Chant

by George C. Chesbro

  “It’s probably true,” Chant said evenly “It would be almost impossible to trap these people.”

  “These people are apparently not staying with Baldauf. Ko said that in case you were thinking of blowing up the house, you cannot escape the consequences. If you kill Baldauf, many Hmong will die. Also, you are warned not to search for them.”

  “What else did Ko do or say?”

  Kim Chi grimaced. “He killed a dog—a large one—he’d brought with him After he’d delivered his message, he cut the animal’s vocal cords with a knife. Then … he tore it apart, broke its neck and tore off its legs, with his bare hands. He said that was what he was going to do to me if you didn’t obey all the instructions given to you.”

  “Why you?”

  Kim Chi sighed, shook her head. “I’m sorry, Chant. I wasn’t even going to tell you this. I don’t want to add to your burdens.”

  “Why you, Kim Chi?”

  “Because I’ve been organizing resistance, and because—after the money drop—they know you care for me.” She paused, gasped when she saw Chant turn his face away in disgust. “Chant, you’ve been hurt!” she cried, touching the wounds on his throat and cheek, which were now visible in the faint moonlight.

  “They look worse than they are,” Chant said, taking her hands away from his face and gently squeezing them. “I’m more concerned about poison in the wounds than the wounds themselves.”

  “Do you feel ill?”

  “Not yet. Is there a tchaki in the complex?”

  “Yes. We built one last year. Will you allow me to attend you?”

  “Thank you. It must be very hot—as hot as you can make it, and I’ll be in there for some time. Do you have enough wood?”

  Kim Chi rose from the bed and started to dress. “If there is not, I’ll see that more is brought.”

  Chant sat naked in the billowing clouds of steam inside the tchaki. If there had been a slow-acting poison under Soussan’s sharpened fingernail, he hoped to sweat it out of his system.

  On the other hand, as he had suggested to Bai, it was possible that there had been no drug at all, no poison; the suggestion that there could be was possibly just another lie designed to distract him and destroy his concentration—as it was doing.

  He was also concerned about a second distraction that, in its own way, was even more annoying than the wounds on his cheek and throat.

  He could not stop thinking about Soussan.

  It was insane, Chant thought. He had known many beautiful woman, had made love to more than his share. He was extremely disciplined emotionally, and never allowed personal attractions or problems to interfere with his concentration when he had undertaken a mission. Soussan was just another beautiful woman, except that she was an enemy; if she was Bai’s granddaughter, his Black Flame apprentice, she would be a deadly enemy with formidable skills. That was what he should be thinking about, but it was not. He remembered her lips, her tongue, her writhing hips, her stroking fingers.…

  It was insane to be fantasizing about a woman when he was surrounded by death, Chant thought, yet there seemed to be nothing he could do about it; no matter what he was thinking, what strategies he was planning, his thoughts seemed to drift to Soussan. This sudden onset of mental weakness bothered him a great deal.

  Kim Chi, also naked, poured more water over the pile of hot stones in the corner, than sat down across from Chant.

  “Chant, is there anything else you need to help you relax and prepare yourself?” Kim Chi asked in a soft tone.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “What will you do?”

  “What they ask,” Chant replied quietly. When he saw the distress in Kim Chi’s face, he quickly added, “For now.”

  The single hair he had fastened across the doorjamb was gone; someone had entered his room.

  Chant got down on his hands and knees and examined the fine brown talcum powder he had spread on the floor. Viewed from a certain angle, the powder revealed a set of small footprints going into his room. There were none coming out. Whoever had entered his hotel room was still in there.

  He shrugged his throwing knife from its slip-scabbard in his sleeve down into his palm, threw open the door; in less than a heartbeat he had sighted the intruder, considered his options, made a decision and hurled the blade.

  Soussan shrieked as the knife blade flew past a fraction of an inch from her neck and thudded into the wall behind her. Her severed, thick braid of black hair whispered down across her sheer, silk blouse and came to rest in her lap.

  “Holy shit,” Soussan finally managed to say as she licked her lips and nervously fingered the braid in her lap. “Hey, you are fast.”

  Chant did not reply. In a split second after the knife had been thrown, a .45 caliber automatic had been snatched from his waistband, next to his spine, and was now aimed at the center of the woman’s forehead. He had still not entered the room. He studied the woman’s face and eyes, searching for some indication of another intruder whose presence he had not detected. He saw nothing.

  The Japanese woman had regained her composure and was calmly whirling the braid in her right hand. Her left hand was visible, palm open, in her lap, and she made no move to rise or take the knife from the wall; if she had, Chant would have shot her.

  Finally, Chant stepped into the room. He glanced around, looked up at the ceiling; he could see no signs of a booby trap. Keeping the gun trained on Soussan, he began to carefully examine the furniture.

  The woman’s full, sensual lips were drawn back in a wry grin as she watched him. “I suppose you’re a bit pissed about those scratches I put on your face and throat,” she said at last. “You know, I could have put the arrow through your throat.”

  “And I could have sliced off your head instead of your braid; now we’re almost even.”

  “There isn’t anyone else here, Chant.… May I call you Chant?”

  “Call me anything you like.”

  “And there aren’t any traps. Do you want to know—?”

  “Be quiet, Soussan,” Chant said softly, but with sufficient force to silence the woman, who sighed and leaned back against the wall next to the bed on which she was sitting.

  Chant completed his examination of the room. Satisfied that there were no hidden explosives or other booby traps, he walked over to the woman. He replaced the automatic in his waistband and pulled the knife from the wall next to Soussan’s neck.

  Suddenly the blade flashed downward; the tip of the long nail on the woman’s right index finger sailed across the room and landed against the opposite wall with a soft click. Next, he reached down with his left hand, gripped Soussan’s index finger between his thumb and forefinger, and snapped the bone.

  “That makes us even,” Chant said in a flat voice. “Now you can go.”

  Soussan moaned softly and leaned forward slightly to cradle her broken finger, but these were the only indications she gave of her pain, and Chant was impressed by her obvious ability to “swallow” hurt.

  He was also deeply disturbed by the throbbing in his loins at the close presence of the woman—it was a reaction he had experienced the instant he had thrown open the door and seen Soussan sitting on the bed.

  Soussan drew in a deep breath, sighed heavily, then leaned back against the wall again. Her flesh was very pale, but her eyes were clear. “Well,” she said in a casual tone, “I’m glad to see that my grandfather was at least right about one thing. He said that you wouldn’t kill me, even though it would have reduced the odds against you and dealt him a devastating psychological blow. He didn’t mention that you might break a finger.”

  “You’re lucky it was only your finger. It’s interesting to see how your grandfather is so casually willing to gamble with his granddaughter’s life.”

  “Thank you for this gift of pain,” Soussan said, her voice clear, her tone soft and serious. “By breaking bone, you’ve demonstrated great respect for my talent, discipline, and skills.”

  “I’d
rather break your finger than your life, sweetie, and it’s your life I’m going to break next if you don’t stop fucking with me. To be forced to respect you to death is a paradox I’d rather not deal with. Go home, or back to school, or wherever you came from.”

  “Harvard, class of Eighty-One. I’ve probably spent more time in the United States than you have. Do you think you can beat Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama?”

  “Yes. If your grandfather gives me a chance.”

  “My grandfather has tremendous respect for you, and he says there’s much to learn from you. He says that the death of a man like you shouldn’t be wasted, which is the reason you weren’t killed the instant you stepped into Baldauf’s office.”

  “That’s bullshit. He just wants a show.”

  “It’s true that my grandfather loves a good show, but what I said isn’t bullshit. Do you think you can kill my grandfather?”

  Chant laughed. “If I kill you and the three big boys, your grandfather won’t be around for me to kill. Master Bai is no fool.” Chant paused, motioned toward the door. “I want you to leave now, Soussan.”

  The woman looked at him oddly. “My grandfather says that you’ve helped a great many people, like you’re now trying to help the Hmong. Is there no one you can call on now to help you?”

  Chant smiled thinly. “It’s interesting that you think I might need help to handle the five of you. Your grandfather’s insistence on making a ritual out of a simple killing could prove to be a fatal mistake—for all of you.”

  “You’ve never been up against people like us, Chant. You know that.”

  “I’ve been up against your grandfather.”

  “You walked away from my grandfather, after he had trained you It’s not the same thing. As you see, we can control and shape your reality.”

  “I told you to go,” Chant said in a harsher tone. “I’ll break another finger before I ask you again.”

  “Aren’t you at all curious as to why you found me here sitting in your hotel room?”

  “Yes, I’m curious, but you won’t like what it would cost you for an extended chat.”

  “Quote me a price.”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “All right,” Soussan said easily. She held up her broken finger, which was already blue-black and rapidly swelling. “May I splint this finger first? I’d like to take care of it before the swelling gets any worse.”

  “No Strip or go.”

  The woman shrugged, rose from the bed. Holding the hand with the broken finger away from her body, she used the other hand to unbutton her blouse, which she shrugged off her shoulders. She wore no bra. She removed her shoes, skirt, and panty hose, stood before him naked. She had small, firm breasts with large, black aureoles surrounding long, pointed nipples. Her pubic mound appeared swollen.

  “Lie down on the bed,” Chant commanded, taking care to make certain that the thudding of his heart was not echoed in his voice. He could not understand how his attraction to this woman who was his enemy could, be so intense, and so sudden.

  Soussan did as she was told, and Chant explored her mouth, vagina, anus—all the areas where a ninja could hide a tiny but deadly weapon—with his fingers.

  “Please cut off my other braid, Chant,” Soussan murmured, her mouth pressed against the bedding as Chant’s fingers continued to explore her body. “I’m going to feel rather silly walking around with one braid.”

  Chant examined Soussan’s armpits and the soles of her feet. Then he cut off the remaining braid, slipped the knife back into his scabbard and stepped away from the bed. “You can get dressed now,” he said curtly.

  Soussan sat up on the bed, but made no move to reach for her clothes. “My grandfather sent me here to attack your mind and heart, Chant,” Soussan said softly. “And to explore my own.”

  Chant sat down in a chair and crossed his legs in order to hide his erection. He smiled thinly, but said nothing.

  Soussan looked at him, raised her eyebrows slightly. “Grandfather wants us to become lovers,” she continued.

  “Does he, really?”

  “Yes. He wants it very much.”

  “Well, good luck to you, sweetie, and good luck to your grandfather. Please tell Master Bai that I appreciate the elegance of his attack—a mixture of truth and lies to distort and confuse; Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama to break my body after you scoop out my soul. I can’t do anything about the lies but try my best to discern the truth, and I can’t fight that overgrown desk-buster and his pals until your grandfather lets me. But you—I’ll pass on. Tell Master Bai I said I have a few other things on my mind at the moment, and really don’t have time to have an affair with his granddaughter.”

  “It is an insane notion, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I told him you’d say that, and that it was a waste of time for me to even approach you. After all, why should you go to bed with a woman who was sworn to help kill you?”

  “You were right.”

  “Grandfather said it wouldn’t make any difference. He claims that you want me so badly that you’ll become my lover, even though you know we’re trying to fuck with your head.”

  “He’s wrong.”

  Soussan narrowed her eyes. “But you do want me very badly, don’t you?”

  “The drug under your fingernail when you scratched me: What are its effects?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No. Grandfather did put something there, and he did order me to scratch you But I don’t know any more than that. I don’t know if it really was anything Grandfather plays games with me, too, you know He says it’s part of my training.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You’re afraid of me.”

  “Fuckin’ A, sweetie. I can hardly believe I’m sitting here talking to you. I should probably kill you and be done with it. It’s probably going to come to that eventually, anyway.”

  “I’m afraid of you too, Chant,” Soussan said after a long pause, her voice so soft it was hardly audible “Grandfather says that love is the deadliest, crudest weapon of all, because it can destroy a person without killing.”

  “As usual, Master Bai knows what he’s talking about, Soussan.”

  “Do you understand what he was talking about?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I don’t. It’s why he’s sent me to you. He says that I must experience the awesome power of love before I can become a great warrior—which is what he considers you to be. I’ve known a great many men physically, but that was all just fucking. I’ve never fallen in love. Grandfather says that I could fall in love with you, and he wants me to. That frightens me, Chant.”

  “Bullshit, Soussan. Lies. The only power your grandfather believes in is Black Flame. As you said, he sent you here to fuck me over. You’re his apprentice. Why should I cooperate in a scheme designed to destroy me?”

  “Because you’re dying to fuck my brains out, and I want you to,” Soussan replied without hesitation, punctuating the words with light laughter. “I know you felt what happened when you probed me—the first orgasm, anyway; the other two weren’t quite as explosive. Would you believe me if I told you I’d never even experienced one orgasm before this?”

  “No.”

  “It’s the truth. In any case, that response can’t be faked, and it shows how very much I want you. Will you make love with me, Chant? You can’t be worried about me being a distraction; I’m already that. If you don’t take me, you’ll only be more distracted.”

  Chant rose and went into the bathroom, where he used his knife to cut a thick bath towel into strips. Next, he shaved two strips of wood off a wall panel, shaped them, then went back into the bedroom. “That does have to be set,” he said, pointing to Soussan’s broken, swollen finger. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to hurt you again.”

  Without hesitation, Soussan gripped the broken finger and gave it a sharp yank; the bone snapped into place with an audible click. The bloo
d drained from her face, and pain clouded her large, expressive eyes. However, her voice was even when she spoke. “Now I can use a little help,” she said as she held her hand out to Chant.

  “You’re a fairly impressive warrior right now,” Chant said as he knelt on the floor and started to splint the finger. “You have excellent pain control.”

  “Thank you. As you’ve noticed, I also have excellent mouth, vaginal, and sphincter control.” She paused, continued in a low, husky tone, “You were willing enough to battle Ko, Yabu, and Kiyama, even after you’d lost a lot of blood and your life was at stake. Will you accept this challenge and match your heart against mine? Will you do battle with me in bed?”

  God, how he wanted this woman, Chant thought.

  “No,” he said tersely. Giving Bai, through his apprentice, control of his emotions was just another form of seppuku; he would risk gutting himself spiritually.

  “Chant, you’ll only dream of me.”

  “You’re a dream of death, sweetie—a fatal delicacy.”

  Soussan sat silent for some time, watching Chant carefully splint her finger “You have a remarkably gentle touch for a man capable of doing so many savage things,” she said at last.

  “You’re in the wrong business, Soussan,” Chant said quietly as he secured the wood splints by tying narrow strips of toweling around the finger. “Your grandfather’s a truly evil man, but you may be just playing at what you think is an amusing game that you’re good at. You haven’t touched bottom yet, but just before you do, you’ll be sorry. When you do finally touch bottom, you’ll never again feel anything that is of any value. What Black Flame burns is the soul. Why do you want to become a zombie?”

  “Ha!” the woman exclaimed with genuine delight. “Grandfather was right again! He says that you have a genuine messianic complex. He also said that, in the end, you’d go to bed with me because you’d have an irresistible urge to save me from myself. He claims that an opportunity to save my soul while at the same time screwing the hell out of me is a challenge you absolutely cannot refuse.”