Rebirth of the Chai'

By Kim VanOver

Rebirth of the Chai
sequel to The Chai Cycle

Then
News reporter John Reams life has been turned upside down. His fiancee Silvia Bensen was murdered, and John Reams is introduced to the Chai Cycle: a centuries-old Eastern discipline based on the four points of physics; the strong force, the weak force, electromagnetism and gravity.
Endowed with powers he did not understand and could not control, Reams set about to avenge Silvia and expose Mayor John Adams and racketeer Norman Paridy.

Now
Adams and Paridy are in prison, his story has been published and John Reams, still unsure of his new power, wants to get his life back to normal. However, Paridys backers, an ancient Oriental crime syndicate has other ideas.
The Sons of the Dragon, longtime enemies of the Chai are determined to exact vengeance for Paridys downfall by killing Lyla McDaniels, the city employee who first lured Reams into the investigation.

In addition, the crime group is also planning a takeover of the west coast drug world, and want no further interference from their old nemesis -- the Chai.

Zen Lee is mustering his power for a showdown, John and Lyla are running for their lives, but both Chai disciples have the same goal; stop the Sons of the Dragon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 11, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450216401

Kim VanOver

Kim VanOver is a former news reporter who makes his home in east Texas. His many intersts and activities include a stint as a paratrooper with the101st Airborne division. Although he took a strong interest in writing when he was very young, it wasn't until after college that Kim entered the field of jounalism and his writing career took a serious substance. Kim says; "Living life and, later, observing it as a reporter have both been equal parts of a journey that changed my perspective on everything." The Chai' Cycle, and the subsequnt sequal, Rebirth of the Chai', represent a portion of that journey.

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Rebirth Of The Chai’

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Kim VanOver

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Bloomington

Rebirth Of The Chai’

Copyright © 2010 Kim VanOver

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4502-1639-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-1640-1 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 03/04/2010

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

The five points of Reality

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The Weak Force:

The state or condition by which objects or energy in time, space, or thought are first acted upon, rather than initiate action

The Strong Force:

The state or condition by which objects or energy in time space or thought first initiate action before they respond to action.

Electromagnetism:

The residual energy or force that, in the absence of complete oneness, binds objects in time, space, or thought.

Gravity: The Creation’s continuous effort to regain universal oneness.

The Center of Gravity:

The balance that results from the creature’s effort, as that effort is influenced by the other four points of reality, to restore universal oneness.

AKA: The Five Points of Existence according to Lee Chai’-- founder of the disciples of;

The Chai’ Cycle

Chapter 1

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There was a warm touch from the mist in the late summer air. A soft glow of moonlight came shimmering through the clouds, gently caressing the two-story house at the end of the street.

A good night for a murder.

The dark figure stood in the bushes separating the dwelling from the empty sidewalk, and smiled maliciously at the quiet setting. He loved the soft innocence, the unsuspecting peacefulness. Deep in the recess of his memory the figure recalled how he would stare at a placid pond near his childhood home and silently drink in the stillness. He reveled in the feeling of anticipation that would build for as long as an hour, before suddenly casting a stone into the unmoving water. He remembered laughing in delight as the insects and birds bolted for refuge at the unexpected intrusion. On this faintly moonlit night, the same anxious expectancy was building until he could feel the heat flow from deep within his chest, burn into his stomach, and sizzle through his limbs.

It’s almost time, isn’t it, Golem? the stalker whispered excitedly into the darkness. We are going to throw another rock into the pond, and it will feel so good.

Disruption was his playground and had been for as long as he could remember. But try as he may, he could not recall why; nor did he understand why such a memory was important. Sometimes as night when his sleep is untroubled he sees a man dressed in a three-piece suit sitting in a large chair. The image is surrounded by mist and he is floating, disembodied. There is no recollection of the discussion, but when he awakens, he thinks of the pranks he pulled on his schoolmates. Especially the ones that made them upset. Sometimes that bothers him, so he quickly tries to forget the bad parts; the parts where people got hurt and he feels guilty, that’s what he tries to forget because he can’t stop doing the pranks.

In the long run, he determines, The pranks are fun and I like to do them!

And tonight, he thought gleefully is going to be a fun night. He stepped into the moonlight and began moving quickly across the freshly mowed grass toward the old wooden steps. There was no light fixture over the front door, and a small roof over the porch shadowed the home’s entrance.

That’s better, he whispered, in appreciation of the darkened area. Then staring at the night sky, We don’t like this light, do we Golem? But in a moment it will be gone, he said of the soft glow from the moon. Someday all light will be gone.

He moved quietly up the steps and flattened his back against the wall. Before him he could see the lonely street which separated the brick house from an empty lot at the opposite corner. To his left there was an open field, and to his right a few other houses were scattered along the lonely suburban road. The figure smiled again and worked to restrain his heavy breathing. He knew that none of the few neighbors would be able to hear the muffled screams of the young woman inside. Her husband would be too terrified to shout, and would barely be able to beg for his wife’s life. The stalker knew how to keep them silent, but not too silent. He thrived on the sounds of suffering, the frightened whimpers of pain. But mostly he loved to hear them weep as they begged. The men did not do the whimpering well, he thought. Still, he felt nourishment at the sound of people pleading for mercy. But only women knew how to properly whimper and beg.

The figure looked again at the soft light glowing from the half moon, sneered at the few scattered stars and whispered, Yes, Golem, soon it will be gone! All of the light will be gone!

From the inside of the house, he could hear the muffled sounds of dishes being cleared from the table, and the electronic babble of a television set. He could feel tension growing in his stomach. It was different than the fire which now burned through the pores of his skin, and it empowered him to perform the task at hand.

The stalker again recalled the days of his childhood, when he would hide under the stairs from his father. There was fear in those days. The fear of being caught, the fear of his father’s wrath. And then there were the beatings. He would yelp in terror and wince in pain each time the hated razor strap would lacerate the skin on his naked back. He never understood his father’s rages. But they always followed long hours of the short balding man nursing a bottle of sour mash whiskey and murmuring in a dark corner.

But that was before he met Golem, who gave him the Others. They helped him to hear Golem more clearly. His invisible friend taught him to be the predator, rather than the prey. Now he understood the tensions in his stomach were like the thrill of the hunt, not a prelude to suffering. There was no reason for him to be afraid because his enemies would be punished. His enemies were Golem’s enemies and they would all be punished.

I need not be afraid, he whispered. And then he waited for Golem to give his approval. It did not come as a voice, but the dark figure knew the feeling. It was warm and exciting, and it provided him with the affirmation he needed for all that he must do to fulfill the teachings and to repay Golem for all of his kindness.

Yes, he whispered lustily. "I can feel it, Golem. I can feel the heat and I know it is time."

The small glass window on the door was slightly smudged, but when he peered inside he could see her. She was a tall, slender, barefoot blond wearing a loose flannel shirt and blue jeans, walking from the living room to the kitchen.

Saliva began to well in his mouth, and his hungry tongue lapped across his large lips. He had seen the young woman working in the yard during the times when he would drive by the country home. He recalled her slender firm figure, long sensual legs and her light blond hair dangling loosely about her delicate shoulders. Recalling the times he leered at her from behind his dark glasses, there was at least one occasion when the stranger suspected that the girl knew someone was staring at her.

That’s why she would wear those sexy shorts and T-shirts. She knew I was watching, They always love to tease, don’t they Golem? It’s a mean thing to do, but they love it anyway, the figure again whispered. She truly deserves to be punished, I never did, but she really deserves it.

Again, the thrilling warmth of confirmation burned and a lust born of vengeance raged in the figure’s loins.

He wondered if she had been separated from her husband, because until earlier that morning he had not noticed a man in the home. There had only been the pretty blond and an older woman who spent most of her time indoors. But it didn’t matter, the husband was here now and he would be made to pay.

Won’t he, Golem? He looks just like those jocks back in high school. I’ll bet he was mean to kids just like me! But he’ll pay tonight, won’t he Golem?

The figure quickly pulled back from the window as the young woman turned toward the living room and walked past the front door.

He waited with his back pressed against the wall, and when he decided his prey would not likely return to the kitchen anytime soon, he slowly unbuttoned his dark flannel coat, and pulled a .38 caliber revolver from an inside pocket. He lovingly caressed the cold metallic chamber, and a broad smile crossed his face, deepening the pock marks in his skin, and revealed gnarled crooked teeth. There was a long hunter’s knife in a sheaf attached to his belt. From inside his coat he pulled a short crowbar from a deep pocket.

It’s time now Golem, he whispered. The time has come!

Slowly he inserted the crowbar into the door and as quickly and quietly as possible, pried the barrier open. The chain had not been set, making it simple for the stranger to rush inside. Breathing heavily he quickly turned left into the living room where he faced the startled young woman sitting with a book in her hand.

Lyla McDaniels, seated in a reclining chair could only stare in shock at the short, stout figure standing in the archway. His black, matted hair sat on his head like an ill-fitted cap perched above a round, pocked face. Two small, narrow eyes glared at his intended victim, while the stranger’s round puffed lips twisted into a snarl. She gasped in horror when his mouth widened into a vicious smile. Snickering, the stranger whispered, Where is your husband?

My...my husband? I...don’t know...

Lyla leaped to her feet when saw the pistol in the intruder’s right hand, and then recoiled in terror as he displayed the long knife in his left. She thought of her guest upstairs and tried to scream for help, but the words caught in her throat. The memory of the two professional killers who had kidnapped her not more than a few weeks earlier still weighed on her mind. Now, the sight of the vicious stranger in her living room blurred with the hazy recollections of the harrowing memory, and turned both images into a single surrealistic nightmare.

Her heart raced faster, and the burning perspiration prickled against her skin. Ammonia seared its way through each pore, and the odor, called the smell of fear, was like a power enhancing drug to the psychopath, who leered at the terrified young woman.

A blurred movement at the foot of the staircase on Lyla’s left caught her attention for a moment, and she quickly lurched, turning her head, hoping to see her guest enter the room. But those hopes were crushed in despair when all she could see was the dismal, empty staircase.

Are you waiting for someone? the intruder hissed. Do you expect to be rescued? Let’s both of us go upstairs. If you have a guest... He lowered his voice to a growl, then I’ll take care of him. If not, we’ll have some fun together, he said ironically, fully aware of the second person in the home.

Lyla felt the room begin to spin around her. There was a slight pinching sensation on the left base of her neck that stung for a moment, and was followed by a welcome release of tension through her entire body. A numbing euphoria began to fill her senses, and as consciousness faded she could no longer fear the adversary standing before her. The young woman recalled her childhood when her father would tuck her in at night. He had seemed so strong and brave; fearless and unconquerable right until the day of his death. As she felt herself floating to the ground, she thought of her father and smiled wondering if she would see him tonight.

The killer watched in surprise and dismay as the young woman’s limp body lay on the ground, stretched out across the floor in a prone, relaxed position.

They don’t usually faint, the figure said aloofly. It’s not as much fun when they faint.

He jerked in surprise as a quick blur appeared to move across the carpet, but when he turned he saw no one in the room. The intruder turned his attention back to the fallen girl, but a sudden pain exploded on his forehead, and darkness burst into his vision. The killer winced in shock and started to cry out, but a pinch at the left base of neck cut off his voice, and his last thoughts as consciousness faded were how unfair it all seemed.

*  *  *

Standing above the fallen psychopath, a lone man adjusted his denim jacket and wiped his brown hair from his face. A wave of nausea twisted through his stomach, and he gagged for a moment at the unique odor which had only recently become so familiar.

The smell of evil, he whispered slowly. I’ll never get used to that smell.

The man stared in contempt at the fallen invader, and felt the rage burning. He knew better than to let anger control his thoughts, and he carefully began to meditate.

Rage, enter the place of the weak force, he whispered. Stay subdued in the flow outside the center of gravity.

The guest was taking a nap upstairs when the foul stench of evil drifted into his room and awakened him from a deep sleep. Although not fully accustomed to his newly developed senses, the most recent of the Chai’ disciples instinctively knew that a dangerous enemy had entered the house. He quickly slipped into his loafers, mechanically donned his jacket and raced from his room where he saw the killer from atop the stairs. Within the lights emanating from the villain’s unconsciousness, he saw the collage of his thoughts. With shades of gray contrasting blue they radiated from his dark soul and drew a picture of evil intent. As though watching a video tape, the man standing on the stairs saw all of the cruelty the stranger had planned for Lyla McDaniels, reflected in the cascading lights. Similarly, pictures reflecting terror beamed from Lyla’s horrified mind. The lights issued from their eyes created two tapestries of revealing images, and then blurred into streams of bluish gray as the ethereal mixture flowed through the room. He had seen such lights once before, and learned then that he would be invisible as long as he avoided the gray beams. Moving agilely down the stairs and darting through the lights it was an easy matter to render them both unconscious without anyone aware he was present.

Now, standing over the fallen killer, he took a deep breath and walked to an empty fire place across the room. The man picked up a poker, and on his way back to the fallen girl took a small pillow from the couch. He gently placed the pillow under Lyla’s head, and laid the poker near her right hand. Quickly, he crossed the room and picked up the phone. After dialing 911 he waited for a voice to respond, and he gave his report.

My name is John Reams, I want to report a break-in and possibly an attempted murder. The intruder is unconscious, and it looks like the lady of the house knocked him out with a poker before she fainted.

The unemotional voice asked if an ambulance might be necessary, and Reams responded with a simple yes. When additional details of the assault were requested Reams explained that he was unable to provide them.

I was upstairs. I’m a guest. I came down when I heard a struggle, he said. Then wondering if his story might seem a bit incredible, he added one more detail which would hopefully influence the 911 dispatcher.

By the way, I’m a reporter for an out-of-town newspaper. I may need to ask the investigating officer a few questions myself. Usually, law officials tread lightly when speaking to a reporter. He hoped that this occasion would not be an exception.

After only a few minutes, Reams could hear the sound of a siren blaring outside the window. Soon, flashing red and blue lights filled the room. Without explanation to the operator, he hung up the phone and went to Lyla’s side. From this point on, Reams knew that he could only hope the police would believe his story. He also understood that he could not tell them the truth. Not after what happened less than a month earlier in the back alley in Fairville.

John waited quietly. After a few moments, he heard Lyla stirring behind him. Kneeling over the fallen girl, he reached out and gently placed his hand on her forehead.

What happened? Lyla asked calmly, as she opened her eyes. The young woman’s voice was steady and peaceful as if she had just awakened from a long restful sleep.

He began to answer but was interrupted by a police officer racing through the open door.

Police! an authoritative voice called out.

Police? What are the police doing here...? Lyla’s voice froze when she saw the stranger lying on the floor just a few feet from her. As memory began to serve her, the young woman started to pale. A gasp ripped from her throat and Reams took the young woman in his arms holding her closely to his chest.

It’s all right Lyla. Everything is all right.

There’s no danger, Reams called to the uniformed patrolman. My name is John Reams I’m a guest here.

A second police officer walked briskly through the open door, his hand resting on a holstered pistol. He was wearing a brimmed cap, which accented the graying hair along the side of the officer’s head.

We received a 911 call from this address, the first officer said without emotion. Their uniforms read Somerton Police, so Reams know they were local and not county sheriff’s deputies.

‘Small town cops. I’m not sure if that’s good.’

There was a break-in. Reams, volunteered. The intruder is still unconscious.

The two men; one who looked to be about twenty-two years old, and the other who appeared to be twenty years his senior, walked through the archway dividing the living room from the short hallway. Lyla was now standing with her back pressed against the living room wall; her eyes gaping as she stared at the unmoving intruder. The younger officer quickly handcuffed the stranger and looked toward Lyla.

Are you okay, ma’am?

I-I’m fine...I think, she said in a numb monotone.

Turning to Reams, Could you repeat your name, sir, asked the younger man, whose ID tag read Brady.

Reams, John Reams. I’m a reporter for the...

I don’t need to know your occupation, sir. Do you have any ID?

Meanwhile, the older man, named O’Brian, walked around the room while carefully eying the carpet and the poker which still rested on the floor.

Reams was all too familiar with the abruptness of police procedure. One officer would ask questions, and expect only precise answers. The other would remain silent and observe, while also casually inspecting the crime scene. After examining Reams’ drivers license, the officer asked, Did you see what happened?

I...was upstairs taking a nap, Reams replied nervously. It was over before I made it down here.

Brady looked suspiciously at Reams, then turned his attention toward Lyla. Meanwhile, O’Brian appeared to be oblivious to his partner’s interview, as he silently continued his inspection.

Miss, is this your home?

It belongs to my mother. She’s at a church social, but I think she’ll be back soon.

Your name?

Lyla McDaniels. I work for City Hall in Fairville.

Reams scowled noting that Lyla was not asked her occupation, and was not rebuked for volunteering the information.

Miss McDaniels. Could you tell me what happened?

I really don’t know, Lyla replied slowly. I saw this awful face, and then everything went blank.

The officer rolled back his eyes. I have two witnesses and nobody saw anything! Is that it?

Look officer, I’m sure Lyla will remember everything if you...

Mister Reams, I’ll have to ask you to wait in the next room.

Reams shook his head in mock dismay and grudgingly went into the kitchen. As he walked past the front door, which was still open, Reams heard the blaring sound of an ambulance. Nonetheless, the intruder remained unconscious on the living room floor. But Reams knew he would awaken soon. From the kitchen he could hear the officer ask Lyla the usual questions. His temperature began to rise as the young woman continued to assert that she could remember nothing past the moment when the stranger broke into the house.

‘God,’ Reams thought. ‘Don’t let him get suspicious.’

He heard the ambulance pull into the driveway, and from the living room drifted the groaning of the man who had broken into the house with the intention of torturing Lyla to death,

Okay, buddy! On yer feet, Reams heard the younger officer call out.

The two paramedics walked through the open door, Reams pointed them to the living room and followed them inside.

Sir, I told you to wait in the next room, the younger officer retorted.

The patrolman put his hand on his hips, forcing his jacket open. .

Officer Brady, I couldn’t help but overhear Lyla say she still can’t recall taking, Reams looked at the intruder who was now sitting dazed on the sofa, taking him out. I figured you were probably finished.

Brady again looked suspiciously at Reams, then back at Lyla. Miss McDaniels, if you remember anything later, come by the station. A detective will be in touch.

The intruder’s dazed expression turned into a malicious grin as the police offer took hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet. Lyla stood transfixed, her face tightening in horror as the reality of her misadventure became apparent. Reams walked over to Lyla and put his arm around her.

You got a name? Brady asked,

His eyes lighted and his grin became more twisted. I serve Golem. he replied, and broke into laughter. Lyla cringed and Reams pulled her closer. His face reddened with anger as he held the frightened young woman.

Get this creep outta here! Reams commanded.

You aren’t safe. My friends will come. Golem will punish you!

The officer pushed his prisoner toward the door, and followed, but O’Brian remained.

One of the two paramedics, looked at the officer and asked, was anyone else hurt?

Everyone is fine, Reams responded nervously. He felt his emotions pull between his anger at the attacker, and his concern over the presence of the senior officer.

Mister Reams, so far you don’t seem to have a lot to say about what happened here, tonight. Is there anything you’d like to add? Something you may have forgotten?

Not at...all officer. I’m just concerned about Lyla.

It just seems strange, the officer baited. "You were in the house the whole time and never saw a thing?"

Reams took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. He knew what the officer was doing; attempting to make him panic and recant his story.

Like I said, I was upstairs the whole time.

Well, if you change your mind, get in touch with me at the station. The officer handed Reams a card showing the name Carl O’Brian."

Miss try not to be to upset over what this psycho had to say. He’ll be in custody and won’t be bothering anyone. Sir, O’Brian looked sharply at Reams. Will you be staying here long?

A few more days.

We may have more have questions. If you leave town, let us know."

Sure. Reams swallowed.

As O’Brian started through the door, he turned back; John Reams? Are you the reporter who did the story on Norman Paridy?

Reams blanched, Yes, he replied bleakly.

I heard about you on television. Seems you have an exciting life, Mister Reams. He smiled and then left John and Lyla alone.

John’s eyebrows narrowed at the mention of the word exciting, but he said nothing, and turned his attention to Lyla.

Oh. John, Lyla sobbed. W-Who was that horrible monster.

The young woman was siting on the couch trembling. She was badly shaken by the experience, and John knew the shock would not pass quickly.

It’s okay, Lyla. He’s gone now and everything’ll be alright, Reams comforted. But even as he spoke the words a small, still voice which had accurately warned him of things unseen since the day he was first introduced to the Chai’ Cycle, silently prodded him.

‘It’s not an empty threat. Lyla is still in danger.’

Chapter 2

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September. 1949, Beijing, China.

The smell of salt and dead fish drifted across the docks and greeted Zen Lee’s nostrils like an old friend. Ordinarily, he would stop and enjoy the scent, but tonight his thoughts were drawn by the wailing of widows and orphans.

The purge, Zen Lee thought bitterly. We did not arrive in time to stop the purge.

He received the message while resting in a distant village. The disciples of the Chai’ had called a summit meeting to discuss taking action against Mao Tse-tung. During his journey, as one of the newly recognized masters of the Chai’, he heard that Mao planned to start the purge early and to kill many of the landowners. But for Zen Lee and the other members of his order, the message had come too late. Now, all he could do was fight his seething anger, and hope the evil could be stopped before it grew any greater.

The dark streets provided the Chai’ master an unneeded cloak to walk unseen to his rendezvous. The wails of the victims became faint as Zen Lee turned into a dark alley, but he still wrestled with the anger growing in his soul.

Let my rage flow into the place of the weak force, he whispered. Let calm and courage dominate my center of gravity.

For too long the elders of the Chai’ had chosen to turn their heads from the evil of Mao Tse-tung. Zen Lee had protested that passive stand, but to no avail. Still, the Chai’ disciple had not been unsympathetic to their position, simply because he was likewise baffled at how the fight the dictator. Mao’s campaign of corruption was so great, so diverse it frustrated the power of the Chai’ to battled it. The young Chai’ master shook his head. Through the centuries his order had tapped into not only the very limits of their own power, but deeply into that of the universe as well. They had only one weakness, they were powerless against an adversary whose capacity for evil exceeded their own capacity for good. They called such a state, The Great Evil. The weakness was not a specific enemy, and it was unique for each disciple; it was the condition where a Chai’ warrior felt that his own potential for establishing justice was less that an adversary’s ability to heartlessly wreak injustice. For years, this simple shortcoming had been insignificant except among the very young disciples. That is, until the coming of Mao. After rising to power, the Communists had launched a propaganda campaign that the Chai’ disciples could not withstand. Mao had seduced and corrupted the minds and hearts of hungry people by offering them equality in a world he planned to dominate. So great was this corruption that poor, but once noble people rejoiced in the death of neighbors whose only crime, in so many cases, was simply the ownership of land.

As the Chai’ warrior turned down an alley leading to Tian an men square, walked past the emperor’s palace, the stench of the Great Evil loomed until Zen Lee thought he would lose consciousness. Staggering through the alley, he fought the gripping pain of sickness, until at last he arrived at the home of his mentor, Zan Foo.

A young Chinese girl who Zen Lee recognized as Zan Foo’s granddaughter, opened the door in response to Zen Lee’s quiet knock. She dropped her eyes in respect, aware of the reason for his visit.

The others are waiting, she said softly.

Inside the small home, sitting close together around a dim light emanating from a small hibachi, were ten somber men. Their eyes were turned downward.

The oldest of the group looked upward and nodded toward the newest guest.

Zen Lee, we have been waiting.

I came as soon as I heard of the purge, Zan Foo. I knew the elders of the Chai’ would want to act.

Another of the group stirred and Zan Foo raised his hand, giving the much younger Zen Lee permission to speak. Zan Foo’s gray hair was pulled back to the base of his head, and the weary lines around his face made the once seemingly ageless Chai’ mentor appear to be crippled by his ninety-five years of longevity. This is not a happy time, Zen Lee. You who would have soon been the youngest to join the ranks of senior elders may be facing the end with us.

The younger man froze. After a moment, he doffed the small cap he had forgotten to remove when he walked into the humble home, and asked softly. Do you believe there is no way to prevail?

It was Zan Foo who answered. "It is the curse of the Great Evil. I have tried to muster my own faith, but deep in my heart I know that the death of Mao Tze