Warren Murphy: Master's Challenge

He felt a tingle at the base of his spine. There was danger ahead of him. He knew that, but he felt the excitement of the doer. He could take care of the danger, and he could take care of the threat to the president, and, yes, he could take care of the threat to Mildred Pensoitte.

The thought of the Englishwoman flashed, unbidden, into his mind. Lying in her bed, the skin of her throat creamy white in the dim light of the reading lamp, her arms extended to him in invitation, a smile on her face. He had never had cause before to question or to criticize the stern New England upbringing that had made him who and what he was: a hard, unyielding, narrow man with an overdeveloped sense of duty and obligation, but if he were ever to question it, it would have been now.

The feel of the rough sofa through his shirt made him think how sleek and inviting were the sheets on Mildred Pensoitte's bed. They would be not be bumpy as this sofa was; her bed would be smooth and slippery . . . her body too.

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No. Stop.

With an effort of will, he forced her out of his thoughts and reached a hand over his head, turned off the lamp by the side of the sofa, and two minutes later was asieep.

Chapter Twenty-Five

They buried Emrys near the cave. H'si T'ang took the arrangement of pine, bamboo, and plum blossoms from the entrance and placed them on the Welshman's grave. No one spoke until Griffith gave a small cry, weaving where he stood.

"Danger." He spoke softly, his eyes fixed on the sky above.

H'si T'ang raised his hands and then tasted his fingers. "He speaks the truth. There is death in the sky."

"Get inside," Remo said. "Hurry."

Griffith pointed to a cloud bank in the distance. It moved toward them at tremendous speed, changing color from gray to black to brick red as it rolled forward, blanketing the sky. "We will not be safe inside," the boy said.

At that moment, a shaft of lightning ripped through the red clouds and struck the cave, blasting a hole into the side of the hill where it stood. Fragments of clay pots flew out of the entrance, along with burnt shards of the grass matting that coated the floor.

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It began to hail. The stabbing pellets hurt Remo.

Hail? Now? It was as senseless an occurrence as the rolling red sky. He forced himself to concentrate. There was no hail. It was the Dutchman. If he could understand that, he would be safe from the visions. But what about the others?

Griffith covered his head. Chiun carefully led H'si T'ang behind a targe boulder and went to the boy. Jilda looked up, stunned, cupping her hands in front of her. They filled with small stones. One struck her wrist, scraping off the skin. Dots of blood appeared on her arms. She threw the pebbles to the ground. "Who is this man who makes it rain stones upon us?" she shrieked. Her face was a mass of bruises.

"It's his mind," Remo shouted above the din of falling rock. He tried to cover Jilda with his own body. "There aren't really any stones. Look at me." There was not a mark on his body. "They only exist if you believe they do. Don't trust your eyes. They aren't real, I tell you."

Griffith whimpered. His neck and arms were covered with blood. Chiun, doing all he could to protect the boy, shook his head. There was nothing he could do against an enemy who killed his victims from inside their minds.

"But they do believe," a voice said from near the cave. The Dutchman was standing on the hill over the entrance. He was smiling. Even at a distance, Jilda could see the terrifying power in his electric-blue eyes.

"I have come for Chiun," he said. "Let him fight me now, Chiun alone."

"I cannot fight you," the old man said. "It is against the laws of Sinanju."

"I'll fight you," Remo said.

"You are nothing to me. To kill you will bring me no satisfaction. It must be Chiun." He waved one arm slowly.

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The stones disappeared. The sky rolled back. The sun shone.

Silently, while he spoke, Jilda picked up her spear. She hurled it so hard that her feet left the ground.

"Devil,"she muttered as the weapon flew toward him.

The Dutchman's hands moved. The spear shattered into a thousand pieces in midair.

"The girl amuses me," he said. "And she is a beauty. Perhaps she will please me later."

"See if this pleases you, scum," she shouted, taking her ax from her belt.

"Jilda-" Remo reached for the ax. Jilda kicked at him.

"He is mine," she said.

She rushed at the hill, stopping suddenly near the cave. The Dutchman watched her.

"Go ahead. Attack," he said, smiling.

Her breath was labored. She clutched the ax tightly. She turned. Her eyes were frightened, her mouth twisted.

"Jilda?" Remo asked, walking uncertainly toward her.

"Stay away," she hissed. "I can't-I don't know what he's doing." She broke into a run. When she was near Remo, she swung the ax with all her force at Remo's neck.

He leaped out of the way. It had been so close that he had felt the wake of the blade.

"Run!" she shouted. "1 cannot stop!" She attacked him again. He struggled with her, but her strength was enormous. She pulled away and swung, screaming, full force at Remo's belly.

He saw the blow coming. At the beginning of the swing, he flattened himself on the ground and rolled toward her, knocking Jilda off her feet. Then, spiraling upward, he kicked the ax away and landed on her hand, hard. He heard the small bones crack, and when she

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moaned with the pain, he felt as if a hammerblow had been struck into his own gut.

"I couldn't let you go on," he said.

She lay on the ground, curled into a ball. The useless hand stretched in front of her. "I know," she said. She hid her face so that he could not see her tears.

Chiun watched it all in horror. He had not expected the Dutchman's power to be so complete.

The laws of Sinanju had prohibited him from killing the man when he'd had the opportunity. He had obeyed those laws. Now he realized that by letting him live, he had unleashed a beast that would destroy them all. Now it was too late to fight him. The Dutchman was too powerful. Remo had been the only hope, but Remo still did not understand that he was Shiva. He, too, had no chance. There was only one thing left to do.

Chiun walked slowly into the clearing. "It is I you want," he said. "Very well. I understand your power. I cannot fight you, for reasons known only to my village."

"Chiun!" Remo shouted. "What are you saying?"

"Take me. Let the others live."

"Oh, no, you don't," Remo said, joining the old Oriental. "You take him on, you take me, too. You might be able to kill one of us in battle, but not both of us together."

"No," Chiun insisted. "If there were even the smallest hope that we could fight him and live, I would take it. But there is none. You've seen what he can do. I am an old man, and have made my peace. Let me go."

Remo swallowed. He looked up at the Dutchman. "You don't get to him unless you take me first," he said.

"That will be no problem," the Dutchman said. From his perch on the hill, he raised both arms, his fingers curved like the talons of a bird of prey. The blue eyes glowed. From them came a wave of pure energy, as powerful as the shock waves from a nuclear blast.

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Remo felt as if the skin on his skull were rolling back with the force. It took all his concentration to remain standing. His shoulders began to shake. His breath came shallowly. He felt a spot in the center of his chest giving way. His heart. His heart was about to burst right out of his body. He wasn't even going to get a chance to fight.

He closed his eyes. No sight, no sound. Nothing remained before him but the gaping hole of the Void.

He thought of Jilda. Her hand would heal in time, even if she couldn't fight anymore. It was just as well. She was awfully beautiful to be a warrior. He only wished he could have met her earlier. It hadn't been enough time. But then, a lifetime wouldn't have been enough time with her.