Temple: A New Journey Begins
Prologue
by Alisa Joaquin

Please see the disclaimer on the Synopsis page.

The young man arrived at his destination, though he knew that he had a destiny and not necessarily a destination. In this case, the destination was just as important as the destiny because both were linked together. The young man reached the spot and new he had come full circle. His life, he believed had ended here, but in truth, he knew from this spot years ago that he had to go on. It had been ten years since he had seen this place, a place he remembered as filled with pain and sadness, but now, it was filled with deep meaning and significance. It was the beginning.

The young man removed his meager belongings and knelt beside the marker. Had it really been ten years since his father's disappearance? Back then he did not understand. His father seemed so strong, so capable, and yet, his father had always told him he was just a man. The young man brushed his fingers along the beloved name, as if seeking some awareness in that touch. His eyes lingered there and remembered some of the stories his father would tell him, stories that seemed inconceivable, yet he too learned they had been very real. Real, because in the ten years of his wandering, he also experienced similar things.

The young man drew in a sigh and his eyes wandered to the other markers in this space. Grandfather rested here beside his wife as well. Looking at the date, he drew in a whistle. Even she had died young, leaving his father when he was only two years old, he figured. Just like his mother had left him, though he had been five and could still recall much of her face. Her body was not here, having been long cremated, her ashes scattered in her homeland across the Pacific. Had it also been the same way like the others? The young man rose and walked to three other markers; two great-uncles and a great-grandfather who he had never met. He wondered just who they were and how they came to be here. Perhaps within his belongings, there may be answers. At first, he had been afraid to even look at what he carried. It was all he had left of his legacy, besides an old bamboo flute, a ring that had been passed from generation to generation, and a worn brown leather pouch that seemed to defy age.

The young man rose and walked back to where he had placed his belongings. He opened the pouch and pulled out its contents. Three books and an old computer CD were all that he carried, except for the odd herb or two that he used to make tea to keep his body nourished. Two of the books were bound in leather and contained a script that he knew and learned at an early age, besides his native language. The third book was made of cardboard and paper and was bound with a rubber band to keep it together. Its pages were falling out and needed to be repaired. The CD, though, was another story. It looked pristine and new as if it had been bought yesterday, but to read it required old technology that he was not certain still existed. Perhaps his father's old friend, Rachel Lowery, had such equipment. He would check with her when he returned to her home. If not, her son, Sam might know.

Uncle Sam. He would never forget the day when he met the tall blond Buddhist priest. Sam had insisted on the title, telling him stories when he had been a boy and how his father and grandfather had helped him and his mother. On that day, he had wanted to go to the temple and see for himself, the ruins that had been his father's and grandfather's home, but his father forbade it, saying it was too dangerous. That was the week they had buried his mother.

For some reason, the place drew him, but when his father disappeared ten years ago, he could not face the place. No body rested by his mother's ashes. He could find no comfort here. He knew he was not ready. Today, however, was different. It seemed in his journey, he knew that one day he would be back; his feet setting out on this path, drawing him closer to a destiny which he could no longer deny was his. His feet had been set upon that path when he, too, took the brands at 21, following in the footsteps of his ancestors. He knew that he would be the one to rebuild what had been lost, and yet, had not been. Didn't his father say that so long as one Shaolin existed, the temple also existed, that he was that temple? Still, never was there a time when they were so badly needed.

The young man replaced the books and CD back in the pouch, picked up the bamboo flute, and flung them over his shoulder. His eyes rose to the top of the cliffs and he could barely see the stones nestled in the greenery that had grown up over the years. It was time. He would go there. See what there was to see and make his decision. It would be a new beginning. One that he was sure his father and grandfather would have approved. After all, he was the son of Peter Caine, and grandson of his namesake. It was his destiny, for he was Kwai Chang Caine.

The young man stopped at the broken threshold that was once a sacred place for many souls. The scars and blackened remains still gave testimony to the devastation and tragic loss that happened in the now distant past. The young man raised his hand and placed it on a broken pillar. He had heard the story of this place from his father. He knew he would be back here one day to face the destiny he knew was his. Now that he was here, the young man could not seem to go any further. Perhaps it was the daunting task that lay ahead, but he did not think so. There was something that had yet to be done. Suddenly, the young man was aware of a presence and as he turned, the knife imbedded itself in the wooden pillar just inches from his head. The young man scanned the area but he could not ascertain where the knife had come from.

"I'm returning that to you. It belonged to your grandfather. You may need it. Beware, there are others who would not take kindly to the idea of the temple being raised."

"Who are you?"

"A friend."

As the young man tried to focus to locate the voice, he could sense that the presence, for the moment, was gone.

Continues with Part 1

Alisa Joaquin Copyright@2004.
This story cannot be reprinted or sold in any other form without strict permission from the author. It is being distributed here solely for your enjoyment.

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