Special thanks to CajunBear73, Wolvmbm, Josh84, KPRS shipper, whitem, Joe Stoppinghem, RonHeartbreaker, MrDrP, and PegasusJF for their badical reviews!
Humble thanks to everyone who voted for my stories and characters for the Fannie Awards. Although I will not be attending the ceremony myself, Mariko will be attending in my stead in the able care of qtpie235. I hope you'll enjoy what they have planned. :)
Once again I must apologize for the extreme delay in my updating. Even with the extra day in February, there was just not enough time with working, repairing cars, and passing kidney stones to get this chapter completed in a more reasonable amount of time. I am sincerely grateful to everyone who has waited.
And, of course, my warmest thanks to flakeflippingsnowgypsy for her editing craft and patience on this chapter.
I.
The darkness that enveloped Kim Possible seemed absolute, infinite.
Apart from the warm, prickly feeling of the tears running down her cheeks, she could only sense that she was standing upon a flat surface. Her staccato breaths were all her ears could detect in the void.
No matter where she turned, emptiness stretched out before her.
She took a consoling breath and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness; she kept time by counting the beats in her temples. After reaching three hundred, she stopped.
Her sight wasn't any better, and she realized it wasn't going to get any better.
She closed her eyes. Opening and closing them once more, she could detect no discernible difference. The blackness seemed limitless. All of Kim's memories could never hope to fill even a small corner of it.
Amp down. Amp down. You can figure this out, Possible. It CAN'T be as bad as it seems.
She tentatively extended her right hand before her, and, an eternity of seconds later, it came into contact with something. It felt very strange, gossamer-like. Her fingers easily slipped through empty spaces upon its surface.
Ooookay. What's on my left?
Leaving her right hand where it was, she extended her left arm to what she judged to be the same distance and felt nothing. A little further out, still nothing. Slowly moving her arm a few feet further to the left, it finally came into contact with a hard surface. The texture of this second object was funny--similar to the first, but not exactly. At least this object seemed completely solid.
She slowly swung her left arm back; it sailed through empty space until it made contact with the same strange substance that her right hand was still clutching. Kim set her hands free, took a breath, and proceeded to step into the clear middle space.
She fell so quickly that it didn't even occur to her to scream until after she landed.
The after-rush of vertigo overlapped the biting pain. She had no idea how far she had plummeted or what the sharp and blunt objects she had landed upon were. But the suddenness, the agony, and even the shame of her fall shattered the tenuous hold Kim had desperately been trying to maintain over her emotions.
"No! No! No!"
She thrashed her limps in futile rage and screamed as violently as she could. Her body came into contact with all manner of unseen objects that she thrust herself against again and again. The twisted sense of release the aches from the numerous injuries gave her was even shorter-lived than the injuries themselves. Much like her first day in Mariko's cell months earlier, Kim was trapped in a miasma of utter misery. Sobs burned her throat as her nose streamed across her face.
"Why? Why!"
Long after her voice could only croak out hoarse whispers, Kim continued to beat her fists and pound her legs against the tortuous objects that surrounded her yet refused to either yield to her blows or give her reprieve from her thoughts. Finally, she collapsed, exhausted. Since the luxury of unconsciousness was not available to her, Kim could only lie listlessly as the numerous, ebbing pains ran across and within her body. She felt as if she were on fire, a fire whose flames were dying out far too slolwy.
Kim couldn't have cared less if she was being consumed by the black flames of Oblivion. Memory was the only true torture; the memory of how she had failed her two best friends.
II.
When Kim saw them, she wasn't sure her eyes were open. Not at first.
She blinked and, yes, they--they were really there. Objectively, from their distance to her person, they closely resembled stars. Subjectively, however, they reminded her of something else.
Sleepy bugs?
The muscles in her arms and legs involuntarily relaxed at this thought. A dim glimmer of hope--the mere suspicion that she could be tired and somehow fall asleep--proved to be powerfully consoling.
However, they were twinkling, and "sleepy bugs" didn't twinkle. They were also white and silver, flickering between these two colors. "Sleepy bugs" were always blue, green, and yellow.
There had only been two at first, but within moments there were easily two dozen. As they came closer, she could no longer confuse them with "sleepy bugs" or stars. They were more like snowflakes now. Fat, wet snowflakes. For an instant, Kim was reminded of the ending to that story she had read for English class only weeks before she died. She gently shook the memory aside.
They were spiraling out from a central point far, far above her. The sight reminded her of photographs of galaxies hanging in her father's den. The objects at the very top were only pinpricks of light while those further down the empty cone of void seemed to fluctuate between being stars and ice crystals. The first few that she had seen, now only yards above her, had a veined texture to them, like feathers or leaves.
No. Blossoms. Lotus blossoms.
Hirotaka's ominous words from the spire rudely echoed in her memory. However, Kim was able to toss the assassin's cryptic pronouncement aside as the objects came into clearer view. They were not blossoms but solitary petals. More importantly, they were not falling but gracefully sailing down through the darkness toward her.
They reminded her of the mysterious blossom she had seen floating in the black pool ... just before Rufus died.
Whereas the blossom's ineffable glow, reflected upon the obsidian waters, had been dying along its petals' edges, the light in these petals was surging. In fact, their light seemed to grow in intensity as they approached her.
They were, in fact, bright enough to light a room.
And Kim was inside a room. The disjointed shadows and boundaries of the cavernous room fluttered into being as the petals softly came to rest, perching upon edges and corners within its cluttered space. Although the strangeness of the chamber was pronounced, her initial emotion to the room's discovery was one of gleeful, shuddering relief.
She hugged her shoulders, now completely bereft of pain, and dragged her top teeth against her trembling bottom lip. She was not in Oblivion; her second lifetime wasn't over, not yet, not yet.
Thank you, thank you.
Shakily, she gained her feet and stared at her surroundings that, with each successive petal's landing, became more focused, stark, and bizarre. The source of the strange sensation she had first felt was quickly resolved. Everything was coated in thick drifts of dust. In addition to the large mound of dusty objects that seemed haphazardly piled where she was standing--in the room's apparent center, dust also gathered in gray dunes along the edges of the room … or, of the small cave.
It was a roughly-hewn cavern, a room carved and chiseled from the heart of a mountain. Wade relaying the school's founder's method of construction came to Kim's mind. This memory was followed by a sharp, funny sensation across her chest that passed almost as instantaneously as it was felt. She noted no obvious exits. As the final petals glided through the completely still air, however, Kim discovered a violent boundary on the room's far right side.
Slowly, carefully, she strode across the gray desert to get a closer look. As she did, an immense abyss revealed itself. Jagged rocks overlooked a pit so full of darkness that it brought the recent illusion of Oblivion back to her. She shook her head and then peered across the expanse to make out the flickering stone walls on its other side. It seemed unlikely that this room had always been so ... broken in two.
Earthquake, maybe? Still ...
And how did a person normally get into this place? It was quite obvious that no one had been there in a very, very, long time. For some minutes, Kim continued to stare intently at the other side of the chasm for some sign of an egress--a tunnel, a path, remnant of a severed bridge. She saw nothing.
As she turned away, she happened to glance at the room's smooth, domed ceiling far overhead.
"Ah ... so that's how."
The center of the dome was pierced by a large oculus. The oval stone window was perfectly shaped and edged with a slightly raised boundary, so there was no mistaking that it was there for some purpose or design. That one of its designs was to serve as the room's entrance seemed obvious when Kim spied an extremely long, cob-webbed rope ladder dangling from one of its edges. The ladder extended to about five feet above the apex of the mound of dust-coated objects from which Kim had apparently fallen. From the base of the ladder, a spider web branched out into a dust-moted canopy that extended the remaining fifteen feet or so to the floor. Immediately, Kim realized that the web had been the strange object she had first blindly handled when she arrived. This theory seemed proved by the "dust angel" directly below the web.
Must have made that when I … when I lost it.
She looked to the ladder.
Okay, Possible, here we go.
If Kim used the web to reach the ladder, she would be out in no time. As she clambered across the room's somewhat slippery, powdery surfaces, she realized that the oval window must have also been the source for the lotus petals. They must have floated down like ashes in a chimney.
Almost like they were guiding me to the exit.
As she passed a glowing petal upon one of the dunes, she snapped to a halt.
No. That doesn't make sense.
There had to be more to it than that. Whenever she had reappeared, the location had always been important. Surely, she hadn't been placed into the room just to figure out how to leave.
No. I'm meant to do something here.
Kim turned her back on the rope and tried to figure out what was so important about this strange room in which she had been placed. She began by walking toward the nearest petal and inspecting the immediate area to which it threw its light. She then inspected the lighted areas around three more petals.
Within their surging penumbras, Kim could make out bundles of scrolls, vases, the edges of weapons, ornate armor, and thick tomes. Unfortunately, as brilliant as their lights were, the glow from the petals couldn't pierce the layers, the centuries of layers, of dust that seemed to shroud every inch of the room. Twice Kim reflexively tried to brush aside the thick clouds of sediment before futility and frustration settled her back to reality.
As she went between two of the petals on the far left side of the chamber, she noticed the air grow slightly darker. She turned; one of the lotus petals had begun to sputter and dim.
Oh no.
She hurriedly went to the next petal, but she could not discern anything about the ancient sword upon which it was resting because the dust was, of course, much too thick.
The dimming petal went out, and then another one, not ten feet to its left, began to fizzle.
"Oh, this tanks ... this tanks so bad!"
As she tried to control her mounting frustration, Kim momentarily gave into the fruitless temptation of blowing the dust out of her way. And then she remembered the "dust angel" she had seen earlier.
"Waitaminute!"
She raced to the center of the room and verified that the imprint in the dust was indeed real. "Okay, okay," she said as she kicked at the piles of dust and confirmed that she couldn't disturb them, "if I didn't do that, somebody certainly did."
She looked up to the rope hanging motionless from the exit. She could clearly see its fibers beneath a fuzzy, thin layer of dust. "Okay. That hasn't been here for centuries."
She bent down on one knee to see if the room's "recent" visitor had cleared the dust away from anything besides the floor. She slowly pivoted upon her bent knee checking the five foot perimeter around the "angel."
"Booyah!"
There was an obvious hand print upon the handle of a sword a few feet from where she was. She scooted toward it and noticed that objects on either side of the sword seemed to have a thinner layer of dust as well. The spine of a thick book to the sword's right was wiped almost completely clean; however, there were no words upon it.
"Not that I can read Japanese, anyway." she groused.
She stood and did a quick evaluation of the room. At least three more petals had gone out.
She bent back down and tried to follow the "path" that had been cleared by the visitor through the dust from object to object. To the left of the book, there was a small sheathed dagger that looked as if it had been picked up, partially wiped clean, and then replaced not quite where it had originally been. Before the book and the dagger, there were two circular impressions in the dust, as if someone had knelt in the small space between the objects. On a hunch, Kim scooted into the small space so her knees fit, more or less, into the same clearings that the visitors' had made. An overhanging piece of parchment, stretched at a sharp angle from the book to the dagger's original position, created a de facto cubby or compartment. Kim peered into the soft shadows beneath and, in the steady light of a nearby lotus petal, she discovered a clay tablet that would have fit easily into both of her hands. As her eyes ran over the intricate design etched onto its surface, Kim's mouth became as powdery as the air in the darkening chamber.
In the design's upper left corner was the outline of a castle; to the bottom right was a cluster of black-clad figures. If the scene was strongly reminiscent of the mosaic painted within the pagoda's great hall, its resemblance to the one upon the screen in the room at the top of the Keep was even stronger.
However, Kim's breath had seized in her throat because of the differences depicted upon the tablet's surface from those scenes. The group of black figures did not possess anything in their hands, not weapons, not lotus petals, not the Lotus Blade. In addition, they were not advancing across the canvas to the castle. It looked almost as if they were fleeing from it.
But the startling difference lay in the bottom on the far left. Unlike the other illustrations she had seen, the tablet's southwestern corner wasnot empty.
In it, there was a single figure dressed in white, not black. This figure was surrounded by an aura of cobalt blue. Even in the ancient dyes, dulled and faded by untold centuries, this hue still retained a brilliancy that the rest of the picture lacked. The source of the glow was the weapon the figure was brandishing against the ninjas, who were Kim could see, in fact, retreating from him.
And, of course,this weapon was the Lotus Blade.
The notion that crossed Kim's mind at that moment was casually arrived at, yet its implications had a seismic effect upon everything she had assumed about the Yamanouchi School since she had first learned of its existence back in another lifetime.
"Yamanouchi hasn't always been a ninja school." she said, then swallowed to regain her breath. "Maybe ... it was founded for a different purpose."
A so different purpose.
III.
The visitor's footprints sunk deep into the dust. If Kim had to guess, she'd say the individual had trekked through dust that had come up to his or to her ankles. Of course, that had been years ago, maybe a decade, because the attrition of time had already gone a long way toward recoating the small sections of floor that the visitor's steps had briefly laid bare.
Kim was following these footprints in hopes of unlocking any additional secrets the visitor might have stumbled upon. The trail seemed to roughly correspond with the placement of the lotus petals that were still emanating light. After everything that had happened, she could no longer attribute such coincidences to mere chance. Still, with the dimming of the petals in mind, she did not have time to puzzle over their mystery nor the apparent design behind her blackouts and re-appearances. She could only give the enigma a passing but heartfelt recognition.
Thanks.
So she could see as much from the person's perspective as possible, Kim began walking within the footprints. They were slightly larger than Ron's. Her suspicion that the previous visitor had been male seemed confirmed by this fact.
He had taken a circuitous path around the cluttered central space of the room and then meandered toward the chasm. As she followed the trail toward the precipice, Kim anxiously held her breath. Had the visitor been stumbling aimlessly in the dark and then toppled into the abyss? Was she about to see his last steps recorded in the dust?
No. He must have had a light source. Why else would have cleared the dust off that tablet?
The steps approached the edge but, thankfully, backed away and then ran parallel to it. The trail led some twenty feet to a corner of the room Kim had neglected her first time around. It was a shadowy space with two still-glowing petals. The footprints were different now. Kim could sense from how far they were apart and by the directness of their path that their originator had stopped exploring. Walking in his steps, she could feel his sense of purpose echo in her movements.
He must have seen what he had been looking for.
What, at first, had seemed like another disjointed pile of dross was revealed beneath the petals' glow to be a shattered cabinet or multi-tiered chest of some kind. Spilling forth from its open and unhinged doors were flattened, torn, and wadded pieces of parchment--unbound scrolls. Unlike the surrounding rocks, the chest and the scrolls were covered with a slight layer of dust. Kim quickly but methodically checked over the scene.
Everything that she could see in the flickering light--the ripped and discarded writings, the agitated flurry of footprints surrounding the chest--told Kim that things had gone badly once the visitor had reached his goal. Perhaps, he had been unable to find what he had been searching for and thrown a fit.
Or ... maybe ... he just didn't like what he was reading.
Kim hunched down to look through the exposed scrolls. More than once, she caught herself trying dig beneath the first layer to get a close look at those deeper in the pile. And more than once, she berated herself for even trying--(I can't read Japanese, so what would be the point?). Yet, she continued to look, holding out an anxious hope that she might see something--a diagram perhaps or another picture--that might be useful.
Kim was caught completely off guard when the light changed.
She had been intensely preoccupied when it happened, but, more than that, she had been surprised because the light became brighter, not dimmer. After shielding her eyes for a few seconds, she looked in the direction of its source. The petal closest to the chest was surrounded by a throbbing nimbus; it hurt to look at it. As she turned away and blinked her eyes clear, Kim noticed that the lights from the other petals had died out.
Then she realized that wasn't quite right.
No. They're not going out. All their energy is pooling right here.
As she glanced back to the pile of scrolls, she felt drawn to one near the top, lying unfurled just within the petal's light.
For a second, she thought her sight had still not recovered because the Japanese characters on the scroll seemed to be moving. The longer she looked, however, the more exaggerated their dance became. Characters' edges lengthened, branched out, and blurred with those of characters a line above or below. Kim blinked, and the characters looked as it they were growing smaller and their edges were vibrating. Their frenetic movements reminded her of spiders' legs. She blinked again, shook her head.
And the scroll was in English. Or, at least, she could read it as if were written in English.
The jolt Kim suddenly felt running from down her back to the bones of her feet was not caused by this incredible and inexplicable transformation. Rather, the feeling took possession of Kim as her eyes fell upon words that Sensei had uttered in the amphitheater. Two words that she could not define.
Lotus child.
IV.
Her eyes quickly ran over the lines that preceded the critical phrase. Then she reread them slowly. And then she read them a third time, to make sure she hadn't missed anything.
She hadn't.
Snap.
The lines only referenced the "lotus child" as being "another myth" that could "now be discarded to the heap of alarmist apocrypha." But there was nothing said, no clue given, as to what it was a myth of.
Kim brushed aside this disappointment and continued reading down the scroll.
The focus of the ancient text concerned the marking of an important milestone in the Yamanouchi School's history. However, the writing was circuitous and allusive, and it was several anxious moments in the noticeably dimming light before she pinned down exactly what this benchmark was.
A century had passed since ninjustu instruction had been introduced at the Yamanouchi School.
And during that period, the handful of courses had stayed rudimentary in nature and tertiary to the institute's main curriculum. The document listed the many attributes of holding classes "concerning such desultory practices" within a school founded upon "the heroic code of Toshimiru." Chief among these virtues was the ability for "the agents of Good" to learn the "faults, weaknesses, and pressure points of 'Darkness.'"
The scroll detailed the arguments that had been raised against the "Darkness" gaining access within the school's walls. One of the chief objections had been raised by Sensei Ningyo, the last scion of the House of Toshimiru and a possessor of Mystical Monkey Power. Although he acknowledged that ninjustu training would greatly assist graduates in confronting the assassins and even in preventing their foul acts, he warned these benefits did not outweigh the threat of contagion such "dark" courses brought to his ancestors' school.
Kim paused. She had no doubt where the story was headed; she was, of course, a walking validation for Ningyo's fears from so many centuries ago. The light from the last petal pulsed, grew dimmer. Kim read on.
A compromise had been reached. The doctrine of the assassin would be taught, but with key omissions. Foremost amongst the ninja traditions to be excised were those of their Initiation and their Final.
Kim read the words "Initiation" and "Final" aloud. As the syllables ricocheted among the darkened corners of the chamber, she involuntarily hugged her arms close to her chest.
Sensei Ningyo had been insistent on this point. His outrage for the traditions was unmistakable. The training of ninjustu could not begin until a pupil was initiated to physical agony and emotional defeat in a 'ceremony' that amounted to little more than a brutal, ritualized beating of the student. This proved, as far as Ningyo was concerned, the inherently vile and despicable nature of such training.
Kim remembered Hirotaka's words from the amphitheater. And although they suggested such a horrible experience was still many years in the future for Mariko, the fact that such abuse was planned, was scheduled for the little girl made Kim angry to the point of nausea. Ron could not suspect that such a hideous practice existed. Like the Kappa Warriors, the legion of monkey idols, and the Mandrill, Kim knew the Initiation was an "Honor" being kept hidden from the Chosen One.
Then a flash of Rina trading blows with her instructor as Kim had run toward Mariko beneath that tree shot across her mind. Had the young girl recently gone through this horrible ritual? In the steadily lengthening shadows of the chamber, Kim's heart went out to Rina. Her chest stung for the irretrievable loss of the girl's innocence and the pain she must have suffered.
Students of ninjustu, Kim wearily read on, had an exam to pass in order to attain the rank of a true Ninja. This Final was the selection of a target for assassination and then the successful completion of that person's murder.
With ghastly simplicity, it all became clear. She had been Yori's Final and Monkey Fist had been Ron's. Kim fiercely brushed her eyes clear after only a moment.
If I have to carry you to all the way to Middleton myself, none of this is going to happen to you, sweetheart!
The gathering darkness drew Kim's ragged attention back to the scroll. To read the last lines, she had to kneel on the floor.
Before his death at the age of one hundred and thirty, Sensei Ningyo had dismissed his earlier doubts on the subject of ninjustu contagion. The courses taught at Yamanouchi had been, he affirmed, sufficiently "diluted of their dark content."
As Kim read over the self-assured words penned by a long-dead scribe, she plainly saw the unwritten, tragic story of the intervening centuries. It was sadly apparent to her how this scroll, the chest it had been sealed within, and the other forgotten objects of the forsaken Yamanouchi School had come to be entombed beneath layers of dust at the bottom of the mountain.
As her eyes passed over the recorded final words of the great Ningyo, the light from the remaining lotus petal ebbed until it was not much more than a fading ember. Sensei Ningyo proclaimed confidence that his ancestor's school and glorious heritage had remained "unsullied" by such close association with "the vile artistry of assassination." "This has neither sowed nor will it ever reap," he concluded, "any loss of honor."
Kim closed her eyes resignedly upon reading this final word.
The light from the last petal in the chamber died.
V.
"A month? Honor no longer heeds Time, Sensei."
The unexpectedness of Hirotaka's bristling voice startled Kim.
"Time must now bow to It," the ninja concluded in his less-than-reserved tone.
The suite Kim found herself in was unlike any place she had been since returning to Yamanouchi. The king-sized canopied bed that swallowed up half its floor space, the towering electric lamp humming in a corner, and, yes, the central air/heat vent just above the ornate wainscoting all gave off a most definite Western vibe. The room's walls were hidden by curtains of the same bloody hue as those in the pagoda's great hall. The sheets and the fabric of the canopy, too. However, what cultural differences that existed were overshadowed by the decadent veneer everything held--especially when Kim mentally compared her new surroundings to Ron and Mariko's sparse cells.
She would have guessed that she had been transported to something much like Bonnie Rockwaller's boudoir if it had not been for the assassin and his master standing only a few feet behind her. And the monkey idols. Aligned against the wall opposite the bed were golden simian figures of various heights and degrees of ostentation.
And then there was something else about the room. Something odd that Kim couldn't put her finger on.
"Yabuki-san, may I have the honor of speaking?" Sensei sighed.
Hirotaka gave his master a perfunctory bow.
Although his disciple had been speaking rather boldly, the old man's countenance did not reflect indignation or anger. In fact, it betrayed nothing. His head slightly bowed and his eyes closed, Sensei looked as if he were weighing some delicate issue, patiently examining each aspect of a challenging problem so as not to make too hasty a decision.
After watching him hold this pose for some time, however, Kim began to wonder if the old man hadn't actually fallen asleep.
"Inform Stoppable-san," Sensei said finally without moving, "that Fukushima is rallying the Monkey Ninjas once more."
Kim had no idea what was going on, how much time had passed since she had been in the underground chamber, or even where this room was exactly. Nor did she recognize the name Sensei had dropped. However, of one thing she was certain: the old man was lying. And this lie would somehow mean trouble for Ron.
"It shall be done." This time, Hirotaka's voice flowed with easy reverence. The ninja bowed, but with a fraction of hesitation.
"Yes?" the old man asked, cocking open his right eye.
"Sensei," Hirotaka began seriously, "will tracking and defeating a weak and cowardly deserter be enough to guaranty the Chosen One's loyalty?"
"Perhaps not, Yabuki-san," Sensei admitted swiftly, "but hunting down and killing one shall."
"What?!" Kim cried.
"Sensei," the ninja objected, "The Chosen One will not kill Fukushima. Stoppable-san only held that honor with Lord Fisk."
The relief the sudden revelation that Ron had not become, as she had often been too afraid to wonder, a serial-assassin for Yamanouchi had only begun to pool within Kim's chest when Sensei shattered the calm of the moment.
"If he believes he is avenging his wife, Stoppable-san will have no difficulty knowing that honor again."
The color immediately drained from Hirotaka's face.
"No!" Kim shouted at Sensei. "You bastard!"
Hirotaka's mouth opened quickly but then closed without making a sound.
"If Time must bow to Honor," Sensei chided, "why not Truth?"
"Sensei," Hirotaka began coldly.
"Yabuki-san," Sensei reasoned, "would you rather you sister's death remain a tragic accident or that it play a pivotal, honorable role in our ultimate triumph?"
As Hirotaka silently weighed the merits of twisting the facts of his sister's death to aid in the noble cause of manipulating her widower into murdering an innocent person, it was all Kim could do to keep from pummeling him and his master.
She raised her fists within inches of their imperturbable faces and then helplessly dropped her hands. There was no keening; only her broken sobs and the humming of the lamp filled the room. Kim retreated to a corner, shuddering with rage and mounting despair.
No. I can't let it happen again. No. No.
Kim futilely punched the curtains. As she wiped at her face, she absently noticed an unassuming, yet very familiar idol sitting upon an onyx stand next to the bed. It was the one without a head, and it looked very much the same as it had perched on a top row of the amphitheater.
Except, of course, it now had a head lying on the stand a few inches to its left.
While despair and anger still swirled in her chest, dread crowded her mind. She recalled the words Hirotaka and Sensei had spoken in reference to the "Simia" and their ominous allusions to its missing head. Again, she futilely tried to piece together the meaning behind the mystery.
Why haven't they put it together?
Her heart flashed, and rage momentarily disrupted her thoughts.
Oh, who cares?!
She spun angrily around and saw Hirotaka acquiescing to his master's plan with a deep bow.
Sensei favored his acolyte with a slight bow, but lost his poise when a violent cough erupted from his throat. He quickly rubbed the web of spittle that stretched from his lips to his right fist into the folds of his elegant robe.
"Sensei," Hirotaka stated evenly, "surely, it will not take a month for Stoppable-san to … to avenge my sister's death."
"No," Sensei explained through two small, drier coughs, "but it will be a month's time before the Tempus Simia's head will be joined to its base."
"Sensei," Hirotaka sputtered, losing his composure, "why should we wait such an unjustifiably long--"
He was silenced by the old man's suddenly blazing eyes.
Kim did not notice this fiery exchange. The instant she heard the idol's full name, she was struck by a memory from Latin homework Junior year. Ron, acting upon one of his goofy misconceptions, had convinced her to take the difficult, dead language with him. This resulted, necessarily, with him needing Kim's help on practically every assignment. One evening while they both half-watched a rerun episode of Agony County in the Possibles' living room, Ron had repeated difficulty translating a particular word from an assigned passage. Kim remembered being very exasperated with Ron at the time because she had already told him what it meant twice before in class that day--in fact, it was the title of the passage: Tempus, or Time. Considering her extensive run-ins with primates during the final years of her life, Simia would have been a 'no-brainer' even if she had never taken Latin.
"Time monkey?"
"…only then, will Honor recast yesterday, dictate tomorrow, and compose today…"
As she stared in disbelief at the two pieces of the idol, the meaning behind Sensei cryptic statements fell into focus.
It ... it's some sort of time machine.
The prospect of Hirotaka and any number of his vicious Kappa warriors traveling back to any point of time Sensei desired was too horrible a possibility for Kim to risk dismissing the statue as just another monkey idol. True or no, she knew Ron had to know about it as soon as possible--she had to tell Mariko. Frantically, she looked for an open doorway.
And then Kim realized what had been vaguely troubling her about the suite from the start. It had no doorway.
"I can reach the Temple in less than two day's journey, Sensei," the ninja insisted.
"Yabuki-san," Sensei asked, "When must the idol's head be attached to its body?"
"At noon, Sensei," Hirotaka answered with a slight note of impatience.
"And do you know why that is, Yabuki-san?"
"Because the sun's rays must strike full upon the idol at the instant the pieces are made whole, Sensei," the ninja said quickly.
"Yet," the old man smiled,the sun can only enter the Temple of Tempus Simia through a tiny hole in its roof."
Hirotaka looked to the floor, but did not speak. What color his cheeks had lost minutes earlier was back in full force.
"And the next time the sun's strongest beams will pierce this small opening," Sensei said coldly, "is one month from today."
"Forgive my insolence, Sensei," Hirotaka uttered quickly as he bowed to his smirking master.
Kim had listened intently to this discourse. Although the whims of her blackouts were constantly a threat, she was hopeful, if not certain, that she could warn Mariko within a month's time. The question was whether there was time to prevent Ron from going on his mission.
The look of superiority in the old man's eyes faded as another volcanic cough convulsed his features. He recovered quickly and continued, "This month's wait proves quite fortunate as it provides adequate time to secure the loyalty of both the Chosen One and his heir."
This reference to Mariko in Sensei's master plan made Kim involuntarily shudder.
"When shall Stoppable-san be sent on his mission?" Hirotaka asked, still bowing before his teacher.
"It begins tonight, Yabuki-san," Sensei smiled.
No!
Hirotaka rose with a smile. "I will select my finest warrior to trail him, Sensei."
The old man shook his head. "No, Yabuki-san, you will trace Stoppable-san's progress."
Before the ninja could voice his displeasure, Sensei explained. "You are correct, Yabuki-san, it will not take Stoppable-san long to find a worthless deserter like Fukushima. I need you to make sure that it does take a long time." He continued, "You must frustrate his trail for some time. A Kappa warrior cannot be trusted with such a complex assignment."
Hirotaka nodded assent.
"And then," Sensei said, his voice rising, "As his mission reaches its conclusion, you must appear to Stoppable-san and lay your sister's death in Fukushima's hands."
The ninja closed his eyes and nodded once more. He then asked, "How long, Sensei? How long must Stoppable-san's mission be frustrated?"
"A full month will not be needed," the old man said with a dismissive gesture. "Three weeks. We only need time for the traces of our efforts here to fade and heal."
And … heal?
Kim realized that her hands were hurting, and when she looked down saw that she had balled them so tightly that her knuckles were white. She didn't know what they were talking about, but she knew something bad was about to happen.
"Do you foresee any difficulties?" Sensei asked his ninja as the latter returned to a standing position.
"No, Sensei," Hirotaka smiled. "Rina-chan is a most honorable student. She has informed me of everything that has taken place in the Chosen One's cells. There will be no problems."
Kim felt like she had been slapped in the face.
Had Rina been spying on Mariko and Ron? Kim recalled hearing the little girl's door slide closed just before she encountered the Mandrill. Had Rina seen Mariko practicing Kung Fu that night? Perhaps on many nights?
Kim felt like she was going to pass out. She leaned against one of the bedposts and slid to the floor.
She had liked Rina and developed real affection for the girl. As she had read about the Initiation, she had fretted over what the twelve-year-old must have had to endure. However, it now seemed that the somber girl was headed down the same road Yori had chosen--trading all human values for the sake of a single, misused word.
Sadness passed into rage.
Fine. Choose Honor, Rina. You'll just become another soulless puppet for Sensei.
And then the terrible consequences of Rina's betrayal overwhelmed her. If Mariko's training was known, the little girl was as good as defenseless.
"I've got to get out of here. I've got to get out, now!" She surged to her feet. But, again, her frenzied glance about the room disclosed no exits.
As if on cue, the curtains began to move in the corner diametrically opposite from where Kim stood. The swelling, bristling, running snout of a Kappa warrior poked through the burgundy fabric. The simian entered no further into the room, so it appeared as if his nose were disembodied, floating in mid-air. The warrior bared his yellowish teeth, uttered a string of harsh sounds, and vanished.
Hirotaka shot a look from his familiar to Sensei. "Yamammoto-san is waiting in your outer chamber, Sensei," he said with mild surprise.
"As I said, Yabuki-san," his master replied, "it begins tonight. Everything."
Hirotaka approached the spot where the samurai's muzzle had been. Drawing back the curtain, he revealed the backside of the simian warrior retreating down a curved passageway. As the ninja continued to hold back the drapery, Sensei exited the suite.
And so did Kim.
Walking down the steep, winding corridor between Sensei and Hirotaka was a very unpleasant and awkward experience. Although she would have liked nothing better than to either run ahead or lag behind the duo, the walls of the claustrophobic tunnel were too narrow for Kim to sneak around their barriers. In addition, the old man's pace was inconsistent and at odds with the ninja's. Since neither resonated keening, Kim had virtually no warning as to whether Hirotaka was about to run into her or not, on the one occasion she turned around to stare into the eyes of her killer's brother, when she almost bumped into Sensei. The tension generated by these near-misses kept her from being overcome by the withering hatred she felt for both of them.
As the tunnel emptied into a small curtained antechamber, Kim took the opportunity to get some "breathing" distance from the loathsome pair. She noted a sleeping mat rolled in a far corner lying next to an unassuming candle holder. Flickering shadows from without played beneath the small space between the curtains and the floor. Kim wondered if the opulent chamber they had left was located somewhere in the tower of the Keep. She now felt certain that, at long last, she was inside the school's fortified main building.
She turned her attention back to Hirotaka, but, surprisingly, he hung back in the quarters' shadows as Sensei approached the curtains. The old man parted and stepped through them into a larger room. Kim darted and then stumbled through the shrinking aperture.
Unadorned candlesticks lined the walls of the large room, but the shadows their flames cast overwhelmed what little light they provided. In fact, the arrangement of the candles created an area of darkness in the very center of the room. And it was in this spot that Mariko's teacher patiently bowed.
Kim was alarmed to see that Yamamato-san was flanked on either side by Kappa warriors. Although the one on the right was, more or less, standing at attention, the one on the left had his sword unsheathed and menacingly bore his teeth at the unsuspecting older man.
"Sensei."
"Rise, Old Friend," Sensei spoke, gesturing warmly with his right hand.
Yamamato-san stood. However, the relaxed look upon his face was belied by points of anxiety in his eyes. He shot a quick glance over Sensei's shoulder toward the rear of the room before his gaze fell back to the floor.
Kim reflexively looked over her shoulder and discovered a row of six monkey idols against the back wall--three on either side of Sensei's curtained "sleeping" chamber. It was a wide assortment. One looked like a short totem pole, three others looked like simian tikis, and then there was a pair of bullet-shaped ones. Unlike the multitude in the amphitheater, the eyes of these idols were dead. As she stared at them, she recalled Yamamato-san's somewhat worried look and wondered how many people at the school knew of Sensei's "collection."
And what do they think about it …?
Her thought was snapped as Sensei's voice rolled across the chamber.
"The time for Mariko-chan's Initiation is at hand."
"What?!" Kim turned around and noticed the shocked look upon Yamamato-san's face before her eyesight hopelessly blurred.
"S-sensei," the teacher's voice managed. "I do not understand."
"Tomorrow morning, at dawn," the old man spoke with cold detachment, "you will guide Stoppable-san's daughter through the rite of Initiation."
Kim was trembling with rage. She could feel the tears running down her wrist and along her arm as she wiped at her cheek with the heel of her palm.
"Sensei." Yamamato-san's voice sounded far away. "She is less than half the appropriate--the traditional age."
"At what age did the last scion of Mystical Monkey Power go through his Initiation?" Sensei's tone was rigid, interrogating not asking.
Kim tried to blink her eyes clear in the ensuing silence.
"The great Ningyo's Initiation was at the age of four," Sensei pronounced sternly. He then added in a careless, almost forgiving tone, "Traditions for the Chosen Ones are different." The last word was punctuated by a explosive, wet cough.
"Sensei," Yamamato-san asked finally, "Will Stoppable-san be escorting her to the Temple?"
"No, Honor compels the Chosen One to leave for the Mainland tonight," Sensei explained as he recovered from his fit of hacking. "Rina-chan will deliver Mariko-chan to the Temple."
"Yes," Yamamato-san said. "Yes, Sensei."
With her nails furiously scraping the insides of her palms as her unfocused eyes stared through the floor, Kim barely heard the incongruent sound of an automated door sliding open. She jerked her head up in time to see Yamamato-san's back disappear through a darkened doorway at the far side of the room. She sprinted, but the door slid closed before she could cross half the distance. When she finally reached it, she no longer had the strength or desire to slam her clenched fists against it. She slid to her knees and shuddered.
"Will he see it through, Sensei?" Hirotaka's voice asked somewhere behind her.
"Yamamoto-san is a very honorable man, Yabuki-san,"
"Rina-chan can be trusted not to breath a word to the child?"
"She, too, is very honorable, Sensei."
As Kim heard the pair's voices getting closer, she tried in vain to shut out their words, to only have ears for the sound of the door opening.
"Sensei, the Tempus Simia ..."
"Rest assured, Yabuki-san," Sensei consoled, "it will remain under my constant protection in your absence. Now, you and Stoppable-san must begin your joint mission."
Although she did not know the way out of the Keep or even what lay directly behind the door, Kim ran into the awaiting darkness the instant the doorway opened to catch whatever slice of a starting advantage she could in the race to Ron's dwelling.
VI.
She was no longer running. And the dim lights of the interior passageway had faded into a limitless void. Yet before despair could gain ground in her mind, a glowing light, like welcomed heat, began to bead down upon her. As it did so, Kim realized she was again standing in the dusty, forgotten cavern. As her eyes adjusted to the pulsating beam, she saw that it was coming from the oculus in the chamber's ceiling. The ray filtered through the stagnate air and highlighted the rope ladder with its adjoining spider web that trailed into the dust just inches from her feet.
Without a second's hesitation, Kim leapt onto the web and pulled herself up to the ladder, climbing it two rungs at time. Her determination as she reached its end and began crawling along the cramped tunnel beyond the oculus was at such a fevered pitch that she barely noticed when the strong white beam of light guiding her faded into the pale amethyst glow of dawn. By the time she did notice this change, the tunnel was tall enough for her to scramble to her feet. A sensation of familiarity enveloped her as she chased the growing daylight down the tunnel. However, she didn't question the feeling--by this time, all she could think about was running.
When she reached the cave's end, she effortlessly jumped over the bush and dodged the tree trunk that crowded its entrance. She looked out upon a view she had seen several times over the course of her days at the mountain school. The valley that lay beneath the southern edge of the campus still exuded a psychic pull upon her, but it was not even a consideration for Kim now.
She turned away from the view and faced the simian skull carved into the mountain. Noting absently that she had just exited the monkey's right eye, Kim raced over its nose and began scaling the high cliff with unabated fury. Once at the top, she paused only to gather a painful breath inside her burning lungs and then Kim took off for the pagoda as fast as she could go in a race against the mounting light of dawn.
A/N: The original inspiration for the underground "chamber of secrets" came from a description of the Nishapur mansion in the second chapter of Sir Salman Rushdie's novel Shame.