"No, just a little chilly," she said.
"Well, sit down and have a drink." He poured bourbon for both of them. "You are a marvelous-looking woman," he said, handing her a glass. "I'll never get over my surprise when I met you at that abandoned building. I thought you were a man, for Christ's sake."
"I was wearing cloaks."
"With nothing underneath. I've never been seduced like that before," he said.
"You never owned the statue of Kali before," she said.
His pride felt perforated and he said, "Damn that hunk of rock. Who's willing to pay so much money for it, anyway?"
"No one. Kali is for me. My people."'
Baynes guffawed. "Your people? Where are your people from? Scarsdale?"
She looked at him levelly. "I am from a mountainous region in central Ceylon. My ancestors created the statue. It belongs to their descendants."
"This piece of junk?"
"I would advise you not to refer to Kali as junk," she said.
"Hell, you believe it too. I used to have those ninnies at the ashram running around in circles, making believe that the airline tickets grew magically out of Her fingers every night. And all I did was stick them there."
"And the arms the statue grew?" she asked.
"That was Sardine's con. I never did figure out how he did it, but it worked. It kept the crazies in line pretty well."
"The Indian had nothing to do with it," she said.
"You really believe it," he said, making no attempt to hide his astonishment. "Growing arms, needing a lover, wanting deaths and all that slut. You believe it."
"How little you really know," she said. "I have spent six years tracking this statue."
"Well, if you think there's anything special about it, you ought to be disillusioned now. Look at it. It's junk, and it's ugly junk to boot."
She walked behind him slowly, caressing his shoulders. "Perhaps you weren't worthy enough to see its beauty," she said, and pulled from her pants pocket a yellow silk rumal. "You see, Kali only intervenes for those She loves. You were only a small link in the chain, Mr. Baynes. I doubt if She will intervene in your behalf."
She slid the rumal around his neck. Number 221.
Chapter Twenty-six
The oxygen-thin mountain air filled Remo's lungs with cold and he adjusted his breathing to allow his body to absorb more oxygen.
"What a godforsaken dump," he said.
"I thought white people were always enamored by the mountains and the snow," Chiun said. "That as they succumbed to frostbite and starvation, they always shouted 'back to nature.'"
"Not this white person," Remo said. "I hope Smitty's right about this."
"Those four piles of mechanical junk in his office-"
"His computers," Remo said.
"Correct. Those four piles of mechanical junk determined that this house is secretly owned by A. H. Baynes," Chiun said.
"Yeah. He owns it," Remo said, "and he's probably in Puerto Rico, sunning himself on a beach."
They bounded silently up the craggy cliff. Above them, on a rock overhang, stood the modernistic chalet with its glass walls overlooking the cliff.
Neither man had spoken the thought that was most on their minds. If Baynes was here, so was the statue of Kali.
As they approached the turnoff to the house's driveway, Chiun said, "Hold, Remo. There is something I must give you." He reached under his robe. "You have not asked me about my visit to Sinanju."
Remo felt his nerves tighten. "I don't want to think about that now, Little Father. I just want Baynes, and then I want to get out of here."
"And the statue?"
"Maybe he doesn't have it. He might have sent it somewhere," Remo said.
"Do you believe that?" Chiun asked softly.
"No." Remo leaned against a tree. "You were right about the statue having some kind of power," he told Chiun. "I couldn't destroy it, and every time I was near it, something happened inside me." He closed his eyes tightly.
"What causes you such pain?" Chiun asked.
"It was a bird," Remo said. "Just a bird, and I killed it. It could just as easily have been a person. I killed it and I brought the body back for Kali. It was for Her."
"That was then. This is now," Chiun said.
"And it's going to be different? Chiun, I ran away from that place. I was trying to get to Korea so I could hide behind you." He laughed mirthlessly. "The history of Sinanju thinks Lu was bad for fighting tigers in the circus. I couldn't even face a statue, Chiun. That's what I'm really made of."
"Time and history will judge what you are made of, Remo," Chiun said. "I have brought you a gift." From his sleeve he brought out a band of silver and handed it to the white man. "It was the ring Lu wore when he thrust the statue of Kali into the sea. Take it."
"Is that why you went to Sinanju?" Remo asked. "To help me?" Suddenly he felt very small.
"That is the duty of a teacher," Chiun said. He proferred the ring again.
Remo took it, but it did not fit any of his fingers. "I'll keep it in my pocket." He smiled gently. The old man really believed that a silver ring might just make a man out of a coward, and Remo loved him for that. "You are no weaker than Lu," Chiun said. "Remember that you are both Masters of Sinanju."
Remo wanted to tell him that he was not a Master, that he would never be a Master, and that all the times Chiun had called him an untrainable, unruly pale piece of pig's ear, he had been dead right. Remo Williams was a nobody from Newark, New Jersey, and that was all he would ever be. He thought those things, and to Chiun he said, "Right. Let's get on with it."
They moved from beneath the tree and broke into the chalet silently, through the garage. They heard no one, and it was not until they reached the large, airy living room on the upper level that they found A. H. Baynes sprawled across a sofa, his head bent backward in an unnatural position, his eyes bulging, tongue black and swollen, a red ring around his neck. His flesh was still warm.
"He's dead," Remo said. Suddenly he began to pant and he could not breathe. His legs weakened and he felt dizzy. Above all, the scent that filled the room seemed to clutch at his insides and paralyze his thoughts.
"It's here," he whispered. "The statue."
"Where?" said Chiun.
Without bothering to look, Remo pointed to a corner of the room, where a cardboard box had been heavily taped for shipping.
But as if the spirit inside the box had seen him, the cardboard sides split from the middle outward. The torn edges singed and smoke poured from the corners of the box. The stiff cardboard melted away to black ash, and in the middle of the container's charred remains stood the statue of Kali. As Remo turned to look, its mouth appeared to smile.
Remo fell to his knees. Only Chiun turned when the sound of footsteps came from the bedroom.
"We have a visitor, Remo," he said.
Remo whirled around, then rose to his feet shakily. In front of him stood the woman named Ivory. There was a gun in her hand, but her face was not that of a killer. Her eyes were full of pain and sadness.
"Why did it have to be you?" Remo asked, feeling his heart break.
"I asked myself the same," she answered quietly. "You don't have to lie now, Ivory. I may be stupid but sometimes I can see things. Like how your foot just happened to rub out that dead girl's message."
"I didn't want you to come here. I didn't want to have to kill you."
"That didn't seem to stop you from trying on the plane," he said. "You checked a bomb with your baggage and you knew it would go off right after takeoff."
"I had to have the statue," she said. "I did not know you then, Remo. If I had, I could not have killed you."
"But now you can," he said, nodding toward the gun in her hand.
"Not now. Not if I don't need to. Remo, the statue of Kali belongs to the people of Bathasgata. It is a danger anywhere else. Kali is not a kind goddess."
"The statue is a danger wherever it is," Chiun said. "It must be dest
royed."
"And will that destroy the goddess within it?" she asked.
"No, it may not," Chiun said. "But she walked the earth for thousands of years before she found her home in that statue. She may yet walk homeless again, not killing, not driving others to kill. The statue must be destroyed."
"You will not harm it," Ivory snapped, her eyes flashing. "You two leave and no harm will come to you. I wish only to go with the statue. Let me go and I promise you that the statue and I will never leave Bathasgata."
"What of your people?" Chiun asked. "Do they understand what Kali lives on?"
"Some do, the wise ones," Ivory said. "The rest only want their deity returned to them. They will accept."
"Until the village runs with blood and there are no more left to kill. And then somehow the statue will leave your village and its evil will spread, as it had already spread among those foolish children who did its work."
"It is not your right to interfere," Ivory said tearfully. And in her face, Remo saw it once again, and now he was sure. She was the Weeping Woman, the face that hovered behind Kali's, the shadowy image that persisted in being seen.
"Ivory," Remo whispered, and their eyes locked. "I know who you are and I know who I am now too. I don't care what happens to the statue. I love you. I have for two thousand years."
She looked at him, then dropped the gun silently into the thick carpet and took a step toward him. "I feel it, but I don't understand it," she said.
"Two thousand years ago," Remo said, "we were lovers. I was a Master of Sinanju and you were a priestess of Kali and we loved. Until Kali separated us."
The name forced Ivory to glance again at the statue, and she said, "But I serve Kali." Her face bore a bewildered expression.
"Don't serve Her," Remo said. "Don't leave me again." He stepped forward and kissed her, and again he felt the peace of a quiet valley in a distant time. Once again he was with her, just as he had lain with her in a bed of flowers.
"Destroy it," she hissed. "Do it quickly, while there is time. Do it for us. I love-"
She stiffened.
"Ivory," Remo said. He shook her. Her hands clawed at her neck, tore at her clothing. Her eyes, round with fear, pleaded silently with him. From her lips came a choking gasp. She grasped Remo's arms, but a convulsion shook her and her hands fell limply as she sank into Remo's arms.
"Ivory!" Remo screamed. He lifted her in his arms and turned toward the statue.
The statue sprouted a small bud of an arm.
"Kali is a jealous goddess, my son," Chiun said. He took Ivory's body from Remo's arms and floated to the carpet in lotus position, gently setting the body down. The only sign of tension in the old man was in his hands as he placed them together, like a child in prayer.
He began to moan, and Remo dropped to his side. "Chiun. Are you all right?"
"There ... is no air to breathe," Chiun said softly. He bowed his head, his white hair trembled. Then his whole head shook in a violent spasm and lurched backward as if some invisible hand had yanked it.
Remo touched the old man briefly in panic, then rose and turned toward the statue.
"You've done this," he shouted, and threw a lethal kick at the head of the stone carving. His foot never reached it. His legs buckled and he sprawled on the floor. He rose again and tried to smash the statue with his hands, but his arms hung uselessly, refusing to serve him.
He turned toward Chiun and his mouth hung open in horror. A small blue spot had appeared on Chiun's forehead and it was growing.
The ring, Remo thought. He fumbled in his pocket. What would he do with it? He couldn't wear it. Would its mere presence be enough? He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it out. Then, holding it in front of him as if he were confronting a vampire with a cross, he approached the statue.
His legs could barely move. Inside him was a heaviness that seemed to drag his heart into the depths of hell. He had no strength and it took all the concentration of his mind and muscles to lift his palm with the silver ring in it and move it toward the impassively malicious face of the idol.
The ring glowed for a moment, and for that instant Remo thought that the ring-Lu's ring, given to him by the woman he loved-could save him. But the glow faded and scores of small pits appeared in the silver as it melted and the molten metal, burned through his skin and his flesh with a terrible searing pain.
He screamed and fell thrashing to the floor. The pain pounded through his body and the tender flesh on his palm sizzled. The bud of an arm on Kali's torso grew before his eyes, and the goddess's sickly-sweet smell overpowered the room. Remo knew that the power of the ring was as nothing compared with the foul energy that emanated from the hideous stone sculpture.
As he lay there, he looked toward Chiun. There was no pleading in the old man's eyes, as there had been in Ivory's. There was no fear, no shame, no accusation. Remo, numb in his own pain, ached for the old teacher. Chiun's eyes looked ancient and hollowed, and the blue mark on his forehead was growing, darkening. Chiun was dying, more slowly than most because he could control the responses of his own body, but dying. And there was nothing in the dying old eyes except peace.
"Chiun," Remo whispered. He tried to drag himself across the floor. If he must die, let it be with the man who had given him life. But nothing inside him worked anymore. Remo could not even lift his head from the floor.
He closed his eyes. He could not bear the sight of Chiun's proud face as it succumbed to death.
Then a voice spoke.
Its origin was not outside Remo, but somewhere in the recesses of his mind. It was more a feeling than a voice, but it carried the acrid scent of the goddess, acrid and cloying. It might have been the stink of his own burning flesh, he thought, but the pain was so great and the certainty of Chiun's death was so hard that he was forced to accept the truth: that Kali was now inside him, controlling and mocking him. Then She spoke to him in Her own tongue just as She had spoken to Master Lu two millennia before.
"This is only the beginning of your punishment," the voice said. Then it laughed, high and tinkling as a chorus of tiny bells.
"I brought her back for you, child of Lu," the voice told Remo. "A different body, but the same woman. Born to bring you a moment's joy, as Lu's woman served him. And taken by me just as quickly."
The bells were gone from the voice now, and it was rock-hard ice.
"You could have loved me as Lu could have loved me. You could have served me. But you chose to die instead. And you shall: As your woman has died. As the old man now is dying. Except their deaths will be quick. Yours will be the best that I can provide."
Remo forced his eyes open. The voice disappeared. Chiun lay on his side, unmoving. He had given up. He had waited for Remo to save him, and Remo once again had chosen to hide behind his own closed eyelids.
"You will not kill him," Remo said, pulling himself with a desperate effort to his knees. A wave of unseen energy slapped him hard across the chest. Bile rose in his throat, and he wavered, but he pulled himself up still further. "Maybe I deserve your punishment," he whispered. "Maybe Lu did. Maybe even Ivory. But you will not have Chiun."
He brought himself to his full height. His hand still burned. His head still spun. His insides were water. His legs were immobile, but he was standing and he knew in that moment that he would never kneel before Kali again.
"False hero," the voice said again. "You are weak. Your teacher was weak. All are weak before me." But I will not bow before you, another voice inside him said. It was a small voice, from a place very far removed from his mind, but it spoke, and Kali listened. "No."
A sharp stab of pain clutched at his stomach. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth.
Remo stood.
The glob of molton silver in his hand sizzled into liquid again, burning down the length of his fingers. Remo stood.
His ears were pierced by something that felt like two hot wires jabbed into his eardrums. They filled his ears with a sound like the wail
of a thousand screams.
And yet he stood, and quieted them with his will. He could feel his strength returning. He raised his head and stared directly into the evil eyes of the stone goddess.
"You are not Lu," the voice said.
"No," Remo answered coldly, speaking aloud in the silent room.
"But you have his spirit."
"And another's," Remo said.
"Who are you?" The demand was a shriek, silent in the physical room he occupied, but reverberating inside him like the keening of a banshee.
And then he answered, from the place inside himself, the place that did not make itself known even to Remo, and the voice from the place spoke its own words, the words of the old prophecy of Sinanju:
I am created Shiva, the Destroyer; death, the shatterer of worlds. The dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju."
Remo moved toward the statue. In his mind he heard a scream.
The statue repelled him with wave after wave, silent, invisible blows that pulled the skin from his face. But Remo was no longer afraid. He grasped the statue by its head. The touch of it burned him. The force inside it propelled his feet off the floor and sent him hurtling across the room. He crashed against the glass wall and went through in a sunburst of light and sound.
But he held the statue.
It moved. It twisted as if it were made of the softest clay. Its arms seemed to flutter and dance until they were around Remo's neck, clutching, squeezing, infecting him with their poison.
"You don't frighten me anymore," Remo said aloud. "I am Shiva." He let the arms twine about him. With each twist, he compressed the statue more tightly between his two burned hands. With a final gasp, it spewed a yellow vapor from its nostrils. The vapor hung like a pall, thick and foul, for a moment in the clear Colorado sky. Then it dissipated like so much morning mist.
The stone crumbled in Remo's hands. He crushed the head to powder, then broke it all apart and threw the other pieces over the side of the cliff. They made little thudding sounds as they struck the earth and rocks below.
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