9
F E U DA story by Neil Davies based on Kung Fu, the original series.
2006
Rogan let go of the axe and felt it fall to the earth with a heavy thud, the dry as dust ground hardly reacted at all so starved of rain water was it. With tears on his cheeks Rogan looked at the two men facing him, scared by their hostile expressions and knotted fists and knowing he was taking a terrible risk.
"I won't fight," said the farmer running fingers through his greying beard. He had started to go grey in his thirties now at forty-one he hadn't a dark hair anywhere other than a section of fringe.
"Coward," sneered the man on the left the younger of the two but not by much. Having expected this attitude Rogan licked parched lips and pointed down at the discarded weapon.
"Believe what you like," he said in a voice lacking interest. "But this ends here." He would not live like his father or grandfather, life had to have more meaning and he wanted his child to grow up with something to look forward to beyond fighting and hatred.
"Pick it up old man," said the man on the right holding his own weapon in both fists.
"Jed, Nate, there has to come a time when we turn away from the past and for me that's today. I've killed men and so have you but it doesn't have to be like this. In a short while my wife will give birth to a son or a daughter, the next generation. Don't let them waste their lives as we have."
Swapping a look with his younger brother Nate Garrison raised the scythe, something he used often in the past and not to cut wheat.
"My life hasn't been wasted," he spat. "But leaving you alive old man now that would be a sin, it's time you met your maker."
"Why?" Rogan's word cut the murky air. "Because I killed your uncle? That was self-defence and you know it. He came after me with a gun he wouldn't listen to reason. For heaven sake he almost raped my wife."
The emotional appeal delivered as it was with parted hands failed to impress the two younger men and Jed took out his big hunting knife, the one he gutted deer and bear with the one he'd used to end a deputy's life less than a year earlier.
"If you haven't the guts to fight us old man," he said. "Then get on your knees and start praying because you're never going to hear your baby's first cry."
It was pointless and he should have realised it, they were too consumed by old and new resentments, too fixed in their ways, too poisoned by the bile of their Pa. Rogan thought of running for it but there was nowhere to go, he almost picked up the axe but somehow that didn't feel right either.
The brothers advanced scythe and knife poised it was only a question of who cut him first.
Suddenly and without warning a figure ran from the pen on the left, shot in between the men and stood there still and poised, legs apart, hands by his side and face turned to look at the attackers. Long dark hair ran into narrow non-Caucasian eyes and on the bare arms was plenty of muscle.
Freezing in their tracks Jed and Nate stared in complete disbelief at the labourer hired by Rogan to clean out his pigpen, tend his horses and fix fences. Half white and half something else he looked humble and determined at the same time, he had the grace of a woman but his posture was one of extreme readiness. As an unknown quantity he had to be given the benefit of the doubt even if he didn't appear to be armed.
"No Caine," said Rogan wearily not wanting anyone else to get caught up in this craziness, certainly not an outsider who worked hard and without complaint for almost nothing.
"That's a white man's name," Nate spat on the ground near one of the bare feet, another strange and unfathomable feature. "You're some kind of breed."
Now Rogan did display some of his old anger it bubbled from his lips in a hissing rush.
"Caine is my employee, he works harder than any five white men."
Cynical distrusting eyes played over the newcomer and the weapons were lowered, Pa would have to make a judgement on this. Kill Rogan he'd said but nothing about a hired hand. The law wouldn't raise a finger if they chopped up some China boy, but Pa didn't like them thinking for themselves.
"This is your lucky day breed," Jed jabbed with his knife but it wasn't an attack, the gesture just emphasized his words.
One second later he was no longer holding the knife it was gone from his grip, the breed held it by the blade plucking it from the air like an apple from a tree and so fast that there was nothing Jed could do about it. Flipping the knife and catching it by the handle Caine held it up like a trophy then threw it to the earth between Jed's boots, where it buried itself in the harsh clay.
Rogan was impressed they all were - nice move.
Rogan wondered what would happen next perhaps an explosion of violence, but it didn't come for the brothers withdrew, albeit reluctantly and with hatred in their eyes. Not moving a muscle Caine watched them go, possessing an uncanny stillness in whatever he did.
"Thank you." Rogan sighed the word more relieved that he could convey. "I don't know how you did that but I'm grateful."
Looking at him the hired hand did not smile or nod, there was no air of triumph or having scored some point. He followed his employer into the main house without being asked and they came across a heavily pregnant woman stirring a pot of stew with some difficulty.
"Here, let me Becky." Taking the large spoon Rogan took over the arduous task while his wife sat down to wipe her damp face. "They'll be back, the Garrison boys, they won't let it end like that." Rogan spoke from bitter experience.
Throwing him an anxious look Becky didn't ask any questions instead she caressed her bump.
Caine said, "You acted with wisdom."
Wisdom! The word seemed hideously inappropriate there was nothing wise in showing weakness or backing down. This was the frontier, a violent place run by violent men. You negotiated with a gun or your fists, it was all people like the Garrison family understood.
"They think I'm a coward," said Rogan and he felt like one.
"Is it not more important what you think of yourself?" Caine's soft words echoed inside the farmer's head touching him on some deep level beyond anger or history.
"I should have fought them," he said raising one of his big hard fists. Looking at it the Chinaman shook his head slowly.
"It takes more courage to deny violence than to embrace it."
Odd words odd man never in all his years had Rogan heard such a sentiment voiced not even by a parson. "When they come back and they will then I'll have to fight, they won't back down a second time. You took them by surprise but next time they'' know what to do, their Pa will have told them."
"Why must there be a next time," asked Caine with some distaste on his long features?
"He doesn't understand," said the woman. "You haven't told him have you?"
No thought Rogan I haven't because I didn't need to until now. "My family and the Garrisons have been at each others throats for four generations. Nobody knows how it started, some say it was over land some think it was a debt owed but whatever the reason they've been killing us and we've been killing them ever since."
Washing his hands with cold water Caine shrugged in that oddly philosophical way of his. "All hatred must end with a single gesture, have you not made it?"
Rogan had to laugh, his gesture had been hurled back in his face with insults and he'd achieved nothing more than a weakening of his reputation.
"Old man Garrison would respect me more if I'd killed his sons."
"Surely no father would wish for such a thing." Picking up a white towel Caine began to dry himself, and like everything he did the act was graceful and measured without haste.
"You don't understand these people," cried Becky. "They're animals."
Caine looked at her and through her seeing her fear and desperation and seeing much more besides.
The dreadful sound awoke young Caine, who was a light sleeper at the best of times often disturbed by a soft breeze or the rustle of bare feet in the stone cloisters. This time he was dragged awake by a moan that was rapidly followed by a cry then another moan then stuttered sobs of misery. On his feet at once the youth crept to the door and peered out, apart from flickering wall torches he couldn't see anything in the gloom. Yet the sounds of human misery persisted and he soon worked out where they were coming from.
With light steps on the balls of his feet Caine soon reached the apothecary, the place where injured or sickly monks were treated and sometimes outsiders found on the temple steps too weak to drag themselves away. It was the shaolin creed to care for the weak and distressed, for was not all life precious?
A man lay in a cot tossing and turning his face heavily bruised, cuts and wheals visible on neck, arms and bare chest. He had taken a severe beating by the looks of it. Possibly set upon by the bandits who roamed HUNAN province looking for easy prey. "Venerable sir?" The boy asked humbly not knowing how else to address an adult. The man continued to moan and twist, semi-conscious by the look of it and trapped in his own personal world of pain.
As Caine moved nearer a hand came out of nowhere to stop him. It belonged to an elderly yet stoutly built old man whose eyes were opaque with blindness, and fear turned to relief at the sight of him; a wise teacher and mentor who had befriended Caine soon after his arrival.
"Take a care grasshopper, his delirium has not yet passed and he may strike out at you."
"Forgive me master, but what has happened here? I couldn't sleep, so distressing where the cries."
Nodding his agreement the old master leaned on his stick. "He was set upon by three men, it is our understanding that they were from a rival group of merchants and settling an old score."
Not understanding this Caine shook his head, it made no sense for three men to attack a lone figure.
"But that sounds foolish master," he said.
Po's nod was solemn, "Indeed so grasshopper but they were consumed by a hatred fed by many years of ill feeling, it deluded them into thinking that wrongs could be balanced by other wrongs."
"Master, why would anyone believe such a thing?"
"It is said that sometimes the fire of a dragon can take on a life of its own outside the dragon, consuming and burning all in its wake and thus sustaining itself. So it is with resentment and vengeance as it takes root in the hearts of men, men too foolish or too weak to extinguish it and so they feed it with new fires."
Po shook his head sadly and the book from him to the beaten men and back again.
"Then what is the solution master?"
In reply Po held up a tight fist, which he slowly relaxed and opened, "To release anything grasshopper one need simply cease to cling to it."
"But if these other men hold such hatred they will come back," the youth argued.
"Hate calls to hate," said Po. "When we dismiss our hatred of others they in turn come to dismiss their hatred of us, for does not like call to like. Why else do we strive to live in harmony with all things and all men?"
As his wife embroidered some garment for their unborn child Rogan polished something he hadn't held in a long time, his old army rifle. For a year now it had gathered dust in the parlour, its ammunition locked away in a wooden casket. He had told himself he would never raise it against another man and almost believed it – until that morning.
His eyes drifted to the man Caine sat cross-legged on a mat with back straight and eyes closed, head slightly elevated and breathing deep. Just what he was doing Rogan couldn't begin to guess perhaps it was how the Chinese prayed.
Suddenly Becky stopped stitching and gave a low gasp clutching her middle at once he put his weapon down and went to her side. "The baby?"
Her smile was weary but in the tiredness was happiness and expectation. "He's a lively cuss," she said. "Like his father." Her right hand caressed the side of her husband's face to his mouth, which he used to kiss the palm. How he loved this woman who had enriched his life in so many ways, softening his harsh extremes.
"Things are going to be all right for us, aren't they?"
Becky's question was a difficult one to answer, what could he say that wasn't a lie or wishful thinking? Of course he wanted a peaceful and happy life for her and the child, but was this remotely likely under current circumstances?
"I don't know love. I wish I did but I don't."
Her eyes flicked to the army rifle and following the gaze he felt a stab of regret knowing how much his wife hated guns. Had not her Pa and brother been killed by them in front of her eyes?
"We must be ready for anything," he said. "The Garrisons won't just give up."
"Then let's move away, go some place where they can't find us and start again."
An appealing idea and it had occurred to him but this was not a good time to sell a farm with any hope of profit, and even if they did sell and move there was nothing to stop the Garrisons from tracking them down again.
A loud bang made man and wife jump with shock. Caine did not react he did not even open his eyes. Instantly Rogan was at the window his fists clenched, peering into the gloom he made out not two outlines this time but four even so he recognised the voice. "Get out here old man and show some guts, or we'll come in and finish this." Well there was no choice now, Rogan's options had been reduced to two – fight or die. He ran to the rifle but was surprised to find someone had beaten him to it Caine now stood in his way head shaking slowly.
"What choice is there now," Rogan screamed in frustration? "I must protect my wife and child."
"Do that by staying with them," came the calm response. "I shall resolve this."
"They'll kill you," said Becky with assurance.
"You don't have to do anything Caine," the farmer grunted.
"I cannot allow you to be slaughtered, and what of the unborn child is he to have no chance at life?"
Sliding past the workman Rogan picked up his gun, "Then at least take this, it'll give you an outside chance."
The weapon was regarded with disdain but no attempt was made to pick it up. Slowly Caine shook his head and moved to a back window, he would not be foolish enough to use the door four guns would be trained on it. Rogan swapped a look with his wife, her horror and disbelief matching his own. Caine was going to take on the Garrisons empty-handed?
"Do you want to die?" Demanded the farmer. Caine's head turned but his body did not.
"Is not life a precious gift to us all?"
"Then why throw yours away?" Becky shrieked.
"I shall not die here," came the assured response as though the speaker knew exactly when and where he would die.
Nate, Jed and the two hired killers with them stood in a line. Sensing that their prey weren't going to just tamely surrender Nate waved for his party to spread out and approach the farm from different angles. Rogan was a good shot or he had been in years passed, and even in the dark he'd been known to pick men off. "Keep low," Nate hissed. "And take your time." There was no sense rushing in and getting shot up.
"Why not set fire to the place," Jed was bright eyed with excitement he'd been looking forward to this all his life and wanted a big name on his record.
"Afterwards," Nate declared. "To destroy the evidence." He waved the men forwards. Silent and cold-featured Steve and Brad carried six-guns, only Nate and his brother had rifles. Jed advanced quickly he was in a rush to spill blood and wasn't taking many precautions. Well that was his lookout, because a smart man bided his time and used the shadows.
Steve reached two barrels and crouched behind them sure he had heard a noise to his left. He couldn't see anything but the sound had been like bare feet slapping on gravel. Didn't the Chinese guy go barefoot was he out here? Steve hoped so – he had no qualms at all about shooting a heathen. Rising slowly to pan his gun he gave a short, pain-filled gasp as the gun was knocked from his grasp and his wrist joint whip lashed sideways. He'd been hit by a foot and that foot came back to hit him again this time in the middle of the chest, robbing him of both wind and balance. With a grunt he landed hard his lungs barely able to function. Before he could pick himself up two fingers dug into his neck and he knew no more.
Brad reached the barn and slid along it keeping his back to the coarse timber. He was twelve yards from the house and it was in darkness now. At least Rogan wasn't a total fool he'd had the sense to douse his lamp. Brad peered around a corner wondering if he could detect an outline through one of the windows. The next thing he knew he had a mouthful of palm and his head was jerking right back, the lips splitting open before he crashed into a water butt. His gun arm flew back to prevent him falling over so he wasn't able to take a shot at whoever had attacked him. A fist went into his solar plexus and bent him over double, damn it was a good punch the hardest he'd ever taken but it wasn't as hard as the knee that connected with his chin.
Jed was at the house and only a single wall stood between him and Rogan, a man he wanted to see die. His hand crept to the door then froze no Rogan would be covering the door with his rifle so he could fire through it. The best way to get in was via a window. Crouching low he edged to the nearest. There was no movement within the house and no voices to give him a reference. What if he risked a random shot through the glass?
Jed was contemplating this when his hair was seized and his forehead slammed against the windowsill so hard that he lost his gun, his hat and footing. Sickened and dazed he fell to his knees – something warm and sticky oozing into his eyebrows. He saw bare feet, ragged grey trousers and a lean form to his right. Pulling the skinning-knife from his belt he lashed out. The legs leapt back with the agility of a monkey. Blinking blood from his vision Jed got up and attacked, he was as vicious as a bobcat and rarely failed to cut a man.
This time he found his target illusive it was always just out of range or not quite in the right place. Growing angry he went for a heart stab. His arm was knocked aside by another arm and his head was forced forwards. An elbow as hard as an oak tree smacked into his right temple and a foot that could have belonged to a pack mule exploded in his guts. Jed fell back, summer salted and landed on his side. He felt terrible but he wasn't out of it and he still had his knife.
Dragging his butt off the gravel he stumbled forwards slashing wildly, hatred driving him on when common sense told him to quit. The ball of a foot nailed him right under the chin and night grew darker still, dark and deeply silent.
Nate couldn't hear anything and it bothered him, he should be able to hear his men getting into position especially his brother. "Jed," he hissed. "Steve."
No replies came back to him and the chill of fear wrapped around his heart. Where the devil were they?
The slightest of sounds made him spin on his heel and there stood the Chinaman as calm and serene as you please like he owned the joint. He was too close to shoot so Nate tried to chop him with his rifle. The rifle was easily caught and Caine seemed to sink into the earth, one of his feet coming up to jab into Nate's stomach. The cowman flipped right over flying through the air and losing all sense of which was the right way up. He found out when the ground hit him hard in the spine almost dislocating every disk he had.
He blinked up in pain. Caine had his rifle and could shoot him when he chose. Only Caine didn't do that he tossed the weapon aside. Why the gunfighter thought, what was he playing at?
"It is over," he was told softly. Sitting up to nurse his sore neck Nate spat small stones from between his teeth.
"Not until Rogan is dead," he snapped.
"Is it not better to kill a feud than a man? And what of his unborn child, will you deny him his father?"
Hurting all over, confused and demoralised the would-be assassin thought about that unborn kid.
"Rogan must pay."
"He has already paid heavily as have you," insisted Caine. "How much more does the debt demand?"
"How would you understand, this is none of your business."
"Is not life and its sanctity the concern of us all?" Empty hands were raised. "I could have killed your men and you yet I did not. I have the power and the skills and chose not to use them. You can make the same choice."
Confused more than he would have liked Nate looked into the deep, concerned eyes of the man before him a man unlike any he had ever met before.
"If Rogan lives it's an insult to my family."
"Insults can be borne, they hurt only the one who gives them the power to do so."
There should have been an answer to that Pa would have one why can't I think of it mused Nate?
"A lot of blood has been spilled Chinaman."
"Is it necessary to add more?"
The door of the farm opened to reveal Rogan who stood there with a mixture of pride and trepidation. It was clear he was as surprised as Nate at how things had turned out.
"You're a lucky man," Nate told him sharply.
"Maybe we both are," Rogan replied. "Caine's given us another chance, another way to live."