Warren Murphy: The End of the Beginning

"In this time which, although not official, could be considered Bang's retirement, a Chinese warlord did choose to challenge Sinanju. This warlord had raised a mighty army, which was encamped around his mountain stronghold. When neighbors hired one of Bang's night tigers to send against the warlord, the warlord's army slew Bang's young student. Another night tiger was sent off, only to meet the same fate. And so it was that several were dispatched and all were killed, for they had been trained to fight men, not armies.

"Although the House was young, Sinanju was already feared and respected. Even in his dotage, Bang eventually realized that Sinanju's reputation was at stake. Only the Master himself could hope to defeat the Chinese warlord. The day he left Sinanju, his grandson came with him to the shore road at the edge of the village and waved to the old man until he vanished from sight. And Bang did go to China, and there he did meet with success, which is what the world always expects from the Master of Sinanju.

"While Bang was away plying his art, emissaries of a Babylonian prince who wished to hire the services of Sinanju arrived in the village. Since the Master was away, the men were given lodging and told to await his return. Unbeknownst to all, the visitors had brought with them a great fever. Before anyone knew what was happening, the strangers had died, one by one. The disease quickly spread to the people of Sinanju and many in the village succumbed. Sadly, the final victim was the grandson of the Master of Sinanju.

"When Bang returned from China, he found the village in ruins. Those homes where sickness had claimed many victims had been burned to the ground. Curls of black smoke brushed the sky like twisting serpents. The streets were thick with the stench of death. Some of the villagers were there to meet him upon his return. Bang anxiously searched the crowd for only one face. But the moment he saw his son, Shik, Bang knew the terrible truth. His precious grandson had been sent home to the sea. Here is his last resting place."

The Master of Sinanju paused in his tale. With a slender hand he gestured to the black water of the West Korean Bay. Frothy foam licked the shore.

His nephew seemed unmoved by the story, as was usual for the stone-faced boy. This cold child was never affected by even the most heartrending tales. He looked out blankly across the waves before returning his gaze to his uncle.

The old man continued.

"Bang grieved the loss of his young grandson. He blamed himself for the child's death. If he had only gone to China immediately after the death of the first night tiger, as he should have, he would have been back in time to recognize the sickness in the Babylonian emissaries. Had he not gone at all, the same would have been true. After the death of his grandson, Master Bang was racked with grief and guilt. So anguished was he that he made a grave misjudgment.

"In a mud hut at the edge of Sinanju lived a crazed old shaman. The man claimed to be an Immortal of the Gods, one of time and not of time. In his youth he had studied the arts of dark magic in China and Egypt. Now in his old age, his days were spent communicating with the dead and dispensing potions of love. It was to this shaman's door that Bang came, weeping at his great loss.

"Now the shaman was a wicked man. It was well known that his own son, who was a lesser night tiger, coveted the title of Master of Sinanju. For years in the firelight of their squalid home had both men-the shaman and his son-plotted the death of Bang. This was known to Bang, yet in his grief he did not care. He pleaded with the shaman to use all the powers of his black magic to restore his grandson to life. When the wicked shaman agreed, hope touched Bang's grieving breast. Bang returned to the House of Many Woods, which was home to the Reigning Master. And there he waited.

"For days Bang was given reports of the shaman's progress. The magician toured the village burning incense and sprinkling sacred herbs. He followed the path down to the shore where the boy's body had been thrown into the bay. He sat on the stones and chanted at the cold sea. When night fell, he remained. When the morning sun rose, it found him unmoving. After a week of chanting and meditation, the shaman returned to the village in triumph. With an entourage that grew larger as he passed through the village, he went to the House of Many Woods and knocked on the door.

"When Bang answered, there was great hope on his aged face. 'You have succeeded?' Master Bang asked. And the words of the shaman filled his heart with joy. 'I have, Master of Sinanju. The body of your son's son was asleep. With my arts have I awakened him.'

"And the shaman did clap his hands. A basket was brought forward, carried by the shaman's evil son. Tightly woven from the reeds of the bay, it was large enough to hold a child. With great reverence was it placed on the Master's knees. When the hands of the shaman's son retreated, Master Bang felt the basket on his lap move. Something within it did indeed live. Elated, Master Bang tore off the lid of the basket. But sadly the movement came not from a child.

"From deep in the basket snapped a coiling asp, which the shaman had discovered on his travels to Egypt. Before Bang could move, white fangs sank deep in the Master's hand. Another asp struck out and bit Bang on the throat.

"In a younger day, not distracted by grief, having not just returned from a long and arduous trip, Bang might have sensed the snakes. He might have had speed to avoid them. He might even have had strength to fight the poison. But, woe to Bang, it was all too much. For the anguished old Master, the end came quickly. Lying down in the dust before his home, Bang breathed his last.

"Once the Master was dead, the shaman did turn to the crowd and in a loud voice did he lay claim to the title of Master of Sinanju for his own son. But, lo, before either man could enter the Master's house, a figure of dark menace did explode from the shadowy door. Too late had Shik arrived on the scene to save his father. But with hands made blinding fast by fury he did slay the wicked shaman and the treacherous night tiger-which was not a shameful thing for him to do, for this was before the time when Masters swore an oath not to raise a hand against other villagers. And he did curse the family of the shaman and he banished them to the mud hut at the edge of the village, where to this day they continue to mix their potions and work their spells, some say in the hope of finally bringing to fruition the plot that failed the first shaman all those years ago."

By the time the Master of Sinanju finished the story of Bang, the sun was setting brilliant orange, burning fire across the bloodred bay.

"Do you know who it was that killed Bang, the true Master of Sinanju?" he asked his pupil.

"Yes, Master," Nuihc replied.

The Reigning Master of Sinanju nodded. "All was not lost on that long ago day. In fact it was a beginning. A year later Shik's wife bore him another son. The boy became a Master in his own right and it was he who fathered the Great Wang, founder of the modern line of Masters of Sinanju. Shik's banishment of the shaman's descendents was lifted by a succeeding Master." The old man's harsh countenance grew soft. "The past is what it is and cannot be changed. Remember, young Nuihc, the sins of his fathers do not transfer to the son. Every man has it in him to be more than what the world thinks he is supposed to be."

Even at such a young age, the words spoke to the soul of the youth who sat at the feet of his foolish Master.

"I understand, Uncle," replied Nuihc, speaking truthfully. And he smiled. For in his heart he understood all too well.

NUIHC PROWLED the steps of the U.S. Capitol Building like a ghostly shadow.

No one noticed the Oriental in the neat black suit who-despite the vast morning crowd-somehow always seemed to be in those spots where no one else was.