Chant

by George C. Chesbro

  “Would you tell me if you did? Is it possible that wounded pride could, finally, be the invisible weapon that strikes down a great warrior where all other weapons of steel and wood have failed?”

  “If a man allowed that to happen, he wouldn’t be much of a warrior.”

  “I’ll ask again, Chant. Do you need help?”

  “My answer is the same. No.”

  “I haven’t seen you for some time.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “With the Japanese woman … the woman you’ve been sleeping with.”

  “You know about that?”

  “It is hard for anyone not to know. She makes no pretense; she comes openly, and she leaves openly.”

  Chant’s reply was a shrug. He found himself growing annoyed.

  “Who is she, Chant?”

  “My enemy,” Chant answered in a flat voice. An enemy, he thought, whom he had laughed and loved with, an enemy he could not forget; an enemy he wanted desperately now to see and hold. “She’s part of the team arrayed against me, like the giant.”

  “Some enemy,” Kim Chi said in a carefully neutral tone.

  “It’s true.”

  “Then she’s a most worthy opponent—perhaps the most dangerous you have ever faced. She’s marked you in a way the Pathet Lao never could.”

  “Indeed,” Chant answered with a wry smile as he absently touched the scars on his throat and cheek.

  Kim Chi slowly, sadly, shook her head. “I’m not talking about those marks, however she gave them to you. I’m talking about the wounds in your heart and mind.”

  Chant abruptly removed his hand from his face. “Kim Chi—”

  “The woman is evil, Chant,” Kim Chi said forcefully.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps?”

  Evil? Chant wondered. Or a prize of great value? Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps she could still make choices.

  Where was she?

  “Why did you come here, Kim Chi?” Chant asked curtly.

  Kim Chi raised her eyebrows slightly, then almost immediately dropped her gaze—as if even this mild gesture of surprise and reproach might be too much. “You may recall that you asked me to act as the representative of my people,” the Hmong woman said quietly. “I was to plan, and to prepare the Hmong in the event you were able to carry out your plans. Much has happened since we last spoke, and I thought you might like to know how things are going with us.”

  Chant suddenly had an urge to pace, and he abruptly sat down on the edge of the bed and concentrated on calming himself. “I’m sorry, Kim Chi. What’s happening with you?”

  “Just about everything has gone back to the way it was before. Baldauf seems to realize that you’re unable to stand in his way any longer. As before, he does with us as he pleases. We are forced to work for next to nothing; our children are taken from us; we are raped, and sold into prostitution.”

  Was Soussan meant to be his ultimate death … or the key to his cage? Soon, he was going to have to decide—and act. Somehow.

  “If I make a move against Baldauf now, many Hmong will dies. You know that, Kim Chi. There’s—”

  “There’s the woman!”

  “Yes, there’s the woman. She’s part of it, and I have to deal with her. I said that.”

  “‘Dealing with her’ means that you have to sleep with her? Does she attack you while you make love?”

  Yes, Chant wanted to say, but he did not—could not—reply.

  “The medical program was abruptly stopped, Chant,” Kim Chi continued. “Since the store was blown up, the food is now sold to us right off the trucks at even greater prices than we paid before. We’re told that, if we object, we’ll be sent back to Laos to be killed.”

  “Have Baldauf’s men killed any Hmong?” Chant asked in a tight voice.

  “No.”

  “For now, that’s the most important thing. I haven’t been in touch because there was nothing I could do that would not endanger Hmong lives. The woman, as I’ve said, is my enemy, and I must find my own way of dealing with her.”

  “We fear what that monster will do to us if we do not obey.”

  “Is Ko around again?”

  “He watches the compound.” Kim Chi smiled, stroked the back of Chant’s hand. “He watches as well as he can with one eye. You did that to him, didn’t you?”

  Chant nodded. “I’d have killed him, but Master Bai wouldn’t permit it. I fought a second man, defeated him, and will now fight a third. You must be patient, Kim Chi. As long as Master Bai holds the Hmong hostage, I must fight this battle his way.”

  “I believe that the woman is far more dangerous than the men this Master Bai has sent against you.”

  “I agree.”

  “Then why do you cooperate so eagerly, Chant? This isn’t like you at all. You mentioned the possibility that you’d been drugged.”

  “A ninja has many weapons at his disposal, Kim Chi, both steel and chemical, physical and psychological. Sometimes weapons can be used against their wielder.”

  “You’re saying you believe you can turn this woman around and use her against the man who sent her to you?”

  “I’m saying I must deal with the situation as I find it—until I can identify and exploit a weakness in Master Bai’s defense. Only then can Master Bai be defeated. The woman certainly came to me as Bai’s weapon, but she may also represent a weakness. I don’t know; but I have no choice but to proceed as if this were the case.”

  “It seems so terribly dangerous for you, Chant.”

  “It must be done this way, Kim Chi,” Chant said quietly. “Up to now, Bai has had the power to control the situation, and this is how he’s chosen to define it.”

  “Bangangut has returned. Most of us understand that, in the end, our lives are our own responsibility, and that we must fight to defend ourselves. But not everyone is as strong as you are. You were our hope, Chant; you lifted us from despair, and no Hmong will ever forget that. But now, many feel even worse despair, and some once again dream themselves to death. It’s believed by some that you have abandoned us for the favors of an evil woman.”

  “Do you believe that, Kim Chi?”

  “No. No matter how my words may sound, I did not come here to accuse you. I believe that you continue to fight against our enemies, as well as the demons that have been stirred in your mind. I just hope that you’ve not already been defeated.”

  Where was Soussan?

  “I’m so worried about you, Chant,” Kim Chi continued in a low, trembling voice.

  “It must be done this way, Kim Chi. I have no choice in the matter.”

  The Hmong woman rose, took a deep breath, and drew her shoulders back. Chant rose with her, but he sensed that Kim Chi did not want him to come to her, and he stayed where he was.

  “There is something I must say to you, Chant,” the woman said in a soft but firm voice, staring hard at him. “It is a secret—a gift which I offer to you now, because I feel you may desperately need it. It seems the Hmong are unique, in that they suffer from bangangut, die from it in their sleep. I believe you are now suffering from your own kind of bangangut; yours is a waking nightmare from which you can’t escape, even in sleep. However, I fear that the end result—death—will be the same.”

  “It will be all right, Kim Chi,” Chant murmured like a prayer. “I will defeat Master Bai … and then Baldauf will crumble.”

  “You say so, and perhaps it is true. But I will still offer you the gift of my secret because one day you may want, and need, to use it against the poison this woman has put in your heart. The gift is my admission that I love you—and have loved you deeply for all these years.”

  “Kim Chi—”

  “Please don’t interrupt,” Kim Chi said in a voice that remained soft, yet forceful. “Surely, you must understand how incredibly difficult this is for me.”

  “Yes,” Chant replied, bowing his head slightly. “It isn’t necessary for you to say these things.”

&nbs
p; “It is necessary, because the time for you to fight alone is past. I know I seem plain in your eyes—especially when compared to the young, beautiful, Japanese woman.”

  “You’ll never seem plain to me, Kim Chi.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Chant. I know what is in your eyes, in your heart. Something has been done to you, something so terrible that you can’t hope to defeat it by yourself. This woman is a dream of death, Chant—and I am a dream of life. It is my life which I am offering you, even though I strongly sense that you are thinking of the Japanese woman even at this very moment, wanting her. So think of her, Chant—but remember my words. Remember that I love you. I will be your weapon, if you should choose to wield me. But the choice must be yours; you must recognize the need yourself. If you do ever feel you need me, please feel free to use me as you see fit.”

  Chant stared at the floor in silence; he could think of absolutely nothing to say.

  “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve done for us,” Kim Chi continued. “I wish you luck, which you will most surely need, in your strange duel with this woman. I will not bother you again.”

  Chant watched as Kim Chi slowly walked across the room, brushing past him, to the door. He desperately wanted to go to her, to hold her, desperately wanted to try to explain. But he could not move, could not speak. He felt a terrible emptiness opening up somewhere deep inside himself, and he realized—with a terrible sense of sadness and loss—that there was only one person who could fill that yawning, throbbing space.

  Kim Chi opened the door and started.

  Soussan was standing outside in the hallway.

  Chant felt his heartbeat quicken, and he immediately got an erection. As when he had first seen her, Soussan was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and her Harvard sweatshirt. He did not think she had ever looked more beautiful, or desirable. He wanted her desperately.

  Soussan ignored Kim Chi, looked past her at Chant. She made no move to enter the room, and her face was impassive—as if she were waiting for something to happen.

  Kim Chi studied Soussan for a few moments, then drew herself up and turned back to face Chant. “Come with me now, Chant,” Kim Chi said quietly, extending her hand to him. “Ignore this other challenge. We—the Hmong and you—will fight these people together, and we won’t be defeated. Come with me; let me help you. You can’t fight her alone any longer. If you do, you will die. If you die, we will all die—in one way or another.”

  Chant stayed where he was, said nothing. Kim Chi stared at him for a few moments, tears welling in her eyes, then abruptly turned and walked out of the room, past Soussan, and disappeared down the hall.

  Now Soussan’s eyes came alive, glowed. She smiled, winked at Chant with her brown eye, then rushed into his arms.

  “A rival?” Soussan asked after they had kissed.

  “No,” Chant said quietly as he stroked her neck and cheeks with both hands. “She doesn’t play our game.”

  “Doesn’t she? I wonder. Why did you use her when you stole the million from Baldauf?”

  “Because I’ve known her a long time, and trust her. She’s reliable and honorable.” He paused, ran his fingers through the woman’s raven-black hair. “I’ve missed you, Soussan.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you sooner. Grandfather wouldn’t permit it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. The woman’s name is Kim Chi, isn’t it?”

  “You know it is. Ko threatened her specifically.”

  “She said things that hurt you pretty good, didn’t she? I can see it in your face.”

  Chant merely shrugged.

  “Do you care what she thinks of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she must be very special.”

  “She is.”

  “She’s in love with you.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “That’s a lie—a big fat one. Did you try to explain to her what we’re all about?”

  “No I haven’t decided yet what we’re all about.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, that’s the truth,” Soussan said as she brushed the scar on Chant’s cheek with her fingertips. “But you do love me.”

  Chant did not reply.

  “You just saved her life. If you had left with the woman, Grandfather would have had Ko pull her apart. You couldn’t be with her all the time.”

  “I know.”

  Soussan laughed lightly. “But that doesn’t make any difference. The fact of the matter was that you didn’t want to leave with her. You wanted to stay with me.”

  “I have to stay with you.”

  “You wanted to stay with me.”

  “All right.”

  “Tonight you fight Kiyama.”

  “It’s about time. Weapons?”

  “Just bring yourself. Be at the logging camp, at midnight.”

  “Soussan, you seem different.”

  “Do I?” Soussan asked with a broad smile.

  Before Chant could reply, Soussan kissed him on the lips, then turned and quickly walked from the room.

  SEVENTEEN

  Chant drove his car up the service road to the edge of the logging camp, turned off the engine. He got out, walked the fifty yards to the clearing in the center of the camp, and waited by the flagpole. The full moon was on the wane; dark clouds, pushed by a biting wind, moved quickly across its surface, making the clearing appear like a constantly shifting chessboard.

  Tonight, Chant thought, he would bring this complex duel with Bai to an end—one way or another. Soussan had gained far too much control over his emotions, and if he did not break free now he was afraid he never would. Once again, Hmong were dying. The moment had come to defeat his enemies, or die.

  He had run out of time.

  As if in response to his thoughts, steel flashed in a patch of moonlight, described an arc and fell at his feet, sticking in the frozen ground.

  Chant gripped the leather-wrapped handle of the kodachi and pulled it from the ground. As he did so, Bai and Soussan emerged from the edge of the forest, stood straight and still at the edge of the clearing. Both wore their familiar ceremonial robes; both carried bows and quivers of arrows. Soussan’s splinted finger glowed ghostly white in a band of moonlight.

  A few moments later Ko appeared, twenty yards to the left of his master and Soussan.

  Yabu, looking haggard, appeared to the right In his one hand he whirled his nunchaku. A shield had been strapped to his left forearm just above the spot where his hand had been amputated; projecting at least six inches from the center of the shield was a thin, steel spike.

  Then Kiyama, the man with the shaved head, appeared. He carried a broadsword, like Chant’s, but had also been given a shield like the man with the long arms.

  Bai, too, had decided that it would end tonight, Chant thought with a grim smile as he braced his feet wide apart and gripped his sword with both hands. It was to be him against the three—or five—of them. Master Bai had apparently grown bored.

  There were no preliminaries At a soft command from Bai, Kiyama walked quickly across the clearing toward Chant, while Ko and Yabu slowly began to circle around on Chant’s flanks.

  Kiyama feinted a blow with his shield against Chant’s right side, then shifted his weight and swung the sword in his long arm down in an overhead strike. Chant sidestepped the blow, spun and swung his sword toward the other man’s kidney—a blow that Kiyama barely managed to parry with his shield.

  He would do it now, Chant thought, at the beginning of combat when—he hoped—a trick would least be suspected In order to take the lives of Kiyama, Yabu, and the giant Ko, he would have to put his own at great risk. First, he must kill Kiyama in one single, unguarded instant—before either of the lightning-quick Zen archers standing a few yards away had a chance to stop him.

  Chant launched a series of classic maneuvers and strikes, kata he was certain Kiyama knew and could defend ag
ainst, while at the same time using his heightened senses to monitor the stealthy approach of Ko and Yabu.

  Chant and Kiyama exchanged a half dozen strikes, steel ringing against steel, before Chant ducked under one blow and wheeled away. As he did so, he caught one ankle behind the other, topped and sprawled on the ground.

  A great shadow covered him like a blanket of death.

  Slowing time in his mind, Chant glanced over his shoulder. Kiyama, his eyes gleaming, was straddling Chant with both feet. Ko and Yabu stood just behind him, on either side, watching as Kiyama raised his sword high in the air for a downward strike that would split Chant from the top of his head to his chest.

  Not yet, Chant thought. One more heartbeat …

  The sword began to descend, and Chant prepared to twist, come up under the arc of the blow and bury his sword to the hilt in Kiyama’s belly.

  A bowstring twanged three times, and a moment later Chant heard a soft, sickening crunch somewhere in the night just above his head.

  Chant rolled to his left just in time to avoid being pinned under the dead swordsman, with an arrow skewering the head, shaft emerging through the right eye, Kiyama collapsed forward and crashed to the ground.

  Ko and Yabu also lay on the ground, arrows piercing their heads.

  Instantly, Chant was up on his feet and sprinting toward the two figures at the edge of the clearing. He was thirty yards away.…

  Soussan, head held high as she stared at Chant, was just lowering her bow Bai, white-faced and with his bow held at his side, stood motionless, like a man haunted, as he stared past, through, Chant.

  Twenty yards …

  The old man was still just playing with him, Chant thought as he strained to run even faster Master Bai was letting him have a taste of hope just before an arrow pierced his own head or heart As fast as Soussan had been in stringing and firing the three arrows that had killed Chant’s opponents, the old Japanese was even faster.

  Twenty yards.

  Fifteen yards …

  If Bai was going to kill him, Chant thought, it would have to be now …

  Ten yards. Bai abruptly raised his bow … then brought it down over his upraised knee, snapping the weapon in two.

  “Yield or die, Sensei,” Chant said as he held the point of his kodachi against the old man’s jugular.