QL:Lost Souls. Part Two

Lost Souls in the Hunting Ground - Part two (cont)

Penelope Hill

Yun Shi came back about an hour later; he brought a flock of women with him who cleared the dishes and then carefully laid out a set of lacquered bowls and a delicate teapot.

"You will take tea?" the old man requested - more like an order than a suggestion. I'd retreated to the corner by the window at the influx of company, while Al had hovered warily by the mattresses. Some of the women were young and remarkably pretty, given the harshness of the life they had to lead. My friend's reactions to them were torn - admiration, attraction, and downright anxiety warred beneath his neutral smile.

"Sure," he said in acknowledgement to the headman's request, watching a particularly nubile figure as he did so, and Yun Shi followed the line of his gaze and smiled a gap-toothed smile.

"You want her?" he asked, with high-pitched amusement. "She okay." He added a mutter of Vietnamese that set all the women giggling. "She keep you warm tonight?"

"Ah-" Al didn't know how to react to that one. Was it politic to accept, or an insult to refuse? The women all laughed at his hesitation. Polite laughter, hidden behind the hand and backed by shy glances that weren't shy at all.

Schuster's a good-looking young man, I'd joked. From their reactions I wasn't the only one who thought so...

At any other time, in any other place, he'd have probably taken advantage of the offer and I'd have been scandalised. But these giggling beauties were also potential vipers - and all of them would have brothers, and fathers, and maybe lovers, who might not think their elder's offer quite so generous.

I don't know what he said, but his eventual answer sounded both polite and suitably regretful. Yun Shi nodded with vigorous delight and sent all the women packing, at least three of them with a smart slap to the rear. They left, still giggling, and my friend breathed out a small sigh of relief. One that also held more than a hint of regret.

Distracting, huh?
You should try it from my side.

Not for me the warm stir of simple desires. I fought down a greater temptation, one that spoke of complete surrender, the sweet delights of innocent blood.

"Tea," the headman cackled, dropping himself beside the table with unexpected agility. I drifted across from the window, and sat where he indicated; Al took the opposite corner, so that I had spiced fire burning on one side of me and rich warmth on the other. Untouched by my need, Yun Shi radiated the greater strength. Yet in some ways it was alien to me - a flame the beast craved for its heat rather than for its savour.

"You have come a long way," the old man considered, reaching to ceremoniously pour green tea into one of the dark bowls. "Both of you," he added shrewdly.

I threw Al a glance as I reached to accept the bowl that was pushed toward me. Our eyes met with wry acknowledgement.

If only he knew how far.

"Men come to Lao Fe for many reasons," the quavering voice continued, tea spilling into the second bowl. "Few find what they are looking for."

"That so?" My friend's remark was suspicious; he picked up the delicate bowl and stared down into the steaming liquid with wary eyes. Yun Shi cackled softly.

"It is always so," he said. Frail hands lifted the third bowl from the table. "Because so few know what they really want." He added a ripple of words in his native tongue, ones that might have been a blessing - or simply a comment on the foolishness of young men. Then he ceremoniously nodded at both of us and drank, a studied sip of the scalding tea.

At least, I assumed it was scalding. When I brought the bowl to my lips the impact of heat seemed distant - as distant as the taste, which was delicate and totally beyond the appreciation of my dead senses. After a very tentative sip Al looked pleasantly surprised and took another careful swallow.

"Good?" the headman demanded, and received a nod of confirmation. "Good."

I took another mouthful out of politeness. I might as well have been drinking distilled water. Yun Shi drank with appreciative care, studying the two of us over the rim of the bowl.

"So what is it you seek?" he asked after a moment. "Wealth? No," he decided almost immediately. "Not wealth. Power, perhaps?" His look was shrewd. "Is that what you desire?"

I shivered under the impact of his eyes. Power? I had power. And I didn't want it. Didn't want to pay the price it demanded of me.

"Answers," Al growled softly, putting his empty tea bowl on the table. "That's all we're here for."

The old man turned toward him, his features wrinkling into amusement. "All?" he questioned, and chuckled. A bony hand reached to refill his bowl. "Answers are the most precious treasures there can be, young man. Even when they are not the ones you thought to find."

Young man...

I hid a smile behind the rim of my tea bowl. How old was Yun Shi? Seventy? Eighty? He looked ancient. But appearances can be deceptive, and the life that sustained him was strong and certain despite his fragile frame. Then again, whom did he address? Schuster's youthful face, or the soul that wore it?

Al told me once he was still sixteen at heart. I think he was joking; you can't live for over sixty years and not learn a little wisdom on the way. But then again, a man's true age isn't always a matter of linear time.

I knew that better than anyone.

Perhaps Yun Shi knew it too.

"Maybe all we'll find will be more questions," I suggested, watching the wizened face watch my friend. Bright eyes turned in my direction, backed with perceptive assessment.

"Maybe," their owner noted. "It all depends on where you look. But the path to wisdom can be a dangerous one.

"Particularly in Lao Fe."

"Particularly Lao Fe?" Al's question was suspicious. The old man went on looking at me.

"The path of wisdom is treacherous and not easy to follow," he announced, then grinned a gap-toothed grin. "Especially when the rains wash down and the trail changes. Sometimes stones fall from the old walls, and the ruins are never a safe place to be.

"The flags can tip an unwary visitor into the passages beneath," he added in unconcerned explanation. "And men have wandered the maze for days and never even glimpsed the Goddess. You are here to find her, aren't you?" His cracked voice held a cackle of amusement. "She's been waiting a long time."

Al stared at him.

I stared at him.

How did he know that?

"Nothing else in Lao Fe for anyone to see," Yun Shi went on, reaching to refill his own bowl. "Just old ghosts and discontent young men. They don't like you being here," he added, smoothing his whiskers down before he drank.

"The young men - or the ghosts?" Al demanded warily. The old man shot him a shrewd glance.

"Both," he decided, and let out another wheeze of laughter. "My son," he confided, leaning forward to do so, "would call me a fool for welcoming you. But he is in China. How will he know?" He leaned back with another laugh, pausing to gulp down a mouthful of tea. The look Al threw me was tense.

"I always tell him," Yun Shi went on garrulously, "the gods see the colour of a man's heart, not his skin. But he never listens. Good and bad in everyone. The Buddha knows. She knows. The Lady is generous, but those who guard her sanctuary are not.

"Old ghosts," he reiterated with conspiratorial delight. "They demand respect. And honesty. Nothing offends a ghost more than a lie."

I shivered with a sudden sense of foreboding. What was I but the most offensive lie of all?

A dead man pretending he might yet have a chance at life.

And the face I wore wasn't even my own.

"Is there someone in the village who might be willing to guide us?" Al was asking cautiously. "Show us the temple and the way to find the Goddess?"

"That depends," Yun Shi responded archly. He shot my friend a look, as if to say that he hadn't expected to be asked so directly.

"On what? We can pay, if that's the problem."

The old man chuckled softly, including me in his glance of amusement. "Oh, you will," he assured us gleefully. "But what you offer is not in question. It is what you intend that matters."

He paused to stroke through his whiskers, smiling to himself as he did so. "We shall see," he said softly, looking at both of us. "In the morning. It is late," he decided, getting to his feet as he did so. "And old men need their sleep. We shall talk again tomorrow."

I scrambled up in politeness; Al stayed where he was, watching the old man bow his way out of the room. He waited until the beaded curtain that covered the doorway clattered into silence and then let out a slow breath.

"Discontent young men," he noted in an I told you so tone of voice.

"And old ghosts," I added, unable to help the half-smile that settled on my face. He shivered.

"Yeah. Hell of an option if you ask me, Sam. Facing angry gooks or a bunch of angry spooks."

I frowned at his choice of words, and he grimaced reluctantly.

"I know," he growled. "I know. Jeez-Louise, Sam, this ain't easy, okay? It's one thing knowing I should give 'em the benefit of the doubt, and quite another feeling my damn skin crawl whenever... Ah, hell," he sighed, reaching to run a tired hand through his hair. "Forget it, willya, pal? That's my problem. You got enough of your own."

I thought about that for a moment, recalling our earlier conversation with a sense of unease. I don't think I can do this, he'd said. Not a statement of capitulation, but one of weary honesty.

I had taken the strength he needed. And there was nothing I could offer in return.

Was there?

"You know," I said after a moment, "Yun Shi was right."

"M'mm?" He looked up, his eyes meeting mine without a moment of suspicion.

Don't do this, Sam, a little voice argued at the back of my mind. He trusts you, despite what you've become, despite what you are.

And my heart answered me with my friend's own words, knowing he would forgive me, hoping he would understand.

What you are is never determined by what you do. It's why you do it that matters...
"Old men need their sleep," I told him lightly.

And made it a command...

I sat in the dark, listening to the whispers of the sleeping village, feeling the stir of life that surrounded me and knowing I was no longer part of it. No-one came to disturb my thoughts, no discontent young men creeping in the shadows, and no old ghosts, no incensed ancestors, seeking vengeance at the witching hour. Just the occasional skitter of a rat, scurrying in search of plunder and retreating from the brooding chill of my presence with startled haste.

Even the rats are afraid of me.
The demon in my soul was restless, tormented by the fire that flickered around me; the hunger muttered in my heart, and the beast was tempted by the lure of an easy conquest.

By the quiet slumber of my friend, immersed in the sleep I had snared him with.

Lying in the dark like helpless prey.

The power I had over him disconcerted me a little. McFarlane had captured me with such sorcery, ensnaring my will, controlling me, despite my struggle against him. I had never accepted his mastery, never willingly submitted to his commands, and I had no wish to make use of the skills he had bequeathed to me; the ability to conquer, to charm and enthral my chosen prey against their will.

Nor had I needed to. Al had given me that dominion along with the gift of his life - a trusting surrender of his soul.

Placing himself utterly in my power.

I watched him sleep, praying that I might never abuse that trust, and unable to stop myself from wondering whether perhaps I already had.

It felt like a long night.

And my only comfort was that - had I not done what I had - it might have seemed an even longer one. The dawn crept up on me slowly, a tide of soft light that rose through the foothills to break against the shoreline of the mountains. Its arrival filled the valley and the village with mist.

A chilled mist that coiled its way up the stilts of the houses and through the cracks in the floorboards, spilling a bitter scent into the air. I got to my feet and went to the window, finding the world draped in grey, as if a layer of fine muslin covered everything around me.

As if the morning were draped in a shroud...

I shivered, a sense of foreboding settling over me. This village was going to die. Not in some dispassionate firestorm in thirty years' time, but soon. Innocents were going to die with it. Women and children and old men...

My hand clenched on the windowframe, splintering the wood beneath. It wasn't going to happen. I wasn't going to let it happen. I couldn't prevent the inevitable conflagration that would consume this country, but I could - and would - find a way to change this one small thing.

I was drawn from my determination by the startled breath with which Al greeted the day. He woke from a sleep without nightmares to briefly find himself in one; a recollection which clearly distressed him.

Then he remembered - and rolled over to fix me with a stern eye and a hint of exasperation. "Sam," he started to growl softly, and I found him as innocent a smile as I could muster.

"Good morning," I said brightly. "Sleep well?"

The frown that was gathering in his features froze for a moment, then relaxed into a reluctant grimace. "Yeah," he admitted slowly. "Guess I did."

He sat up, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin and staring at me as he did so. After a moment a wry smile surfaced in his eyes. "Thanks, kid," he muttered, half under his breath. I felt myself relax from a sense of tension that I hadn't been aware I carried.

Don't mention it, Al.

He climbed to his feet with an effort, easing the kinks out of his muscles and looking down at his crumpled clothing with distaste. "Ah, sheesh," he complained. "Nothing worse than living in your own stink."

I smiled, despite myself. The disparaging remark was offered as an ironic joke.

I guess you ought to know. After all, what was four days' worth of sweat and grime compared to the accumulation of six years?

"What you need is a bath," I observed sagely. He threw me a patient look.

"This is nineteen thirty seven, Sam. Believe me, backwoods villages in 'Nam do not come equipped with all mod cons and plumbing. Not for the next thirty years at least."

"So?" I queried. "There's a perfectly good river out there. One that's filled with water straight off the mountain. Clean water? Unpolluted water?"

I watched him think about it. The idea clearly held a great deal of appeal.

"I don't know, kid," he said after a minute or two. "We don't have a lot of time..."

"So wash quickly," I suggested with a shrug. "Look - we can't do anything until Yun Shi agrees to take us up the mountain, right? You can snatch a few minutes to freshen up while I go find him."

"And what if those 'discontent young men' of his are lurking in the paddy fields?" he asked, already reaching for his pack.

"Yell for help," I answered with a grin. "Or use this." I pulled the gun from my pocket and tossed it onto the table. He stared down at its menacing lines for a moment before snatching it up to check it over. "You won't need to, though. No-one in this village is going to hurt you," I told him firmly. "Not unless you do something to seriously upset them first."

"You sound pretty sure about that, Sam." He flipped the cartridge chamber closed and spun it round with a practised hand.

"I am sure," I insisted softly. "There are a few advantages to being dead, you know."

Feeling the whisper of emotions that surrounded me, the pattern of life that was no longer mine.

Yun Shi's young men might be discontent. But I knew they weren't murderous. And besides - Ziggy's predictions gave Carl Schuster another twenty four hours.

Ziggy's been known to be wrong, that little voice at the back of my mind reminded me sarcastically. I ignored it.

Al had looked up sharply at my words, but his frown was an affectionate one. "Sure there are," he growled. He tucked the gun into his belt with the casual confidence of a man who'd been handling that kind of menace for most of his life, and paused to study me thoughtfully. "Sam," he said. "When you find the old man, be persuasive, willya? We're working to a deadline here."

"I know," I answered. "See you up at the shrine in about half an hour?"

He nodded, snatching up Schuster's pack and heading for the doorway. As he reached to lift the curtain aside he hesitated and looked back. "Be careful, kid," he advised softly, then grinned. "It's a jungle out there..."

I waved him away with a disparaging hand, trying not to chuckle and failing miserably. There have been times when I've found Al's glib attitude and smart remarks to be extremely irritating. It's streetwise banter, honed by his years in the military and full of earthy irreverence, suspect humour, and sometimes plain bad taste. But it's part of him, defensive weaponry he employs with typical style.

And I found the joke reassuring; it's the times he gets really serious that I start to worry...

Yun Shi wasn't lurking in the hooch, although his grandson was, a young presence curled into ambitious dreams. I left him to sleep and went out into the mist, casting around for some sense of the old man in among the heady miasma of soul that was Lao Fe.

How did McFarlane cope in New York? I wondered, dizzied by the impact of life that lay around me. There couldn't be more than fifty or sixty souls within the village, yet the presence of even that small number would be overwhelming if I let it.

Practice, I guess.

I was getting used to the hunger by now. Not accepting of it - never that - but used to it, a background of need I could acknowledge and make myself ignore.

At least until it grew too strong to disregard.

The headman's house was perched above a piece of roughly paved level ground, the nearest thing the village had to a public square. The wall of the shrine rose on one side of it, overshadowed by the mountain. On the other a narrow track cut its way through the upper line of houses, heading for the terraced fields and the lower end of the valley. I could see an early-rising farmer loading up a handcart as I emerged onto the veranda, but all trace of my friend had already been swallowed by the haze.

I stalked down the rickety stairs and across the open space, catching an elusive trace of my quarry as I did so. Predator's instincts directed my steps, turning me away from the farmer and toward the shrine. I strolled down the twist of path that led from the secular square to the spiritual heart of the village, and found myself facing an unexpected - if somewhat faded - magnificence.

I'd not paid the place too much attention the evening before, focused as I had been on the villagers and their reception of us. Now I took the time to pause and study the ancient building that loomed out of the mist in front of me.

It had been there a long time, mellowing into the landscape, the carvings on its outer surface reduced by the impact of wind and rain. Part of it showed signs of ruin - the evidence of a much larger structure jutted out on one side, little more than a broken line of wall, the tumble of stone and a fallen pillar. What remained was a squat certainty, ornate and alight with colour, a well-tended relic that spoke eloquently of past glories.

The shallow flight of steps that led up to it was a gleam of white polished marble, bowed and worn by the passage of countless feet. The pillars that spaced along its ornate frontage were each carved with an intricate pattern that mesmerised the eye, and at their apexes blossoming lotus buds supported the gilded roof.

Soft smoke drifted from the interior, mingling with the morning mist; I climbed the steps with caution, wondering if I walked on sacred ground and whether that mattered to the demon I had become. No sense of rejection assailed me, no unseen barrier rose to bar my progress, so I found myself stepping easily from the sharpness of the haze-filled air into the richly weighted atmosphere of worship.

Incense spiralled from what seemed to be a thousand places, from carved niches and sand-filled braziers, from the hands of ornate statues and the flower-strewn surfaces of offering trays. It hung in the air, and was soaked into the stone, and it caressed the golden face of the Buddha that sat in serene contemplation at the very centre of the shrine.

"Come in, be welcome," Yun Shi's voice quavered from the depths of the smoke. I crossed the threshold carefully, stepping from plain polished stone to the surface of a painstaking mosaic. White lotus flowers intertwined with green leaves were set into a floor of turquoise and gold; the workmanship was impressive and totally unlike the rough construction of the rest of the village.

I doffed my cap almost without thinking about it, glancing around the interior with a combination of awe and curiosity. Every inch of every surface was carved and painted, and the statues wore real jewellery and garlands of flowers which were draped abundantly around every wrist and neck. Only the Buddha scorned decoration. He sat in meditative silence, a simple carving overlaid with a sheen of gold.

How would it be, I wondered, to possess such peace of mind?

"All men seek something," the old man's voice said with quiet amusement, "but only the very few find enlightenment. What is it you seek, Mr Frazel?"

I turned out of politeness, knowing exactly where he was. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor to the Buddha's right, a wizened guardian among the painted images.

"At the moment?" I queried lightly, not wanting to face the deeper answer to that question. "I was looking for you."

His face split into a delighted grin.

"Then you must find a new purpose," he chuckled. "Because the old one is fulfilled. Come - sit down. Be at peace for a moment."

If only I could...

I picked a spot a polite distance away, folding myself to the floor, conscious of his eyes on me as I did so. The space between us was the least I felt I could risk, yet it yawned in my perceptions like the gulf it truly was.

The space between the living and the dead...

"You are alone," Yun Shi noted with a note of concern.

"Yes," I agreed warily. "My friend went down to the river. To freshen up a little."

"Ah," he registered. "A practical man, your friend."

I nodded, just as warily, and he laughed.

"But still a dreamer, yes? Only dreamers come to Lao Fe now. Dreamers and driven men. Which are you, I wonder?"

I smiled politely at his amusement, and shivered, deep inside myself. "I don't know," I answered as lightly as I could. "Does it matter?"

"It matters." He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then seemed to come to some kind of decision. "You want me to take you to the Goddess, don't you." A statement, not a question. "I could. But I don't know if I should..." He reached down beside him and picked up a bundle of dark red sticks which he started to shuffle between his hands. "We will ask the ghosts what paths might await you. They can decide."

Ask the ghosts...?

I frowned at him, wondering what he meant. Up until my last Leap, I'd probably have assumed he was just a little crazy. But after McFarlane, I was no longer so certain about the nature of the world and the things that inhabited it. For all I knew, Yun Shi might be speaking literally.

"There was a time," his cracked voice considered, assuming the sing-song lilt of a storyteller, "when this place was filled with the worship and the wisdom of many men. Pilgrims would pause here and offer sacrifice and prayer, seeking audience with the Goddess in her sanctuary."

He was counting out the sticks, choosing some and discarding others for no obvious reason. Those that he picked he placed in front of him with deliberated care.

"The monks would come down from the mountain and pick those most worthy to ascend. They walked the inner ways. The chosen ones had to climb the outer stairs."

He began to assemble a second row of sticks, and I watched with fascination, almost mesmerised by the rhythmical movement of his hands and the soft quaver of his voice. What he had to say was as intriguing as what he was doing and I tried to focus on both at once, becoming totally absorbed in the process.

He spoke of the temple and how it had been known for dispensing wisdom and the healing of the sick, and of how the monks had zealously guarded their secrets, building the maze so that no-one could reach the sacred places without a guide and never allowing any but the chosen few to ascend the paths that lay within the mountain. He spoke of miracles; of men near death restored to health, of barren women blessed with many children, the dumb made to speak, the blind made to see. Then he spoke of covetous warlords; of greed and ambition, and the desire for power; of a night when swords and bloodshed had replaced the incense smoke and the prayers of the pious.

The temple, he said, had been sacked, stripped of many of its treasures, and the monks had fled into their secret passages, never to emerge again.

"Never?" I asked, cautiously risking the interruption. He laid down one more stick before he looked up at me.

"Never," he confirmed softly. "Not alive, anyway. Old ghosts," he added with a cackle. "They haunt their refuge, still guarding their greatest secret. Only the dead can walk that way now." His head bobbed toward the back of the shrine and I glanced in the direction he'd indicated. Hidden behind the ornate bulk of a multi-limbed statue at the back of the building was the vague outline of a door.

"That's a way up to the temple, isn't it?" I realised. "Is that the route you take?"

Yun Shi gave me a superior stare. "Do I look like a fool?" he enquired archly. "I am old, but I do not wish to die just yet. Only the dead can pass that door. I just told you that."

"Right," I acknowledged warily. The old monks' tunnels would be an easy way to reach the heart of their maze without risking the pitfalls of the outer ruins, but, from the sound of it, it wasn't a path that the average treasure seeker might comfortably take. Superstition can be a fiercer guardian than many a lock or the threat of physical danger.

Only the dead...

A stricture which - strictly speaking - no longer excluded me.

"Choose three," the headman demanded suddenly. I looked away from the concealed door and down at the pattern of sticks he had constructed. They were spaced into a number of distinct groupings, some complex, others consisting of only two or three pieces of the narrow cane. I could make little sense of the layout, and even less of its significance.

"Does it matter which three?" I asked, and he wheezed a soft laugh of amusement.

"Of course it does," he chuckled. "That's the point of the question."

"Oh." I finally understood. He was trying to tell my fortune. As if I had one left to tell. I pointed to three of the groups at random and he reached down and swept all the rest away.

"Good," he decided, looking at my choices carefully. "Not so good," he added a moment later, cocking his head to one side to study me thoughtfully. "And - interesting," he concluded, picking up the nearest bundle of sticks.

"You are centred at a point of change," he intoned, extracting each piece from his left hand and reading the marks it carried before throwing it down among the discards. "Time is your ally. And also your enemy." This combination confused him. He frowned at the offending stick, then shrugged and carried on. "You lack faith in yourself. You lack faith in higher powers. But you have angels watching over you."

Yeah, I grimaced to myself. Sure...

The second bundle was more numerous. He picked that up and read its messages in the same manner.

"You carry a heavy burden. You carry a greater destiny. Difficult choices lie ahead of you; you must trust to your heart to make the right ones." He paused to consider the sticks still in his hand with a wary frown. "One of these, or all of these?" he murmured, to himself rather than to me. The frown deepened. "Adversity," he identified, laying that stick back between us. "Betrayal. Anger. Sacrifice. Justice.

"And Death..."

He placed the final stick down with a shaky hand, looking up at me with a bleak expression.

He really believes in this stuff...

The look in his eyes shook me a little. This was just mumbo-jumbo, right? Random patterns offering trite missives which could be interpreted to mean anything. No-one could read the future.

Only - I already knew it.

Didn't I?

"Anyone - in particular?" I asked, pointing at the relevant stick, trying to sound as if I didn't believe a word he was saying.

"Yours," he answered reluctantly and I relaxed with inner relief.

It is just mumbo-jumbo. How can any choice I make now result in my death?

I'm already dead.

"Well," I quipped off-handedly. "Comes to us all, doesn't it?"

Yun Shi nodded slowly. Maybe he was reading more into the sticks than he was telling me; his face had taken on haunted lines.

Perhaps even fearful ones.

"There's another bunch to go yet," I reminded him, waving my hand at the last group of crimson sticks. He scooped them up reluctantly, turning them over in his hand, and his worried look turned into total confusion.

"This makes no sense," he complained. "Here is your birth - in the future."

Actually, that made more sense than any of the rest of it. I shrugged. "Maybe that's my next life," I suggested. He didn't look convinced.

"Perhaps. The rest of this is muddled. The acceptance of karma. A gift. The restoration of balance... I can make no sense of them at all.

"And as for this-" He lifted the last two sticks and jabbed them at me with exasperation. "No man has two destinies. It's not possible. The ghosts are laughing at us. This one-" He slammed the stick down with force, "-promises a long life and future happiness. And this-" The second stick, slammed even harder, "-speaks of a hard journey and the reaping of heaven's rewards at its end. Nonsense. Which means," he growled, sweeping the entire bundle of sticks back together, "that this pattern can never be right." He straightened up and glared at me. "So I will not take you to the Goddess. She doesn't want you. The ghosts don't want you. I don't want you." His eyes dropped briefly to the crimson bundle and his lips tightened, much as any old man might if he felt he'd been taken for a fool. "Come back when you're dead," he decided sharply. "When you meet this pattern."

I stared at him. His words were dismissal. Angry dismissal. And as Steven Frazel I had no way to argue against them.

Even if Sam Beckett already fulfilled his first condition...

I tried anyway.

Started to. I opened my mouth to protest, fighting down the soft urging of the demon that murmured how easy it would be to command his obedience, and the unmistakable sound of one of Ziggy's translocations registered somewhere to my right. I turned my head without thinking - earning myself a deeper frown from the old man - and found Gushie peering out from inside the Buddha, a distraught expression on his face.

"D-d-doctor Beckett? You've got to do something! I've been looking for you everywhere! Ziggy can't lock in on your signal. You haven't got a signal. Oh, god...." His stuttered words ran out of breath, and he paused to take a couple of desperate gulps of air. "You've got to help the Admiral," he managed in short, sharp bursts. "I-I think they're going to kill him..."

The sudden sound rang out with authoritative insistence; the staccato pattern of an early semi-automatic, ringing its menacing defiance into the air. A call to arms, a call for surrender - the announcement of a conqueror arriving in his new domain. Yun Shi had watched with confusion as I reacted to Gushie's arrival, but the noise of the gun turned both our expressions into anxious alarm.

"Lascale's party came up the road from Kun Lai early this morning," the hologram was explaining, scurrying to join me as I clambered to my feet and crossed the mosaic floor toward the open air. "He didn't bring French constables, he brought a bunch of mercenaries, and they must have been scouting out the village prior to announcing their arrival. The Admiral ran into two of them on his way back from the river, and they grabbed him and took him to Lascale, and he went crazy and started screaming at him in French, and-"

I was only half-listening, picking out what seemed to be the vital information from among the man's frantic and harried tones. It was a short walk to the shrine's entrance, and I began a cautious lope that took me down the shallow steps and partway up the path beyond. Ahead of me - around me - villagers were streaming toward the village square in a mutter of confusion and alarm, their presence an unexpected flurry of vitality that sent my senses swooning.

I paused in the shadow of the nearest hut, letting the sensation of life flow past me with dizzying speed.

Oh, god...

The mist had vanished. Daylight had come to Lao Fe. And I'd walked out into it without a moment's hesitation.

How long had we been talking?

I hadn't noticed the passage of time, and I should have done so. Should have registered Al's failure to keep his promised appointment.

How long do I have before the day catches up with me?
I didn't know. All I knew was the swirl of sweet fire that brushed past me, and the inevitable desire that rose to meet it. I fought for control, clinging to a wooden pole in the concealment of the building's shadow.

"-so when the Admiral insisted he hadn't found the way up to the temple, this guy Lascale got angry again, and hit him and screamed at him, and I came to find you, and I really think he's angry enough to kill him if he doesn't tell him what he wants to hear, and he can't because you only got here last night, and Ziggy's giving it odds of 80% that it's Lascale that's going to murder Schuster and - Doctor Beckett, are you all right?"

"No," I managed to gasp, staggering forward a little in the wake of the crowd, trying to see what might be happening. Trying to focus my thoughts and my attentions.

With very little success.

The villagers had gathered in a wary huddle at the edges of the open space, creating a ribbon of enticement that flickered through my reeling perceptions, and above its inundation I sensed Yun Shi's angry spirit pass my shadowed refuge.

At the heart of the square another kind of fire burned; cold, contemptuous and superior in its confidence. A group of armed men, maybe half a dozen of them, were driving back the villagers with sneers and gestures, allowing their leader to adopt a commanding position on the steps to the elder's hooch. Lascale was too far away for me to read him, his presence swamped by the sheer numbers that swarmed around me, but - despite my disorientation - I still caught the clear whisper of my friend's life as I sought him out among the crowd.

Al...?

I found another pole to clutch; like a drowning man dragged at by an ocean of need, I clung to its support and fought for self control.

"Attention!" The word rang out across the morning air, cutting through the muttering of the confused villagers. "This village is now under martial law. There are those amongst you harbouring and aiding the enemies of France, and until they are delivered up to me and your loyalty proved beyond question, you will all be considered guilty of the crime."

The French was clipped and succinct. Most of the villagers probably had no idea of what was being said to them, but they understood the menace of the guns well enough.

"Dr Beckett-" Gushie's voice was an insistent nuisance that wouldn't go away. "The Admiral's over there-"

I looked. Below the arrogant stance of the arriving warlord, two of his men were scuffling with a third figure; one that struggled belligerently until he succeeded in pulling free from their grip. He surged forward, tumbled off balance and sprawled at the conqueror's feet by the impetus of his hard-won release. The villagers let out a collective gasp, and Al - whose first reaction was to curse and start to clamber upright again - froze in reactive startlement.

No, I wanted to yell, only I had no strength to spare for it. The villagers aren't the enemy here...

His hesitation proved his undoing; had he scrambled to his feet and made a break for it, he might well have made it. Most of the mercenaries were preoccupied by the need to control the crowd, and Yun Shi's progress through his people was drawing their attention. But the moment - the memory - held him rooted to the spot. Just long enough for one of the two lackeys to close in pursuit; a hand caught at his shoulder, spinning him back and round, and then the bundled fist that followed impacted with angered violence.

A violence against which no man could defend himself - not with both hands tied behind his back...

I heard Gushie react with horror, and my own hands clenched involuntarily. The wood beneath them splintered and cracked, disintegrating into fragments as the unnatural strength that drove my undead soul responded to the demands of sudden fury.

Bastards!

The blow knocked its victim back to the ground. It was followed by a vicious kick that spasmed its recipient in an arch of pain.

"Dr Beckett!" Gushie was demanding somewhat desperately. "Do something!"

Do what? I was awash with conflicting impulses, and the anger that had surged up inside me terrified me. The beast was howling, demanding to be set free, and I couldn't risk that, not here, where men with guns would fire without thought for the crowd, where death would simply add to the demon's fervour. Even so I took a half-step forward, blindly, driven by instinct-

- and instinct slammed me to a halt just as certainly, just as inevitably as Al's had done only a moment before.

Oh, my god...

Stark sunlight lay in my path, and I could no more walk into it than any other man could walk into a wall of fire.

The second mercenary had joined his companion; he hauled their captive back to his knees, and held him there, giving the initial assailant another chance to land a deliberated blow. Gushie threw me an anguished look, although it was nothing to the one I found myself staring at across the distance.

Al had lifted his dazed head to glare defiance at his abusers - and had caught sight of me watching him from behind the crowd of villagers.

What did he think, in that disorientated instant? Staring at my distraught expression, seeing it among the impassive faces of a people that absent memory demanded he hate and fear?

Immersed in a nightmare from which he could no longer wake...?
I stepped forward in reaction, driven by anger and blind concern; stepped straight into the sunlight that awaited me. My skin ignited at its touch, an acid fire that etched into my soul.

As if the napalm that the future threatened had suddenly rained down around me.

I jerked to a halt, then staggered back with a gasp of agony, staring down at my hands, expecting to see the flesh seared from my bones. My skin seemed untouched, but the pain wouldn't go away.

I lifted my head in anguished confusion; across the square another blow found its mark, then another. My fists curled in helpless fury. Maybe if I... The thought was an effort. Too much of an effort.

This situation demanded reason. Demanded diplomacy.

And I wasn't capable of either, right there and then. The day was catching up with me. Even if I could survive the impact of the light, even if I could cross that distance, what help would I be? I would be savaged by the sun, my self and perception dragged away by the onslaught of day. I'd lose myself in the howl of the demon, screaming and savage, only to fall at the conqueror's feet, bound by the limits of my unnatural existence.

They'd find me to be dead.

Nothing more than a cold corpse.

They might even decide to bury me.

The spectre of waking - if I could wake after such a futile sacrifice - immured in the weight of the earth, chained by clay and choked with dirt, sent a shiver of horror right through me. I couldn't do this.

But then I could hardly abandon my friend to an undeserved fate, either.

Could I?

Out in the square Yun Shi was arguing with one of the armed men, gesturing towards Lascale with angry movements. The crowd were still staring, their faces betraying nothing of their thoughts; underneath, their hearts boiled with resentment, with unspoken anger...

And a heavy blow struck home again, delivering pain, setting the beast in my soul howling with impotent rage.

I'm sorry, Al. I'm sorry. I'd help you if I could, but I can't. I can't. Not now...

The pattern Yun Shi had woven had spoken of hard choices.

Of betrayal.

But I had no choice. I had to get away. Had to seek a sanctuary in which to escape the day, had to find a place to hide. The urgency of that need clawed at me.

Somewhere in the jungle, perhaps...

I took off with desperate determination, hugging the shadowed edges of the square and pushing my way through the startled villagers, heedless of the fire that stirred the hunger as I did so. I knew my actions would draw attention, but I couldn't help that. I had so little time left.

The sun was still rising above the valley.

I would have no defence against the onslaught of its light.

But - god - it hurt so much to have to run away...

Voices clamoured for my attention, shouts rising behind me with sharp notes of command. I ignored them. I couldn't look back. Didn't want to look back.

Didn't want to see the face of my friend as I abandoned him to his fate...

I'll come back, I promised myself as I sped down the rough-cut steps. I swear I'll come back. Tonight. As soon as I can...

I scrambled down the slope in haste, hearing the sounds of pursuit on my heels. The ravine ahead of me was still in the mountain's shadow, and once over the bridge I knew could vanish into the safety of the jungle.

"Dr Beckett, where are you going? You can't-"

I ignored Gushie's confusion, just as I ignored the imperious calls for me to stop. I was running through a world of distant imagery, nothing around me totally real, everything impossibly sharp. I lengthened my stride without thinking about it, calling on the gifts McFarlane had given me, and the rope that made up the length of the bridge swayed under my weight as I ran. Only a fool - or a vampire - would choose to cross at such a speed, but it opened the distance between me and those in pursuit. The jungle beckoned me. Just a few more feet...

There was a shot.

A single staccato crack, released to reverberate in the gorge like the thunder of heaven.

And pain tore me apart, ripped through me, through my spine, through my lungs, savaging through my chest and blossoming from my throat with a scream of anguish and rage. The impact of the bullet lifted me up and forward, wrenching me from the slender support of the rope, twisting me in a spasm of agony from which there was no escape.

Oh, god!

I fell.

Inelegantly.

A descent of ungainly flesh, tangling in the restraint of supporting ropes before weight and impetus pulled me free. I had no strength to fight my fall. I was lost in the searing torment that made up my existence, in the agony of a heart torn to pieces, of splintered lungs and shattered spine. Like an abandoned doll, my limbs twisted, my body broken, I tumbled and spun down into the waiting chasm.

Screaming.

Howling.

Wanting to do nothing but die ...

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Lost Souls in the Hunting Ground. Part Two. Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Donald P Bellasario, Bellasarius Productions, or any other holders of Quantum Leap trademarks or copyrights.
© 1996 by AAA Press. Written and reproduced by Penelope Hill. Artwork by Joan Jobson