Title: Who Will Save the Last?

Author(s): Alisa (Shaolin Kitten) Joaquin & Megan Madonna

Characters: Peter Caine, Kwai Chang Cain, Paul Blaisdell, Master Po, Young Kwai Chang Caine (the grandfather), The descendant of Lai Tsu (Wiseman)

Time Period: One Month after Requium (Involves History of First Temple)

Plot: Paul Blaisdell comes back only to find that Peter has disappeared, Kermit is in the hospital, and Caine has also returned from France. Wiseman, the descendant of the Warlord that tried to destroy the First Temple returns and tries to destroy the line of Caine by taking Peter. With his new found Shaolin ablilities, Peter escapes into the past only to find his memories of his life are gone. Can Kwai Chang, Kermit, and Paul find Peter in time?

Warnings: Some Violence

Disclaimer: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues is a creation by Michael Sloan and distributed by Warner Brothers. This piece of fiction is based on KF:TLC. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. This work is available to the public for reading. (This story may be archived, but all rights revert back to the author after one year.)

Note: The symbols <> are used to denote a different language is being spoken unless otherwise noted. Regular quotes may be used when it is established that both or all characters are speaking the same language.

The Warlord watched in disbelief as his army of soldiers was defeated by "weakling priests and villagers." He stared at the strangers who were responsible and swore vengeance. But who were they? It was obvious the younger man was not from China, while the older could pass for Chinese but there was something more to him as well. He would have to consult the Sage. Lai Tsu entered the tent of his most trusted advisor.

"I must have an answer. The strangers that came into our camp and trained the monks to fight, who are they."

The Sage pulled out a set of very worn tarot cards, laying several cards in a circular pattern. Each card the Sage turned over revealed something strange about the two men that appeared.

"This is strange," said the Sage. "The cards reveal they are children of the Shaolin Master, and yet they are not from this world. You will not find them no matter how diligently you seek them. They have returned from whence they came. Great forces were at work."

"How is that possible?"

"I do not know."

"Then find out."

If the strangers were not from this world, then what world were they from? 'It does not matter,' thought the Warlord. 'I swear on my ancesters' graves and my descendents that my family honor will be avenged, no matter how long it might take.'

1500 Years Later After Caine's Departure

"He's gone to France to search for someone he thought had been dead for over 20 years."

"Will he be back?"

"Oh, yeah. He asked me to take care of this place."

"I don't understand. Why didn't he say goodby?"

"He hates goodbyes. He prefers it that way. No one gets hurt."

"But he hurt you when he left in the same way without telling you."

"He felt lost then. He needed time to figure out where his path was."

"He should have told me."

"That is rather difficult because he's confused himself."

"Confused? About what?"

"He needs to find the truth so he can put things to rest."

Mary Margaret Skalany sighed and rolled her eys. "Peter, you're being cryptic. Why did he leave and what is this about finding someone that he thought died over 20 year ago? Do you mean he's searching for his wife? That's crazy. He said she died."

"Yes, she did. In fact, she died in his arms. That's what makes it so confusing. He felt her die. Then years later, the Ancient hands him this photo that shows she might be alive. He needs to learn the truth."

"But what am I suppose to do?" Skalany asked frustated.

"Be here for him when he returns."

Scalany became thoughtful. She was still not convinced that her possible rival was long dead. She needed to understand just who Laura was and maybe Peter could give her some of those answers.

"What do you remember about her?"

"After I took the brands, some memories came back to me. I remember how she use to hold me and rock me to sleep. She would always sing "Puff the Magic Dragon." Pop was amused by that song. She always smelled of jasmine. It will always be the scent I will associate with her. When she became sick, she couldn't hold me as much and I remember how angry that made me. Then, when she died, I remember that my father was so sad. He held her in his arms and just kept rocking her. His face was buried in her hair and he cried for a long time. Then the next thing I knew, she was no longer there. They buried her by the lake below the Temple. I wanted her so badly. I was too young to understand why she left me. I was only two years old.

"Later on, I always hade a hard time every time my father needed to leave the Temple, even just to run errands. I would be mad at him for days. I was afraid he was going to leave me the way my mother did. He promised me he wouldn't. But then the Temple was destroyed and I believed he'd broken that promise for a long time. I felt not only abandonded, I felt betrayed. I guess that's why I have a hard time whenever someone leaves me in a relationship. I will either cling to them and smother them and become over protective or I end up sabatoging the relationship in some way. Either way, in the end, we both get hurt. It happened again with Jordan. Only this time, I know why and I can understand it better."

"I never heard you talk like that before."

Peter shrugged in much the same manner as another familiar Shaolin. "I finally realized that my feelings of abandonment actually originated with my mother's death. She could not help being sick, even dying. She may have left me and my father, but she did not do it out of malice. She died because she was sick. I need to forgive not only her, but myself for feeling like she abandonded me, because she really didn't. She gave me what she could of herself. And you shouldn't feel as if my father has abandonded you. You need to forgive my father for not telling you that he was leaving."

"What if he finds out she's alive?"

"That's impossible. She died in his arms. The woman may look like Laura but he knows she cannot be his wife. My father told me before he left that he helped in the preparation of her burial. She laid in state at the Temple for three days and he never left her side during that time. He saw her buried. You have nothing to fear Mary Margaret. He will return. My father is probably asking himself whether this woman may be carrying Laura's essence and he needs to know the truth."

"You seem pretty calm about this."

"I've had time to meditate on it and remember. Don't worry, he'll be back."

A Month Later

It took centuries of searching. Descendent after descendent had sworn the oath and vowed that the line would cease to exist once the two were found. Ancient scrolls were passed down that contained drawings. Each new generation was carefully watched but the young man and his father were never found. 1500 years passed. Finaly, whispers were heard of a young Shaolin who fit the description. Spies were sent to the City where they were said to reside. They watched and waited and found success. He was the key to the end of their suffering and the regaining of their honor. But before he would die, he too would suffer.

From the alleyway below the aparment, he listened to the sound of combat. Furniture being thrown, glass breaking as something heavy was thrown through it. The sweet sound o pain as something solid connected with soft flesh. Then nothing. He saw the telltale flash, and then everything was silent. Maniacal laughter rang out as the man realized he would soon regain everything that his family had lost, and those responsible would pay dearly with their lives.

Kwai Chang Caine entered his old apartments that Peter promised to take care of and found chaos. Broken furniture, pots, and glass was scattered over the floor. A figure stood in the center of the ruins looking down in the middle of it. Caine immediately recognized the figure and could tell that the man had succeeded in his quest to conquered his personal demons.

"Paul Blaisdell?"

The man turned to face Caine, a look of concern etched in his face. It was a look that Caine was all too familiar with. Something terrible had happened. Caine approached the man. Paul did not say a word as Caine approach but looked down to the spot that he had been staring at. Caine followed his eyes to a small pool of drying blood on the floor. Fear clutched at Caine's heart and he reached out with his chi. There was no awareness of his son.

"Peter. No!" Caine collapsed. Paul barely caught him in time as he fell to the floor. "No. My son. Our son." Tears streamed down Caine's face without shame.

"No. Caine listen. You're wrong. That's not Peter's blood."

"But I cannot feel my son's chi."

"I don't know where Peter is but that blood is Kermit's."

A questioning look crossed to his face as Paul's words sank in.

"Apparently Kermit was trying to protect Peter and was injured. He's in the hospital. I found him just hours ago, barely alive. He's the only one who can tell us what happened."

"We must go to him. We must find our son."

Paul spoke a few words to the officer stationed outside Kermit's hospital room, and then he and Caine entered. Machines beeped out a steady rhythm, letting them know that the man in the bed was still alive. Paul stood on one side while Caine sat on the bed and took Kermit's hand in his own. Even though the doctors repaired the physical damage to his side, Kermit's chi was very low. Something else had been done to him that was preventing Kermit from fully healing. Kwai Chang pulled out a small vial of liquid from his brown pouch. He opened the bottle then opened Kermit's mouth and poured it in.

"What's that your giving him?"

"His chi has been poisoned. This will help strengthen it to help him fight off the effects. He should be waking very soon."

Paul grabbed a nearby chair while Kwai Chang sat on the floor in a corner. Both men waited patiently for their friend to open his eyes.

"I want to thank you for being here," Paul said quietly. "Kermit has kept me posted on Peter. I never would have thought that he would become a priest."

"When Peter was a little boy living at the Temple, being a priest was all that he wanted to be until . . ."

"The destruction?"

"No. As he was growing into his teen years, he was troubled. He started to rebel and question everything that was being done. And yet, through all, his gentle spirit remained. He still tried to protect those younger and weaker than himself. There were times we would argue and he would try even my patience. It was during those times that I missed my wife the most. It is you that I must thank. You and Annie. Without both of you, my son . . ."

Just then, Kermit stirred.

"Can't a guy get some sleep."

Caine and Paul bounded up and quickly went to Kermit's bedside. Kermit spotted Paul first then turned his head and saw the older priest. Remorse filled the ex-mercenary's being as memories of the previous night filled assaulted him.

"Oh, God Caine, I'm so sorry. I tried to protect him."

Concern clouded Caine's eyes. He did not blame Kermit. Caine could see the love that Kermit had for his son. Peter had become the little brother that Kermit had lost.

"Do not concern yourself. We will get Peter back."

"You just concentrate on getting better. But we do need to know what happened." Paul said.

Kermit thought back to last night. Captain Karen Simms had called him because she had been concerned about her former detective. A great number of people were asking questions regarding a certain Shaolin Priest and his son. Most she had felt were harmless, but a had few seemed suspicious. It was those few that had prompted her to ask Kermit to check on Peter. So, following his best instincts, he went to see the young priest. When he had arrived, however, he found Peter fighting for his life against four men who were obviously trying to apprehend him. At first, Kermit had stood frozen, watching the young Shaolin. His style was that of his father's, but they were combined in a strange harmony with moves Peter had adopted from his days as a cop . While Peter fought off two men, a third tried to move in with a cloth. Kermit identified the scent of chloroform and reacted. Instead of pulling his Desert Eagle, he rushed the men. As he fought one, another came up behind him and sliced through his side with a sword.

"Kermit!" Peter cried out as he witnessed the assault.

"Stop! Or we will kill him."

"No! What is it you want?"

"We want you Peter Caine. You will come with us or he dies now."

"All right. I will go with you. Just don't kill him."

Kermit watched helplessly as the four men surrounded Peter Caine. One of them produced a black amulet from under his shirt. A sudden blinding light surrounded the assassins and the Shaolin, When he could see again, Kermit found himself alone in the apartment.

"I must have passed out from the blood loss because when I came to, I was in the hospital and Paul was sitting on a chair next to me. At the time, I was in no shape to tell him what had happened. Caine, I am so sorry. I tried to stop them."

"Were they Singh Wah?" Paul asked.

"No ...maybe." Kermit pulled a hand across his five o'clock shadow. "I really don't know."

"The black amulet sounds familiar." Caine said. "I will need to speak with the Ancient."

"Caine, please. Let me help. You must have something in your brown bag that can heal me quickly."

"I do, but you need to rest. Your body must replenish what blood you have lost. Your chi is weak. You will not be of any help to Peter if you do not allow yourself to heal." Caine was stern but gentle in his words. Kermit had become a second son to him. A son, like Peter, who needed to hear the words to let him know that there were people that cared for him. "You also must forgive yourself. You tried to help my son. For that, I will be forever grateful. My son, however, is Shaolin. His skills have grown since taking the brands. His enemies may not know what they are dealing with. Peter knows what needs to be done. Still, he will be alone and we do not know how much danger awaits him. We do not even know where he has been taken or by whom. Until we do, we must not give up hope."

Kermit sighed deeply. He was grateful that Caine did not hold him responsible for Peter being captured. He only hoped they would be able to locate him in time.

The day was warm and there was a gentle breeze. Young Kwai Chang Caine sat beside a pool. Suddenly he reached down picked up a pebble and dropped it into the still water. Caine watched the pebble as it drifted downward.

"Where does your pebble walk to, Grasshopper?" Master Po asked.

"It walks, its journey is to nowhere." Caine answered.

"Each journey begins and also ends." Po continued turning the answered question into a lesson.

"Then the ending is the bottom of the pool." Young Caine observed.

"Does not the pebble entering the water begin fresh journeys?" Drawing Caine's attention to the ripples on the water as they move outward to all points.

"It seems unceasing."

"Such is the journey through life. It begins, it ends, yet fresh journeys go forth. Father begets son, who becomes in turn, father, who begets son."

"Then the roots I have are me, and I am they." Caine answered in understanding.

"Grasshopper, seek first to know your own journeys beginning and end. Seek then the other journeys of which you are a close part, but in this seeking, know patience. Wear the travelers cloak, which shelters and permits you to endure."

Master Po rose and with his cane and tapped his way along the path journeying back to the Temple. Young Caine continued to watch the water. He tossed another pebble into the pond and watched the ripples as they moved outward in their journey, reflecting upon the lesson that had just been imparted to him.

Waves crashed and boomed as they made their way to shore. The sea was rough after the storm and the tide had receded for the second time that day. The hour was growing late and the sun was slowly sinking in the west. Many things had been washed ashore, including a young man who was lying completely still, face down in the sand. The silent watchers noted his tattered clothes. A more thorough inspection revealed that the young man's body was covered with bruises and scars; some quite fresh, others not so. Two of the scars, when examined closely, were distinct. Images of animals, both real and imagined, could be seen. They jumped back as the young man suddenly coughed and seawater emerged from his mouth and nose. He tried to turn on his back and, for the first time, they saw the pain etched on his face. Despite the obvious agony, he again tried to move but soon blacked out from the effort.

<Is he alive?>

<Yes. He is badly hurt.>

<Quickly, we must take him to the village apothecary.>

<But he is a stranger. Should we not send for the authorities?>

<The warlord would imprison him.>

The two men lifted the unconscious man and proceeded toward the village.

<He has strange markings on his arms.>

<I have only seen these markings once in my life. The old blind priest has them. He is Shaolin. He should be taken to the Temple. They will know what to do.>

The two men altered their course and soon arrived at the Temple with their charge. They were led to an area used as an infirmary. The young man's wounds were carefully tended to and he was placed on a sleeping mat, a pillow placed under his head and neck for comfort and support. A blanket was wrapped around him to ward off any chill and teas and herbs were given to help reduce the fever that had grown within him. The two men who had found and rescued the young man were led to another area and given food and water. As the priests examined and cared for the young man, whispers could be heard throughout the Temple. Who was he? He was quite obviously not Chinese. How did he receive the brands?

A short while later, the old blind priest was led to the young man. He placed his hands over him and reached out to touch the stranger's chi. The young man was very familiar yet unknown to him. This was very strange. How this young man had come into their care was beyond him, only that fate had somehow intervened. Without question, the priest knew that this young man must not meet his pupil, the young grasshopper. If perchance they did meet, the young man should not reveal that he was Shaolin, let alone his name or questions could arise that would be difficult to answer.

Master Po tapped his way over to the shelf and found a store of bandages. He went back to the mat where the young man laid and, bending down, he took each of the young man's arms and wrapped them with the bandages. If the young man questioned why this had been done, he would explain. After he was done, Master Po sat by the young man and waited.

"Uohhh." The young man stirred and tried to sit up. A gentle hand pushed him back down.

<You are not ready to move just yet.>

Hazel eyes opened to reveal an expression of puzzlement on the young man's face. The language he heard was familiar but he could not remember its name. Still, he found himself answering the man in the same language.

"Where am I?" The young man turned his head and found that someone sat by his side. He looked up into the face of a man wearing black and saffron robes. The robes should have been familiar to him but he could not place them. The face also should have been familiar, he knew that he'd seen the monk once before, but he did not recognize the man bending over him.

The old man sat staring out at nothing but very much aware of his surroundings. The young man reached up and waved a hand in front of the old man's face. The man reacted to the displacement of air but otherwise did not move. The young man discovered the old one was blind.

"Who are you?" The old man asked in a gentle voice.

The young man tried to think and suddenly discovered, "I . . . I do not know."

The words spoken felt familiar in some way as if he had heard them from someone else through much of his life. A feeling of frustration and amusement came to him without understanding why.

"You do not remember your name?"

"No." Suddenly fear filled the young man. "Where am I? What is this place?"

"Do not be afraid. No harm will come to you here. You are in a Shaolin Temple. You are safe."

"Shaolin?" The word, too, had a feeling of familiarity and yet the young man still could not grasp at what had been lost. "Please, help me. They must not find me."

"Who must not find you?"

"I do not know." Fear and anguish threatened to engulf the young man as he realized he had no identity. All that he knew for certain was that he was lost. He did not know where he was or how he would be able to return from whence he came, nor could he even remember how he came to be at this Shaolin Temple. A word and a face hovered just out of reach. 'Oh Pop, help me,' he thought. Folding his knees to his chest, the young man buried his face in them and wept.

Kermit balked at first sight of the wheelchair. "I don't need that," he stated defiantly.

The exasperated nurse ran her hand through her short blond hair, blew a stray bang back into place, and rolled her eyes heavenward. "It is hospital policy, Detective Griffin. Do we honestly have to go through this *every* time?"

She felt his glare through the green tinted shades.

"Just get in the damned chair, Griffin," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument.

His eyes widened slightly but he complied, eager to get back to his computer. He was still feeling guilty for not being able to keep Peter safe. 'Damn it, kid, where the hell did those goons take you?' He hated feeling useless, and fully intended to work non-stop until he, Paul, and Caine managed to locate Peter and bring him home. He felt a hand drop on his left shoulder, offering comfort, and turned to find his concern reflected in compassion-filled hazel eyes.

"We will find him, Kermit. We must."

Kermit nodded in agreement as the nurse navigated the chair through the halls, across the hospital, and out into the bright daylight. The ex-mercenary growled softly at the cheerful, sunny day that greeted them. How dare the sun shine so brightly when his world was looking so very dark?

Paul was waiting for them, seated stiffly behind the wheel of a black 1962 Cadillac. Caine reached out to steady his friend as Kermit stood from the chair and lowered himself into the passenger seat. As soon as Caine was settled in the backseat, Paul pulled the car away from the curb and headed for home.

Kermit noted their destination immediately. "Um, Paul? Does Annie even know that you are back yet?"

Paul shook his head and grimaced, "No. I didn't really want to tell her about Peter over the phone, but if I had just called to tell her I was here, she would have known that something was wrong from the tone of my voice."

He pulled the car into the familiar driveway. As he and Caine were assisting Kermit out of the car, they heard a door open. He'd known she would somehow know.

"Paul. Oh my God, Paul is that you?"

Kermit caught his mentor's eye and nodded toward Annie.

"Go. I'll be fine. Caine and I will manage."

Paul left his friend's side and sprinted toward the house. He caught the petite blond woman up in a fierce bear hug and swung her around.

"God, baby, but I missed you!"

Annie laughed as she felt herself being swung up in a circle. "Paul, honey, put me down."

He complied, but kept his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he brought his lips down to meet hers. She sighed and returned the warm, tender kiss. It felt so good to have his arms around her. She finally felt complete again. Her finely tuned senses, however, easily detected the tension radiating from her husband. She knew that he was as thrilled to be back with her as she was to have him back, but there was obviously something wrong. Her suspicions were confirmed as she both felt and heard Caine and Kermit come up behind them.

"Kermit? Caine? What are you two doing here? Paul, what has happened?"

Paul's embrace loosened as he took a step back from her. Together, as one, they started walking back toward the house, their visitors in tow. Annie wrinkled her brow in concern. Paul had still not answered her, but she felt his pain and anxiety as keenly as if it were her own.

"It's Peter, isn't it. Something has happened to Peter."

It was a statement, not a question. She had been feeling uneasy all afternoon, and had known that the feeling was related in some way to her son. She felt three sets of eyes on her and simply stated,

"Mother's intuition."

Paul sighed and guided his wife to the couch.

"Yes, something has happened to Peter. We don't know what, yet." He took her face gently in his hands and tilted it up toward him. "We *will* find him, Annie. I swear. No matter where he is, who has him, or even whether or not he is..."

The words trailed off as Paul realized what he'd been about to say. Annie merely nodded.

"He *is* alive, Paul. That much I am sure of. I would know if he was dead, I would *feel* it." She reached out to take Paul's hand, and laid her other hand on Caine's arm, "and so would both of you."

Caine blinked in surprise as he realized that she was right. He might not be able to sense his son through their 'mystical' link, but there was a deeper, stronger bond between parents and children that transcended all time and distance. For the first time since he had returned to his apartment, Kwai Chang Caine felt real hope.

Just at that moment, a forceful knock on the front door snapped them all to wary attention.

"I'll get it," Annie said. With practiced ease, Annie headed to the front door. She could tell whom the visitor was by the person's scent as the door opened and a breeze came in from outside. "Mary Margaret, so good of you to come."

"Where is he?" Annie could tell there was an edge to her voice.

"Who?"

"Don't play coy with me, I know he's here. I saw him leave the hospital with Paul and Kermit. I was visiting a friend. I almost missed following them."

"Come in Skalany, I'm glad you're here. You can be of assistance to help keep Kermit out of trouble and to help in a disappearance case. One I am sure you will find quite interesting." The familiar voice of Paul Blaisdell nearly caused Mary Margaret to lost her nerve. She should have known that he would have been aware that she had tailed them. Nothing much got past Paul or even Kermit or Caine by that matter. She had come here to give Caine a piece of her mind, but the look on all their faces changed that. It wasn't hard to figure out that the person they were referring to was Peter.

"He's disapppeared?" Mary Margaret did not seem too surprised. "Maybe he's doing one of those Shaolin things. You know, walking around the city in search of his path?"

"When was the last time you saw Peter?" Caine asked Mary Margaret, his voice gentle, yet trying to hide the obvious pain of this loss. Mary Margaret, however, could not help but pick up on Kwai Chang's struggle.

Mary Margaret swallowed a lump in her throat. Conflicting emotions were rising to the surface. She wasn't sure she wanted to reveal just how she felt about Caine's leaving, but in this case, the concern for Peter overrode her own pain.

"I haven't seen him since you . . . I haven't seen him for about a month. I've been bogged down at the precinct. Since Peter became a Shaolin, we've had to rearrange the roster and redistribute several of his cases that were still pending. Why? What's really happened?" Mary Margaret still asked the question even though she already suspected the answer.

Caine placed a reassuring hand on Skalany's arm. Without saying a word at first, he tried to apologize for not informing her that he had left. They would talk later on the subject.

"Someone has taken my son."

"But you can go find him, can't you? I mean, you can feel where he's at?"

Caine shook his head and fought the despair that was again entering his heart at not being able to sense his son's chi. The pain in his eyes left Mary Margaret with a cold chill. This was too much like the time when Caine had been missing for three months when he had been ran down while they were out walking. There was more, however, and Mary Margaret was not sure if she wanted to hear the rest.

All Mary Margaret could say was, "How can I help?"

Wiseman stormed from the room, furious. Caine had escaped. Even with the death of the young Shaolin, his revenge on the line would not have been complete , but it would have been a start. After destroying the young man, his plan had been to go after the only other known Caine alive, the young man's father. Since the first attempt had not been successful, he would have to change his stategy. By separating the two, he had made it easier to take the younger Caine, but he had not counted on the fact that the young man would now be a Shaolin. Now that the younger had disappeared, however, his plans would have to be placed on hold. Or would they? Wiseman thought for a moment. There really was no reason why he could not continue. Wherever Peter Caine had escaped to, there would be no one to help him. He was as good as dead anyway.

Wiseman thought back to the first time he'd tried to kill the older Shaolin priest. The poison he had given Caine should have separated his chi sufficiently enough to where it was impossible for him to regain strength, but inexplicably, the priest had survived. He had to have had the help of another Shaolin in order for his chi to be reunited with his body and soul. For the first time, Wiseman had realized there was a third person who had helped the monks in his ancestor's time. But this man had not been a monk himself. He was an old apothecary. The elder Caine had helped him to find the antidote to the poison that had been placed in the well. After his ancestor, Lai Tsu, had been destroyed by Kwai Chang, the old apothecary and Caine and his son had disappeared. 1500 years later, Wiseman had discovered that Caine was alive in this timeline, along with his son. Could the old apothecary also be alive?

'If he was,' Wiseman speculated, 'that would have to be remedied as well.' Wiseman pulled out another black medallion from deep within his clothing. A flash of light temporarily bathed the room, and the man was gone.

The Ancient sat watching Caine, both concerned and confused. Hearing of Peter's disappearance, the old apothecary immediatly felt responsible. He had not been there, having been called away to check on his daughter and her stepfather. The old Master was feeling old. He knew that his time on this earth was growing shorter with each passing day. Yet, he could not leave it until he was assured that the Caine line would continue. The need for the Caines in this world was great. They had special gifts far beyond the normal Shambhala Master and Shaolin. For now, he would try to take Kwai Chang's mind off what had happened, even though they both knew that would be impossible.

"Was your trip to France a success?"

Kwai Chang continued to sweep the floor, not wishing for conversation at the moment. He had returned to his rooms to clean up the chaotic mess that had been left behind. While Kermit had been in the hospital, he and Paul had not left his side. Kermit had been the only link to his son. Now that Kermit was suffiiciently recovered and safe at the Blaisdell's, Caine had to concentrate on trying to learn the identities of those responsible for his son's disappearance. The best way he could accomplish that was by returning home. The Ancient asked the question again.

Caine sighed deeply. He understood what Ping Hi was trying to do but he was not sure if he really wanted to be consoled, let alone redirected from his thoughts of his son.

"Please, my old friend. Tell me of your trip. It may shed some light."

A look of puzzlement crossed Kwai Chang's face. How could telling about his failed trip be of any use, unless there was a connection. But what could that connection be? Maybe it would be best if he did tell the Ancient. Maybe they would find it together.

"I first traveled to St. Adele to see my father. I needed to tell him that I was sorry for the things I said to him in the Bardo. We spent some time together getting reacquainted. That time with him reminded me when Peter and I reunited. At first, it was strained. Then I remembered the last time we talked, after the Chalice had been secured. It was a brief visit and, even then, I could not seem to find the words to talk to him. It was Peter who said that I should simply be with him and not say a word; advice that had been given to him by Paul Blaisdell. After that, our time together became easier. I spoke of my reason for being in France and he asked to see the photograph. My father said that he knew the woman. He was able to direct me to her, but when I looked for her, I found that she had been killed that same morning in an automobile accident. I would not be able to find out if she had carried Laura's essence. My father, however, pointed out to me that I did have a way, now that I was a Shmbhala Master. I would have the means to read the dead. So my father and I went to the morgue and asked to see the body . . ."

**Flashback**

<Are you family?>

<He is her husband.> Kwai Chang stared at his father, momentarily taken aback by the outright lie.

"Father, why . . ."

Matthew Caine raised his hand to silence his son. "I will explain later."

The attendant led them down to the row of freezer-like compartments. The man walked up to one and checked it's lable. He then opened the door and pulled out the sliding tray. A sheet covered the young woman up to her neck. Cuts and bruises covered the woman's face, but what was below the sheet would have caused even a seasoned forensics surgeon to blanche. Caine, however, was not interested in how the woman died. For the moment, his eyes were riveted upon the woman's face. The resemblance to his dead wife was remarkable. Yet this woman had her own characteristics as well. Her nose was just a shade larger and her lips were more narrow. Her hair was also a shade darker. How she could have been mistaken for his wife was understandable given the right lighting conditions, but it was obvious that she was not his wife. Kwai Chang knew in his heart that Laura was gone. Where her essence may be, however, was still unknown. It had been too long. If it was not here, to look for her would take the rest of his lifetime. Kwai Chang did not know if he was willing to do that. He gave a deep sigh and Matthew placed a hand on his son's shoulder, realizing he needed the support and comfort of a family member.

<May we be alone, please,> Matthew said to the attendant.

The attendant bowed and left the two men alone.

"Now, my son. You must concentrate. Reach out with your chi to the place of the third eye."

Kwai Chang did as he was told. As he concentrated, he was aware that a small amount of residual energy remained. He reached for this energy and found the truth.

"She did not carry Laura's essence, and yet there is an essence present that is familiar to me." Kwai Chang said. As realization dawned, his eyes became wide. "Mother?"

Matthew Caine was startled. He had not expected this. This woman had carried the essence of his long dead wife. Matthew Caine stared down at the body of the dead girl, for him that is what she was. There were many occations he had seen her in the village and felt drawn to her. It was not a physical attraction, but a knowing in some way. They had spoken a few times but always on friendly terms. Matthew had learned that her parents were dead and she had no other living relatives and that she was a medical student. He had offered to teach her about herbology and how herbs could be used to heal. She had agreed eagerly, saying that she would love to learn as soon as the semester had ended. That conversation had only taken place one week before Kwai Chang's arrival.

"Su Ling? Oh, if only I had known. I could have prevented it." Tears shone in Matthew's eyes and it was Kwai Chang's turn to give his father support.

"There was nothing you could have done. The heavens unfold, a woman's destiny is revealed." Caine's eyes were also filled with tears. The loss of his Laura so many years ago hit him again. He cried for her and for the dead woman who carried his Mother's essence. He felt a failure for not finding his wife, but this unexpected event proved that the essence of a loved one did live on.

*****End of Flashback****

"We took the young woman back to St. Adele and buried her in the church yard. I stayed with my father until he reminded me that I needed to return home and inform Peter of what I found. I failed to find Laura's essence. I have also failed to recognize the danger that my son was in. Now he may be lost to me."

"You did not fail, Kwai Chang Caine. You discovered the truth. That is not failure."

"But what of my son?"

"There are questions that you have not asked."

"What questions, Master?"

"Who gave me the photograph to give to you? Even I was fooled into thinking the young woman could be your wife. Also, who killed the young woman and why?"

"You do not believe the death of the young woman was an accident?" asked Kwai Chang.

"No, I do not. I believe someone wanted to separate you and Peter for their own purposes."

"But what purpose could that be and why kill an innocent woman?"

"To destroy the line of Caine."

Kwai Chang Caine's eyes narrowed. He had heard this line before. "How would this be accomplished?"

"The person or persons responsible would know that you and your son could not be stopped together. But if you were separated, they could act accordingly, and have done so, by taking Peter. Your son may already be dead. You may very well be next, my friend."

Kwai Chang Caine did not want to think of the possibility that Peter was no longer alive, but he could not ignore the fact that his awareness of his son was gone. Could he be blinding himself to the truth? He did not know. But maybe, in reality, he simply did not *want* to know. So long as a spark of hope remained or until he held his son's body in his arms, he refused to even consider the possibility.

The young man walked through the halls of the Temple. The place felt familiar yet alien. It was as if he had been in a similar place himself; several times in fact, and yet he could not recall when or where. Images assaulted his mind, but they were gone as fast as they appeared. A gentle face framed by long straight graying hair and eyes that were hauntingly familiar continued to invade his dreams. The man called Master Po would come to him in the night when he cried out but, upon waking, the young man could never remember the dream. Other faces would come to him, but the names associated with those faces were lost to him. Even his own name was still lost. Because of it, Master Po began calling him Mi Er, meaning 'lost child.' It seemed appropriate, for he was indeed lost.

Mi Er continued to walk through the halls until he came upon a room filled with young boys; initiates. A story was being told by the one called Master Kahn as a lesson while the boys listened. Master Kahn was using hand shadows to illustrate the story. An older boy was sitting closer to Master Kahn assisting him in the story, responding with appropriate lines. The young man sat quietly and listened and found the story had a familiar ring to it.

Kahn: Meet the stonecutter, chopping at the mountain.

Student: Is he a slave?

Kahn: No, but he must work very hard all day long just to earn a few grains of rice. Now here is the lord of the province on his horse. The stonecutter is filled with envy.

Student: Of course, he is rich. He does not have to work. He has everything he wants.

Kahn: Which would you rather be; the lord of the province or the stonecutter?

Student: That is an easy riddle, Master. I would rather be the lord of the province. What is that?

Kahn: The sun. It beats down on the lord of the province. It makes him ill. With all his powers, the lord of the province cannot make the sun stop shining. You still want to be the lord of the province?

Student: No! I want to be the sun.

Kahn: All his powers, nothing can stand against him... But wait... What is this?

Student: The nighttime?

Kahn: No. It is a cloud. It falls across the face of the sun and snuffs him out like a candle.

Student: Will the sun melt the cloud?

Kahn: It is too big, too full of water.

Student: Then I will be the cloud.

Kahn: Very good. Now you are the mightiest thing beneath heaven and earth. Are you content?

Student: Yes, Master. I am content. Thank you. What is that?

Kahn: It is a mountain. It is in your way, cloud; what will you do now?

Student: I will fly over it.

Kahn (tries to fly over the mountain): Oh, you cannot. It is too big.

Student: Then I will rain down on it and wash it away. Can you make a picture of my rain?

Kahn: It is no use. You will wear yourself away to nothing.

Student: Then the mountain is mightier than the cloud.

Kahn: So it would seem.

Student: Then I will be the mountain.

Kahn: Congratulations, Kwai Chang Caine, you again have made the wisest decision. Now the sun cannnot melt you, the rain cannot wash you away. Nothing can disturb your serenity.

Young Caine (laughs at a new shadow image): I know! It is the man and his hammer...

Mi Er looked up. The name that Master Kahn mentioned disturbed him. It sounded so familiar and yet . . . The young man shook his head. If only he could remember. Mi Er got up and left the classroom feeling tired and alone. The injuries he had suffered at the hands of others unknown were wearing heavily on his mind. What had he done to deserve such treatment? Mi Er looked down at his arms and saw the bandages there. He had not thought about them since he had awakened in this place. For some reason he felt that having his arms covered felt wrong but he could not understand why it felt such. If only he could find some glimmer of hope, some small memory, but there was nothing.

Mi Er continued to wander through the corridors unti, eventually, he came to an open courtyard where some of the monks were exercising. Mi Er just watched at first, but soon found himself responding. He walked to an open area just behind one of the monks and began following the monk's movements. Horse stance, forward stance, cat stance, cross stance . . . Smoothly and quickly he found himself executing those same movments. Then he started doing exercises not only using using those movments, but also adding kicks. The movements felt natural; as if he had done them before and often. As he moved, others turned toward him and watched. The movements that he was making were far advanced than what the class had been doing. Mi Er was soon found himself engaging in far more complex exercises, and and the look on his face showed that he reached a state of meditation. Suddenly, he stopped.

He knew this. What was it called? Kung Fu. He remembered!. A tiny glimmer of hope filled him. He was remembering, but how much longer would it be before he would know everything? Mi Er continued his exercising. For now, he was content just to be able to remembr something. Maybe if he did not push himself, in time, more memories would surface. He soon began to show signs of weariness. It would do him little good if he over did it. It had only been a few days since he had arrived at the Temple.

The Temple. Even this place seemed so familiar to him. It felt like . . . home? Had he once lived in a Temple similar to this? The smell of incense, candles, and sweat somehow triggered memories of being in such a place long ago but the memories were conflicting. One seemed to suggest the place had been destroyed while another suggested he had been finishing his training there. Training? Where did that come from? Another tidbit of memory to tease his tortured thoughts? Mi Er collapsed on the floor breathing hard. His head began to ache with the pain of trying to remember. More images battered at him, flashes of a young boy and a man dressed in saffron robes. The boy looked a little like the student he'd seen in the classroom eariler but there was something oddly familiar about him. Could the boy be himself? If that was so, than who was the man? The face and the eyes reminded him of the other image. Were they the same person? Again Mir Er cried out not only in voice but in his mind, as if thinking it would reach that person.

"Oh, Pop. Help me remember and where are you? I need you."

Tears fell unbridled. Gentle arms reached around him and he turned to look into the blind eyes of Master Po.

"Come Mi Er. It is time to rest. Do not frett. Your "Pop" will find you. It will just take time."

Master Po did not know what to say to the young man nor how to comfort him. As Mi Er grew in strength, his memories would surely return and with it, questions. It would be best not to reveal too much yet. Having meditated and searched the scrolls, he had found no reference of any stranger having been accepted into a Shaolin Temple, at least within this lifetime. Only young Caine had been allowed entry. What was most disturbing was the young man's eyes. They were very much like the young grasshopper's. How Master Po knew of this without actually seeing them was a mystery in itself. Even the feel of Mi Er's chi was similar to young Caine's. Could they be related in some way? And if so, how? Young Caine had informed him whe he had first entered the Temple that he had no living relatives. He would have to meditate more on this.

Master Po led Mi Er back to his chosen quarters. Mi Er laid down and he quickly fell asleep. A flute sounded softly in the background, then it stopped.

"Pop, don't stop. I like it when you play your flute. It helps me to sleep."

The words were spoken in sleepy intonations. Master Po listened to the young man's words. While in sleep, Mi Er spoke in a strange accent of a language that was just becoming familiar to his people. It spoke of a place far across the sea, a place where many were going for opportunities and hope of a better life. While awake, Mi Er spoke Chinese, but American English was the language of his dreams. Master Po looked down, and though he could not see the young man's face, found a stray lock of hair and brushed it away. He could feel that the young man's brow was creased and furrowed and another nightmare was rapisly growing. Quietly, Master Po soothed the young man's fears away. 'So much like a lost child,' he thought. 'And so much like my little grasshopper. May the Tao sustain them both during their difficult trials.'

Mary Margaret walked slowly down the hall to her apartment, concern for her partner foremost in her mind. Paul and Kermit had just dropped her off after a fruitless meeting with Peter's favorite informant, Donny Double D. Even Donny had been surprised to learn of Peter's disappearance. As she fumbled for her keys, the same finely tuned instinct that made her a great detective warned her to be cautious. Patting the gun riding inside her jacket for reassurance, she inserted her key and gently pushed the door open. Although nothing seemed out of place physically, an undertone of danger greeted her the instant she stepped across the threshold. She moved to flip on the light just as a disembodied arm reached out of the darkness, wrapping around her throat, and pressing a soft cloth to her face. Her struggle was tenacious, but brief.

******

Kermit was frustrated. The meeting with Donny Double D had been completely useless and they still had no leads as to where Peter had been taken, or by whom. But something else also nagged at him, a feeling that he could not pin down but that he decided had originated at Mary Margaret's building.

"Paul, turn around."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, just a feeling. Something wasn't right back at Mary Margaret's apartment building. I don't know what it is, I just have a bad feeling."

"Your feelings are usually pretty damned accurate. Glad to know they haven't gone soft the past two years," Paul observed as he flipped his Cadillac around to head back the way they had just come. As they approached the building, both men scanned the surrounding area for signs of trouble.

"There," Paul pointed toward the alley next to the apartment building. Kermit followed the older man's gaze to the dark sedan parked at an odd angle and hidden in the shadows.

"Something is definitely not right, here. It might not have anything to do with Mary Margaret, but the way things are going lately I think we'd better at least check it out."

As they stepped off the elevator, Kermit stopped and held up his hand.

"Do you smell that? Damn, that's chloroform."

The two men ran toward Mary Margaret's door, arriving just in time to see her slump in the arms of a dark clad figure. They sprang into action. While Paul crossed to flip the lights on, Kermit drew his Desert Eagle.

"Don't move. Unless you *want* to see how many holes I can drill through you before you lose consciousness."

The figure froze.

Paul took hold of Mary Margaret and eased her onto the couch. Before he could reach for the phone to call an ambulance, Caine appeared by her side.

"An ambulance will not be necessary, but I will need a cup of hot water." He reached into his pouch as Paul headed toward the kitchen to comply.

Meanwhile, Kermit had handcuffed their prisoner and radioed the precinct to report the incident. He decided to wait for Paul before beginning the interrogation. After all, who was he to hog all the fun?

Paul returned moments later with a steaming cup of hot water, which he handed to Caine. It seemed like forever, but finally Mary Margaret began to come around.

"Will she be okay?"

"She will be fine. But it is a good thing that you arrived when you did, or we might have lost her as well."

Paul drew closer to Caine and quietly asked, "Do you think this was related to Peter's disappearance?"

Caine tried to keep his tears from falling. He knew he had to keep himself under control for the sake of his son's father and friends if he was to be of any use to them. Why had he chosen those words? Did he believe the attempted abduction of Mary Margaret had something to do with Peter? And if so, who else could be in danger and why? Kwai Chang gave a deep sigh, revealing more frustration coming through more than he would have liked. 'Oh, Peter, where are you my son. Why can I not feel your chi?'

Paul laid a comforting hand on the priest's shoulder. "Caine, I swear we will find him. No matter how long it takes, I will not give up until our son is back here, where he belongs."

Kermit stared daggers at the bound man before him. "Oh, yeah!"

"Now, about our 'friend' here," Paul crossed the room in three easy strides and grabbed the stranger by the chin. "Just who in the hell are you and why were you after Detective Skalany?"

The prisoner's eyes widened slightly at the emphasis on the woman's title.

"Detective? You mean she's a cop? Damn! He didn't tell me she was a cop, I swear."

Paul's grip tightened as he pulled the thug closer. "He, who?"

Fear burned brightly in the man's eyes as he tried to pull away and started blubbering,

"I don't know, man, I swear. This guy just offered me $1000 to bring him the lady who lived in this apartment. He paid me $500 and said I'd get the other $500 when I delivered."

Paul felt an overwhelming urge to slam his fist into the face in front of him. Although he didn't have any solid proof that this incident was linked to Peter's disappearance, his gut told him it was somehow. He balled up his fist and was just about to strike when Kermit intervened.

"Don't Paul, the weasel's not worth hitting. Besides, our new friend here is going to be oh-so-helpful and tell us exactly *where* he was supposed to take Mary Margaret, now aren't you?"

He turned his most intimidating glare up a notch and faced the trembling stranger. It was obvious to all that the man was telling the truth.

"Yeah, sure man, I'll tell you everything I know. I swear."

Disgusted, Paul shoved the man away from him. "All right, talk."

By the time the patrol car arrived to escort the thug to jail, Paul and Kermit had extracted every scrap of information they thought might be useful. Unfortunately, it wasn't very much. Paul sighed as reached for the phone to let Annie know what was happening.

***Later that night***

Ping Hai stared into the candle. He had been talking with Kwai Chang when his friend had felt a wave of fear from Mary Margaret and had left to do what he could to help. By the time he had returned, the hour was late and Kwai Chang had sent the old Master home. Both their hearts were heavy with sorrow; Kwai Chang's doubly so. But no matter how Ping Hai tried to help his old friend, Kwai Chang Caine was bent on ignoring his advice. Ping Hai knew the younger priest would risk everything to find his son, even his own life. Before he had left, the Ancient had given Caine a cup of tea containing herbs that would act as a strong sedative.

"You must rest my friend. You cannot help Peter if you become ill."

Ping Hai knew he had only eight hours before the effects of the tea wore off. Maybe, with luck, Kwai Chang would sleep longer, but he somehow doubted this would be true. There had to be something he could do in the meantime to learn whether or not Peter lived. Ping Hai threw some herbs into the burning pot and watched as they flared up and smoke rose around him. He felt for the crystal medallion around his neck. It would be easy to simply go to Shambhala and ask the monks there, but they were often reluctant to reveal too much. By meditating and concentrating on Peter, he may very well be drawn to him. As Ping Hai prepared to concentrate, a slight noise drew his attention. Someone had entered, someone whose chi radiated evil. With his back to the intruder, Ping Hai waited.

Searing pain filled his mind. Each lash of the metal whip chain cut deeply into his back, causing more pain than he'd ever imagined possible. The face of his tormentor swam in and out of focus, staring at him with a distorted grin and absently fingering the angry red scars that marked his left cheek. The blaze of hatred burned brightly in the stranger's eyes. The young man struggled against his bonds but his chi was becoming weaker with every newly inflicted wound. He tried to mentally prepare himself for the next blow, but it never came. Without warning, his head was roughly pulled back. The man with the scars was shouting something at him but he could not make out the words. The young man continued to retreat further within his own thoughts to a place of safety, until finally he nearly shut the door entirely.

"NNOOOO!" Mi Er screamed but this time, the nightmare did not go away upon waking. "Noooo!"

Deep sobs racked his body as he realized what he had just experienced had not been a dream. He pulled his knees in to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them, and dropping his head to complete the huddle. The feeling of absolute helplessness lingered, despite his certainty that there was nothing he could have done. All of his powers had not been enough. Or had they? He had escaped, after all.

A faint noise caught his attention, and Mi Er looked up to see Master Po running to his bedside. He unfolded himself and moved over to allow the priest to sit next to him. For the first time, he truly recognized who this man was. He remembered he had spoken to him once from doing deep meditation while finishing his Kung Fu training at the Tao Temple. Master Po had spoken to him and called him 'Grasshopper', but the name somehow felt wrong, as if it did not really belong to him.. Mi Er started when he realized that what touched him was not a phantom but real flesh and blood. He reminded himself that his time here was not a dream, even though it felt like one. As his memories slowly returned, he felt as if he was awakening from a long, deep sleep and seeing everything for the very first time. He still did not know how he came to be here but he understood and knew where here was. Shocked, he realized that not only was he not in the right place, he was also not in the right time. The question was, what time had he come from and how would he get back? Those questions, however, could not be answered until he answered the ultimate unknown, that of who he was. No one here could answer that except himself. Obviously, his memories still required more time to return. Unfortunately, something told him that time was not something he had a lot of to spare. If only there was some way he could help trigger their return.

Master Po continued to stare toward Mi Er. Concern was etched in his face in much the same way that concern would be etched on the face of. . . The name still eluded him. Mi Er pulled his knees back up to his chest and rested his head there.

"It wasn't a nightmare," he said. "It was a terrifying memory. I had been beaten badly by a man with deep scars on his face that would not heal. He was filled with rage and hatred at something I did, but I can't recall what it might have been."

"Was the man related to you?"

The question caused Mi Er to lift his head once again. He shook his head emphatically, forgetting for a moment that the old priest was blind.

"No. He was not related to me. That much I know for certain." Mi Er's thoughts drifted to what he had just discovered. "I was his prisoner. For what reason, I . . . do not know. I somehow managed to escape, just barely with my life, but I'm not sure exactly how. It should have been far easier, but something went wrong. I tried to use . . ." What had he tried to use? What exactly had happened? Mi Er looked down at his hands. He suddenly had an urgent need to know what was hidden under the bandages around his arms. Something told him that was part of the key to unlocking his memories.

"Master Po. I must know what is under these bandages. I know they can't be wounds because I have not seen any blood come through them. My back, I know, is scarred and I know the dressings on those have been removed several times and replaced with fresh ones to allow them to heal. But my arms had not been touched since I got here. You told me I must leave these bandages on but you have not told me why. I need to know."

Master Po sighed. He was afraid that this would happen, but he also knew he could not have prevented it. The young man had a right to know.

"Give me your arms."

Mi Er stretched out his arms and Master Po felt for the hidden knots that bound the bandages to his arms. Slowly he unwrapped them. As the flesh was exposed, the young man first saw the lines where the tanned skin of his hands met the pale skin of his wrists and forearms. Then other lines appeared. These were red in color where the flesh had been seared, as if it had been in contact with blazing hot metal. The lines took shape and soon the young man was staring at two images, the same images that he had seen earlier on the blind priest's arms. Mi Er stared at the marks. He was drawn to them and, as he stared, images began to play out in his mind.

He found himself standing in a room filled with objects that had been recovered from a long ruined Temple. He saw another man standing by his side, an ancient looking man with glasses and an all-knowing look and feel about him. Mi Er looked down and saw that they both wore robes similar to the robes worn in the Temple, and that they were standing before a burning cauldron. Then Mi Er was aware of himself walking to the cauldron, pulling his sleeves away from his forearms and reaching for the cauldron. He could almost feel the heat and the pain that seared his flesh. He was acutely aware of so much more than just what he knew. It was as if the Universe opened before him to reveal all. Mi Er was suddenly propelled backward and he ran into a supporting beam. The ancient one tried to tell him that he needed to rest and let the brands heal but he found himself refusing. His need was urgent. He needed to get to ... Mi Er shook his head and sighed in frustration as the images faded.

Mi Er reached and took Master Po's arms in his and looked at both sets of brands. Master Po was Shaolin and that meant that Mi Er was one as well. He remembered very little of his training, however, except that he had been trained in Kung Fu. And now he could recall the day that he took the brands Everything in between still eluded him. What images he could grasp that were of lessons learned were cryptic and made no sense to him. Images of himself carrying a weapon of some sort warred with others that showed him as he was now. He did not know what to believe or resolve which was the truth. Or perhaps both were? However, the most important piece was still locked away, that part which contained the key to who he was. Mi Er shook his head to try to clear the fog. The memories were returning but they still did not provide the answers he needed the most: Who was he? And who was the man with long gray hair?

A sudden noise drew both men's attention..

"Grasshopper, you should be in bed. It is late. You know that bedtime is strictly enforced. No student is to wander the Temple after midnight. It can be very dangerous."

"I am sorry Master Po. I did not mean to disobey. I was just..." The youth trailed off, uncertain.

"I understand your curiosity young one, but you must listen when an order is given to you. Now go. We will discuss this in the morning."

"Yes, Master Po."

Grasshopper? Confusion continued to cloud Mi Er's mind. His most recent memory of Master Po had shown the priest calling him Grasshopper, but he now knew that name belonged to another, the boy called Caine. Then other words associated with the name came to his mind.

"Can you hear the grasshopper that is at your feet?"

Images of himself as a boy at a Temple much like this one came to him. A man stood before him in saffron robes but his head was bare. The eyes, however, were the same as the man with grey hair.

"But there is no grasshopper at my feet."

"There will be, my son."

Son? Was the man in these memories his father or perhaps someone who called him that, as a teacher would a student? Or were these thoughts still a product of his imagination?

Mi Er's memories were returning more rapidly, but they were still chaotic and disjointed. So many unanswered questions rose deep within him, questions that now included the young one called Grasshopper. There was something familiar about the boy but Mi Er could not quite identify it. He watched as the young student left with his head bowed. Young Caine turned back for moment and their eyes met. Mi Er was fascinated to find himself staring into familiar eyes, eyes that were the same as those in his dreams. But that was not possible, was it?

Master Po had turned toward the doorway. He should have been more careful. He could not blame the boy. Since Mi Er had been brought to the Temple, others had speculated about and questioned who the young man was. Among the monks that had been assigned to care for the young man, Master Po had to make sure that an oath was sworn not to reveal that Mi Er was Shaolin. It was a great mystery to them how the young man had required his brands, when as far as they knew, only full Chinese had entered a Shaolin Temple. Kwai Chang Caine had been a single exception. Even he was not full Chinese. Having searched the scrolls and found no reference to anyone else entering a Shaolin Temple, the only explanation Master Po thought of was that there must be an unknown Temple across the great sea. And yet, he had not heard of any Shaolin having traveled that far.

Master Po sighed to himself. It had been a foolish oath. He should have known that it would not have been easy to keep. In some way he even felt relieved. The young man knew part of what he was and there was no need to hide that fact any longer. Master Po realized that by trying to isolate the young man from learning answers, he may have been doing him more harm than good. Sooner or later, Mi Er and young Caine were bound to meet. Maybe it was best to let nature take it's course. Perhaps if he allowed the two to meet, the young man's memories would return that much sooner. Master Po turned back to the young man and made a decision, and as he did so, he was aware that Mi Er was deep in thought.

"Mi Er? Is everything all right?"

Mi Er was aware of the silence that had fallen between them.

"Yeah. I was just thinking, and remembering."

"Remembering? You remembered something else?"

"Yeah, uh, what was that student's name, again?"

"Kwai Chang Caine. He has been one of my favorite students."

"Caine. The name does not sound Chinese."

"His father was American, like you."

Mi Er was puzzled at that. "Like me?"

"Forgive me. I would have thought by now you would have discovered this on your own."

"Discover what?"

Master Po got up from the sleeping mat and found his way to a small shelf. He felt for the object of his desire and grasped it. He placed it under his arm and came back and sat down at Mi Er's side. He handed the object to the young man without a word. The young man took the object with a slightly puzzled glance at the priest. He then looked down at his own face for the first time in over two weeks. He certainly did not look like any of the monks. Mi Er studied himself in the polished surface of the plate and saw dark, curly, shoulder length hair. He rubbed a hand around his chin and remarked that he had not shaven in a long time, figuring from the shortness of the beard that he did usually shave. His cheeks were tanned from the sun. But what struck him most of all was his eyes. They were similar to the young student's and to those of the man in his dreams and memories. Could the man in those memories actually be his father? Suddenly, Mi Er wanted to see more of what was there.

"Do you have a razor I can use?"

"Do you not think it could wait until morning when there is more light?"

"I guess so."

Mi Er stared at the image in the plate, again. This mystery was becoming deeper and deeper, yet more pieces of the puzzle were slowly working their way to the foreground. If only he had one more piece. Maybe that piece would be the one to link all the others to form a coherent whole. Mi Er let his thoughts drift and he found himself focusing on the face of the man that he now believed was his father.

'If you are out there,' he said to himself, 'If there is a way, help me to reveal the truth of who I am.'

Wiseman sat back, barely containing a grin of triumph as he waited for his men to report in and confirm the death of the ancient priest. The only other person left to exact his revenge upon was Caine himself. So be it. This would be sweet. Wiseman gathered his chi and focused his thoughts, and soon found himself standing in the Caine apartment. He found his nemesis on his sleeping pallet. How appropriate. It seems we would meet like this again. Wiseman stood there waiting, merely watching the sleeping priest. He was tempted to again try to take Caine's life as he slept but what he truly wanted was not just to simply kill him, but to see his soul destroyed. To do that, he needed Caine's attention.

Wiseman was stepping in to kick the man lying on the pallet when suddenly his foot was grabbed. He cursed himself, silently. He should have known that he could not enter a Shaolin's domain without being detected.

"Wiseman. We meet again. What is it that you want?" Caine's voice was even and exact, his anger barely held in check.

"First, I bring a message." Wiseman tossed an object on the floor. The circlet of jade glowed in the moonlight. A dark stain covered a portion of the amulet, revealing the carvings etched within. Kwai Chang picked up the amulet and was nearly brought to his knees with grief.

"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. Your son is gone, never to return. He has paid the price for my ancestor's dishonor. You shall also pay that same price for his death, as will the Ancient one. Prepare yourself to return to the Tao's source, Kwai Chang Caine."

With Wiseman's departure, Caine collapsed on the floor, clutching the jade pendant to his chest. Wiseman's words rang out, over and over, in his mind. His son was gone! Never to return! With those words, all hope died in Kwai Chang. His reason for living gone. Then suddenly, as more of Wiseman's threats sunk in, Kwai Chang reacted. The Ancient One! Ping Hai. He had to get to him before Wiseman returned. The Ancient may be a Shambhala Master but he was old. Without Caine's aid, Wiseman might well succeed in killing him. His son was gone, a fact he could not change, but he would not let Wiseman succeed further. The least he could do was avenge his only child. If that meant wondering the earth again, he would do it without hesitation. And this time, he would not stop until his last breath took him back to the source and back to his son.

******

Ping Hai sat absolutely still, unwilling to allow the intruders to suspect his awareness of their presence. Surprise was on his side, he knew, despite what they might believe. He reached out his senses and confirmed the presence of three men, moving stealthily toward him.

The three men, shrouded in black and shadow, moved softly, seemingly avoiding detection. The old man before them presented an easy target, or so they thought. As they stepped close enough to land the killing blow, the Ancient threw some herbs upon the fire. A noise similar to a fire cracker sounded and smoke rose up around the Ancient, surrounding him in a concealing mist. At first, the three assailants were confused, but they continued to circle outward, searching for the old man. They would not be fooled by this one. The Ancient tried to make his way to the door, but his path was blocked. His sudden movements caught the attention of the three men and they were again upon him. The Ancient kicked out as best he could, his old muscles protesting agains the abuse they were receiving. The Ancient tried to ignore the sudden exertion and concentrate on preserving his life. The three men easily dodged the old ones movements. They took turns trying to bring the old one down, each trying to gain the winning advantage.

The fighting continued, but the odds were stacked against him. Ping Hai felt himself begin to slow as his ancient body protested against the physical strain. He was outnumbered, he knew, but refused to give up. He had not survived the ages only to die at the hands of children. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a voice cried out his only hope. In the blink of an eye, Kwai Chang Caine appeared by his side, battling more viciously than the older priest could remember ever witnessing. Something had released the tiger in his old friend, and he was suddenly very afraid he knew what the trigger must have been. As the last attacker fled, Ping Hai turned to Caine and nearly sank to his knees at the depth of pain he found in the other's eyes. Was it true, then, that Peter was gone? He had to know for sure before he resumed his attempts to search out young Caine.

"Kwai Chang, what has happened?"

Without a word, Kwai Chang pulled the amulet from his shirt and handed it to the Ancient. Ping Hai took the pendant and he too reacted to what he found. No, this could not be. The pendant contained Peter's blood, but it also told of something else, something that Kwai Chang had not noticed as a Shambhala Master should. There was no residue of death. In Kwai Chang's grief, he had failed to recognize the obvious.

Listen to me, my old friend. Peter is ..."

"Gone! My son is gone." Kwai Chang collapsed in his grief, not hearing the Ancient. Tears of shame and loss poured from him as the Ancient held and rocked him. Ping Hai shook his head. He had not seen his friend stricken like this since the destruction of the Temple. It was clear to see that Kwai Chang had lost all hope. Ping Hai knew if he tried to tell him the truth, Kwai Chang would not believe him. The grief of losing his son a second time had blinded the younger priest to any signs of hope. The Ancient led his friend to a couch and coaxed him to sit. Kwai Chang needed sleep if he was to fight against this newest foe. Wiseman would surely return once he learned that his henchmen had not succeeded in killing the Ancient. Ping Hai rose and poured a cup of special tea that he kept on hand for such purposes. For the second time that night, he found himself coaxing Kwai Chang to drink. He waited until the other had fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber before placing a blanket over his old friend and beginning the preparations necessary to search for the youngest of the three Shaolin. He had to find Peter tonight. Otherwise, the next time Wiseman attacked, Ping Hai feared that Kwai Chang might simply let the man win.

Mi Er watched the Students practice their Kung Fu. Some were awkward and did not pay attention fully to the Master, but instead kept looking in his direction. Mi Er, attention, however, was focused one particular Student. The boy was a natural. His grace was certainly that of the Crane, though some of his moves still needed work. He knew that it would still be many years before anyone would realize just how much of a natural this young man was in learning all of the forms and Kung Fu systems. Mi Er observed that, while others allowed themselves to be distracted by outside influences, him included, Young Kwai Chang Caine never let tthose same distractions detract him from reaching his goal.

It had been week since Mi Er had arrived and his back was nearly healed. His strength was returning and along with it, more memories. He knew that the time that he belonged to was at least 125 years in the future and he had been some kind of law enforcement officer at one time but left after becoming Shaolin. Memories of his life as a child revealed that he had, at one time, lives in a Shaolin Temple. Other memories from when he was older, however, showed him the faces of an older man and a blind woman whom he felt some sort of kinship with. He had dreamed of the man the previous night. They'd been engaged in a conversation which Mi Er had conveyed deeply rooted fears about not being able to talk to his father. He had called the man 'Paul' in the dream. Through that conversation, Mi Er learned that Paul had been his . . . foster father? Whatever that meant. The blond woman , however, was different in some way. She had been known to him as 'Mom' and yet something told him that she was not his bological mother. Another's face, though only in a photograph, carried that distinction.

Mi Er was feeling pretty good. At lease now, when the dreams came, they were no longer disappearing, at least not those that really mattered. What remained, he knew now to be real memories. As Mi Er grew stronger, Master Po led him in meditation to help him make sense of the dreams and to place each one in context with the other. Slowly, but surely, Mi Er was rebuilding his life as he knew it to be true. But there were still two things that remained out of reach. The name of the man who he knew now was his father and his own name. He could not understand why this was so. Everything else was returning, why not that?

Mi Er continued to watch the class until they had been dismissed to their rooms to meditate. Mi Er was about to do the same when he felt someone's eyes upon him.

"Why were you watching me?" It was young Caine. This was the first time they had talked since that night when Master Po had caught Grasshopper spying on them.

"I was studying your form. You are quite good, but you need to learn to stop your arms once you've done your block."

"Show me."

Mi Er rose and began the form that young Caine had been working on.

"Now watch."

Young Caine watched carefully as Mi Er showed him the moves.

"Now you try it."

Young Caine again executed the form, this time mimicking Mi Er's movements exactly.

"Much better," Mi Er was aware that Master Kahn was watching them. "You had better get to your meditations. We don't want Master Kahn angry at us now do we?"

"No. Thank you . . . What is your name?"

"I'm called Mi Er."

"Thank you Master Mi Er for showing me the correct form."

"It's only Mi Er. I'm not a Master, yet."

"But you wear the brands. I do not understand."

"It's a long story."

"Student Caine. You are late for your meditations and Master Po would like to see you afterward."

"I am sorry Master Kahn, I will go at once."

Master Kahn looked with disapproval at Mi Er, but there was a twinkle of humor as well.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to keep the boy long. He asked me a question so I answered it."

"Do not be too harsh on yourself. The boy is right, you are a Master. I have seen you practice your Kung Fu. You seem to have mastered movements that I do not even recognize."

"Some of them I learned when I was a cop. I sort of added and invented as I went along."

Mi Er almost questioned what he just said but then he remembered Master Po advice. "Do not force or question every thought or phrase that you may say. Those that are true to you will come when you least expect it. Accept them when they come for they will be true to your nature. You will know this to be true because it will feel right."

"Well, I'd better go meditate myself. Plus, I have kitchen duty later."

"It was not necessary for you to do this. You are a guest at the Temple."

"I know, but it just doesn't feel right. I know I've been in a Temple before. Some of my memories suggest that I even grew up in one. I want to do my part, and besides, I need to do something. It feels right to be a part of the life here."

"Very well. You may go meditate Mi Er and do not be late for kitchen duty." Master Kahn smiled to himself as he watched the young man run to his quarters and to his duty. He could not help but marvel at the contradiction the young man seemed to represent. His looks and his mannerisms were far from being Chinese, but his heart and soul was that of a Shaolin. He seemed to be more of a brother to the wind and yet, there was a gentleness that suggested something more. Oddly enough, he would miss the young man once he was finally healed, in body, mind, and spirit, and was strong enough to leave them. Master Kahn knew, on that day, he would weep.

"Master Po? You summoned me?"

"Yes, Grasshopper. I have an errand for you to run. You must go down to the village and deliver these herbs to the Chau family. I cannot attend to them and they need these right away. As soon as you deliver the herbs, return here at once."

"Yes Master."

Young Caine was excited at being chosen to go to the village. It was not often that a student received such a priviledge. This was an opportunity to explore new territory, even if that territory was only from here to the village. Sometimes, however, adventures were found without even trying.

Young Caine took the herbs, went to his quarters, oulled on his sandels, and headed off toward the village. The road to the Temple was long and narrow, in some places, only wide enough for one person to pass at a time. The road was also known to be extremely treacherous after a rainstorm. As young Caine approached a bend in the road, he suddenly stumbled and dropped the herbs. They rolled out of reach and, as young Caine tried to grab them, he over balanced and found himself falling.

Mi Er suddenly stiffened and snapped out of his meditation. Without thinking, he grabbed a brown satchal from a nearby chair. He raced through the Temple as quickly as he could, ignoring disapproving glares fromother priests. Mi Er quickly found his way to the storeroom where he grabbed what he needed and again, raced to the entrance of the Temple. He had not gone very far when he was suddenly blocked by Master Po.

"Mi Er," Master Po stated, "his is no way for a priest to act. We do not race through the Temple like a herd of horses."

"We do when someone's life is in danger. Let me pass. I must go to him before it's too late."

"Whose life is in danger and how do you know this?"

"Kwai Chang has fallen off the cliff. I must go to him. He needs my help. I can't explain how I know but he needs help now."

Master Po could hear the panic in the young man's voice.

"If I don't help him, I may never return home."

Suddenly, images of his father, and grandfather disappearing flashed through Mi Er's mind and with it, names. Mi Er approached Master Po and his voice fell to a whisper. "If I don't save him, my grandfather and my father may never be born."

With that revelation, Master Po stepped aside. Mi Er started forward again and then turned. "My name is Caine. Peter Caine. Don't worry. I won't tell him."

Master Po did not say a word but bowed to Peter giving him the open hand to fist salute. With that promise, Peter raced out the Temple.

Kwai Chang Caine lay unconscious, his small boy just barely supported by a narrow ledge. Wounds of undetermined severity stained the rocks with the young boy's blood. Any farther outward and Kwai Chang Caine would have been permanently lost to the world.

Peter Caine raced to the edge of the road where young Caine had fallen and looked over the edge. Sweat and nausea rose immediately, threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he had to get his fear of heights under control for the sake of the boy. If only he had his father's skill of being able to climb walls like a lizard. He did not know if his Shaolin skills were sufficiently recovered for him to even try such a move. Peter assessed the situation and spotted a tree on the other side of the road with the right size girth to hold his weight and hopefully, the boy's as well. Peter tied the rope securely to the trunk before looping it around his own waist. He felt more secure, but he could not help wondering just how strong the rope was.

'Peter, you must not give into the fear.' His father's words echoed out of nowhere, yet seemingly everywhere. Peter took a deep calming breath and turned to face the cliff wall. Slowly he descended until he reached the narrow ledge. Suddenly, he could hear voices coming from above. Peter looked up and saw Master Kahn, Master Po, and other monks looking down, concern and fear etched on their faces. Peter returned to the situation at hand and tried to assess young Caine's condition. Peter stretched out his chi and determined that the boy had two broken ribs and a concussion. The blood had come from a gash on his shoulder. Peter closed his eyes and tried to send chi energy into the boy to give him strength.

"Can someone send me down some bandages and another rope?" Peter called up to the gathering crowd.

Soon a basket was lowered containing the items that Peter had requested. Suddenly, Peter remembered that he was carrying a brown satchel similar to his father's. He looked inside and found a small pouch of herbs. Hi chi told him these were the herbs he needed. He placed some in his hands, crushed them together, placed them on the gash, and then wrapped the wound with one of the bandages. As soon as the dressing was secure, Peter took off the boy' s torn shirt and wrapped his ribs in a tightly to hold them in place. Peter then assessed the concussion to the head and found that it was not as severe as had first appeared. The boy should recover in a few days. Then he carefully looped the rope over the boy and secured him tightly in a makeshift sling. He signaled for the monks to pull on the rope and pull the boy to safety. As soon as Kwai Chang was safely up to the road, Peter secured his own rope and climbed up. The climb back up was no less harrowing that the trip down, but this time Peter was not as aware of it. He had managed to save his great-grandfather's life, or at least, he had prevented an early death.

As soon as Peter was also safely up on the road, he took his great-grandfather in his arms and headed back to the Temple. He raced as quickly as he could, trying to keep the boy's injuries from becoming worse. He held him close not wanting anyone else to take him.

'Is this how you felt the many times you held me in your arms, Pop?' Peter thought. 'I understand now.' As Peter carried his great-grandfather, images, lessons, stories, and memories all fell into place. He now knew who he was and where he had come from. He knew it all. By touching this small form, the link to all that had been lost was restored. Peter looked into the face of the boy he held. The face looked much like his own when he had been young, growing up in the Temple. A sadness overtook him as he realized he would be leaving soon. He knew he would have to be gone before his great-grandfather woke up.

Peter carried young Caine to the infirmary.

"Could you please fetch the apothecary?"

The monk did as Peter requested and soon returned, followed by a small figure with a familiar face. Peter knew that he should have been surprised at this but he was not. His newly restored memories told him that, even if it was the Ancient, it was best not to acknowledge that he knew.

"His shoulder has a deep gash. It will need stitches. If you make them as small as possible, there should be little scarring. I placed some herbs over the wound to stop as much of the bleeding as possible and to assist in healing. He may become ill upon waking but that's normal. I should know. I've had enough head injuries in my life to write a book about them. He also has two broken ribs. He shouldn't do any Kung Fu until those heal."

Peter looked down and became misty eyed. He caressed his great-grandfather's chin in much the same way his father had often caressed his. The old apothecary had not said a word but seemed to understand that the young needed to be alone with the old. He went over to a shelf to gather bandages, herbs and other items. He did his best to appear not to overhear.

"I know you can't hear me great-grandfather, but I just wanted to thank you for bringing my grandfather into this world. He also has a son, your grandson who bears your name. You'd be proud of him. You don't have to worry, there will always be a Caine and a Shaolin in the family. I'll make sure of that. I love you great-grandfather. I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you." Peter kissed his great-grandfather on the forehead and then rose to meet his future head on.

Ping Hai settled himself on the floor within the small circle of candles. The alter with Buddha and his offerings was behind him. A small basket of herbs sat to his right. To his left, incense burned, filling the room with the scent of spiced cinnamon. Ping Hai looked toward his friend still asleep on the couch.

"I do this for you, Kwai Chang Caine."

Ping Hai grabbed a small amount of herbs in his hand and tossed them into the pot with burning charcoal that sat before him. The herbs ignited, causing flames to rise up. The Ancient settled himself and began a low chant. Soon he was deep in meditation and could feel his chi being pulled through the tunnel of time. When his mind and vision cleared, he found himself standing in a small alcove. He heard voices shouting in Chinese. Suddenly a young monk stopped in front of him.

"Apothecary! Come quick! They need you!"

Ping Hai looked down at his clothes and discovered that he once again wore the robes of the Temple. Only these robes were slightly different. He wore a saffron under-robe with a black robe over all. Reaching up to his neck, he found the medallion of Shambhala was still there. Ping Hai grabbed the pendant and quickly concealed it in his robes. If Peter was here, only he would know of this. For now, he could not reveal who or what he was. Ping Hai followed the young monk into the infirmary, and was abrely able to conceal his joy at the sight that greeted him.

'Peter!' Ping Hai had to force himself to concentrate on the words coming from the younger priests mouth. Kwai Chang Caine hurt? He looked down into the face of the child on the table and discovered this was not his old friend. Ping Hai tried to focus on the task ahead. He walked over to the shelf to gather the necessary herbs to help the boy and could not help but overhear Peter's words. The boy was his great-grandfather? That would explain much. Ping Hai momentarily allowed himself to dwell in his relief at discovering this particular young man lived, but suddenlly, a feeling of guilt rose to plague his heart. In many respects, seeing Peter here, Ping Hai felt responsible. It was his job to help this newly-made Shaolin adjust to his new duties and responsibilities. He was supposed to teach young Peter the ways of an apothecary so that he could continue not only his father's work, but centuries of traditions that all Shaolin learn. With Peter here in this time, he felt like he had failed in his duty. If only there was a way for him to help, but the young man would have to come to him for assistance on his own. He could not reveal his hand. If Peter were to recognize and acknowledge him, then perhaps he could ask the young man's forgiveness for not being there when he was needed. For now, Ping Hai took comfort just knowing that Peter lived.

The next day, as Ping Hai assisted the boy, disturbing questions formed in his mind. In the history of the Caines, there had not been any evidence in the Book of Lives in Shambhala that the first Kwai Chang Caine had been injured in this manner. There had been a scroll that reported of a young student of the same age who had fallen from the cliff. He, too, had been injured but had not died. Was it possible the report had been accurate but failed to mention the name of the student? When he returned to the present, he would have to find the scroll and re-read the reference. Just as Ping Hai was emerging from young Caine's room, he found Peter blocking his path. The moment of truth was at hand.

*****

"Caine? Caine wake up!"

The voice was gentle, but insistant. As much as he desired solitude, Kwai Chang Caine found himself unable to resist the command. He opened his eyes to find himself staring up at Mary Margaret Skalany. Paul and Kermit stood behind her, twin expressions of concern etched in their faces.

"Finally! What the hell happened? What's wrong with the Ancient?"

Kwai Chang sat up on the couch and scanned his surroundings. The Ancient sat by the alter, deep in meditation and seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Caine blinked once to orient himself and then fell back against the cushions as the memory of the previous night washed over him. Could it be true? Was his son really gone this time?

"Caine. Damn it, answer me!" Mary Margaret moved in closer and held a steaming cup of tea to his lips.

He allowed her to help him sit up once again, blinking back tears of rage and loss. He looked up at Paul and cringed inside, wondering how he would break the news of their son's death.

"I was visited last night by one who would see my family harmed. He wished to see me suffer at the loss of my child, and I believe he has succeeded."

Paul blanched at the priest's words and felt Kermit tense up next to him.

"What do you mean? You don't really think . . ." he trailed off, unable to complete the horrific thought.

Caine nodded and handed Paul Blaisdell the amulet he had still been clutching and whispered, "It is Peter's. I cannot feel my son." He was barely able to choke out those last words.

With that, he fell back onto the couch and allowed his grief to overwhelm him. He did nothing to fight back as the black void of despair reached out ghostly fingers to embrace his weakened chi. Tears long denied flowed freely, trying to wash away the blackness that had settled in his soul.

Paul Blaisdell stared down in shock at the bloodied medallion now resting in his hand, barely noticing when Kermit reached out to steady him as his legs began to give way beneath him. He shook his head in denial and, pushing off the comforting arms that held him, stumbled blindly out the door, still clutching what remained of his son. Kermit followed immediately, concern for one friend warring with his own deep grief over the loss of another. Mary Margaret took a moment to make certain Caine was sleeping before following as well, stunned heartbreak prompting her to be with Paul when he broke the news to his wife, to Peter's mother.

Returning home was not going to be easy. Peter had to remember exactly how he had gotten to his great-grandfather's time in the first place. That required reliving and remembering what had been done to him. The only person he could think of to help him was the Apothecary. His first instinct had been to turn to Master Po because the older priest had always been there for him during this difficult time. Deep down, Peter knew that, in order for him to really let go, he needed to turn to someone else for help. Master Po would be need to be focused on the task of guiding his great-grandfather into the mysteries of being Shaolin. Kwai Chang Caine was already learning some of the ways he needed to hone the body, but Master Po could help him to slao hone the mind and teach lessons about life.

Peter checked on his great-grandfather one last time, but without entering his room. The young boy still slept, allowing the injuries that he'd received to slowly heal. The Apothecary was just finishing up putting fresh bandages on the gash Kwai Chang had received as he felt Peter's presence. He turned to stand in front of the younger priest, as if he knew that the young man wanted something from him.

"Can I ask you something? Is your name Ping Hai?"

The old one looked deeply into the young man's eyes but did not answer. Peter was startled to see a sadness overtake the old one's expression, as if guilt weighed heavily on his heart.

"You seem very upset. Would you care to talk about it?"

"You will be leaving." It was a statement of fact.

"Yes. How . . ." Peter thought better of it, realizing with sudden clarity that part of a Shaolin's understanding was the ability to look deep within; not only at himself, but at others as well. He was going to need to learn how to do this if he was going to help others.

"If it had not been for you, the line of Caine would have ended before it ever began. Now the line will continue and the Last shall be no more, creating a path for others to follow."

A chill ran up Peter's spine when he heard the Apothecary's words. He, himself, had said much the same thing, althought not in quite the same way.

"You wish my help to return."

"I need to return to my own place in time, but first I need help to learn how I got here first."

"How may I be of assistance?"

"I need you to act as my guide. I've only done this once before. It exhausted me but I believe I may have the strength to succeed."

"What is it that you wish to do?"

"Go forward in time and watch what happened." Peter said.

"That could be very dangerous."

"I have to try. There was one other time when I was needed in the past but I can't explain it to you because it may cause problems in the future. All I can say is, in my future there was a time when I was needed in the past." Peter shook his head. The paradox of time travel was not somethinghe enjoyed contemplaiting. "I had help to getting there from both my father and another apothecary. In this time, hoever, I arrived without assistance, so I have no ties back to the future. I lost all hope of a connection when I lost my memories. There's got to be something that I can learn that will help me to get back home."

"You are determined to do this?"

"Yes."

The old one shook his head and turned away. Under his breath he whispered, "You are as stubborn as your father." A smile threatened to spread across his face, glad that what he had said was very true. Peter would need that stubbornness to get through what he was about to do. Luckily, Peter had not heard the words. "I will help you. Come to the infirmary tonight. I will prepare the room and the proper herbs."

When Peter returned, the room was filled with dozens of candles. The Ancient apothecary was mixing the herbs that would aid in giving Peter the strength to propel himself forward. He knew that he could not directly effect the current time because from his perspective, it was actually his past. Ping Hai shook his head. The paradox of time travel was not something that he enjoyed contemplating. It was, however, necessary when there was a dire need. The old apothecary gave Peter the herbs and instructed him to sit on the floor in lotus position among the circle of candles. The older priest joined the younger and took his hands.

"Now, concentrate Peter Caine. Focus your chi."

Peter was startled at first but recovered quickly. The question of how the old apothecary knew his name, remained. Peter closed his eyes and focused on the events that had led up to his escape into the past. Suddenly he was propelled through time. He found himself in his father's apartment, now his own. He watched as four men attacked Kermit and himself. He wished for a moment that he could have stopped Kermit from becoming injured, but he knew he could not interfere with these events. Suddenly the light changed and he found himself being propelled forward again. This time he found himself in a rather nondescript place. He watched himself be chained in between two poles and then left alone, as the four men that had captured himdeparted. Peter shifted his focus to a fifth man who came into view. The newcomer was dresssed all in black, a large hat obsuring part of his face. Peter did not immediately recognize the man. Then he remembered the night that his father's chi had been poisoned. He had overheard parts of the conversation but he had not been able to make out all of what had been said. This time, as Peter watched himself and this man, he listened.

"Who are you and why have you done this?"

"I will tell you what I told your father several weeks ago. My name is Wiseman. I am a very wise man, and a very bitter man."

"You're the one who poisoned my father's chi. Why?"

"He never told you?"

"I didn't ask him. I'm asking you."

The man removed his hat and Peter stared at the deep scars, raw and bleeding, that raked the man's face.

'You see these scars on my face? They were put there by a Shaolin Master's sword. They do not heal. They remain a constant reminder of a death feud."

"Why did you try to kill my father and why am I here?"

"I am the descendant of Lai Tsu. At the birth of the Shaolin order, in China, your ancestor, Kwai Chang, destroyed him. I was a fool to go after your father. He was too powerful to take revenge on just yet. I learned too late that he was not the one who should have to pay, though I will take my revenge on him as well. It was you who trained the monks to fight. And for that you will die. But first, I will make you suffer just as my ancestor suffered the shame of his defeat and ultimate destruction."

Peter heard the bitterness in Wiseman's words and cursed himself for allowing this to happen. He should have realized that there were other ways. He had only been thinking of Kermit's safety. Instead of coming to Wiseman and playing into his hands, he should have found the way to have Wiseman come to him for help. The bitterness that Wiseman expressed was centuries old and Peter doubted that the man would ever let go of it. Still, if he was able to get back home and confront him, like his father, he would do everything inhis power to try and help the man. The words of his father and lessons from the Hua Hu Ching echoed back to him. 'The first practice is the practice of undiscriminating virtue: take care of those that are deserving; also and equally, take care of those who are not.' For Peter, this was a hard lesson to follow in the wake of pain.

Peter watched in horror as the men returned to strip the clothes from his back. The nine sectional staff, known also as the whip chain, was an ancient weapon that could strip a man's flesh from his bones. Peter flinched in reaction to what was being done to his past self. Stroke upon stroke carved bloody paths down the young man's back. Blood pooled at Peter's feet as he sagged against his chains, weakened from the torture. Then the whipping stopped and Wiseman came up to Peter, grabbing his hair and violently snapping the young priest's head back.

"This is only the beginning boy. I will let you remain here alone for a while to allow you to recover your strength a bit. I would not want you to lose consciousness on me, now would I? The next time will be the death of 10,000 cuts, but even then I will not let you die easily. When I return, I will bring your father and then you may watch him die."

Peter watched as Wiseman left, leaving him hanging. Peter approached himself and watched the young man struggle. How he had been able to survive such pain and torture was beyond him. However, he was a Caine and he knew that his destiny was not to die at the hands of a madman. Peter watched as the young man strained to concentrate, and was rewarded by the sound the locks on the chains snapping open. The young man collapsed to his knees on the floor, his hands landing in a large pool of his own blood. Peter continued to watch himself work to focus his chi to heal some of the work that had been done on his back, but it was useless. He was too weak.

At that moment, two of the four men came in and tried to drag the young man up by his arms. As Peter watched himself fight off the men, though the struggle took a great deal of energy out of him, something caught Peter's eye. He had not realized that he had grabbed the black medallion that one of the men had been wearing. What had he been thinking when he grabbed it? Had he been thinking about the past, about how his great-grandfather had faired against similar odds? Or perhaps about what Master Po said? No, those had definitely not been his thoughts at that time. He had, in fact, merely been wishing that he could escape back to the past to stop Wiseman before any of this could happen. Apparently, his thoughts had not been specific enough. Even if he could have gone back into the past, he knew now that he would not have been able to stop events that had all ready happened. Only those events that had been changed that would affect the present to cause harm could be corrected. The only time that came to mind was when he and Pop went back in time to the First Temple to keep Kwai Chang from being killed.

Jus then, Peter's thoughts were joined with his past self and he understood. There had been a dream that he had forgotten he had when he was a child. It had come from a story that his father had told him. A story about a strange monk who had saved his great-grandfather's life. He knew now that monk had been him. If Wiseman had not come for him, would the Ancient have been the one to do so? Or was Wiseman the key to setting the events in motion that helped propel him to another time where he was needed? Peter would never know for sure, but he did know that he had found one last crucial piece of information. He found the way home.

Peter could taste the warm, not unleasant tasting liquid that was being poured into this mouth. He tried to rise, but was restrained by a gentle hand pushing him down again.

"Your chi has been weakened. You must rest."

"I can't. I need to find it. My father is in danger and I must return home. For all I know, Wiseman may have already killed him."

"If you do not rest young Peter, you will become too weak to help him. It sounds like you have discovered much. Tell me, who is Wiseman?" The Ancient knew the name, of course, but he still had to play long.

Peter smiled at the old apothecary. He sounded just like Ping Hai.

"Wiseman was, or is, Lai Tsu's descendant. He was bitter about the fact that my ancestor, Kwai Chang, defeated his ancestor. Sounds like that old adage: 'my Pop can beat up your Pop.'" Peter gave a short laugh than became serious again. "He tried to exact revenge by trying to destroy my father but he didn't succeed. Obvuiously he tried it again, only this time with me."

Peter again tried to rise and was relieved to note that the dizziness he'd felt before was minimized. The tea that the old aopthecary had given him had already begun to strengthen his chi.

"Did you discover anything else?" the old man coaxed, hoping the young one would see the truth.

"Oh, yeah." Peter smiled at the fact that he now remembered the friend whose words he now echoed. "I saw myself grab a black medallion off the neck of one of the men who attacked me. After that, I found myself here."

"What did this medallion look like?" A feeling of dread filled the old man. He desperately hoped that the item Peter spoke of was only a coincidental resemblance, but he sincerely doubted it.

"It looked similar to the medallions worn by the Masters of Shambhala."

The Ancient tried not to betray his feelings. The medallion that Peter had described should not have been possible, but he had no reason to doubt the young man. He was here after all.

"Shambhala is a mythical place."

"No, the place is real all right. Believe me, I've been there." Peter's eyes fell to the folds of the Ancient's robes. He raised his hand and placed it on the old man's shoulders near his neck and lifted the leather cord he found there. "Only a Shambhala Master would have been able to help guide me and bring me back, so I know that you are one. Isn't that right, Ping Hai?" The white crystalline medallion was exposed. The Ancient stood there calm.

"You are right, my young friend. I could not reveal myself to you. It was you who needed to discover my identity for yourself. But I am only partially here. Even now I sit within my study."

Peter did nothing to hide his surprise. A stream of questions poured from him, barely giving the Ancient a chance to answer one before firing the next.

"How is that possible? This has got to be a great energy drain on you. How did you know how to find me? Does my father know you're here?"

Ping Hai raised his hand to silence the young man. "No, he does not but that does not matter now. What matters is that you return home as swiftly as possible. Your father is in great despair. He has lost all hope of finding you alive, and I fear for his life."

"If you are here, can you help me get home?"

"No I cannot. As I said, I am only partially here. Although I may feel real, I can only stay a short time, several days at the most, within this time period. As it is, my time grows short. I must return to inform your father that you live. You must find the black medallions and destroy all but one. This one must be destroyed as well, once you have used it to return home."

"How many are there and what are these medallions anyway?" Peter asked.

"They were once part of Shambhala. With the Book of Shambhala, the white would lead to the Temple itself, while the black would lead through time. The person holding the crystal must focus their chi and meditate on where they wish to go. I do not know how many there are, at least two."

"I don't understand. If Wiseman could move through time, why didn't he simply return to his Ancestor's time and help him to defeat Kwai Chang?"

"The Book of Shambhala was very clear in that matter. Only the Last would be able to return to save the First. Wiseman would not have been able to achieve his goals."

"I understand about that, but I just don't understand why am I here, in this time?"

""There was a scroll in which it was written that a student who was to deliver herbs to the village fell from the cliff. The student was saved by a visiting monk. The names were not recorded. It would seem you were that monk and the student was young Kwai Chang Caine."

"What happens now?"

"You must return to stop Wiseman. With the black crystal, he will again try to destroy your father. And this time, he may succeed."

"I thought that the crystal could only be used for traveling through time?" Fear crepted into Peter's soul.

"That is only partially correct. The crystal helps to focus the chi, enhancing its power to make traveling through time easier. But because one can focus their chi through it . . ." Ping Hai left the thought incomplete. There was no time. He hoped that Wiseman had not discovered the black medallion's other power.

"Ping Hai, you've got to help me find that black medalion and get home." Determination welled up in Peter as he realized just how much danger his father was in.

"I am sorry but I cannot stay. Please forgive me for not being there when this all began."

"Ping Hai, there is nothing to forgive. You could not have known that this would happen. But I have to know where that medallion is."

"The medallion has always been with you. You have always had the means to go home. I must return."

Once again, surprise registered in the young man's face. The only medallion he had was the jade circlet that Master Po had given him when he told him about his first memories returning. Master Po had given it to him as a means to help him focus his thoughts. Then Peter remembered his old clothes. He must have been clutching the medallion in his hands. Why hadn't Master Po told him?"

'Because I did not ask, but how was I suppose to ask when I didn't even know myself.' Peter shook his head. 'When will I learn to ask the right questions.'

Peter gathered his strength and returned to his quarters. The walk down the hall was longer than he remembered. He was still weak from the journey that he'd taken, but his strength was slowly returning. It would still be a few hours before he was fully recovered, however, the thought that he had had the way home all along propelled him onward. Peter reached his room and bent down to peer under the bed. He immediately discovered the small bundle wrapped in brown paper. Peter pulled it out from under the bed and tore open the package. Inside, he found what was left of the clothing that he had been wearing when he'd arrived. Laying on top, neatly coiled, was the black medallion and something else. Peter picked up the medallion by its leather cord as his hands reached for the other object. The leather was worn and soft but the feel of it was comfortable in his hands. He opened the wallet and found everything he had thought lost to him. The license that proclaimed his name, birth, and age held his image from just over a year ago. Peter pulled out the other items that held the secret to his past and future. He carressed the photo of his birth mother and vowed that he would return to his correct place and time. His hand flew up to the locket that he'd forgotten that he wore. He parted it down the middle to reveal the new photograph it held. His father's eyes seemed to reach out to him.

"I will return to you, Pop. I won't let Wiseman win." And with that vow, Peter took the medallion into his hands and focused his chi.

*****

Ping Hai tasted the tea being poured into his mouth. He opened his eyes to a familiar face. With barely a whisper, he smiled. Tears formed in his eyes as the ones staring back at him radiated deep concern. "Peter is alive."

Kwai Chang nearly dropped the cup he was holding. The words echoed in his mind. His son alive? But how? And where was he? No, it could not be. The blood stained circlet that was Peter's told a different tale. He had felt the loss of his son. It could not be. Suddenly, Kwai Chang was aware of a presence other than his own and the Ancient's. Wiseman had returned as he had promised. Kwai Chang could feel that Wiseman's chi had somehow grown in strength, and for the first time, Kwai Chang was afraid and doubtful of his own abilities to defeat him.

Kwai Chang Caine was crumpled up in the corner. The Ancient knelt beside him, trying to revive his friend, and hoped that Peter would soon be back in their midst. The Ancient felt for a pulse and found it was weak and thready. The energy that Wiseman had used had been far greater than either priest had expected. Not only that, it was as Ping Hai had feared. Wiseman had found the way to draw power from Kwai Chang Caine and use it against him. It had weakened the younger priest to a point where he was unable to act. With the hate in Wiseman's soul, the Ancient saw that the crystal acted liked a lens, focusing and enhancing that hatred into raw power. Kwai Chang had not even had a chance to use his skills as a Shambhala Master. The Ancient had been able to escape Wiseman once before only because he had not used the full force of that power. His intentions had obviously been only to disable, not to destroy. But now, the Ancient did not think Wiseman's thoughts would remain so. He knew that once Kwai Chang was dead, his life also would be forfeit.

At that moment, the room was filled with a blinding light. When the light faded, the Ancient took note of the new arrival with little surprise. Wiseman turned toward the disturbance.

"You! I thought you would be long dead by now."

"I'm like a bad penny, I always turn up."

"No matter. I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"But you didn't because you wanted to punish me first. You wanted to leave me alive just long enough so you could kill my father in front of me. Only you didn't count on me escaping did you?"

Wiseman stared back at the youngest of the three Shaolin. Hatred smoldered beneath the surface calm of his espression. He did not want to admit to the mistakes that he had made. He still, however, had one more card to play. Peter approached Wiseman.

"Stay where you are or I will kill them." Wiseman pointed to the two men in the far corner of the room.

"I don't think so." Peter focused his chi and brought the energy to bare.

"NO!"

Wiseman was forced back by the strength of Peter's chi. He reacted immediately and focused his own chi, concentrating his energy to fight the son of the Shaolin. Peter could feel the other's hatred pounding at his shields, trying to overwhelm his soul, trying to even draw energy from the young priest to use against him. Suddenly, Peter stopped and let the energy wash through him. He knew this energy for what it was because he had also known hatred; hatred for Tan and all that he had stoeln from Peter and those he loved. It was something that he understood. Once, Peter would have reacted in kind, but this time there was no hatred in him. What had once been lost had been regained. The anger and the frustration that had been such an intrinsic part of his youth had been washed away with the reunification of himself of his father. The violence that had once guided his life had been replaced by the fulfillment of his true destiny. The gentle soul that was Peter Caine had reemerged to declare his true calling. He was Shaolin, it was his destiny to help those that needed it the most, including Wiseman. Understanding this, Peter was able to focus all of his love and open his heart to the embittered man.

"This is not the way, Wiseman. You cannot hope to win like this." Pity and compassion shone from Peter's very soul as he offered, "Let me help you."

"I do not need your pity or your help. Your family stole my family's honor. For that, you will pay."

"It does your family no honor to continue this. Revenge can only lead to emptiness."

"Do not spout your Shaolin platitudes to me." Wiseman again tried to gather his chi and focus it. The object of his hatred stood before him whole and healthy. Wiseman struck out violently, only to have his chi bounded back. Why was his power being deflected? Suddenly, while the other was distracted by confusion, Peter reacted. As he had done at the Tao Temple, he made his move, quick and sure. The next thing Wiseman realized, Peter was holding up the black medallion that had been hanging around Wiseman's neck. Peter then pulled out the second Medallion hidden within the Shaolin robes he wore.

"No, Peter!" The Ancient called out as Peter took both medallions and smashed them against the floor. Light flared and and danced as the power they had once held had was scattered to the wind. When Peter was able to refocus his vision, Wiseman was gone.

"Peter!" The Ancient called out, desparation thick in his voice. Peter ran to where is father lay with his head protectely cradled in the Ancient's lap. Kwai Chang Caine did not stir.

"Pop? Can you hear me?"

Kwai Chang remained silent. HIs pulse beat a comforting reassurance that the man still lived, even though he remained comatose.

"Pop, please wake up. I'm home. Ping Hai, what's wrong?"

Ping Hai reached out his chi and found . . . No! . . . It could not be. Kwai Chang's chi was nearly gone. The Ancient stared at the shattered remains of the two black medallions.

"Ping Hai, tell me what is wrong with my father?" Tears of desperation welled in Peter's eyes. Peter could feel the sadness deepen in the Ancient as he stroked his old friend's hair.

"Wiseman had stolen your father's chi and used it within . . . ." Ping Hai turned his head to where the black shards remained.

All color drained from Peter's face. "But you told me to destroy them. You mean one of them contained . . ." Peter could not finish the words.

"I had hoped that Wiseman had not learned of the black medallion's other secret. I was wrong. If one could focus their chi, one could also steal the chi of others. It was right that they were destroyed."

"But at what cost? What about my father?"

"I do not know. His chi must be renewed, but I do not know if that is possible. So much of it had been drained away."

"What will happen if his chi can't be renewed?"

"He will remain as he is and slowly die."

Peter gathered his father into his arms. The thought of losing him again nearly broke Peter's heart. He found himself holding his father tightly and rocking him. He buried his face in his father's chest and tears fell silently as he stroked his father's hair. He understood just how his father must have felt all those times when he'd been near death. No! He could not lose him now. He made a promise that he would not let Wiseman win.

"We've got to take my father home. It's the only place I know where there is any chance for him to heal."

*****

Kermit paced the streets. Seeing Caine stricken had shaken Kermit to the bone. Not since the death of his brother had Kermit ever let that kind of pain touch him. Sensing that Kermit needed to be alone, Mary Margaret offered to take Paul home to break the ne