The stone floor was windswept, a bare space in a city where bare space was at a premium, even with the ever-present threat of the end of the lease hanging over every citizen's head. An atrium, it served as a place for meditation and worship for the handful of Tibetan monks who had migrated here after 1954. A few of their number had returned to the homeland when China lifted the heavy religious strictures, and those who stayed in Hong Kong were toothless graybeards, too old and weak to make the arduous trek over the mountains.
Many of them remembered the tall, blond Westerner who had rescued them four decades ago and set them up in the largest center of commerce in the Pacific, and though they were a bit surprised to see him again, seemingly as young and wise as he was in the fifties, the aging monks had welcomed him with little reservation. They gave him a small cell, complete with a bedroll and a log for a pillow, and he had settled down with a sigh of contentment.
They looked with some disfavor on his activities in the atrium, the place where he practiced with his swords. But they said nothing, content that their long held debt was finally being repaid.
Tyr, the Westerner, had just returned from an excursion into the city, a heavy sword barely concealed under his extra-long coat. Without stopping at his room, he went straight to the square and stripped down to pants and boots to practice with the new sword. The sword was excessively large, built for the use of both hands, yet the big Viking spun and danced with the blade, held easily in his single one, with all the skill of a Japanese kensai.
Even the monks, who held martial skill in rather low regard, could recognize the artistry and mastery that Tyr was capable of with a sword. A few watched him unobtrusively, embarrassed and at the same time curious. A sword was an old weapon, for an old time. Why did Tyr practice with the Pok Dau so religiously? What could he gain from it?
Not peace, certainly. One could not gain peace through the mastery of a killing tool, nor did Tyr exhibit any kind of peace - outer or inner.
No, there were demons driving the one-handed giant, that was certain. He typically spent six hours out of every day in the courtyard, hopping about with his sword, and sometimes without it. He was training for something. Some challenge, some test of strength. And though the monks privately disapproved, they owed their lives and the survival of their sect to this man, and they held their tongues.
It was in the afternoon of the day Tyr returned with the Pok Dau that another visitor stopped by the small temple, looking for Tyr. It was a gray, drizzly day, and the stones of the atrium were slick and clean. Tyr's bare feet slapped audibly against the blue-gray stones, and his sword hummed as it cut air.
When the stranger stepped into the courtyard, Tyr froze, his body suddenly tensing, and then let the sword drop. He turned. "Lei," he said.
The stranger drew a pair of sunglasses off his flat, broad nose and slipped them into the pocket of his trench coat. His clothes were rich and of a Western cut, but his features were Chinese. His head was shaved close to the skin and oiled, too, as drops of rain beaded on his skull. His eyebrows were finely drawn against his pale brow, and his dark eyes held the intensity of a genius or a fanatic.
Somehow, Tyr guessed it would be the latter.
"I felt that it was time to visit, old friend," Lei said. The voice was rich and cultured. He used English to confound the monks.
Tyr responded in the same tongue, though his mastery of it was less impressive then Lei's. His Norse accent was just thick enough to be noticeable. "I'm glad, Lei. All I really want to do is talk to you."
Lei smiled. "The time for talk is long past," he said.
Tyr's heavy brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand... why are you here, then, if you don't wish to talk?"
Lei pursed his lips and slipped his hands into his pockets. He began to walk in a circle around Tyr. "I came to tell you something, Tyr. Hong Kong is my city. Mine, Tyr. I transformed it from a tiny fishing hamlet into one of the greatest cities on Earth. I controlled the British with money from the opium trade, and allowed them to think themselves the princes of my city.
"But I did not make the deal with mainland China. I did not sign the 'lease.' And thus, I am not letting the CCP get their dirty little hands on my city." Lei had made a complete circuit of the small atrium, and Tyr's eyes had followed him every inch of the way. Now, the Chinese Immortal paused, waiting for Tyr's inevitable, frustrated remark.
"Just what in Ymir are you getting at, Lei?"
A ghost of a smile crossed Lei's lips, and he turned to look Tyr directly in the face. "What I am getting at, old friend, is simple. I will destroy this city and everyone in it. In less than sixteen months China plans on taking it away from me; I cannot allow that."
Tyr's tone was incredulous. "Destroy it?"
"Yes," Lei said dryly. "Better for her to die at the hands of a lover than a monster that doesn't understand her."
Tyr could see Lei was sincere, or else thought he was. "How?"
Lei smiled again. "Now that is something you'll have to wait and see. But I will tell you this: even we will not survive. So, I'm saying to you: get out. Go home. Live and grow strong. And forget about all this." He gestured vaguely in the air.
Tyr swallowed. He had a pretty good idea what Lei intended, now. There were only a few ways to kill an Immortal *and* a city. Not genetic warfare, for example. Tyr could shrug something like that off easily. "Where did you get it, Lei?"
Lei's grin only grew broader. "The United States has been downsizing their military of late. I...acquired a few pieces of their collection."
"You know I can't let you do this," Tyr's voice was resigned and heavy.
Lei nodded. "I guessed as much. But I had to give you the opportunity to flee." Lei produced his sunglasses and made as if to go.
"Even if you stop me," Tyr called after him, "you'll still have to contend with Perseus."
Lei froze in his tracks. "The Greek is coming here?" he asked stiffly. Tyr nodded, and though Lei's back was to him, Lei continued as if he had seen the Viking move. "How very... interesting," he said.
Then he left Tyr in the drizzle, with one hand resting on the pommel of a six foot long sword.
"Tell me again why we're going to Hong Kong," Shelley said, shifting in her seat. They were three hours into the long flight, and Shelley was trying to start a conversation again. Perseus had seemed tight lipped and preoccupied, though, and resisted her attempts.
This time he looked up from the magazine he was reading, and sighed. "I told you, I have some affairs to put in order."
Shelley grimaced. "Yeah. I can see that. But don't you think that's a tad vague, maybe even evasive? I think I have the right to know why you're dragging me halfway across the planet."
Perseus clucked his tongue against his front teeth, considering. "Fine. An Immortal named Lei has been experiencing some difficulty in the last few years. I need to talk to him, lay some things to rest."
"Another former student?" Shelley asked. Perseus gave her a sharp look, but she seemed sincere.
"As a matter of fact, he was." Perseus seemed content to leave it at that, but Shelley pressed on.
"Well, tell me about him."
"Shelley..." Perseus began in an exasperated tone.
"C'mon, Percy," Shelley interrupted. "We're on an extended flight to a place I've never been to, fulfilling some ancient vow you took, I'm out of peanuts, and I've already finished two Spenser novels."
"Two?" Perseus said.
"They go quick," Shelley said. "Now, spill it."
Perseus looked at her a moment. The girl was exasperating. Always asking questions, never quite accepting the answers he gave her. She was also energetic, and good with a blade. She also possessed the rare talent of being able to listen, and seemed genuinely interested in learning about other people, even other cultures. When Perseus looked at her, he could hardly believe he had ever been that young, that wide eyed and innocent. That curious. Perseus had long ago decided that he liked Shelley. A rare decision for him; after failures like Ivan, Lei, and Angelo, Perseus had tried not to become too fond of his students. He had really taken in Shelley as a point of honor. He managed the last three hundred years without a student, and only Quin's death forced him to take up the mantle of mentor once again.
He would not admit it to himself, but he admired Shelley in many ways. Her energy and curiosity and ability to feel had been bled out of him over centuries of combat and loss. For too long he had surrounded himself with the old guard, people like Hazard, Kurt, and Selura, those who were burning out like himself. Reaching the end of their lines. Yet now, a child was thrust into his care, and he was beginning to feel some of the old emotions stirring again.
<Perhaps this is how an Immortal stays young,> he thought, <keeping in touch with the next generation. Teaching them. And learning from them, too.>
<All my years, and I never realized that. Well, Shelley's teaching you things already.>
Shelley was a bit surprised to see Perseus actually grin. "Very well, Shelley, I shall tell you the story of Lei.
"In the Year of the Lord 1172, I began a long trek across Asia. Beginning in the lands known today as Turkey, I followed Alexander into India. But I didn't stop where Alexander faltered. I continued on into Southeast Asia, and then to China. Around 1184, I met an Immortal named Gui Han. He lived in Peking, and, at that time, he was one of the oldest Immortals I had ever met.
"One of his students was a young man named Lei Wu Long. Lei was... like you, in many ways. Smart. Energetic. A bit foolish."
Shelley gave him a cross look, but did not interrupt.
Perseus chuckled. "I stayed with Gui and Lei for two years, gaining proficiency in the language and improving my fighting technique. When I was preparing to leave -- I wished to see Japan -- a group of frightened villagers came to Gui with news of a terrible demon slaughtering livestock and frightening people."
"Gui and Lei immediately began to prepare to hunt down the beast. I volunteered to come along. Gui refused my help, but Lei and I convinced him to let me join them. We tracked the demon down, aided by an assortment of Gui's mortal students, and proceeded to attack the monster. It was a deadly, powerful creature. Killed every mortal, crushed my ribs, and killed Gui. It also crushed Lei's skull.
"I would have carried on the assault, but I absorbed Gui's Quickening, and the resultant delirium gave the demon the opportunity to capture me. It seemed that the demon had never encountered an Immortal before, and the light show following Gui's death puzzled it. It bound Lei and I in chains of iron, and sequestered us in a deep, dark cell.
"Hmmm...," Shelley said. "Sounds clichÙ."
Perseus grinned. "Well, this all occurred before such things were commonplace. Anyway, I was worried about Lei at first -- I'm sure you know that head wounds can leave permanent scars, and generally heal more slowly. Lei's forehead had been crushed, and I feared that, even if he did heal completely, his brain might be addled. But in time, his head returned to normal, and he seemed disoriented but all right.
"Then I had to worry about discovering a means of escape. I schemed and planned, but could not find a loose stone or weak link in our chains. It seemed we had survived the initial confrontation only to face a more terrible doom.
"We were down there a week, during which the demon never visited, never fed us, never checked on us. I knew my body could sustain me without nourishment for an indefinite period, but I would be weak and not much help should the opportunity for escape to come. Lei was worse.
His mind wandered, and it seemed his brain had been damaged after all. He began to hallucinate, and slept fitfully in the dark.
"I was losing hope when the door to the dungeon finally opened, and I heard footsteps approach. Simultaneously, I felt the tingling in my spine that could only signal an Immortal presence. Another captive, perhaps? I strained at my bonds, trying one last time to free myself.
To die in combat, at least, and not like a stuck pig.
"Well, as you can probably surmise, it was not the demon who appeared before the bars of our cell. Rather, it was an Immortal named Grayson. I had met him years ago in Gaul; he was in the company of Darius then. Grayson was a skilled soldier, a bit emotional, but a dedicated friend. I was glad to see him. He laughed at our predicament, and, for a moment, I feared he might take the opportunity to take our heads.
"My fear proved unfounded, however. Grayson freed us, though he never let me live it down. Centuries later, he would still rib me about the whole episode." Perseus shook his head. "Grayson was such an asshole."
"What ever happened to him?" Shelley asked.
Perseus' expression darkened. "He went a little mad a few years ago. Tried to hunt down Darius. I hear the younger MacLeod took his head."
"I'm sorry."
Perseus smiled. "Don't be. Grayson knew what he was getting into. He went hunting, and he ran into somebody better than he was. Happens to the best of us. And Grayson was never one of the best.
"Anyway, you wanted to know about Lei. When we were freed, Grayson, Lei and I went back to Peking and hung around for a little while. I wanted to look after Lei, help him adjust to the death of Gui. Grayson just wanted some reward for saving us. I made sure he was entertained." Perseus had a strange smile on his face, but Shelley thought it better not to ask about that comment.
"When the Mongols came out of the steppe," Perseus continued, "the three of us decided to get out of Dodge. Grayson and Lei both went to Japan. Grayson had a friend on Honshu that he hadn't seen in a while, and Lei didn't want to go West with me.
"I didn't see Lei for another seven centuries. Kurt and I were in Jakarta, trading. Kurt became a target of the local branch of the Order of Fafnir, and the two of us raised some hell cutting a swathe through the Order. During a raid on one of the palaces -- "
Shelley cut him off. "Wait, wait. You're going too fast. What's the Order of Fafnir? Where's Jakarta? What palace?"
Perseus looked at her. "Remind me to have you brush up on your geography. Jakarta is in Indonesia, on the island of Java. Back then it was owned by the Dutch, but there were a few Muslim palaces still scattered about. One of them had been commandeered by the Order of Fafnir, a society founded in the Dark Ages and dedicated to the eradication of supernatural life."
"Like the Hunters?" Shelley asked.
Perseus nodded. "Only not nearly as inept. Be that as it may, one of them caught sight of Kurt in Revenant form, and the next thing we knew, every Paladin on the island was hunting us down. We fought back, of course. It went roughly for a while, until we ran across Lei. He had local contacts that helped saved us; he went out of his way to help us. And he caught some heat from the local authorities for doing so.
"Lei has always had a streak of honor a mile wide. I knew I'd never fear for my head while I was with him. Kurt and I had taken a drubbing as merchants, and we migrated into Lei's House as bodyguards. It was a good time." Perseus smiled, remembering. "But one night, Lei confessed to me that he was still having terrible dreams, reminiscent of his hallucinations in the dungeon so long ago. Dreams of fire and utter destruction. He thought it might be what awaited us at the end of the Game, should the Kurgan or someone gain the Prize.
"I told him about Viracocha and the Game's falsehood, hoping it would put him at ease. It did no such thing. Lei only became more agitated. Without any meaning to the dream, he was afraid he was simply losing his mind. Kurt and I left shortly thereafter."
Perseus paused, staring at the back of the chair before him.
"I didn't see Lei again until the twentieth century."
"What happened? Where were you this time?"
Perseus sighed. "I was in Japan. It was 1944."
The room was dark, but large. In the center, under the only light in the room, was a massive round table. Six chairs were arranged around it, though only half of them were filled on this night.
The first was a broad shouldered man in a dark business suit, his long black hair tied into a ponytail. His eyes were blue, deep in his skull, and under dark, stormy brows. A permanent five o'clock shadow marred his craggy features.
Two seats away from him lounged a man in a black slouch hat and cloak. His face seemed shrouded in darkness, and only his eyes, flashing with intelligence and no small amount of madness, were visible.
Across from him sat a powerfully built man with deeply tanned skin and blond hair shaven close to his skull. He was garbed in a khaki poncho, riding pants and boots.
"Who are we waiting on?" the bronzed man asked.
"The football player is supposed to be here tonight, Doctor," said the business man.
"Gordon is always late, Greystoke," said the man in black.
Greystoke was about to answer the dark man when he felt the tingling at the base of his spine intensify. Another Immortal had entered the room. "It seems our argument is cut short before it begins, Lamont. Gordon is here."
"I know," Lamont purred. He could feel the Buzz as well.
A moment later, a blond haired man in sweatshirt and jeans stepped into the light and took a chair. He spun it around and settled down, crossing his arms on the back of the chair. He was more lightly built than the other men at the table, and looked physically younger, frozen in his mid-twenties for all time.
"Evenin' gentlemen," Gordon said, just a trace of his midwestern accent showing. "Sorry I'm late, but it gets difficult trying to find the secret hideout when you keep changing its location."
"Now, Gordon," the Doctor started. Security was his bailiwick.
"Settle down, Doc," Gordon grinned. "I'm just giving you a hard time." He turned to the dark man. "So what's the news, Lammie? What's so important you can't wait until the yearly meeting?"
Lamont cleared his throat. "Jones contacted me yesterday. He said he had information of a most frightening nature. It involves an Immortal from Hong Kong named Lei Wu Long, and some fissionable material Lei appropriated from the United States military."
Gordon let out a low whistle. The Doctor sat back in his chair, a look of shock on his tanned face. Only Greystoke seemed unperturbed. Nothing ever seemed to faze him.
"Jones add anything else?" Gordon asked.
Lamont nodded. "He's heading for Hong Kong. He seems to think he can find the item in question and stop Lei."
The Doctor's eyes were unfocused, the gears in his mind turning as he considered the problem. "And if he fails?"
Greystoke spoke, his voice cold and hard. "If Jones fails, then the End we have dreaded for years may be imminent."
Lamont grimaced, though few could have noticed it. "Do you think we should send word to Viracocha?"
Greystoke nodded. "I'll see to it myself."
The four Immortals stayed for a short while longer, discussing strategy and expressing worry for their friend Jones, and the other missing member of the Council.
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PoT_Ch12.php -- Revised: January 27, 2021.