Chapter 1

The following characters appear through out the story:

Thorne Saint Cirq

The Master Warrior, Immortal, 6’-2’’ tall, 220 pounds, Indefinite age, appears anywhere between 30 and 80 years of age, Brown hair, presently, and hazel eyes

Gweneth (Gwen)

Female, Irish, 5’4’’ tall, 118 pounds, 34D-22-34, appears to be 24 years old, alabaster skin, long legs, long bright red hair, forest green eyes

The First Attempt

I was sitting alone in a very fancy Atlanta restaurant having dinner on the evening in question when I was approached by a man of about fifty years of age with several of his younger, burlier associates. He was about 5’-9’’ tall and maybe 200 pounds or so with gray hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a very expensive conservatively cut suit. The others were in fashionable but much less expensive suits.

“You are Thorne Saint Cirq, are you not?” the man inquired on stopping some two feet from my table.

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?” I inquired.

“We have a mission for you to undertake,” he told me very bluntly.

“I’m not interested. I’m relaxing between jobs presently and not interested in working for anyone,” I told him, dismissing any thought of working for him or anyone else.

“We have researched you thoroughly. You haven’t worked since the Vietnam War and Laos. That’s nearly twenty-five years, yet you live the lifestyle of the rich. We have been unable to determine where your money comes from, or how you receive it. Surely you do not make enough from the dojo that you run to support you in the manner that you live, as you are very selective in who you will accept as students,” he told me.

“You are correct in that I only accept the most promising students, many of whom are only able to pay little for the instruction that they receive, but I have other long term sources of income, and don’t worry about it. I’m still not interested in working for you or anyone,” I told him.

“You will take this assignment, and do as you are told or else,” he threatened and waved one of his associates forward.

I had no idea who he was, or what he wanted and really wasn’t interested, but I’d be damned if I’d be intimidated by some small time thug and his hoodlums.

“Am I supposed to be intimidated by this hoodlum?” I demanded, rising from my chair.

“Joseph is one of the finest Martial Artist in the country,” the stuffed shirt told me in a sarcastic voice.

“We’ll see about that,” I said, as I moved away from the table and out in the aisle between tables, after removing my suit coat and hanging it on the chair. Joseph had removed his coat also and assumed an offensive posture, as I rose and then moved into the aisle.

“Well, let’s see what you have,” I told him standing at ease, my body relaxed. He in turn went through the initial moves of an opening kata of one of the many schools of Karate or Tae Kwon Do. Following through, he advanced on me quickly, but I wasn’t where I had been, having moved slightly, and easily took him down with a counter move. Joseph landed on the floor on his back unconscious.

I, in the meantime, had moved and taken out the other two men who had arrived with the stuffed shirt. All three were on the floor and unconscious quicker than anyone could follow my moves. The stuffed shirt hadn’t even managed to complete turning around when I was at his side with the barrel of one of his men’s guns in his ear.

“Go tell whoever sent you that I am not available or interested in your proposition. Do not bother me again, as the next time I won’t be so understanding,” I told him. “Now get out of here, and take your goons with you,” I added. Several waiters had appeared when I took out his hired help, and they assisted him in getting his men back on their feet and out of the restaurant, while I resumed my dinner. A number of those dining there had been very surprised by the brief altercation.

I was in my dojo a week or so later, when an oriental gentleman entered and asked for me by name.

“What can I do for you?” I asked on approaching him. He bowed before answering.

“You have shamed my school and my art, I challenge you to a duel,” he told me very formally. I smiled.

“Joseph was your student,” I said, realizing why he was here.

“Hai,” he acknowledged.

“He was showing off, perhaps to impress me with his skill, but he wasn’t prepared to fight or even spar,” I told him.

“Still, you have embarrassed me and my school. I can not allow that to stand,” he returned.

“Very well, let us spar, and see how it goes,” I told him. He removed his outer coat and was already in his gi prepared to fight. I preceded him to the mat, and we squared off.

He was a man in his late forties and had obviously devoted many years of practice to perfecting his art, perhaps as many as thirty years. I had spent many more years perfecting mine. We bowed to each other before starting. My students had all moved to the side of the building away from the door, as several of his students had entered behind him.

We sparred for about fifteen minutes. He was very quick and had mastered his moves to a large extent, but I had spent more than six thousand years mastering mine, so that having seen most of his moves, and growing tired of playing with him, I quickly finished the match, putting him on the mat. The look on his face, as he gazed up at me, was one of pure shock. I offered him a hand up and he took it, before bowing.

“You are truly a Master among Masters. It was no insult for one of my students to be defeated by one such as you. Why do you have so few students and such a small dojo?” he inquired.

“I do not seek fortune or fame, and only teach those who have the potential to be the best. Many have applied, but I am very selective in whom I accept,” I told him, before he collected his students and departed. All of this happened before the Bosnian Crisis, and I closed my dojo shortly after that.

It had been hard dismissing my students, most of whom were quite good, but I was especially sad to be leaving behind one very special student. Her name was Gweneth, but she often went by Gwen. She was Irish, or so she claimed, and it was easy to believe with her long red hair and those green eyes of hers. Soft green eyes like a meadow. Alabaster skin so delicate you could almost see her veins through it. A round face with a small nose and a delicate smiling mouth. Long legs for such a short woman, and large breasts, so that one did not forget that she was indeed a woman.

But this delicate looking flower is one to be reckoned with. That fragile look hides a strong, tough individual. She is very good with a gun or a blade, both of a number of different kinds. Although her skin burns easily, she is an outdoor woman with a fine tan when out in the elements. Although she claimed to be twenty-four years of age, I could tell that she was in fact much older than that, but I wasn’t ready to guess how much older. She was also very determined when she set her mind to doing something. She had quickly risen to be one of my top students in a short time, and this was one of the reasons that I would miss her. This was also why I took her aside to explain why I was leaving when I closed the dojo.

“Gwen, I am retiring from public life for a time. This was something that I had planned to do a few years from now, but recent events have caused me to reconsider when to do this. I will be leaving as soon as I can dispose of my property here in Atlanta. Please continue to study with someone else. When the time is right, I will return to public life and find you. Until then stay well and don’t worry about me. I will find you,” I assured her.

“Yes, I’ll be waiting when you return, I have plenty of time,” she assured me with that haunting smile of hers. It was something unforgettable and haunting. You never forgot it once you had seen it. I still remembered it many years later when I returned to public life.

The Second Attempt

Wat Mai Nong Hoi is located south of the city of Chiang Mai in the Northern Province of Chiang Mai in Thailand. It is located in Amphoe (District) Doi Lo of that Province, and off of Road 108 between Rural Roads 3018 and 3014, but it isn’t close to any of these roads. It is located a good distance north of Road 108 and is only accessible by unimproved local roads. It is surrounded by orchards growing many fruits and flowers. It is a small rural Wat with features from many of the various cultures that had been and still are important in the area, but without a famous, important, or well-known Buddha image. Rice is not grown in the surrounding area as it is too dry, but it is grown lower near Road 108 where there is more water from the Nam Mae Wang (River Wang).

I had chosen Wat Mai Nong Hoi instead of one of the numerous other Wats in the area because of its secluded location away from the major roads with their ever increasing traffic and numerous foreign visitors. Those who visit Wat Mai Nong Hoi are mainly local people from the six nearby villages, some of whom are shared with other Wats in the area. I had been staying at this peaceful Wat since early in the 1990s as a monk. The peace here had renewed my soul and eased my mind. Unfortunately, this peaceful interlude was not to last.

My peace and solitude came to an abrupt end on the morning of Thursday, the 20th of April 2566 by the Buddhist calendar (2023 by western calendars). This was only three days after the end of the Song Kran Festival (the Thai New Year). As usual all of the monks at the Wat had risen well before sunrise at 4:30, and we had all meditated for an hour, and then chanted for another hour before preparing to leave the Wat to collect alms. Last night had been very dark as today, the 20th, would be the new moon.

I had been here for over thirty years now and had enjoyed the time it had allowed me to meditate and pray. There were of course the Wat’s gardens that required a part of our time to tend to them, as the Wat was independent to a certain extent though the monks did leave each morning with their alms bowls to collect offerings of food, mainly rice, for the day’s meal.