It had been a long time, almost ten years, Remo realized with a start. The little girl he knew so briefly had changed. Her baby fat was almost gone. Her brilliant eyes were the only link to the innocent face he remembered. But they held a different light now.
Then came the crashing. Remo turned. "What's that?" he asked worriedly.
"The old man has been thwarted. He is angry and is taking his anger out on my temple. It does not matter. He will break some things, then he will depart, never to trouble us again."
"You sure?"
"I am Mistress Kali."
"Jilda said she was Mistress Kali."
"I allowed her to think she was. For to manipulate my supplicants I needed a surrogate. I bent her to my will, made her think the thoughts I wished her to think and only those thoughts. She made an excellent domina, for in dominating, she had submitted her will to my own. "
"She's dead," Remo said hollowly.
"She no longer matters, any more than a puppet matters. Any more than our temporary, mortal flesh matters. "
"She was your mother! What's wrong with you?"
"l have achieved the thing l have planned for these long years. Do you not remember, Remo, the last time we met?"
"Sure. It was in Sinanju. You were a little girl then."
"No, you fool! Do not address my host. Speak to Mistress Kali, who has yearned for you for aeons. "
A hand reached up to touch Remo's face. Remo recoiled.
"Red One, remember me with your ageless soul, not with your mortal mind .... Separated we have been drawn together again. Apart, we will rejoin. Two, we shall fuse into one ...."
"Get away from me! I don't want to talk to you. I want to talk to Freya."
"I am she and she is me. We are one. Soon you will be one with Shiva, who is my consort .... "
"I'm not Shiva."
"You do not remember the last time, in Arabia? We danced the Tandava but were thwarted. You slew my last host. "
Remo frowned. His memories of that time were vague. He had put most of them out of his mind ....
"I will not make the mistake I made then," Kali went on. "We inhabit temples of mere meat and bone. It is time to step out of them. To step free into our true bodies .... " Her yellow-nailed hands began to wave and gesture provocatively before his hurt eyes. "When you possess four arms as do I, our lovemaking will be exquisite .... "
Her hands touched his chest and crept up to his throat. They felt cold. Alien. Inhuman.
In that moment Remo let out a bellow of fear and confusion.
And somewhere in that scream of pure pain, he heard the Master of Sinanju call out his name.
CHIUN, REIGNING MASTER of Sinanju, floated in warm water, his face a tight web of wrinkles.
About him the waters roiled.
The flat-headed body of Gilbert Houghton was the center of a boiling of tiny, voracious needle-toothed fish. They nipped and ripped at his dead flesh. In death his arms flopped with such abandon as to seem alive.
Nearby, in the pool that was fast turning pink and then scarlet with blood, the scheming Copt, Anwar Anwar-Sadat was likewise being denuded of all flesh.
Attacked from all sides, his separated head bobbed and rolled, the face turning ceilingward and back again in mad denial of its fate.
And as the feeding frenzy grew to a boil, the Master of Sinanju lifted his long-nailed fingers to spear and flay any and all of the meat-eating fish who dared approach.
But as many nails as he possessed, there were still more fish. And in the room of doom existed only walls and no floor.
Opening his bitter mouth, he called out his pupil's name.
REMO MOVED into reverse before the yellow talons found his throat.
A screech trailed after him as he went down the narrow corridor, a human blur, but he blocked it out.
Coming to the niche, he saw a vertical slice of bubbling red water and saw the Master of Sinanju floating, surrounded by arrowing bone white fish like tiny attack dogs snapping at anything they could.
Without slowing, Remo hit the niche with raised fists. Brick shattered and tumbled.
Remo dived through the rubble and into the water as the reverberant thunder of collapsing stone and mortar filled the building. Only then did he remember the Master of Sinanju's warning of a keystone. By then it was too late.
"Hang on, Little Father!"
Striking the water cleanly, Remo came up with two fistfuls of squirming fish. He squeezed. The fish extruded their innards from both ends. Dropping them, he grabbed two more.
Immediately, living fish attacked the helpless dead.
Chiun switched tactics and followed suit.
Together they squeezed, impaled, kicked and stunned any fish that dared approach with bared needle teeth.
Hungry as they were, the fish got the message. The survivors concentrated on the bodies of Canadian Minister of Fisheries Gilbert Houghton and UN Secretary-General Anwar Anwar-Sadat, which fast became floating lengths of raw, red bone that continued to be pecked at even as the voracious fish nipped and stripped them of cartilage.
"Piranha," said Remo.
"I would not eat a fish that eats me," Chiun said dismissively.
Then, still treading water, they looked at the niche. It was a tumble of broken stones. Settling dust made a film on the agitated water.
"Freya..." Remo whispered. "Don't tell me I've killed you ...."
IT TOOK TWO HOURS but they carefully heaved stone and brick until they uncovered the brick chamber in which Freya, daughter of Remo, had reached out to work the will of Kali, goddess of death.
A motionless fall of golden hair spilled out from under a tumble of rock.
Remo froze.
Beside him Chiun said, "Kali's final trap, my son. Even in victory, she has handed you bitter defeat."
Remo reached down and heaved up a stone. It went tumbling away. He threw off another. The air was choked with disturbed mortar dust.
When he exposed the body of his daughter, he gently turned it over. Placing one ear to her heart, he listened, his eyes squeezed almost shut. The tears starting. The pain only beginning.
Yet he heard a beat.
Parting her mouth, he wiped off the ghastly yellow lipstick and blew in an urgent breath. The chest inflated, then fell. Remo blew another breath. He got the same result.
"You can't die on me," Remo said, his voice twisting and churning. "You can't. I won't let you."
"The spirit of Kali has abandoned her," Chiun intoned. "Accept that blessing and mourn."
"Like hell," Remo snarled. "I'm not giving up. I'm not giving up. Come on, baby. Breathe. I can hear your heart beating. Breathe for Daddy. Breathe and I'll take you away from all this. Open your eyes and I'll take you to a safe place where no one will ever harm you. I swear. I swear I will."
And in his arms, his daughter gave a sharp little gasp. Dusty air was drawn into her open mouth and nostrils.
"Remo!" Chiun squeaked. "Look! She struggles. Her brave lungs crave air!"
"I see, I see," Remo said, bringing her pale face up to his.
Silently, grimly, he performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until he had breathed life back into the body of his only daughter. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, showing butterfly glimpses of the most beautiful eyes Remo had ever seen.
She murmured a soft "Daddy..."
"I'm here, baby."
Then she drifted off into recuperative sleep.
Without a word Remo Williams carried his Freya out of the building, over a path of broken stone where red bone floated and piranha darted for the last scraps of food.
He said nothing. Trailing after the Master of Sinanju was a silent ghost.
The RCMP car still waited for them. Remo dragged the Mountie from the trunk and placed Freya in the back seat.
Then he went back in for the body of Jilda of Lakluun while the Master of Sinanju stood guard, removing it from its protecting shelf.
No word passed between them all the way t
o the airport. None needed to. Both knew their destination.
There was a little trouble getting the sleeping Freya onto the Air Canada flight. Eventually airport security ran out of functioning Mounties, and the plane was cleared to depart.
IN THE SONORAN DESERT near Yuma, Arizona, Sunny Joe Roam, Chief of the Sun On Jo tribe, raced to meet the flight carrying his son, Remo. He got a flat and was in the middle of changing it when a Jeep Cherokee came roaring up the dusty trail and screeched to a halt.
He wasn't surprised to see his son, Remo, and the Master of Sinanju in the front seat. He stood up, all seven feet of lanky, sunburned rawhide.
"Howdy," he said in his taciturn way.
"Hail, cousin of my blood," said Chiun.
"Sorry I couldn't meet you at the airport. You can see the reason why."
"Got a favor to ask," said Remo, stepping out.
"Last time you asked me to do you a favor, you dumped off your no-account son."
"How's he doing?" Remo asked.
"He can ride, rope and chase white girls, but so far he isn't fit for much else. Still hurting in his soul, I reckon."
Remo got out and opened the back door. Out came a girl with the sunniest hair Sunny Joe Roam had ever seen.
"Well, this is his little sister," said Remo.
Sunny Joe took off his Stetson and wiped his rugged brow of sweat and surprise.
"You're a regular Johnny Appleseed in your way, aren't you, Remo?"
"I need to hide her," Remo said anxiously.
"For how long?"
"Don't know."
Sunny Joe hesitated.
Chiun spoke up, his voice grave. "She has endured things best left unsaid."
Sunny Joe looked at the girl with the deep brown eyes and at Remo. "Tell you what," he said at last, "I'm getting along in my years. You fix that flat for me and it's a deal."
They shook hands on it.
And while Remo changed the flat, Sunny Joe bent over his granddaughter. "What's your name, golden hair?"
She looked up at him with growing wonder. "Freya."
"What the heck kind of name is that?"
"Her mother named her," said Remo.
"Where is she?"
"Wrapped in a sheet in the trunk."
"Well, I guess we're about to have us a family reunion and a funeral all in one."
Turning to Chiun, Sunny Joe asked, "Should I be asking what all this is about?"
His eye going to Remo, busy at the tire, Chiun said quietly, "No. Do not ask. Do not ask ever."
THE BURIAL WAS SIMPLE. Words were spoken over a sandy grave in the shadow of Red Ghost Butte, and it was done. No marker was erected. No tears shed. There was too much shock for tears. Tears would come later. The sun went down on a profound silence of their souls, making the candelabra cactus cast long, streaky shadows of surrender.
After it was over, Remo went out into the red sandstone desert alone, and everyone understood they were not to follow.
THREE DAYS LATER, Remo returned, his face burned redder than Chiun had ever seen it.
Freya was letting her older brother, Winner, show her how to Indian-wrestle. Winner was burned red, and his hair was a paler, sun-faded version of Freya's golden locks. Otherwise they looked nothing alike.
"He's only half trying," Remo said to Chiun.
Chiun nodded.
A moment later Freya had Winner on his back and cursing the open sky.
Remo cracked a grin that was half amusement and half satisfaction. "I knew they'd get along."
"Only you, Remo Williams, would sire a son even a slip of a girl can best," Chiun sniffed.
"Maybe I had a daughter that just can't be beat. Looks to me like there's more Sun On Jo blood in her than him."
Chiun made a disapproving face, but his hazel eyes shone with veiled pride.
"Any sign of Kali while I was away?"
"No. The demon's spirit has found another vessel, from there to torment us another hour in a distant day."
"Been in touch with Smith?"
Chiun nodded. "The godless Canadians have sued for peace."
Remo looked away from the sight of Freya bending Winner's thumb out of joint. Winner howled. His ostrich-skin boot heels were beating the desert floor in agony.
"How'd that happen?"
"I informed Emperor Smith of the fates of the Copt and his fishmongering Canadian confederate. Smith informed the Eagle Throne, and the President shared this with the Lord of Canada. This was sufficient to chill Canadian lusts for war and fish. The seas are quiet once more now that good fishermen are not being hectored into greed."
"Good. I plan on staying here a little while and catching up on my kids."
"And I will dwell on my errors, which have wounded you deeply, my son," Chiun said dispiritedly.
"I buried the past out in the desert, Chiun. It's behind me. Forget about it. I loved Jilda a long time ago, but it wasn't supposed to be. Our lives didn't fit together. That's why she must have taken Freya to Canada. She thought it would be safer there and we'd probably never cross paths."
A warm desert breeze caught the wispy beard at the Master of Sinanju's chin. He nodded. "We will speak of this no more, then," he whispered.
And Remo went off to disentangle his children before one of them got his cocky bones bent into pretzels.
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White Water td-106 Page 24