A Murder of Crows

Quintus was seated on a train that made its way westwards through Nevada. The year was 1871, just seven years since the state became part of the Union. He was seated in a second-class carriage beside a loquacious middle-aged man with the surname of Green, who was fascinated by a newspaper report on the discovery of giant skeletal remains.

'These half-dozen giants were from nine to ten feet tall, and they had

six digits on each of their hands and feet,' Green exclaimed, holding his newspaper. 'Incredible. Who knows how many other things are under all those mounds in the Midwest,' he said.

'But then again, they'll print anything to sell penny papers these days,' he added.

Quintus nodded. He was familiar with the mounds and the Indian legends of giants made extinct because they lacked a sense of decency. He had no doubt that giants once existed, Roman historians, such as Titus Flavius, wrote as much as well. Other cultures likewise had similar tales.

As Green continued to read his newspaper, Quintus looked out the window at the passing high-desert country. Decades before large numbers of Europeans arrived, he passed through the region on saddleback. It was then a land inhabited by remnants of three tribes — the Paiute, the Shoshone, and the Washoe — those who survived introduced diseases. He was not there to see how the sparsely populated tribes later fared against the powerful pale-skinned newcomers. He correctly guessed the likely outcome. The clash of cultures he witnessed in the Americas over the course of 200 years was not a pretty thing.

But that is how history rolled, and he had to roll with it whether he liked it or not. He had to wait until he was called upon. Whenever that was to be.

It was as if Green read Quintus' mind when he began talking about the misery he'd witnessed in displaced native communities.

'Man, or beast, all shall suffer. But "It is through much tribulation that we enter the kingdom of Heaven," so says the Apostle Paul,' Green said before shifting the conversation to Quintus.

'So why are you going to San Francisco for, work I presume?'

'Yes, to help with some building there, a new city hall,' Quintus answered.

'It can be a wild city, so be on your guard. I know of a rooming house on fashionable Kearny Street if you need one.'

Before Quintus could respond, a mustached conductor passed through the carriage, making an announcement as he went.

'Okay folks, two minutes and we will pull up in Reno. We'll be stationed there till 3 o'clock, and when the whistle blows, we then continue on,' the conductor said. 'What's more, it looks like it might rain outside; storm clouds are gathering, so don't wander off too far without an umbrella or coat.'

Soon enough, the coal-fired locomotive and its carriages pulled up at the Reno train station. Once it stopped, Quintus stood from his seat and stretched his body. He hadn't been able to exercise or meditate since the train left Nebraska three days earlier.

As the steam engine calmed down, he heard the familiar swoop of crows landing on the station's timber roof just outside. It wasn't long till several of them were cawing.

Given his Ireland experience, such sounds got under his skin. No matter if it occurred ten or a thousand years ago, he could recall everything as if it only happened yesterday, which could either be a blessing or a curse.

The crows' cawing rebounded inside the carriage, forcing him out of his seat and wanting out, away from the noise. Green offered some advice as he moved past, carrying his sack coat and a wide-brimmed hat.

'Remember, at 3 o'clock, the train departs,' Green said. 'Have a nice stroll around town.'

Terrible Trio

Sherman Chivington was a mean man, as loathsome as they came. Ever since he was a boy, he had enjoyed inflicting pain on living creatures, people included. His heartbroken mother was mystified why her third son had such a cruel streak about him.

It was perhaps a small blessing in disguise that she was no longer of this world when he committed his first serious crime at the age of 23. Somehow, he managed to avoid a conviction for the stabbing death of a Boston saloon owner, a crime he'd drunkenly brag about over the years that followed. Chivington still kept the bone-handled knife he used as proof of his supposed fierceness and flashed it around while recounting his tale to anyone willing to listen. It was during such a bragging session that he met George and Karl Grossman — twin brothers just shy of 40 — who had escaped from a lunatic asylum near New York City.

For reasons mysterious to all three, they hit it off and became a tight-knit gang committing acts of wickedness across five states, with Chivington leading the way. Most of their lawbreaking was committed in the bigger cities on the Atlantic, where it was easiest to find prey, mostly fresh-off-the-boat immigrants.

Now, they were heading west, seeking to somehow strike it rich in San Francisco's lucrative gambling scene. To get there, they chose to travel by train, which happened to be the very same one that Quintus was on in 1871. They were third-class passengers in the seventh carriage on a journey that was meant to take four days.

In a bid not to attract attention, they tried being on their best behavior, but on day three, they began drinking. By the time they got to Reno, they'd been blind drunk for six hours, and things, well, they got out of hand.

The Fury

With hat in hand, Quintus twice walked up and down Reno's dusty main street. Such an exercise was meant to help clear his mind, but he was shadowed by the crows first seen back at the railway station. They cawed at Quintus and made short flights from roof to roof to keep pace with him as he strolled. It was as if they were blaming him for the approaching thunderstorm that threatened the town.

The crows followed Quintus until he returned to the station's timber building which he entered and cut through to get to the platform where he found a drama unfolding, one ugly enough to make him promptly forget annoying birds.

Right there in front of him, on the platform, the Grossman brothers were bashing a family man who stood little chance of defending himself. He was cowering on the ground, holding up his arms for protection as fists rained from above.

Chivington was standing to the side and cheering on the fight. He'd been assigned to ensure no one would try intervening in the one-sided brawl. He'd already shoved the family man's 11-year-old son away and warned off the wife. She was now holding her crying boy while pleading for help from any of the dozen or so other people on the platform and from anyone inside the carriages. When Quintus stumbled onto the scene, she turned to him.

'Stop them, please. They're killing him!' she begged.

Chivington cut in, screaming drunken threats and pointing at Quintus.

'Don't even think about it. If you come any closer, I'll kill you. I'll kill y'all!' he yelled.

For several seconds, Quintus stood holding down Chivington's mad stare, which had something familiar to it.

'Yeah, I'll kill y'all!' Chivington repeated.

Since Quintus left the mountain, there'd been a half-dozen times where he used the fighting skills his master taught him. On each of those occasions, he did as little harm as possible, and he left those he fought with no long-term injuries. Before it got to that stage, he always sought a peaceful resolution, but sometimes this met mixed results, like in Ireland.

Initially, he was unsure how to handle the volatile situation on the platform, but the sight of the innocent family being terrorized infuriated him.

Chivington sensed that Quintus would not skulk away, and he yelled to his partners, still bashing the family man.

'Fellas! Just finish with that chump and give me a hand ripping the head offa this clown, will you!' he yelled, referring to Quintus.

'It will be fun, come and join in,' Chivington manically laughed.

That mad laughter. It was the same as Entwistle's. Is it him? Quintus thought.

'Right there, Romeo, just don't stand there — come get me,' Chivington taunted as he pulled out his bone-handled knife from his pocket and readied to use it.

'C'mon now, don't be shy!' Chivington yelled while laughing some more.

It's him, for sure. Even looks like him.

The memory of Entwistle and what occurred in Ireland now hit Quintus like a ton of bricks. A swell of emotion began at his feet; ran up through his gut and into his brain, where it exploded, and he snapped. He let his wide-brimmed hat fall from his hands, and he advanced towards Chivington. By the time the hat landed on the platform, he was in striking distance of the madman, who had little time to react or dodge what would come — a furious right hook punch.

It was hard and blunt. Much more powerful than what a mere man could throw. There was little art or technique to it, but it knocked Chivington off his feet and onto his back. It also shattered his jaw and knocked out four teeth. If he lived beyond that day, the punch would have permanently disfigured his face.

In a daze, Chivington somehow managed to sit himself up. He'd dropped his knife, and it was now nowhere to be seen. He spat out the loose teeth and looked at Quintus standing above him with fists raised, fire in his eyes.

'Hell of a punch. Why'd you go do that?' Chivington managed to slur from his broken mouth.

'I'm your comeuppance,' Quintus told him.

Chivington chortled at the reply, blood and saliva dripping from his lips.

There was enough time for Quintus to step back and deal with the brothers beating the family man. He also could have left Chivington as is. The drunk was no longer a threat. There was no fight left in him. But Quintus didn't move, nor did he drop his arms. He kept them raised, primed for another swing. Chivington offered Quintus a sneering smile that dared him to throw another punch.

'C'mon, tough guy. Don't just stand there. Do it,' he mumbled.

The loathing in Quintus was more than willing, but before his downward punch hit, Chivington had a look of triumph about him. A glint in his eyes. The same mad glint that both Meng and Entwistle once had.

This punch was even more powerful than the initial blow, and it killed Chivington outright. He slumped over into a lifeless pile on the platform with Quintus standing over him.

The brothers belatedly saw what had happened, and they went to rush Quintus, who quickly dealt with them just as brutally. Powerful blows to the head, the temple region, killed them both. He now found himself standing over three men who he killed with his bare hands.

It wasn't long until numbness replaced the rage that drove him to commit what a judge would undoubtedly rule as either murder or voluntary manslaughter if it ever came to that. Soon enough, dread mixed with doubt emerged. A sense of shame followed. He could hear Tai's words in the back of his mind, warning against this type of madness.

A grey shadow cast over him. Thunder rumbled above, and heavy rain cursorily followed. Through the downpour, Quintus saw the woman assist her beaten-up husband to his feet. She glanced at Quintus, and he saw the fear still in her eyes.

Now drenched and doubting himself, he began feeling tired, and sapped of energy. He left the dead bodies and made his way up the platform. He felt someone looking at him, and he turned to a carriage, where at a window, Green was wearing a look of disbelief.

'Mister, what have you done?' Green asked.

Quintus ignored the question, and, through the downpour, he made his way off the platform. At the front of the station, he stole a horse, a chestnut American Saddlebred, and rode away, heading south. Our hero was now a killer and a thief. A fugitive.

Decision to Be Made

Quintus placed a shard of mirror on the outside windowsill, so it could best capture the light of the early morning sun to help him shave. Next, he lathered soap and spread it across part of his face. After shaving off his stubble with a straight razor, he hand scooped water from a leather bucket and splashed it across his face. Drops of water fell to the sandy Mexican ground.

With a cotton rag, he patted down his cheeks and took one last look at his reflection in the mirror. Five years since the events in Reno, he'd aged equally as much. His hairline had climbed back an inch, and there were a few wrinkles on his forehead. He now looked like a typical gringo around 40 years of age.

It was a superficial reminder of how much of what Tai had trained him for had been lost. Likewise, he now had no supernormal powers to speak of. No ability to do without food or sleep, and he certainly couldn't free float down any mountains. His limited celestial eye vision, which allowed him at times to see fairies and ethereal beings, disappeared as well. Not that the Franciscan monks who took him in were aware of these issues. To them, he was a shy, sincere character of few words. They were somewhat more doubtful when he first stumbled upon their mission, in a half-dead state on a half-dead horse, half a decade earlier.

Despite occasional drunkenness during his first year at the mission, in time, this man, who the Franciscans knew as Quintus Acardi, gained their trust while remaining an enigma. He did not talk of his past, nor did they enquire. They were though impressed by his knowledge of construction and use of Latin. Quickly, he became their go-to man capable of any building repair work, and in that way, he earned his keep. He was busy and often in demand.

The Franciscans had nine mission churches in the Sonoran Desert area, a few constructed during the 1600s with sun-dried mud bricks or stone. A series of repairs at one of them — a two-day ride away — was planned after that morning shave. There, Quintus would spend several weeks repairing the church's interior and building an exterior wall.

Following his shave, he took the soapy water to a small garden at the front of the mission, where he used it to water a lemon tree. It wasn't much, but every drop counts in the Sonoran. As the water disappeared into the soil, he heard a young squeal of laughter behind him. Three native Tohono O'odham children from the village served by the mission ran up to him, wanting his help to squash a black scorpion they had cornered in the nearby cemetery. He waved them off with a smile, he knew they were savvy enough to handle such things themselves.

After packing supplies, building materials, and tools into a horse-drawn cart, Quintus left the mission. The horse that pulled the cart was the very same chestnut American Saddlebred he stole in Reno. But he didn't need to be reminded by the horse about his killing of the three thugs. Internally he'd been stewing over it for the past five years. The guilt was there when he woke up. It was there when he fell asleep. Who really was that first madman killed at Reno? Likewise, who were the other two killed?

During his trip to the church needing repairs, he mulled over more. Was everything now in vain? Was there any hope of clemency? Was there still a purpose? His questions may have gone unanswered, but Quintus was now at the point where he had to make a choice himself.

It could also be fair to say it was one forced upon him by circumstances. You see, his once acute memory was now fading fast, and for someone like Quintus, that was fatal. On occasion, he wasn't even sure who he was. He now only had vague recollections of his life as a Roman soldier, and his memory of his time with Tai was starting to dim. Quintus knew that if he lost White Dragon Mountain and those memories, then there would be no hope of his resuming the Way. He would live and die as any normal man does. If that were the case, then he'd be dead within several decades. And then what? he wondered. Eternity in Hell?

By the time Quintus and his horse-drawn cart reached an overnight camping area situated on a dry riverbank, he had made up his mind. Ultimately, he knew he had to resume his practice. He had come too far to throw in the towel. He could not give up. The crimes he committed in Reno had to be left behind, somehow reconciled if that was at all possible.

After lighting a fire and eating dried beef, he sat to meditate and then did his Tao Yin exercises for the first time in five years. As he did so, he was somewhat rusty. He just hoped his master, if he was watching, would take him back and that the Gods would forgive him.

While it was the beginning of a comeback, I must tell you, he remained among those destined for Hell over what he had done. Once you're condemned to such a realm, it's no small feat to have it reversed.

The Great Unseen

In another realm — yet physically still meditating in his cave — Tai was exultant when Quintus returned to the Way. Since the Reno incident, he had been more than concerned and worried. Despite what occurred on the railway platform, he remained by his disciple's side. He was unseen and mostly unnoticed but was busy, often blocking other unseen beings that sought to harm his disciple. These beings are what you would describe as demons. If you could perceive them, you'd see they come in all shapes and sizes.

After Quintus decided to return to the Way, these nefarious creatures sent by Hell attacked in droves, but luckily for Quintus, Tai was able to fend them off, much to the displeasure of the 13 demon kings. What was once just a passing interest in Quintus had become an obsession for the 13. Following what transpired in Reno, the demon kings thought he was now theirs. He'd already been given as much mercy as Hell could possibly muster, they reasoned.

If these sinister beings got cheap thrills from anything, it would be watching a good man fall, especially one of which there was so much expectation. If he was among the best examples of humanity, then there is little hope for the rest of them, something they repeatedly told each other after the punching deaths of Chivington and the mad brothers.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

It is true that the demon kings had a point, to an extent at least, but it was self-serving. The incident in Reno was actually a setup. The demon kings planned it all. They even called in the crows to set the mood. Another test of worthiness for Quintus, they said, just like Ireland and the gibbet, which they argued was inconclusive.

But now that's history.

Thanks to his master's unseen protection, Quintus successfully returned to the righteous path, back to the Way. After the decision on the dry riverbank, he spent another five years helping the Franciscans. Then he moved on and drifted around Mexico for several decades. His abilities quickly returned but plateaued to a point where they weren't as powerful as before the Reno killings, and his celestial eye vision never returned. As for sleep or food, if compared to regular folk, he was supernormal, but he needed some. A meal every second day was fine. Two hours of sleep daily was best. His aging stopped, and he regained the appearance of someone around the age of 30.

Just prior to World War I, he left Mexico and returned to the United States. He may not have served in that conflict, but he did in the second one as a U.S. Army medic. Given the scale of that fight, he found it hard not to get swept up in it. After 300 or so years of absence, he was back in Europe, this time patching up the bodies of soldiers and civilians from both sides.

At the war's end, Quintus returned to America. Unimpressed by modern building methods, he took advantage of the GI Bill and got himself an education, and became a history teacher.

In early 1952, he changed his surname again, this time from Hill to Sheehan, and he ended up in the quiet city of Boise, Idaho. There he met a woman named Kaitlyn, who he married in 1957. It was his first intimate relationship ever.

Tai earlier warned him about sentiment but getting married seemed to Quintus the fitting thing to do at that time and place. He was tired of wandering and waiting for something that had yet to happen, plus he fell head over heels in love with her. But yes, there'd certainly be complications that he'd have to somehow navigate in time. Nevertheless, in 1961 they had a daughter and named her Abby. One thing he discovered was that being a parent and the head of a family changes everything.

From below, the demon kings were increasingly furious at what they saw. They couldn't stomach the fact that Quintus was living everyday life in what was one of the most prosperous and freest societies in history. Now they had to destroy him to prove a point amongst themselves that no one was beyond their reach if they so deemed it.

At first, the demon kings shrieked, cursed, and moaned about it.

'How dare he!' 'Send him here, down to us!' 'I want to flay his soul!'

In time, they calmed down and figured they needed to take another course of action, one they felt was more proactive. They knew they had to be cautious; they didn't want a wrathful Tai and his White Dragon revisiting them despite promises made centuries ago.

For some time, they argued how to carry it out, eventually deciding if they were to decisively destroy Quintus without risking Tai entering their lair, they'd need to take the old Taoist out in advance. It ended up being something that all 13 of the pit agreed they should have done much earlier.

Urban Life

It was early fall 1966. Quintus rode his English racer through a middle-class Boise neighborhood. He was conservatively dressed as a high-school teacher would be in Idaho during that period. As he pedaled, he turned into a street lined with trees in the beginning stages of shedding their leaves. He rode past four pampered homes until veering into the driveway of number 45, a timbered double-story house painted off-white. His home.

Under the house's attached carport, Quintus stopped his bicycle and dismounted just to the side of the parked Buick Invicta station wagon. He waved to his neighbor, a squat, humorless retiree called Andrei Vasiliev, who was next door up a ladder mending a broken gutter.

'Afternoon Mr. Vasiliev, another beautiful day,' Quintus said.

Vasiliev gruffly nodded while continuing his repairs.

Ignoring his neighbor's frostiness, Quintus made his way to the house's back entrance and entered a living space connected to the kitchen.

'Daddy! Yay!' exclaimed a 5-year-old girl clutching her favorite stuffed teddy bear.

'Hello there Abby girl,' Quintus said warmly.

She tackled him around the legs and looked up at him, this man who was half of her world.

'Mommy and I went to nan, and pop's and I ate cake!' Abby said.

'Aren't you lucky, did you bring me home some?' her dad asked as he playfully picked her up.

'No, all gone. None left,' she said.

'Tasted good, huh?'

'Yep.'

As Quintus held her, he looked over to his wife, Kaitlyn, who was preparing dinner in the open kitchen. She winked at him. He winked back.

'Then she spent the afternoon feeding squirrels and gossiping with the fairies in the garden,' Kaitlyn said.

'So how are those fairies?' Quintus asked his daughter as he put her down.

'Good! They said to say "Hello" to you. They think you're very, very special,' Abby said.

'Well, you must be special if they let you see them.'

'And they love mommy's poems, and when she plays the piano, they love, love, love that a lot.'

'A lot? Mommy's poems and piano?'

'Yes, and they love Dean Martin like mommy does.'

'Oh, do they now?'

'Yep.'

'Any song of his in particular?'

'Nope.'

'What about Sinatra? They like him?'

'Don't know.'

'Well, either way, those fairies have exceptional taste in music,' Quintus said as he ruffled her hair, which had the same blonde hue as his wife's.

'Dinner in 30 or so minutes, Quintus Sheehan, so you'd better go wash up and then grace us with your company again,' Kaitlyn said.

Quintus playfully lifted Abbey up again, and she squealed in delight.

'Now you stay here, princess; keep your mom company while I go shower and clean up,' he said as he put her back down.

'Yes, daddy, but hurry it up!'

'I'll certainly be fast.'

As Quintus left to go upstairs, his wife called out to him.

'After showering, can you please light the fire? It's going to be chilly tonight,' Kaitlyn said.

'Will do,' he replied, already halfway up the stairs.

'And Abby, you want to do some more drawing while you wait for your daddy?' Kaitlyn said to her daughter, who nodded.

China Televised

The warmth of the lit fireplace in the living room took the edge off the cool night. Quintus was with Abby, sitting on a rug, drawing pictures of fairies on paper with crayons. He wondered about his daughter's ability to see and communicate with these special beings who called their garden home.

Just behind them, Kaitlyn played a soft tune on an upright piano — one of Chopin's nocturnes. It was one of eight classic pieces that Kaitlyn enjoyed playing.

The music she played was soft enough to allow Quintus to hear the television situated in the corner. A news program about chaos in China was being broadcast.

'Gangs of Red Guards, most of whom are no more than teenagers, are destroying religious institutions, long-cherished traditions, and so-called antirevolutionary elements,' the program's narrator said.

The TV displayed grainy footage of fanatical young Red Guards adulating Mao Zedong, the then-chairman of the Communist Party of China. The program went on to show monasteries being looted, statues of deities being desecrated, and nuns being publicly humiliated.

'China, dear viewer, is continuing its downward spiral into Hell.'

Politics of Hatred

Like others nominated in his village, Chang Boyang was proud to be entrusted with the knowledge of where the ancient sage was hidden on White Dragon Mountain.

As a 13-year-old, he and five others of about the same age were taken by three elders to be shown what remained of the Taoist's sanctuary. At the end of their four-day trek-climb, they maintained a respectable distance from the immediate area of the terrace so as not to disturb holy ground.

The boys, now considered custodians, earlier swore to protect the sanctuary and keep its location a secret. It was expected, if need be, that they would lay down their lives to keep the sanctuary safe. Their village had numerous tales of how their ancestors built up their merit by doing just that.

But Chang and his vow were tested when the communists came decades later. In the fall of 1966, two truckloads of Red Guards, led by a tall thin 20-year-old sociopath nicknamed 'The Hammer,' arrived at the village.

The Hammer got his name due to the pickaxe he always carried. When he wasn't swinging it around, he was fond of stroking his delicate mustache. He also made it a habit of seeking shade so that his skin would remain fair.

He and his fellow Red Guards weren't welcomed in the village, but no one was brave enough to tell them so.

The villagers had viewed the Maoists as thuggish followers of an insane ideology since day one. But despite what the communists had committed throughout much of China, the valley, up until then, had managed to avoid the worst of their depredations, including the mass collectivization of rural communities and the Great Famine that followed. The villagers believed their good fortune was due to having a Taoist in the mountain as their otherworldly protector. And for the most part, they were pretty much right about that.

However, with the arrival of The Hammer and his Red Guards on that October day, it appeared to them their blessings had run out.

Not that our now middle-aged Chang understood or comprehended such things as the Red Guards arrived. Like lambs to the slaughter, Chang and the other elders gathered in the village center as ordered. There, The Hammer lectured them.

'We are not here to make friends! Chairman Mao has ordered us to rid society of old customs, old culture, old habits, and old ideas,' he shouted in a creepy, squeaky kind of way. 'Elders, you must prove your worth, or the ever-glorious party shall smash you and sweep you aside!'

The Hammer then demanded that they tell him the location of the sanctuary. When no one told him what he wanted, that's when the torturing began.

Remorse

Chang wondered how the Red Guards learned of the sanctuary's existence in the first place before the torture began. Had someone in the valley unknowingly told a party snoop or a scheming official from a nearby district? But that was irrelevant now as he led The Hammer and six of his Red Guards up White Dragon Mountain. With each step, Chang asked Heaven's forgiveness for betraying the vow he had made as a boy. He felt there was little choice when The Hammer ordered children to be tortured. The older men had earlier managed to endure.

Chang had already led the Red Guards up the mountain for four days, and their ruthless fanaticism dismayed him. Two other villagers had been tasked as porters to lug food supplies needed for the trek, and both were summarily executed once their purpose was spent.

At their last rest stop before reaching the sanctuary, Chang looked at a young Red Guard named Zhou Lijun, who sat nearby massaging a sore foot. Perhaps this boy has some conscience left, he thought.

Zhou felt Chang's gaze on him, and their eyes met.

'Do you really want to destroy what the Heavens have given China?' Chang quietly asked the boy.

Zhou did not immediately reply. He initially looked sideways at his nearest comrade, who was reading Mao's Little Red Book, and then returned to Chang and offered the older man a rancorous look.

'Save your talk of Heaven you old clown. All of us despise your feudal superstitions,' Zhou said. 'Great Chairman Mao has promised to lead mankind to communism. The purification process begins with the annihilation of the likes of you and the end of all your lies.'

With that, Chang knew he would not see his family again.

A minute later, The Hammer ordered them all to continue with their climb. It wasn't long till they reached the sanctuary.

Desecration

It was pitch black inside the cave, but the sound of steel hitting stone from outside could be heard. There were also muffled yells in Mandarin. Soon enough, cracks of light emerged as a pick and iron bar broke through what Quintus had built centuries earlier.

The incoming wind unsettled a layer of fine dust that covered everything inside the cavernous room. Little by little, Han Dynasty period artifacts and murals emerged.

When the cracks became the size of a small window, The Hammer and his Red Guards stopped their efforts and momentarily peered inside the cave.

The room's largest object appeared to be a life-size sculpture of a man meditating, sitting in the lotus position. As the entering breeze cleaned the statue's surface, they noted that it wore decayed clothing and that it had long hair and protruding fingernails.

The Hammer cleared additional stones and plaster from the wall, resulting in more light filling the cavern. It quickly became obvious to the Red Guard leader that the figure was not a statue but a living man — a Taoist sage in trance. Just as the villagers believed.

Such ways must be wiped from the earth, The Hammer thought as he put in extra effort to widen the entrance.

It didn't take long for the Red Guards to make a gap big enough for them to enter the cave, and once they were inside, they began trashing and looting the room. The Hammer approached the still Taoist — Tai in a meditative state.

'Take everything out, including him!' yelled The Hammer, pointing at Tai.

Zhou was one of three Red Guards who dragged Tai out of the cave and onto the terrace. They unceremoniously dumped him beside the dead body of Chang, who they had clubbed to death before they began work opening the cave.

As his spiritual and physical bodies reunited, Tai slowly emerged from his deep meditative state. The three Red Guards stood over him, each unsure of what to do with this wizened, disorientated remnant of the past.

The Hammer exited the cavern, pulled out his pistol, and gave it to Zhou.

'Shoot him,' The Hammer ordered.

The teenager hesitated.

'Zhou! Battle with Heaven, fight with the earth, struggle with humans — therein lies endless joy!' The Hammer shouted.

Zhou cocked the pistol, as per how he was shown how to do a week before, and then aimed it at Tai's heart and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out across creation.

The Funk

Quintus awoke with such a shudder he initially thought the house had just been hit by a tremor or a minor earthquake. Quickly the stillness of the room convinced him otherwise. A dream perhaps?

A feeling of oddness — bordering on unease — made him sit up. Next to him, Kaitlyn slept soundly. She could sleep through a tornado without stirring if need be.

After switching on the small bedside lamp, he looked at his wristwatch. It was just before midnight. He'd only been asleep for an hour, but that's half of what he usually needed anyhow.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Abby waddled in. Without an invite, she got into her parents' bed. Quintus moved over and gave her room in the center. He puffed up the pillow for her.

'It's cold, daddy.'

'I know bubby, try and sleep.'

After two minutes, she was doing just that, and Quintus got out of bed and went into the adjoining study, where he sat at its timber desk. He put his head in his hands, trying to figure out what was amiss, but he couldn't pinpoint what.

By default, his thoughts shifted to the situation he had put himself in by losing sight of the long game. Marriage and having a family are wonderful. It was the best thing he had ever done, but one day, his wife would eventually figure he wasn't aging. How could he explain it away? Could she handle the truth and watch him stay young as she became old? The only other option was for him to abandon his mission and not follow the Way and subsequently get old and die with her. Things he should've decided on before he proposed to her. People do the darndest of things sometimes, Quintus included.

He was like this, thinking useless human thoughts, sitting in a funk, until 1 a.m. when he slipped into a slumber that lasted five fuzzy hours. Despite being at his desk, it was his longest stretch of sleep for some time. Something was indeed amiss.

The Asmodeus

In telling you this fantastical tale, I'm somewhat limited in what I can convey. I must frame certain things in a way that you can relate to them, so I'll start this part of the tale by telling you about a Catholic priest who was an exorcist by trade. No, he wasn't a wayward cleric. He was legit and recently was on record describing a demon — called 'Asmodeus' — that attacks the family. Yes, there is such an entity. It's a wicked creature first mentioned in the Old Testament. The Book of Tobit, if I remember correctly. The priest said that he had fought such a fiend many times.

Tai had done so as well but in a different reality. In other dimensions, he fought off more than one Asmodeus. Many of them had been sent by the 13 Demon Kings of the Pit to attack Quintus and those he loved after he got married.

However, Tai had found the Asmodeus easy enough to block. This, of course, changed following his death, much to the delight of the demon kings. After he was killed, the sage was separated from his body, and he was sent spiraling through the universe. In such a state, he could no longer provide protection for Quintus and his family.

This allowed the demon kings to send in an Asmodeus one last time. As instructed, it arrived early in the morning, two hours before sunup. This creature was unseen, of course, at least to the human eye. It tried to enter Quintus' house but was repelled by the goodness within it — or, to be more exact, from the love of the family who called it home. For an Asmodeus to be effective, there needed to be an existing gap in a family's relationship to take advantage of. There was no gap among the Sheehans.

The Asmodeus had been forewarned this may have been the case, so it took the next recommended course of action and entered the neighboring house of Andrei Vasiliev.

Given the disgruntled widower had a cruel past, he proved easily manipulated, as all wicked individuals are. The Asmodeus whispered dark tidings into one of Vasiliev's sleeping ears for about an hour and then departed.

When he awoke, Vasiliev was primed to do any dirty business required. As the sun emerged, the 68-year-old, wearing grubby pajamas, paced around his filthy kitchen in a silent rage until he saw Quintus exit the house next door dressed in gym gear. Vasiliev muttered evil deeds as he watched his neighbor begin exercising.

Reluctant Champion

Still dressed in pajamas, Abby played with the sparkling, wonderful things in a bronze jewelry bowl that usually sat on top of a chest of drawers in her parents' room.

Her mother was close by, making up the double bed and tucking in sheets. As Kaitlyn pulled up the cover, her thoughts were of her husband, whose only fault, she believed, was his lack of ambition. Recently he declined an offer from his school that would have made him deputy headmaster. If he took it, the next promotion would have naturally been headmaster, and she knew that is what the school wanted.

A year earlier, Quintus had reluctantly taken on the role as head of the history department. Everyone admired him for his obvious qualities both as a teacher and person. Everyone but himself.

But his humble nature was likewise one of the many manly traits that she loved about him. He never had a harsh word to say about anyone. Never in their time together had she seen him lose his temper, nor had they got anywhere near having an argument.

Yet he was an enigma in other ways. Kaitlyn was sure he knew everything there was to know about her, but she felt that was not the case the other way around. She did not know much about his youth apart from how he was an orphan. He rarely discussed his backstory, including his time in the war. Nor did he care much to talk with her about those oriental exercises he did, typically very early in the morning when she was still asleep.

'They're something I just picked up and like to do,' Quintus said when she first asked about them. No conversation followed. He instead preferred to talk at length about their life together or about their daughter, who she now noticed was pushing a footstool towards a bedroom window.

'Where are you going with that young lady?'

'To watch daddy,' was the matter-of-fact reply.

Upon getting to the window, Abby stood on the stool and looked out the window to see her father below in the garden doing his Tao Yin exercises.

'What's daddy doing?' Abby asked her mother, who came up alongside her.

'He is exercising,' said Kaitlyn.

Abby wasn't fully sure what that meant, so she pushed open the window.

'Daddy! What are you doing? Are you gardening?'

Fairy Talk

Dressed for work, Quintus tipped the last dregs of his coffee into the kitchen sink. As he wiped his hands, he felt a tug on one of his pant legs.

'The fairies want me to tell you something,' said Abby, who stood beside him, chewing on a piece of toast spread with honey.

'And what's that, Abby?'

'They think you are very, very old. Like super-duper old. Dinosaur old,' she said, emphasizing the last description with a dramatic facial expression.

'Well, you inform those gossiping fairies that I'm certainly not that old,' Quintus said while winking at her.

He then kissed her on the head and made his way toward the back door.

'See you after school, Abby girl. You look after mommy,' he said, nodding towards Kaitlyn at the kitchen table, finishing her breakfast.

'Quintus try to be home early, please,' Kaitlyn said. 'Theo and Julia and the kids are coming by at five-ish for dinner, okay.'

'Roger that,' he replied. 'You want to go to Lake Pend Oreille for our next week away?'

'Sure. You'd better go, or you'll be late. Enjoy work. I love you.'

'Love you too,' were his parting words.

News from Charlie Simpson

Sitting at his staff-room desk, Quintus corrected essays submitted by an ancient history class about how the modern world was influenced by the Romans. He was midway into marking one focusing on the calendar, when he heard someone running down the hallway outside.

It didn't sound like the run of a teenager. It was labored and untrained. It was Charlie Simpson, the slightly overweight biology teacher. He came to the door, sweating profusely. His bulging eyes searched the room. His stare fixed on Quintus, who he frantically waved to.

'Quintus!'

'What's up Charlie?'

'Your house, it's on fire!' Charlie yelled, somewhat louder than intended.

The dozen or so other teachers in the room turned their heads to watch Quintus exit the room with Charlie, who would drive him to his home.

The next day, the house fire was on the front page of the city's newspaper. It wasn't that a house had been burnt down that gave it the newsworthiness as a front-page lead. It was the distressing fact that the fire killed Kaitlyn and Abby and that it had been lit by their neighbor Vasiliev, who later hung himself from a beam in his own house before police arrived.

Out of respect and real sorrow for Quintus, the school closed for the rest of the week, but he never returned to teach.

To Wander

In the shade of a large elm tree, Quintus sat near the roadside somewhere in rural Washington state. His clothes were filthy. He had a motley beard and unkempt hair. That's what happens after three weeks of walking country roads like a lonely ghost.

The day after his wife's and daughter's funeral, he grabbed a small rucksack that survived the fire and just took to the roads, rambling his way north. Within one week, he'd ambled out of Idaho and into the top of Oregon and then onwards some more.

Now, in Washington, he didn't care that the coming winter bit through his clothes. Physical discomfort and deprivation at this stage mattered very little. He just wanted to walk and outpace his misery.

By the time he reached that roadside tree, the pain in his heart had dulled a bit. He had a shoe off and was trying to fix a hole in it with a bit of cardboard when a police cruiser pulled up on the opposite side of the road. Its driver, a middle-aged state trooper, wound down his window.

'Hey buddy, what're you doing out here, all alone?' he asked.

Quintus didn't reply. His attention remained on repairing his shoe.

'Hate to say it, but there's no vagrancy in this county, so you will need to move on,' the trooper said.

Vagrant, derived from the Latin word vagari — to wander, Quintus thought as he wedged the cardboard further into the shoe's toe.

He looked up at the cop and gave him a half-hearted smile.

'Yeah, I'll be on my way shortly. Just fixing something,' he said.

'Okay, I'll be driving back this way in about an hour. I sure don't want to find you still here. If I do, I'll have to put you in a cell for the night, and I don't want to have to do that,' the trooper said, not expecting or wanting a reply. He then drove off.

Quintus put his shoe back on, got to his feet, and shouldered his rucksack. He readied himself to resume his walk while thinking about the last time he saw Kaitlyn and Abby. Kaitlyn was talking about friends coming over, while Abby was talking about the fairies who shared their backyard. He wondered how the fairies were feeling now. They'd still be grieving, he guessed, for such little creatures, they were certainly big-hearted.

Quintus pushed out such painful thoughts. He looked to the mountainous horizon ahead and began to walk towards it. Within ten days, he was in Canada.