Warren Murphy - Last Rites

When the eyes were distinctly glassy, Remo dropped down from an oak and stood there with his tongue hanging out. He stuck his thumbs in his ears and wriggled his fingers like loose four-point antlers.

Chiun urged the moose into action.

The creature took three steps forward-and its legs gave out-completely. They splayed in all directions, and its belly hit the dirt. Chiun found himself standing up, straddling the moose.

"I'd color him defeated," Remo said. "Wouldn't you?"

Angrily Chiun stepped away from his panting steed. "You are a disgrace to your brethren," he spat at the prostrate moose.

"Some hind," Remo said.

"You cannot find good hinds in this land," Chiun complained, joining Remo. They began walking.

"Is this it?"

"How many athloi have you completed?"

Remo made a hasty count using his fingers. "Twelve. Time for you to live up to your end of the bargain."

"We must rest before we go on."

"I won't argue with that."

They found lodgings at a Bangor Holiday Inn, and Remo threw himself on the rug three seconds after he got the bellman to open the door to his room.

Sleep took him instantly.

REMO FOUND HIMSELF wandering through a stand of tall green sorghum that rustled in a sultry breeze. Somewhere to the west, a drum was beating. It sounded familiar. It wasn't the beating of the hourglass-shaped drums of Korea. Nor was it the tom-tom beating of Africa. It sounded, if anything, like the prelude to an Apache attack in an old Western shoot'em-up.

Remo followed the beating drum.

On the way he met a tall, handsome man with intensely black hair who wore a white cotton shirt and black leggings tied at the ankles. Remo had never before seen the man but he instantly recognized him. "You're Chiun."

The young Korean threw back his shoulders proudly and said, "I am Chiun the Elder. And you are the avatar of Shiva who wears the skin of a white tiger."

Remo let that go past without comment. He was in no mood to have an argument with Chiun's father.

"Master H'si T'ang, who completed Chiun's training after you died, told me you knew about my father," Remo said.

One black eyebrow shot up. "I know no such thing. He must have meant my son, young Chiun."

"Chiun denied it."

Chiun the Elder shrugged. It echoed Chiun's own gesture perfectly. It was weird to meet Chiun's father, who had died young, Remo thought. It was like meeting Chiun himself as a young man.

"Do you know where I can find Kojing, then?" Remo asked.

"No. But perhaps the drum beating from the next field is calling for you." Chiun pointed the way.

"Okay, thanks," said Remo, hurrying on. Gradually the sorghum grew less tall and wild. Remo was deep into a field of waving green plants before he realized the sweet sorghum scent had given way to the smell of fresh corn.

"I didn't know corn grew in Korea," Remo muttered.

As he walked along, he saw that the corn was planted in orderly rows. The drumming was very near now. It seemed to find his heartbeat and make it quicken with anticipation.

Remo cut west through the corn until he found the man in the yellow silk kimono seated between two corn rows with his legs wrapped around a drum. He was beating it with his bare hands.

"Kojing?" Remo asked, for he looked exactly like Master Kojing.

The man looked up, and said, "I am Kojong."

"I'm looking for Kojing."

"But you have found Kojong."

"Right. Right."

"Why do you seek my brother, Kojing?"

"He's supposed to know something important about me."

Kojong ceased his monotonous beating. "All of my brother ancestors know something important. That is why we are here. That is why you are here, brother of my blood."

Noticing an eagle feather sticking out of Kojong's thin white hair, Remo asked, "What are you doing?"

"I am calling up the corn."

"That's nice."

"I eat corn. I do not eat rice."

"Good for you," said Remo, looking around for Kojing.

"My people are corn eaters,"

"Uh-huh."

"My people are the people of the Sun."

Remo's head snapped around. "What did you say?"

"I say, my people are the people of the Sun. We do not fight. We are forbidden to kill. That is our way. Our way is different."

"Who are the people of the Sun?" Remo asked, anxious-voiced.

"My people. Your people, as well, white eyes."

"That's what my mother told me. What do you know about my people?"

"Your mother has a message for you, white eyes. You must heed the wind."

Remo cocked an ear to the western wind. It sighed through the corn, making it sway and troubling its golden tassels.

And on the wind Remo heard his mother's worried voice call out, "You must hurry, my son. For he is dying."

"Where are you!" Remo cried out.

"Hurry!"

"Where is he?" Remo shouted. "Just tell me where to find him!" But the wind gave no answer.

But from the fertile soil, Kojong looked up and said, "Chiun knows. Ask Chiun."

"Chiun the Elder?"

"No," said Kojong, his hands returning to the ritual drumming, "Chiun the Younger."

All around him the wind-troubled corn began to waver and roil as if a great spoon was stirring the Void. And Remo woke up.

HE ENTERED the adjoining hotel room without bothering to knock or turn the doorknob. The door jumped out of his way the second he smacked it with his palm.

"I just had a talk with your father about my father," Remo said angrily.

"Is he well?" said Chiun from his place on the floor.

"He's dead."

"Yes, but is he well?"

"He told me he knew nothing about my father. Then I met Kojong."

"There is no Master by that name," Chiun said thinly.

"Well, I met him and he said to ask you about my father."

"What were his exact words?"

"He said to ask Chiun the Younger. That's you."

"But my father is younger than I, having died in his prime years."

"Don't hand me that bull."

"Sit."

"No, I want answers. My mother said my father was someone I knew. Just now her voice told me he's in danger. You know who he is, don't you?"

"If you will sit, I will tell you how to find your father, just as I promised I would."

Fists tensing, Remo scissored to the rug before the Master of Sinanju, his face a thundercloud. Chiun regarded him blandly.

"When your mother first appeared to you, it was not an accident. It was because you looked into the mirror of memory, as I have urged you for years."

"So?"

"Looking into your own reflection summoned up her face in your mind's eye before her spirit found you. You saw there the eyes of your own daughter, and deep from your earliest memories came similar eyes. Those of the woman who bore you. It will be the same with your father, if you only have the courage to examine your own features for his likeness, for all who came before have left their mark upon you."

"You're playing games. I want answers."

"I have been your father in many ways. What kind of father would I be if I hand you this important thing and deny you the boon of discovering it for yourself?"

"Take me to my father, damn it!"

Chiun narrowed his eyes. "Very well. If you insist." And the Master of Sinanju led Remo out to the streets of Bangor, Maine.

They walked up and down the streets aimlessly for nearly fifteen minutes, with Chiun striking his gong often until Remo was ready to explode.

Just before that happened, Chiun stopped before a vacant lot beside an old brick building. He took up a position and, spreading his arms wide, proclaimed, "Behold Remo, your long-lost father."

Remo looked. There was just Chiun. No one and nothing else.

"You're not my father."

Chiun dropped his arms in exasperation. "Oh, you are so blind. I do not mean me."

And turning, Chiun gestured to a billboard perched atop the brick building.