

  So as one, fangs fully bared and ready for action, Garlic and I entered the chamber to pay back the chained figure for striking our little Sonam. How dare he! But we had only made it three steps into the chamber before Choden’s huge mitts reached out and stopped us in our tracks. I struggled to pull out of his grasp to get to the sneering monk in front of me, but my strength had not yet returned. Nope, not even close. Garlic gave up quickly, too, looking like a bit of fluffy white cotton in Choden’s huge hand. My deadly vampire Maltese rolled over and gave a whimper of frustration, which I seconded.

  “No,” Choden said, glaring equally at us and the chained figure. “Justice is not yours to mete out this day. Kunchen must answer to Lobsang, and Lobsang alone, for his actions of cowardice.”

  Kunchen pulled on his chains, which were long enough to let him move a body length or two from the wall, and walked to the end of his reach. He was stripped to just a small loincloth and covered with welts and bruises. But that was not all Kunchen was covered with. Indeed, he had the muscles and sinew that intimated, he would be a deadly opponent for any mortal, and a formidable one even for an immortal. Notwithstanding the chains that held him, he moved with the fluidity of one well practiced in the art of giving death to others. But there was another reason I could not take my eyes off this maniac monk. I was fascinated by the tattoos of daggers on the inside of his forearms, of greaves on his shins that ended in spikes on his feet, of a shield covering his whole chest, of a longsword on his back, of a morning star on one arm, and of a battle-axe on the other. I had seen much dedication to the art of war, but this was something else entirely. I took a second look—these were not just tattoos. They had so much detail and reality to them, they were better described as works of art. Wasn’t he a monk? Kunchen didn’t look like a man who valued meditation above all things.

  “Let him go, Choden.” Kunchen seethed, blinking back the sweat that ran into his bloodshot eyes. “He must come to me. He must answer to me for what he has done.”

  What had I done to this man? I surely would have remembered him with all of his tattoos. And I didn’t.

  Choden released his grip slightly. “He has done nothing to you. Your anger is why Lobsang had you chained to this wall. Find your peace here in the Inner Sanctum. Do your duty, Kunchen.”

  “Duty? You speak of duty?” Kunchen spat, retreating to the wall. “While I was chained here like an animal, this demon took my chosen one from me and defiled her. Let me have my revenge, I beg you.”

  Ah, got it—he was Sonam’s chosen one. Oops. But for the record—really not my fault.

  “I cannot,” Choden replied. “There is no revenge for you to take, unless it is that upon your own self for your insolence.”

  Kunchen walked forward again not taking his eyes from me. “Choden, what if it had been your chosen one that he defiled? Think about that. Your chosen one with this . . . this . . . abomination!”

  Choden’s face was expressionless, and his only answer to Kunchen was to release me and Garlic from his grasp. Kunchen took this as a victory. “Come closer, vampire,” he said. “You are weak, yes? You still have the stink of the poison on you. Did you, an immortal, almost die? Now, that is fascinating. You really made that blonde urchin mad, cheating her of her prize.”

  “You sure talk a lot for someone who’s supposed to be meditating and, supposedly, finding peace, and you are making little sense,” I said calmly. “I make a lot of people mad, and I guess, sure, why not, blonde urchins too. But, from the look of you, I am thinking war is more your thing. Or chaos. Or even death, perhaps.”

  Kunchen tilted his head back and laughed. “In another life, I would have called you a kindred soul,” he said. “You evaded death this time, but no matter, because you will meet again, courtesy of me.”

  “That may be true, but I would worry about yourself, because you don’t have another life,” I said, wondering why I was wasting my time on this obviously crazed monk babbling nonsense. Guilt? “So, you might as well stop throwing away this one. Mortals don’t get second chances. Oh, and though I am an assassin, I am no kindred soul to the likes of you.”

  “I guess I am out of chances, so you can strike me now and avenge the blow I gave to Sonam, a beating she deserved for betraying me,” he said, smirking and turning his back to me. “Go ahead and beat me all you like—if you can, that is. I will never know peace, but I will know revenge on you.”

  I looked at him intently, noticing a tattooed eye on the back of each shoulder. “I am truly sorry for what happened,” I said, going the compassion route despite my misgivings of doing so with this wretch of a human. As I spoke to him and tried to connect on a personal level, I could not help wondering what Kunchen’s true story was, as clearly he was no ordinary monk, or even a monk at all. “It is not her fault. You have to believe me.”

  Kunchen turned and spat in my direction. “Believe you? I have always hated your kind, vampire,” he said, his jaw clenched.

  I nodded my head because now it all made sense. One of my people clearly had taken out one, or perhaps all, of his people. I guess that would drive a mortal insane, though Kunchen seemed to have been smacked upside the head with the crazy stick a few too many times. “So, that is it?” I asked. “You hate me because a vampire did something to someone you cared about or loved? That has nothing to do with me. But if it makes you feel better, I am sorry for that too. So believe that as well, because it is true.”

  “Why would I ever believe anything you had to say?” Kunchen said, rolling his eyes. “When I said I hated your kind, I didn’t mean vampires. You are the first one I have ever even seen, for what it’s worth to me—which is absolutely nothing. No, by your kind . . . I mean people.”

  “People,” I repeated.

  “And Sonam’s fault is irrelevant,” Kunchen said. “Because what does it matter after what you did to her? She is no better now than any common street whore!”

  Choden grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me back to the doorway. “Kunchen,” he said, “I hope you find peace.”

  “The only peace I will ever have,” Kunchen screamed, rushing at us and flailing so hard that blood ran from his wrists onto the floor as the harsh metal of the chains cut into his skin, “is killing you, vampire! And that old fool Lobsang too!”

  Choden lunged forward, his large hand raised to deliver a killing blow. “Enough!” he yelled, his hand shaking in anger. “Threatening the Master is punishable by death!”

  “I welcome death,” Kunchen said. “And if I do die, I will return again and again until the vampire is dead. Hear me, vampire, if it takes one thousand years, I will kill you!”

  I was not remotely fazed by Kunchen’s threat. “Well, I say this to you, Kunchen,” I said. “All the weapons inked on your body would not be enough if you have to face me. You may welcome death, but I have been to Hell and walked out very much alive. Twice.”

  Kunchen opened his mouth to speak as my words slowly sunk in. He said nothing and dropped to the floor, turning his back on us, the great sword on his back pulsing hard with the vigor of his breaths. The two eyes on the back of his shoulders stared at me blankly, devoid of any emotion, which I knew to be in sharp contrast to the rage welling up from the depths of his dark soul. I shrugged and looked nonchalantly at Choden, because the threat of a mere mortal—no matter how strong the evil in his heart or the crazy in his eyes—pales in comparison to when you have been marked for death by the Lady of the Underworld—and survived. But Choden shook his head, looking quite trou
bled, and pushed us back out the door of the Inner Sanctum, where I saw Sonam had disappeared. I thought about suggesting to Choden that we go look for her and see if she was all right, but the big monk had other plans. “We must go now to Master Lobsang!” he said, the barest hint of panic in his voice.

  “Yes, go,” Kunchen called after us, laughing loudly and rattling his chains. I stole a glance back into the Inner Sanctum and saw he was still facing the wall. “Go pay homage to the old goat,” Kunchen continued. “You know what happens to old goats, right? They get chopped up and made into stew. Lobsang thinks he has all the answers, doesn’t he? Actually, he doesn’t, because the one question he doesn’t have the answer to is what to do with me! Tell him to stew on that . . . because if he doesn’t figure it out soon . . .” Kunchen stopped talking and turned to look at me, insanity in his smile, as Choden slammed shut the door to the Inner Sanctum.

  Choden was silent as we moved quickly through the monastery until we reached Lobsang’s quarters. I realized that I was breathing all too heavily as I struggled to keep up with the big monk, and I fell more than passed through the simple linen curtain that was the only thing separating Lobsang’s privacy from the rest of the monastery. Choden had barely traveled two steps into the chamber of his master before he blurted out what had happened in the Inner Sanctum. Lobsang’s eyes went from Choden to me as the monk spoke, but said nothing in reply, instead easing himself to the floor where he sat cross-legged. Garlic padded over to him and curled up in his lap, which Lobsang did not seem to mind as he scratched her behind the ears. I did not know Lobsang, or what he was going to do about Kunchen, but I knew one thing from Garlic’s reaction to him—he was simply good, and that alone gave me relief.

  Lobsang sat for a moment in silence after Choden had finished. “It seems another circle has been started,” the master said. “It will be completed because that is the nature of circles. The only question is, who else will be trapped inside . . . ?”

  “Master Lobsang,” I said, feeling quite fatigued, so much so that I interrupted the musing monk. “My name is—”

  “Sirius Sinister.”

  “Yes,” I said. “How do you know who I am?” My legs threatened to betray me, so I took a seat on the floor and crossed my legs, waiting for the old master’s answer.

  “We are the Disciples of the Dagger of Dorje,” he said. “Like the Blade of Truth, which you wielded when you arrived in our land, it is one of the Seven Sacred Relics. The night before you came, I had a vision the Dagger of Dorje would be taken, but you would appear and cause it to be returned to us safely.”

  “By me trying to save the Thief and then almost dying at the hands of the Rakshas?” I said. “You saw all that?”

  The old monk shrugged. “One cannot fathom the ways of the Relics,” he said. “I do not know why the Blade of Truth vanished when you needed it the most, nor why the Dagger chose Sonam to be the Healer and commanded her to give herself to you.”

  “I am sorry that happened—in spite of the fact that Kunchen does not appear to be the nicest chap,” I said. “I do not think it was Sonam’s choice, and that is wrong.”

  “Do not underestimate Sonam’s strength,” Lobsang said. “Even the Dagger is not powerful enough to make her do what she does not feel is right in her heart. Though the Dagger commanded it, Sonam was with you and saved you entirely of her own free will.”

  “How do you know this?” I said.

  “Easy,” Lobsang replied. “You are alive and sitting in front of me.”

  “But what of her being chosen for Kunchen?” I said. “Did I not take that from her?”

  “Kunchen made his choice, and not for the first time, he did so with malice,” Lobsang said. “And maybe the reality is that he is not capable of finding love and compassion within his heart. Your coming here seemingly set things in motion that even the wisest among us can only guess at. Perhaps that is why the Dagger chose Sonam to be your Healer—to save her from the evil within Kunchen? Maybe you were the last chance for Kunchen to save himself? Ah, life has so many mysteries.”

  “I was not brought here,” I said. “I was sent here by Hades as a little payback. I did not come here by choice.”

  “Ah, Hades,” Lobsang replied.

  “The demon of all demons,” I said, remembering just how far Hades had sent me from home. I did not know if Garlic’s collar was permanently oriented on the mountain above us, or if it would work now. But ending up back on that mountain with those wolves was a chance I was not willing to take, especially in my weakened condition. “I just want to go home, and now!”

  Lobsang nodded. “The trip home without one of your mystical crystals is long and hard. You do not have your strength. You need training. Choden, summon Norbu—together you will return Master Sinister to his normal state of being.”

  “It shall be so,” said Choden, bowing before leaving me alone with Lobsang.

  “You called me master?” I asked. “Why?”

  “I do not know,” Lobsang said. “But I feel that you are about to be immersed in the great study of knowledge.”

  “You would not happen to know a fellow by the name of Hedley Edrick, would you?”

  “Of course,” the monk answered with a twinkle in his eye. “Doesn’t everyone know the Master of Masters?”

  I smiled. “It sure seems that way,” I replied. “But the person I really want to know about is Kunchen, since you have said that he and I appeared to be joined by a circle—if such a thing is even possible.”

  “Oh, it is most possible, but will it be probable? Now that is the question,” Lobsang clarified to himself, because I was left guessing just what in the hell he was talking about.

  “I can tell that you and Hedley Edrick know each other,” I said. “You both have a nice way of answering a question with another question.”

  Lobsang shrugged. “I am just speaking,” he said, his placid face giving me absolutely no indication of his relationship, if any, with the Master of Masters. “Well,” he continued, “I suppose that you do have the right, or need, to know just what kind of man Kunchen is, and was.”

  “I have found that with men, and women, the is, was, and will be, is not a whole lot different,” I said. “People are who they are, and they can’t change what is inside them, any more than Kunchen is able to change his tattoos from weapons to appleblossoms, basil, lavender, violets, or white poppies. So, I imagine Kunchen’s story starts and ends with that ink.”

  “Indeed,” Master Lobsang said. “Kunchen was born into a sect of warriors called the Duga Paw, or Thunderbolt Warriors. They were, and still are, an elite band of assassins, whose lineage stretches far back into ancient history.”

  “I have never heard of them,” I said. “And, no offense, but being an assassin kind of runs in my family, and our history stretches much further back than what you think is ancient history.”

  “Did you actually complete your training with your father, Ernesto?” Lobsang asked, clearly knowing the answer to the question before he asked it.

  I guess I really wasn’t surprised. “So you know my dad too,” I said. “For a big world, I have to say it seems to be getting smaller by the minute. And no, I never really finished my training, or started my studies with Hedley Edrick either.”

  “If you ask Ernesto,” Lobsang said, “he will tell you of the Duga Paw. But, unlike what he does, the Duga Paw are not hired to kill, rather they take their guidance from being one with the universe. When they sense a disturbance, that is when they act, and no other time.”

  I laughed. “You have to be joking with me,” I said. “With all the disturbances going on, you would think they would be acting every day! I would surely have run into them by now.”

  “No, that’s just it,” Lobsang said. “The Duga Paw have never acted. Not one single time. They wait and train for the one moment in history that the universe will comman
d their service. It is a most honorable group.”

  “And that is the sect that Kunchen is a part of?” I said. “I see no honor in that man at all!”

  “I said he was born in to the Duga Paw,” Lobsang said. “Not that he actually was a Duga Paw.”

  “Ah,” I said, seeing where the monk was heading. “And, now Kunchen’s story begins.”

  “The Duga Paw are mortals, and each generation trains their replacements from the time they are little more than babies to eventually take their place among the exalted who wait for the call of the universe,” Lobsang said. “They learn to fight, kill, hunt, and track, honing their bodies and their minds for a day that has never yet come.”

  “That’s single-minded dedication,” I said. “My people are more single-kill-shot-for-gold kind of folks. I am impressed.”

  “You should be,” Lobsang said. “And that is maybe why your ego should reassess whether you truly should fear Kunchen or not.”

  “I don’t fear any man,” I scoffed. “Fear is weakness.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Lobsang snapped. “Fear is educational. Fear is motivating. Fear keeps you alive. Learn this now.” He paused in thought for a moment. “Wait a minute. You survived the Raksha attack—so you do know fear. May I ask what you were thinking of in your most dire moment?”

  I shrugged, figuring I couldn’t keep a secret from this monk if I wanted to, and I didn’t. “Sure,” I answered. “I was afraid I would never see my unborn daughter. I still might not, of course, but let me tell you, that thought, and the thought of not being there for those I love, got me through it I believe.”

  “I think you are right,” Lobsang agreed. “You have an amazing capacity to love. That is a weapon that is going to be impossible, I hope, to defeat.”